One of Us Is Lying Karen Mcmanus Read Online
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Whatever resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely casual.
Text copyright © 2017 past Karen M. McManus
Embrace photographs © 2017 past Hero Images/Getty Images, Ollyy/Shutterstock, Henrik Sorenson/Getty Images, Cameron McNee/Gallery Stock
All rights reserved. Published in the The states by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random Business firm Children's Books, a segmentation of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: McManus, Karen M., writer.
Title: Ane of us is lying / Karen M. McManus.
Clarification: Kickoff edition. | New York : Delacorte Press, [2017] | Summary: "When the creator of a high school gossip app mysteriously dies in front of four loftier-contour students all four get suspects. It's up to them to solve the case"— Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016032495 | ISBN 978-1-5247-1468-0 (hc) | ISBN 978-ane-5247-1469-vii (glb) | ISBN 978-ane-5247-1470-iii (ebook) | ISBN 978-1-5247-6472-ii (intl. tr. pbk.)
Subjects: | CYAC: Mystery and detective stories. | Murder—Fiction. | Loftier schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.M4637 On 2017 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
Ebook ISBN 9781524714703
Random House Children'south Books supports the Start Subpoena and celebrates the correct to read.
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Office One: Simon Says
Chapter Ane
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Affiliate 5
Chapter Six
Affiliate Seven
Chapter 8
Affiliate Nine
Part Two: Hibernate-and-Seek
Chapter 10
Affiliate Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Affiliate Thirteen
Affiliate Xiv
Affiliate Fifteen
Chapter Xvi
Affiliate Seventeen
Chapter Xviii
Part Three: Truth or Dare
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-ane
Chapter Twenty-two
Affiliate Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-half-dozen
Chapter Twenty-seven
Affiliate Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Xxx
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Virtually the Author
For Jack, who always makes me laugh
Bronwyn
Monday, September 24, ii:55 p.m.
A sexual practice record. A pregnancy scare. Ii cheating scandals. And that's just this week's update. If all you lot knew of Bayview High was Simon Kelleher's gossip app, yous'd wonder how anyone found fourth dimension to go to class.
"Sometime news, Bronwyn," says a voice over my shoulder. "Wait till you see tomorrow's post."
Damn. I detest getting caught reading Nearly That, especially by its creator. I lower my phone and slam my locker close. "Whose lives are y'all ruining next, Simon?"
Simon falls into step abreast me equally I move against the flow of students heading for the exit. "It's a public service," he says with a dismissive wave. "Y'all tutor Reggie Crawley, don't you? Wouldn't you rather know he has a camera in his bedroom?"
I don't carp answering. Me getting anywhere near the bedroom of perpetual stoner Reggie Crawley is well-nigh equally probable every bit Simon growing a censor.
"Anyway, they bring information technology on themselves. If people didn't lie and crook, I'd exist out of business." Simon's cold blue eyes take in my lengthening strides. "Where are you rushing off to? Covering yourself in extracurricular celebrity?"
I wish. As if to taunt me, an alert crosses my phone: Mathlete practise, 3 p.m., Epoch Coffee. Followed past a text from one of my teammates: Evan's here.
Of grade he is. The cute Mathlete—less of an oxymoron than yous might call back—seems to but ever show up when I can't.
"Not exactly," I say. As a general rule, and especially lately, I try to requite Simon as niggling information equally possible. We push through green metal doors to the back stairwell, a dividing line between the dinginess of the original Bayview High and its bright, airy new fly. Every year more wealthy families go priced out of San Diego and come fifteen miles east to Bayview, expecting that their tax dollars will buy them a nicer school feel than popcorn ceilings and scarred linoleum.
Simon's however on my heels when I reach Mr. Avery's lab on the third floor, and I half plough with my artillery crossed. "Don't you accept someplace to be?"
"Yep. Detention," Simon says, and waits for me to go along walking. When I grasp the knob instead, he bursts out laughing. "You're kidding me. You likewise? What's your offense?"
