My brain began to feel fuzzy as I watched the last of my oxygen leak out of my nose in tiny little air bubbles that floated so easily to the surface. If only I could float like that. If only I was light enough to just float right out of my body, up toward the surface and out into that sweet, sweet air.

  And suddenly I was floating. I vaguely wondered if maybe I'd left my body, if I was dead and floating up toward the heavens, slowly rising from the water. I watched the surface swim closer and closer until I could almost feel the crisp breeze of gloriously fresh air.

  I opened my mouth, not able to hold it in any longer, sucking in as hard as I could, expecting the rush of water to fill my lungs and end it all.

  Only, it didn't.

  Instead, I dragged in a deep, full breath of air as my body broke the surface.

  I gasped, coughing, choking, and sucking in oxygen as if I couldn't get enough.

  "Hartley!" I heard someone calling my name from very far away.

  But I didn't care. All I cared about was the delicious feeling of filling my lungs. In and out, in and out. Was there anything better?

  "Hartley? Can you hear me?" the voice pressed

  I blinked, regaining my vision, the oxygen slowly clearing the clouds from my brain. A face came into focus in front of me. A heavily made-up face, surrounded by clouds of blonde hair.

  "Drea?" I asked, confusion lacing my voice as her features materialized in front of me.

  "Ohmigosh, you're okay!" She leaned down and hugged me, my soggy self making wet spots on her itty-bitty mini dress.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  "Rescuing you," came another voice. I looked to my right and saw two more cheerleaders from Drea's posse standing nearby.

  "We saw everything," Drea said. "We came running to get you out as soon as we could."

  I looked down and saw a long pole with a hook on the end that the maintenance workers used to drag leaves from the bottom of the pool. Or, in this case, cheerleaders used to drag me from the bottom of the pool.

  Great. Saved by cheerleaders. I would never live this down.

  "Thanks," I said. "But how did you find me?" I asked, still dragging in deep breaths.

  "We were shooting videos of the dance for Nicky," Drea explained.

  "And we saw Mr. Lipkins helping you from the girls' bathroom," Cheerleader #1 said. "We totally thought you were drunk or something."

  "Yeah, so we followed you guys, shooting in case you puked or something cool," Cheerleader #2 said.

  "Nicky would have loved that," Drea agreed.

  I'll just bet.

  "But I wasn't drunk," I pointed out.

  Drea nodded. "Yeah, we realized that when he tied you up."

  I blinked at her. "You watched him tie me up? Why didn't you help me?"

  "Dude, we tried! The gate was locked, and we couldn't get in."

  "We even tried to climb over the fence, " Cheerleader #1 said, "but that totally wasn't working with our wardrobes." She gestured to the micro-mini dresses they all wore.

  Drea nodded in agreement. "It wasn't until Lipkins opened the gate and left that we could get in and rescue you."

  "Thanks," I told them. Meaning it. If it weren't for them hoping to catch me making a fool of myself, I'd have made a dead body of myself. "And Mr. Lipkins?" I asked, my gaze whipping around the area.

  "He ran," #2 said. "Totally took off toward the parking lot as soon as he tossed you."

  "So he got away?" I asked, a sinking feeling hitting my stomach.

  But Drea grinned. "Not for long. I got his whole confession on video." She held up her phone. "And," she added, stabbing the screen, "it's all uploading to YouTube as we speak."

  I grinned.

  Score one for the brats and their technology.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Twenty minutes later, it seemed like the entire population of Herbert Hoover High was standing by the pool, plus our chaperones, teachers, and about a dozen police officers. Drea and Cheerleaders #1 and #2 were enthusiastically giving their statements to officers, complete with lots of hand-waving, jumping up and down, and video footage of them coming to my rescue. Sam and Kyle were exactly where they'd been ever since running from the cafeteria at speeds that left both crowns at odd angles—right by my side. Sam had immediately wrapped her arms around me despite my dampness, and she hadn't let go of my hand since. Kyle had taken it upon himself to shield me from the thousand questions everyone began throwing at me the second they saw my dripping hair and soggy dress, holding them at bay by repeatedly yelling, "Give her some room to breathe!"

  Someone had found a tarp in the utility shed, which I'd wrapped around myself as a makeshift blanket, but I was still shivering through my wet clothes as I sat on the ground beside the pool.

  "Hartley!" I heard a voice call through the crowd and looked up to find Chase rushing toward me. He ignored the crowd, police, and chaperones, enveloping me in a hug so fierce I might have mistaken him for Mom.

  I'll admit, with his arms around me, some warmth started to return to my system.

  "I've been looking everywhere for you," he said when he finally pulled away. "As soon as I saw you were gone, I texted everyone to see if they'd seen you. Ashley said she thought she saw you heading toward the quad, Chris said he thought you went out to the parking lot, and Jenni said to try the football field. I've been all over the school looking." He ran a hand through his hair, and I could tell by the way his spikes stood up in messy tufts that it hadn't been the first time he'd done it that evening. His face was pale in the moonlight, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He really did look like he'd been worried.

