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ISBN 978-1-62268-145-7 print
ISBN 978-1-62268-146-4 e-book
LCCN 2018964826

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NEW RELEASE for TEEN READERS!

THE COUNTDOWN CLUB
Author: Lucienne Diver

Chapter 1

RAYNA

Six Days To Die.

The note was handwritten in bold, angry lettering, the pen nearly slicing through the page and the "i" in Die dripping blood-red ink. It stared up at Rayna from just inside her backpack. Her breath caught, and she whipped her head around to catch anyone watching or aiming their phone to record the moment their sick joke hit home. Because it had to be a joke, right? Anyone who could get close enough to slip a note into her backpack without her noticing could surely have done worse.
    But no one was looking or laughing.
    She wanted to shrug it off. She wasn't the kind of girl who made waves. Or enemies. But the news was full of people bullied or beaten just for existing. Being different. Saying no.
    Six Days to Die.
    A chill ran straight up her spine, raising the hairs on the nape of her neck beneath her Kool-Aid blue ponytail. Her heart was pounding. Her breath was coming way too fast, and yet didn't seem to be bringing any oxygen with it. If she kept up like this, she was going to pass out. She needed to calm down.
    Now that she thought about it, she'd left her backpack unattended at lunch while she ducked out to the ladies' room. Well, not unattended exactly. She'd asked Evan to keep an eye on it, but he wouldn't have taken that too seriously. Why would he? He could have gotten distracted talking or even . . . Evan was always pulling pranks. He could even have done this himself. If so, she was going to kill him. Literally. Today. Screw the six-day waiting period.
    But her breathing didn't slow. There was no relief at a mystery solved. She knew in her heart Evan wouldn't do this. It was too mean-spirited. And on top of that, there was no pay-off. They didn't have fifth period together, so he'd never get to see her reaction.
    But no one was paying any attention. Or if they were, they were damn good at hiding it. Just in case, maybe she should tear up the note to show how little it meant to her. To prove that she wasn't freaking out.
    As soon as she could bring herself to touch it.
    The bell rang and Ms. Ibrahim told them all to take out their textbooks and turn to chapter twelve. Still Rayna stared at the note. It was just a piece of paper. Probably harmless, but what if the note itself was the threat? It could be laced with poison or powder or something that would mess her up on contact. It would have to be a slow-acting poison to make her suffer for nearly a week. But wouldn't that be too unpredictable? How could the killer know it would take six days, no more, no less? And why give a warning so she could get a head start on a cure rather than wait, thinking she had the flu or something?
    Unless there was no cure.
    "Vanessa?" Ms. Ibrahim said sharply. "Something wrong?"
    The other students all had their books out and were now staring at her. So much for playing it cool and unaffected.
    "Uh, yeah. I mean no," Rayna said brilliantly. "Give me a second."
    She took a deep breath, brushed the note aside with the tips of her fingers and grabbed her textbook, letting the breath out when nothing happened. She put the book on her desk, opened to the right chapter and stared down at it like she could focus on a single word. At least Ms. Ibrahim wasn't tormenting them with the rumored pop quiz. All Rayna could think about was the note and monitoring herself to make sure touching it hadn't been a fatal mistake. Was her breathing harder? Was her head starting to hurt? Was that fear or reality?
    It took the whole period to assure herself that she was all right.

