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Title: Lies
Fandom: Sweet Valley High
Rating: T+
Chapter: Prologue/30

Sam Woodruff initially lives through the car accident he and Elizabeth Wakefield get into after junior prom and inadvertently implicates her -- and not Jessica -- as the initial cause. This has disastrous consequences.

Canon through SVH #94.
Author's Notes:


The beeping of the monitors that were attached to Sam Woodruff were slowing, telling him that he didn’t have much time, as he laid still in his bed in the ICU at Fowler Memorial Hospital. At first -- upon his arrival in the ER -- there had been talk of medflighting him to Santa Monica, or even Los Angeles. It had quickly become clear that keeping him comfortable was their only course of action. The severities of his injuries were such that it was by the grace of God that he had even lived to survive the impact.

Unfortunately, only his body had gotten the hint that he was dying. His mind was still alive.

What a terrible end this was, he ruminated. Sam had always anticipated that it would be a bike accident that would do him in, not attending Jessica’s junior prom.

Jessica, he thought darkly. Jessica was the reason that he was dying, the reason that they had been in a multi-car accident on the freeway, the reason he had gone to the Sweet Valley High junior prom in the first place. Of course she would have a hand in his demise.

“Miss...,” he croaked in the direction of the nurse that had been assigned to his room. “ many?”

Sam could remember it all.

The car in front of them, filled with Jessica’s classmates, spinning suddenly out of control.

Elizabeth trying to swerve out of the way.

Her side-sweeping the limo behind them.

Her screams.

The pain.

“Tell me,” he begged, pain filling his voice. “Please...”

“Two people couldn’t be saved,” the nurse said finally. “Your driver and the one in the vehicle that hit you were intoxicated.”

Sam took a short, painful, breath, unwilling to use the oxygen mask. What would have been the point? To prolong the joy of internal bleeding?

“My girlfriend,” he managed to murmur, not realizing that without a name he was implicating Elizabeth. “It was a joke.”

He closed his eyes.

It had been a joke, hadn’t it? No, he realized. Jessica had been angry.

She had been angry that Elizabeth had been voted prom queen over her.

She had stolen the liquor from the Wakefields’ liquor cabinet. She had poured it into the punch.

It had been a joke at the time. Or at least he thought it had.

Now two people were already dead. And he was about to be the third.

“It was just spiked punch,” he murmured, exhausted. “She didn’t mean for this.”
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