  More of that welcome warmth pooled in my stomach at the thought.

  "I'm okay," I reassured him. Though, okay was kind of a relative term at the moment. But I was alive, and that was a lot more than I might have hoped for earlier.

  I quickly told him everything, from being hit on the head to being rescued by Drea and company. I was just finishing when I saw another familiar face push through the crowd. Freckled, slightly wrinkled, and topped with red hair.

  Detective Raley.

  And behind him trailed Mom, pushing her way toward me.

  "Oh, Hartley," she said, grabbing me around the middle.

  I hugged her back. After the night I'd had, I could use all the hugs I could get.

  When she finally pulled away, I noticed for the first time what she was wearing. And it was not the jeans and T-shirt I'd left her in earlier that evening.

  It was a black sleeveless dress that ended well above her knees, paired with heels that were higher than mine.

  "Why are you all dressed up?" I asked.

  She looked down. "Well, David and I were at dinner when he got the call about you."

  I cocked my head to the side. "David?"

  She blushed. "Detective Raley."

  Mental facepalm.

  My gaze shifted to Raley, and I noticed he was also dressed a notch up from his usual schlumpy fare, wearing a pair of dark slacks with a shirt that actually looked cleaned and ironed.

  That's it. This was getting out of hand.

  "This is the third date in as many days, Mom."

  "I know." She beamed. "Well, technically, it might be the fourth, since David was at our house so late last night—"

  "Mom, please stop talking now."

  She shot me a look, but considering my near-death experience, she was thankfully compassionate enough to comply.

  After I gave another quick version of events to Raley (no way was I ever going to think of him as "David"), he told Mom she could take me home, and he'd come over tomorrow to take an official statement down.

  Then Mom bundled me into her minivan, cranked the heat to full blast, and drove me home, where I took the longest, hottest shower on record. (But not a bath. I wasn't sure I wanted to go near standing water ever again.)

  Afterwards, I slipped into a pair of long johns, a pair of sweats, two pairs of socks, and fluffy pink slippers, and I was almost warm again.

  Mom made me a cup of hot cocoa (with soy milk and organic stevia), though I was so tired I could hardly hold my head up to sip at it before I trudged up the stairs and fell into bed, my eyes closing almost before I even hit the pillows.

  * * *

  HERBERT HOOVER HIGH TEACHER ARRESTED FOR MURDER

  Long known as one of the toughest teachers on campus, Mr. Lipkins was arrested Saturday evening for the murder of HHH student Sydney Sanders, as well as the attempted murders of both Nicky Williams and yours truly, Hartley Grace Featherstone. Mr. Lipkins has pled not guilty but, due to an inability to post bail, was remanded to the county detention facility pending trial.

  The arrest was on the heels of a video of Mr. Lipkins confessing to his crimes that circulated online. Incidentally, it received over 2 million views in the first weekend, making it YouTube's top trending video of the week.

  I looked down at my article. I had to admit, it wasn't bad. Unfortunately, the major media outlets had gotten hold of the story before I had a chance to break the news in the Homepage, but I had the most unique angle there was—that of a survivor of Mr. Lipkins' attack. As Chase had wanted, this was definitely a unique angle on the story of Sydney's death.

  Which, after viewing Lipkins' confession, Raley had reopened the case file on, changing the official ruling from suicide to homicide. (We couldn't quite convince him to put "Twittercide" in the official report.) Officers had found Mr. Lipkins at home, where he'd been packing his bags for Mexico. Into the trunk of his nondescript beige Toyota sedan. Which gave Raley enough ammo to charge him with not one, but two attempts on my life.

  And while the extra paperwork had tied him up for the day, Raley had still found time to go out with my mom again the following evening. I was seriously working on a plan to stop this before it got out of hand. As if living with the SMother wasn't enough, now a cop was invading my life, too. Not cool. Way not cool.

  As for our suspects, Nicky had been released from the hospital the day after Homecoming, but after Lipkins' cheating scheme was exposed, the administration had no choice but to punish Nicky for his part in it. However, he'd plead his case that Lipkins had pressured and blackmailed him, which caused the administration to go easy with a suspension instead of expulsion. And since Nicky currently had a 4.0 GPA, rumor had it he wasn't really worried about the blemish on his record. Drea had promised to shoot videos for him of everything he missed at school.

  The person who had taken news of Sydney's death most definitely not being a suicide the hardest was Connor. The fact that no one actually thought him worth killing themselves over had been a blow I wasn't sure his ego would ever recover from. Well, at least not until the winter formal.

  Jenni, on the other hand, was already working on a nomination for Homecoming Queen for next year. According to Ashley Stannic's gossip column, Jenni was back together with Ben Fisher, and the two of them were seen wearing matching his and hers shirts to the mall last weekend, trying to drum up the sort of cuteness that had made Sam and Kyle winners.

  Quinn Leslie had been allowed back on the lacrosse team, pending academic probation. Incidentally, she was the only one still wearing a black mourning armband for her best friend. She'd even tried to get a scholarship fund going in Sydney's name.