* * *

In the hallway between classes, Rayna felt eyes on her, but that could have been her imagination. It didn't have to be that she was caught in someone's crosshairs. It could be that she was visibly shaken enough to draw attention. Or just that there were so many kids crowding the halls that attention was unavoidable.
She jumped out of her skin when a hand landed on her shoulder. She whirled, hands up and fisted, ready to block a blow or throw one herself. She came face to face with Evan, who took a step back and threw his own arms up in defense.
    "Hey, hey, it's just me! I give!"
    She looked at her fisted hands and decided not to let them go to waste. She punched him in the shoulder a bit more than playfully. "That's for scaring me."
    It felt so good, she did it again. Other shoulder this time.
    "What was that one for?"
    "You know," she said, glaring.
    There were curses as people had to shove around them. They were stopping traffic, and there wasn't a lot of room for passing. Evan grabbed Rayna by the strap of her backpack and pulled her off to the side, up against a set of lockers.
    "What the hell?" he asked. "What did I do?"
    She could only see one of his eyes now—his ever-wild hair had fallen over the other—but there was confusion in it.
    "The note," she said pointedly, forgetting she'd decided that it couldn't be him. It felt so good to have a target, an outlet for her fear.
    "What note?"
    Crap. It really wasn't him. He had no idea at all what she was talking about.
    Silently, Rayna shrugged her backpack off one shoulder, unzipped it and reached for the note, still hating to touch it. She pulled it out with the barest touch of her fingertips and offered it to Evan, hoping she was right that it wasn't tainted.
    He took the note gingerly and unfolded it along the single crease. The message hadn't changed.
    Six Days to Die.
    He stared blankly for a moment, then turned it over to see what, if anything, was on the other side. There was nothing.
    He glanced back at Rayna, trying to get a grin going for her benefit, but she could see it was a struggle. "A death threat? Well, damn, girl, aren't you hot stuff? I thought if anyone was going to piss off someone to the point of violence, it would be me."
    "The day's still young," she said, trying to match his cool. "You think it's for real then?"
    Evan looked as serious as Rayna had ever seen him, and they'd been friends for a long time. He shook his hair out of his face; his crazy golden-green eyes blazed with an intensity that always sent a jolt through her.
    "There's one way to find out," he said. "You know that group I'm part of? The one I told you about?"
    "That forensics club?"
    He nodded. "This is right up our alley. Let me take the note to them and see . . . well, whatever we can see."
    He hadn't said she was overreacting.
    She nodded, and Evan refolded the note carefully along the crease, not touching it any more than he had to, either to preserve prints or out of his own sense of caution. Then he slipped it into his own backpack.
    "What do you think you and your friends can get from the note?" she asked, the knife edge of panic abating now that Evan shared her burden.
    "You'd be amazed," he said, his eyes glinting.
    Almost like he was enjoying this.
    Then again, it was Evan. Brimming with character, too smart for school, with so few challenges that he jumped on anything to beat back the boredom. Mostly it was pranks or puzzles, but . . . That twinge of doubt sparked again. He wouldn't manufacture something like this to stir things up, would he?
    No, she knew him too well for that. Not her Evan. Well, not hers exactly . . .
    It could be one of her fellow art geeks, building toward some special project, a photo-collage of the Faces of Fear. Or it could be the teaser for some twisted performance piece. But in that case, she'd expect the presentation to be more dramatic or artistic, maybe. The stark threat and angry, uneven lettering spoke more of passion than presentation.
    "See you later?" Evan asked, breaking across her thoughts.
    "Later," she said, sounding more casual than she felt.
    She jumped when the bell rang for the next period, and then Evan was off like a shot—too cool to run, but not for his long legs to eat up the distance anyway.
    She tried to send her worries away with him.