"I'k wrongfully accused," I mutter, and yank the door open. Three other students are already seated, and I pause to have them in. Non the grouping I would have predicted. Except one.
Nate Macauley tips his chair back and smirks at me. "Yous make a incorrect plow? This is detention, not student council."
He should know. Nate's been in trouble since fifth grade, which is right around the fourth dimension we last spoke. The gossip mill tells me he's on probation with Bayview'southward finest for…something. Information technology might exist a DUI; it might be drug dealing. He's a notorious supplier, simply my cognition is purely theoretical.
"Relieve the commentary." Mr. Avery checks something off on a clipboard and closes the door backside Simon. High biconvex windows lining the back wall transport triangles of afternoon dominicus splashing beyond the floor, and faint sounds of football practice float from the field backside the parking lot below.
I accept a seat every bit Cooper Clay, who's palming a crumpled piece of paper like a baseball, whispers "Heads up, Addy" and tosses it toward the girl beyond from him. Addy Prentiss blinks, smiles uncertainly, and lets the ball drop to the floor.
The classroom clock inches toward three, and I follow its progress with a helpless feeling of injustice. I shouldn't even be hither. I should be at Epoch Coffee, flirting awkwardly with Evan Neiman over differential equations.
Mr. Avery is a give-detention-outset, inquire-questions-never kind of guy, but mayhap in that location's nevertheless time to change his heed. I clear my throat and beginning to raise my paw until I notice Nate'due south smirk broadening. "Mr. Avery, that wasn't my phone you lot plant. I don't know how information technology got into my bag. This is mine," I say, brandishing my iPhone in its melon-striped case.
Honestly, you'd have to be clueless to bring a telephone to Mr. Avery's lab. He has a strict no-telephone policy and spends the first ten minutes of every class rooting through backpacks like he'due south head of airline security and we're all on the watch list. My telephone was in my locker, similar always.
"You besides?" Addy turns to me so quickly, her blond shampoo-ad hair swirls effectually her shoulders. She must have been surgically removed from her swain in lodge to bear witness up alone. "That wasn't my phone either."
"Me 3," Cooper chimes in. His Southern accent makes information technology sound similar thray. He and Addy commutation surprised looks, and I wonder how this is news to them when they're part of the aforementioned clique. Perchance überpopular peopl
e take better things to talk almost than unfair detentions.
"Somebody punked us!" Simon leans forwards with his elbows on the desk, looking spring-loaded and ready to pounce on fresh gossip. His gaze darts over all four of united states of america, clustered in the middle of the otherwise empty classroom, before settling on Nate. "Why would everyone desire to trap a bunch of students with mostly spotless records in detention? Seems like the sort of affair that, oh, I don't know, a guy who's here all the time might do for fun."
I look at Nate, but can't picture it. Rigging detention sounds similar piece of work, and everything about Nate—from his messy dark hair to his ratty leather jacket—screams Can't be bothered. Or yawns it, maybe. He meets my eyes but doesn't say a word, just tips his chair back even further. Another millimeter and he'll autumn right over.
Cooper sits up straighter, a frown crossing his Captain America face. "Hang on. I thought this was just a mix-up, but if the aforementioned thing happened to all of u.s.a., information technology'south somebody's stupid idea of a prank. And I'1000 missing baseball practice because of it." He says it like he's a center surgeon being detained from a lifesaving operation.
Mr. Avery rolls his eyes. "Save the conspiracy theories for some other teacher. I'k not buying it. You all know the rules against bringing phones to course, and you broke them." He gives Simon an peculiarly sour glance. Teachers know About That exists, but there'due south not much they tin do to stop it. Simon merely uses initials to identify people and never talks openly about school. "Now listen up. You're hither until 4. I want each of you to write a v-hundred-word essay on how applied science is ruining American high schools. Anyone who can't follow the rules gets some other detention tomorrow."
