Page 28 of Shark Cove

Chapter Eleven

By lunchtime,Malia had figured out a plan to deal with the new information about Camille. Instead of going to the cafeteria, she toted her backpack to the library and found her special spot between the rows of books—a study carrel that faced the wall with good Wi-Fi strength.

She put her hood up and earbuds in, and with music going, she developed an update for the blog:“MPD says Camille is at a fat farm! Regina William received a citation for filing a false claim that Camille was a missing person, and tycoon father Leonard William confirms that he’s paying for Camille’s forced-march starvation program in Idaho, where she supposedly can’t communicate due to no cell service.

Vote here if you believe this is what really happened to Camille!

YES/NO

Even as Malia posted the update, seeing the facts of what she’d written began to erode her conviction that something more was going on with Camille’s disappearance.

Wouldn’t the camp people have to let her speak to Camille after the nine days were over?

Unless her parents kept things going with “Camille’s grounded with no phone. Camille’s trekking in Alaska. Camille’s at a military school training in the Outback . . .”

Camille’s parents could keep her friend incommunicado as long as they wanted.

Malia put her head down on the desk, feeling defeated, as the site’s ticker registered votes overwhelmingly in favor that Camille had, indeed, gone to fat camp.

“Hey. You hiding?” Blake’s voice, directly behind her.

Malia didn’t lift her head. “This is where I hang out,” she said. “You just never noticed before.”

“Well, I’m here now.” Blake grabbed a chair and scraped it across the short hard carpet. He forced his way into her space in the carrel and squished in beside her.

“What?” she sat up, tweaking out her earbuds, and glared at him. “Quit pretending we have something to talk about anymore. Everyone believes the fat camp thing. See?” She pointed to the vote counter, already registering fifty-three votes YES and two votes NO. “I have to give up on this. It’s driving me crazy. And you hanging out with me—it’s starting rumors neither of us need.”

“I believe you about Camille. And I like hanging out with you.”

“Yeah, right.” Malia put her hands on the keys of the laptop. “Camille’s your girl and I’m loyal to our friendship. I’d never go behind her back with a guy she liked. So there, you made me say it. God!” The stress made Malia bury her face in her hands.

“Things change,” Blake said. “I like you. You’re smart. Gutsy and pretty, too, when you let yourself be. But hey—if you don’t like being with me, I’ll go.”

“I do like you. That’s the problem.” Malia gazed into his dark brown eyes a little too long. “This is so embarrassing,” she whispered. A student headed down their row, spotted the situation, and wheeled to go another way. “I know how I’d cartoon this if I was still the Wallflower. I’d make a funny cartoon about us: you on Mount Olympus holding your trident down to fat, ugly, ‘emo’ me.”

“That’s plain wrong, and just shitty.” Blake stood up, offense in every line of his body. “I liked Camille because she was sweet and a good friend. But I was never . . .” He rolled his shoulders, obviously trying to find words. “I was never challenged by her, like you challenge me. Now I remember what a snake you are. Lani Benito left our school because of that photo you posted. You’re a little bit evil, Malia, and I’ve just been reminded of it.”

Malia held up a hand, palm out. “Whoa. What’s this about Lani Benito?”

“She’s in an eating disorder clinic now, but only after she cut her wrists and was in the hospital first, all because you put up a Wallflower post of her puking up her lunch on your damn website. I thought you were changing because of this search for Camille, because you care about someone so much. But what you just said—hell no. If I’m on Mount Olympus, it’s only because you put me there, and I resent the hell out of it.” Blake walked off.

Poor Lani.

Malia collapsed, shutting the lid of the laptop. “I’m a snake. An evil cyberbully.”

When Malia thought back on posting Lani’s picture in the bathroom, all she remembered was being excited that she had something so great to put up that day. She’d even thought she might help Lani by making her ashamed of barfing up her food; instead, she’d almost driven Lani to suicide.

Malia felt sick with self-loathing.

She pushed up her sleeves and pinched her arms viciously, digging her nails into the meat of her forearms and twisting until she’d broken the skin’s surface, until blood ran and the pain inside was matched by the pain outside.

Malia deserved punishment, and no one knew it better than she did.

The fun wasn’tover for the day.

When she got home, Harry was waiting at the door with that cop look on her face that promised nothing good. “Kylie, get started on your homework,” their mom barked. “Malia, come upstairs. We’re going to get a few things straight.”

A breathless sensation in Malia’s chest made her nauseous. Had her mom figured out Malia had gotten into her laptop? Cut school? Was the Wallflower?

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