JACK

Shit, shit, shit. He was going to be late. Again. He didn't give two craps about that, but if the school called home to report him as tardy or a skip, his father would use it as yet another excuse for a beating. Not that Dad ever needed an excuse.
    But every beating got Jack closer to using the bug-out bag he'd been stuffing for the last nine months—stealing change left on the counter, hoping it wouldn't be missed, shaking down kids here and there for their lunch money, once even grabbing a twenty sitting out in the open on a teacher's desk. That had been risky, but the risk had paid off, and he'd certainly needed it more than Mr. Jorgenson.
    He'd have bugged out already if it weren't for his little brother. Jack knew he'd do okay on the street by himself. He was tough and good-looking. Women wanted him. Not arrogance, just fact. Whether they thought he was older or just didn't care, he'd had enough eyelashes batted and phone numbers slipped to him that he had no delusions there. He was sure he could find a soft heart out there somewhere. Women loved a bad boy. But Eric . . . he couldn't leave him behind undefended, and he couldn't bring him along. His brother wouldn't do well out in the world. He needed medical treatment and health insurance and all kinds of things Jack couldn't give him.
    So he stayed. And rushed to school, almost sure he could charm his homeroom teacher into not reporting him late. He wouldn't even have to make anything up, just tell her about caring for his sick brother. She'd eat it up.
    He slowed to a fast walk in front of the school. Once in, he skipped his locker and went straight for homeroom, winking at Maria Sanchez as he slipped into his seat. As usual, she blushed and glanced away, gripping a book to her chest.
    When Mrs. Plante called him to her desk, Jack gave a world-weary sigh and got ready to spin a tale about his tardiness. He knew he couldn't really tell her the truth about Eric. He couldn't risk anyone taking an interest in his home life. It was far too volatile.
    Avoiding the tardy was pretty much the high point of his day. By the end of fifth period he was ready to cut and head home, check in on Eric and see how his treatment had gone, but he couldn't afford the skip, and anyway, Eric would be sleeping and Mom probably passed out in a drunken stupor by now, so it wouldn't do any good.
    But maybe the day was looking up. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, that was Maria waiting at his locker. Or maybe she was waiting at her locker, which was right next to his, but she watched him as he approached. He had no idea why. Maria always treated him like the big bad wolf, though all he'd ever done was wink at her and offer a smile. He'd never huffed or puffed.
    But the closer he got, the more clearly he could see her expression, and it wasn't welcoming.
    "Hey," he said casually, like her stopping by was no big thing. Like he'd suspected it was only a matter of time before his charm brought her around.
    "Did you do it?" she asked, arms crossed over her chest.
    The accusation took him aback. "It?"
    "The note I found last period," she prompted, body language protective, hugging herself, but braving it out, staring him in the face for answers. Whatever she was talking about had to be important to her.
    "I don't know what you're talking about, but if it's from a secret admirer, I can do better." Damn, he hadn't meant to say that. He gave a smirk along with it, so she'd know it was just his usual flirting.
    Her mouth twisted as if she tasted something bad.
    "Nevermind," she said, and started to brush past him on her way out.
    He grabbed her arm to halt her. She flinched and he eased up, even though he hadn't been rough in the first place. "Wait, what's going on?" he asked. "You're acting all . . . I don't know, weird."
    "You don't know me," she said, shaking her arm out of his hold.
    She was gone before he could say anything else stupid, like about how he'd like to know her.
    He stared after Maria, thinking of all the ways things could have gone better. Then he shrugged it off. She wasn't for him anyway. Maria was a good girl. Quiet. Serious. Going places. Jack not so much. So he didn't understand why it hurt so much that she'd accuse him of . . . whatever it was she was all worked up about. A note? What was the big deal?
    Screw it.
    He changed out his books and got to sixth period with thirty seconds to spare, but then stopped cold at the sight of his desk. Sitting right there, dead center, was a piece of paper, folded in two. A note, clearly. A coincidence or had Maria left it?
    One way to find out.
    Jack plunked down in his seat, dropped his backpack to the floor and picked up the note, flicking it open.
    Twelve Days To Die.
    He glanced around to see whether anyone was watching and caught Chase Benson's eyes. "Love note?" Chase asked, like he'd been waiting on the chance. Sure, he'd have seen the note when he came into class. He must have wondered.
    "I wish," Jack answered.
    Then he crumpled the note up in his fist. If someone had left it hoping to rattle him, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He tossed it at the garbage can in the corner of the room, but missed so that it disappeared between the basket and the wall. Out of sight, out of mind. He hoped.
    But his brain ticked away. Was this the kind of note Maria had gotten? If so, it was no wonder she was freaked.
    Someone threatening him he could understand. Jack had made enemies. But Maria . . . what could she have done? He couldn't imagine a single thing, which meant some sicko was probably getting his kicks scaring people. He couldn't take it seriously. Anyway, he could handle anything some anonymous loser could dish out. Anyone too afraid to confront him in person didn't seem worth worrying about. For himself. For Maria . . .
    No, she'd made it pretty clear she wasn't his problem. He had enough actual problems that he didn't need to go looking for more. He put the note out of his head.

INTERLUDE

He watched from across the hall as Grace opened her locker. She turned at a friend's greeting as she swung the door open, so she didn't see his little love note right away. The second she did, she let out a squeak, her head whipping around like an owl's. She surveyed the hallway, searching for the culprit.
    It was gratifying. Her dark eyes were wide, her pixie face drained of color. The fear looked good on her.
    Rayna's reaction had been more subtle. Disappointing, almost. She hadn't taken him seriously enough. But she would learn, even if she wouldn't have long to appreciate the lesson.
    He had his phone out, and glanced down as if reading a text, though really he was watching Grace from beneath his lashes as she looked around the hall. Her gaze, as usual, swept right over him. Discounting him as she did others, as just part of the herd. That was the problem, wasn't it, everyone so damned bleating and oblivious.
    Well, not for much longer. This was their wake-up call. Right before the big sleep.

copyright ©2018 Lucienne Diver

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