"What do we write with?" Addy asks. "In that location aren't any computers here." Near classrooms have Chromebooks, but Mr. Avery, who looks like he should accept retired a decade ago, is a holdout.
Mr. Avery crosses to Addy'southward desk and taps the corner of a lined yellowish notepad. We all accept 1. "Explore the magic of longhand writing. It's a lost art."
Addy'south pretty, middle-shaped face up is a mask of confusion. "But how do nosotros know when we've reached v hundred words?"
"Count," Mr. Avery replies. His eyes drop to the phone I'thousand still holding. "And manus that over, Miss Rojas."
"Doesn't the fact that you're confiscating my phone twice give you lot pause? Who has 2 phones?" I inquire. Nate grins, so quick I almost miss it. "Seriously, Mr. Avery, somebody was playing a joke on the states."
Mr. Avery's snowy mustache twitches in badgerer, and he extends his hand with a beckoning motion. "Phone, Miss Rojas. Unless you want a return visit." I give information technology over with a sigh equally he looks disapprovingly at the others. "The phones I took from the rest of you before are in my desk. You'll get them back after detention." Addy and Cooper exchange amused glances, probably because their actual phones are safety in their backpacks.
Mr. Avery tosses my telephone into a drawer and sits backside the teacher'due south desk, opening a book every bit he prepares to ignore us for the next hour. I pull out a pen, tap information technology against my yellow notepad, and contemplate the assignment. Does Mr. Avery really believe technology is ruining schools? That's a pretty sweeping statement to make over a few contraband phones. Perhaps it's a trap and he's looking for us to contradict him instead of agree.
I glance at Nate, who's bent over his notepad writing computers suck over and over in cake messages.
It'due south possible I'm overthinking this.
Cooper
Monday, September 24, 3:05 p.m.
My paw hurts within minutes. It's pathetic, I guess, only I tin't retrieve the last time I wrote anything longhand. Plus I'thou using my right hand, which never feels natural no matter how many years I've done it. My father insisted I learn to write right-handed in second class later on he first saw me pitch. Your left arm's gold, he told me. Don't waste product information technology on crap that don't matter. Which is anything but pitching as far equally he'due south concerned.
That was when he started calling me Cooperstown, similar the baseball game hall of fame. Nothing like putting a little pressure on an 8-year-old.
Simon reaches for his backpack and roots effectually, unzipping every department. He hoists it onto his lap and peers inside. "Where the hell'south my water bottle?"
"No talking, Mr. Kelleher," Mr. Avery says without looking up.
"I know, but—my h2o bottle's missing. And I'm thirsty."
Mr. Avery points toward the sink at the back of the room, its counter crowded with beakers and petri dishes. "Get yourself a beverage. Quietly."
Simon gets upwardly and grabs a cup from a stack on the counter, filling it with water from the tap. He heads back to his seat and puts the cup on his desk, but seems distracted past Nate'southward methodical writing. "Dude," he says, kicking his sneaker against the leg of Nate'south desk. "Seriously. Did you put those phones in our backpacks to mess with us?"
At present Mr. Avery looks up, frowning. "I said quietly, Mr. Kelleher."
Nate leans back and crosses his arms. "Why would I do that?"
Simon shrugs. "Why practise yous do annihilation? So you'll have company for any your screw-up of the solar day was?"
"One more than discussion out of either of you and it's detention tomorrow," Mr. Avery warns.
Simon opens his oral fissure anyway, but before he tin can speak there'due south the sound of tires squealing and then the crash of two cars striking each other. Addy gasps and I brace myself confronting my desk similar somebody only rear-ended me. Nate, who looks glad for the interruption, is the commencement on his feet toward the window. "Who gets into a fender bough in the school parking lot?" he asks.