  And, as a minor last note, I was proud to say that both Sam and I did pass our American Government midterm. Sam even got the highest grade in the class, completely ruining the grading curve for everyone else. Without cheating. Poor Chris Fret got a 65%, but Sam gave him the name of her tutor, so I'm sure he'll be bringing his grades up soon.

  "You got that article, Featherstone?" Chase asked, coming up behind me in the workroom.

  I nodded. "Yep. Just emailed it to you."

  "Cool," he said. But instead of walking away, he sat down at the desk beside me.

  "Um, did you want to read it right now?"

  He shook his head. "No, that's fine. I'll read it later."

  I waited a beat, but he just sat there.

  "Was there something else?" I asked, starting to feel a little self-conscious.

  He cleared his throat, his fingers picking at a piece of lint on his black hoodie. "Actually, yeah. I, uh, I wanted to apologize."

  I cocked my head at him. "For?"

  He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "For leaving you alone at the dance. For letting Lipkins attack you like that."

  I shook my head. "That wasn't your fault."

  "I was supposed to be watching you."

  "Watching me pee? Come on. You couldn't follow me everywhere."

  He shrugged. "I should have stayed closer."

  "It wasn't your fault. And I totally don't blame you."

  He looked up at me through his eyelashes. "You sure?"

  I nodded. "Totally."

  "So, we're cool?"

  "Cool."

  "Good." He let out a sigh, the corners of his mouth turning up. "In that case…" He cleared his throat again, eyes going back to his hoodie lint. "I was wondering what you were doing this Friday."

  I shrugged. "No plans. Why?"

  "Well, I was kinda wondering if you wanted to hang out. Maybe get some pizza or something."

  I paused. "Like another Homepage staff meeting thing?"

  "Not really," he said, eyes still on the lint.

  "Is this about a story? A new assignment or something?" I pressed.

  "No."

  "Then what?"

  He shrugged. "I just thought that maybe you'd like to go grab something to eat. You know. With me."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Are you asking me out?"

  I didn't think it was possible, but I swear I saw Chase's cheeks go just the slightest pale shade of pink.

  "Sorta. Yeah. I guess. I mean, if you want to."

  I paused. Did I want to?

  "What about that girl you were at the game with last week?" I hedged.

  Chase finally lifted his eyes from the lint ball to meet mine, his eyebrows scrunching up. "Carly?"

  I swallowed. "Yeah. Carly."

  "What about her?"

  "Um, don't you think she'd mind you going out with me?" I asked.

  But my sarcasm was lost on him, his eyebrows still scrunching. "Why would my cousin mind me having pizza with you?"

  I blinked. "Your cousin. Carly is your cousin?"

  Chase nodded. "So, what do you say? You, me, pizza? Sound like fun?" A lopsided grin broke through the deepening pink in his cheeks, his eyes warm and soft in a way that inexplicably made my insides feel warm and soft, too.

  And I felt myself nodding.

  "Sure. Pizza."

  Pizza was good, I told myself. Pizza was easy. Friends had pizza all the time. We were good friends having pizza on a Friday night. It didn't need to mean anything more than that, and I was definitely not reading anything more into it.

  For now.

  Chase's face broke into a grin wide enough that white teeth showed between his lips. "Awesome," he said. Then he finally did get up from the desk, taking a step toward the door before he called over his shoulder, "It's a date, then."

  Oh boy. Sam was gonna have a field day with this one.

  * * * * *

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Gemma Halliday is the #1 Amazon, New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of several mystery series. Gemma's books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, two National Reader's Choice awards, three RITA nominations, a RONE award for best mystery, and two Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Awards for best cozy mystery and readers' choice. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her large, loud, and loving family.

  To learn more about Gemma, visit her online at http://www.gemmahalliday.com

  BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

  Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries:

  Deadly Cool

  Killer Looks

  Wicked Games

  High Heels Mysteries:

  Spying in High Heels

  Killer in High Heels

  Undercover in High Heels

  Christmas in High Heels (short story)

  Alibi in High Heels

  Mayhem in High Heels

  Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)

  Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)

  Fearless in High Heels

  Danger in High Heels

  Homicide in High Heels

  Deadly in High Heels

  Suspect in High Heels

  Peril in High Heels

  Jeopardy in High Heels

  Wine & Dine Mysteries:

  A Sip Before Dying

  Chocolate Covered Death

  Victim in the Vineyard

  Marriage, Merlot & Murder

  Death in Wine Country

  Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play

  Death in Wine Country

  Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

  Hollywood Scandals

  Hollywood Secrets

  Hollywood Confessions

  Hollywood Holiday (short story)

  Hollywood Deception

  Hollywood Homicide

  Hollywood Revenge

  Jamie Bond Mysteries:

  Unbreakable Bond

  Secret Bond

  Bond Bombshell (short story)

  Lethal Bond

  Dangerous Bond

  Bond Ambition (short story)

  Fatal Bond

  Deadly Bond

  Marty Hudson Mysteries:

  Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Brash Blonde