Bronwyn looks at Mr. Avery like she'south asking for permission, and when he gets upward from his desk-bound she heads for the window too. Addy follows her, and I finally unfold myself from my seat. Might too see what's going on. I lean against the ledge to expect outside, and Simon comes up beside me with a disparaging laugh as he surveys the scene beneath.
2 cars, an old ruby-red one and a nondescript gray ane, are smashed into each other at a right angle. Nosotros all stare at them in silence until Mr. Avery lets out an exasperated sigh. "I'd better make sure no one was hurt." He runs his optics over all of us and zeroes in on Bronwyn as the most responsible of the bunch. "Miss Rojas, keep this room contained until I become dorsum."
"Okay," Bronwyn says, casting a nervous glance toward Nate. We stay at the window, watching the scene below, but before Mr. Avery or another instructor appears outside, both cars start their engines and bulldoze out of the parking lot.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," Simon says. He heads back to his desk and picks upwards his cup, simply instead of sitting he wanders to the front of the room and scans the periodic table of elements poster. He leans out into the hallway like he's about to leave, only so he turns and raises his cup like he'due south toasting u.s.. "Anyone else want some water?"
"I do," Addy says, slipping into her chair.
"Get information technology yourself, princess." Simon smirks. Addy rolls her eyes and stays put while Simon leans against Mr. Avery'due south desk. "Literally, huh? What'll yous do with yourself now that homecoming'due south over? Large gap between now and senior prom."
Addy looks at me without answering. I don't blame her. Simon's railroad train of thought virtually never goes anywhere skillful when it comes to our friends. He acts similar he's in a higher place caring whether he's popular, but he was pretty smug when he wound up on the junior prom court last bound. I'm still not certain how he pulled that off, unless he traded keeping secrets for votes.
Simon was nowhere to be found on homecoming court last week, though. I was voted king, so possibly I'k next on his list to harass, or whatever the hell he'south doing.
"What'due south your point, Simon?" I enquire, taking a seat side by side to Addy. Addy and I aren't close, exactly, but I kind of feel protective of her. She'due south been dating my best friend since freshman year, and she's a sweet daughter. Besides not the kind of person who knows how to stand to a guy like Simon who just won't quit.
"She's a princess a
nd you're a jock," he says. He thrusts his chin toward Bronwyn, and so at Nate. "And you lot're a encephalon. And y'all're a criminal. You're all walking teen-movie stereotypes."
"What about y'all?" Bronwyn asks. She'due south been hovering near the window, but now goes to her desk and perches on tiptop of it. She crosses her legs and pulls her dark ponytail over one shoulder. Something about her is cuter this twelvemonth. New glasses, mayhap? Longer hair? Of a sudden, she'south kind of working this sexy-nerd matter.
"I'k the all-seeing narrator," Simon says.
Bronwyn'due south brows rise above her black frames. "There's no such matter in teen movies."
"Ah, just Bronwyn." Simon winks and chugs his water in one long gulp. "There is such a affair in life."
He says it similar a threat, and I wonder if he'southward got something on Bronwyn for that stupid app of his. I hate that thing. About all my friends accept been on it at one bespeak or another, and sometimes information technology causes real bug. My buddy Luis and his girlfriend broke upwards because of something Simon wrote. Though it was a true story about Luis hooking upward with his girlfriend'due south cousin. But nevertheless. That stuff doesn't have to be published. Hallway gossip is bad plenty.
And if I'yard being honest, I'm pretty freaked at what Simon could write about me if he put his listen to it.
Simon holds his cup up, grimacing. "This tastes like crap." He drops the cup, and I roll my optics at his endeavor at drama. Even when he falls to the floor, I all the same think he's messing around. But then the wheezing starts.
Bronwyn's on her feet first, then kneeling beside him. "Simon," she says, shaking his shoulder. "Are you okay? What happened? Can yous talk?" Her vocalization goes from concerned to panicky, and that'due south enough to get me moving. Only Nate's faster, shoving by me and crouching next to Bronwyn.
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