I arrange my books, level them out by tapping them twice on the table and set them down neatly.
Musical chimes ring through the classroom, signaling the beginning of class.
Students file in through the doors, more excited than usual. A low buzz fills the air, gathering to the ceiling like an invisible storm of anticipation.
“Settle down,” I say. “Class is about to start.”
No one pays me any attention.
My eyebrows tighten. Things were awkward in my AP English class, but I’d expected that. Thankfully, none of my students asked me any inappropriate questions.
This class is Literature 101, a very different demographic. What little respect these students had for me is eclipsed by whatever happened before they walked in here. I hope it has nothing to do with this morning’s leaked photo. If I’m lucky, they’re doing normal teenaged things like getting ready for the masquerade ball.
When Redwood throws a school dance, they hire high-end caterers, fly in professional DJs, and work with world renown event planners. Redwood dances are engineered for the students to take pictures and flaunt their wealth all over social media.
Motioning to someone in the front row, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“The Kings fought the football team in the hallway. Coach caught them and took them to the principal’s office.”
“What?” My eyes bug.
A stark silence falls on the crowd.
All the students turn to look at me.
Clutching at the front of my shirt, I chew on my bottom lip. “Uh, everyone, I understand that there was an… incident in the hallway, but there will be a quiz today, so I need you to focus on the lesson.”
No one responds.
“Understand?” I prod.
“Yes, Miss Jamieson.”
They speak in unison.
I crack my book open and guide them through the lecture, but I’m far too distracted by thoughts of Zane. Did Harris punish him severely? As far as I remember, Redwood has a zero-violence policy. Throwing hands on campus equals an immediate expulsion.
I don’t get it. Why would he start a fight in the hallway?
After class, I walk to the cafeteria. Whispers follow me everywhere. The students watch me differently. Laughter cackles when I leave the lunch line. Male students ogle my body in an obvious show of desire.
The sentiment is clear: now that Zane Cross had her, she’s free game.
I thought I’d at least have someone on my side, but no one seems to believe I’m innocent. At this point, I don’t know if admitting I’m Zane’s step-sister would make a difference.
In that sense, Redwood is the same now as it was then. Having so much money, the rich have to manufacture their own drama to keep themselves entertained.
In Rome, they threw the poor into a colosseum to fight.
Today, they feed on other people’s pain, near blood-thirsty for scandal. Lapping at the downfall of those they deem unworthy. Anything to feed their little egos.
The musical chimes ring.
I’m more relieved than the students.
Quickly stuffing my books into my bag, I hurry to my next class and pass Harris’s office on the way. If I happen to run into Zane and check on him, there’s no harm done.
Right?
I’m halfway to Harris’s office when someone blocks my path.
“Mr. Hall.” I jump back in surprise.
He takes a step forward, his shoes kissing my pumps. “Miss J, where are you off to in a hurry?”
“My next class.” I glance behind him. “Excuse me.”
“Your next class is that way.” He points in the opposite direction.
I freeze, my fingers tightening over my books.
He smirks at me. “Want me to walk you there?”
I shoot a longing glance at the principal’s office and paste a smile on my face. “It’s fine. I’ll walk by myself.”
Turning abruptly, I shuffle in the direction of the classroom. Theodore Hall’s eyes linger on me and, when I turn around, he smiles.
A shudder wracks through me.
I have a bad feeling about that kid.
In third period, my concentration is shot.
Screw it.
I need to find out what happened to Zane.
As soon as class is over, I text Cadence.
I heard about the fight. Are the boys okay?
She answers back immediately.
Cadence: They got sent home for the day.
I type back.
Since when do the boys get punished?
Cadence: They started a fight in the hallway in plain view of everyone. There were too many witnesses. Harris had to give them something.
I chew on my bottom lip, debating whether I should text Zane.
In the end, I choose against it.
Better not to confuse things by reaching out.
My scandal has spread to the teachers now. The lounge goes silent when I walk in. My co-workers break out of huddles and stare at me. I remain frozen in the doorway, my stomach churning with nerves. After a few deep breaths, I walk in and take my seat around the desk.
It’s fine.
I can live like this.
I’m here for Sloane, not to make friends.
Everything is going to be okay.
At the end of the day, I get a text from Jarod Cross.
My contact hasn’t found anything yet. As soon as he does, I’ll get back to you.
I read and re-read the message.
There’s something so… distant about it. Jarod Cross jumped at the chance to help me. He was the one who pushed to meet me immediately after the funeral.
Now, that energy is missing.
My head is pounding.
Something tells me I need to make progress on my investigation before things get worse.
I linger in the teacher’s lounge until everyone has gone home. When the hallways are clear, I tiptoe to the basement. In the bowels of Redwood Prep are dusty sports equipment, broken chairs, and a ton of boxes with old files. I’ve been methodically going through them since my first day here. So far, I haven’t found any information about Sloane’s case—not that I thought it would be so easy. However, I’ve taken pictures of everything dated six years ago.
I might not have the answers I need now, but I’m hoping it’s only a matter of time before I stumble on the key behind her murder.
The steps creak eerily when I tiptoe down the stairs. Once I get to the door that leads to the basement, I push confidently.
Chains rattle.
The door doesn’t budge.
Stunned, I shine my light down and notice that the broken lock’s been replaced. There’s a new gleaming, silver deadbolt.
I grit my teeth.
Harris.
He must have changed the locks after our argument.
I open my phone, maneuver to YouTube and choose a lock picking video. Sliding bobby pins out of my hair, I follow the steps on the screen. The person in the video makes it look so easy, but my hands tremble too much and I can’t get the bobby pin to twist right.
“Dammit!” I yell, sending the bobby pin flying into the wall.
I toss a frustrated look at the door.
On the bright side, Harris reinforcing this room means there really is something incriminating down here.
The bad news is… he’ll know if I tamper with the lock.
Sighing heavily, I give up for the day and tiptoe to the main floor. Next time, I’ll come back with a solution. For now, I’m exhausted. All I want is some of mom’s homemade cobbler, a bubble bath and an audiobook drifting me off to sleep.
Wearily, I drag myself back to the teacher’s lounge, collect my purse, and head through the exits.
Redwood after dark is far more sinister than it is during the day. Black light oozes through the stained glass windows. Shadows sweep over the floor.
I quicken my pace, heading for the rear entrance since the front doors are locked. The rear of the school is isolated. Trees claw toward the ground, branches heavy with leaves.
Across the lawn, I see lights on in the sports centre. A loud whistle tells me the football team is practicing. It’s late. I guess the coach is punishing the team for their leader’s mistake.
I make my way down the stairs and check my phone, considering whether or not to spring for a taxi instead of catching the bus.
“Miss J?” Someone peers at me from across the parking lot. He’s wearing a loose pair of basketball shorts and an arm band around his forehead.
It’s Theodore Hall.
Great.
Hall hurries over, grinning like I’m a Christmas present delivered early.
“Mr. Hall, what are you still doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
I notice he’s breathing hard and the front of his shirt is stained with sweat. The disgusting stench of body odor wafts to my nose.
“I was just about to head home.” Brushing past him, I hurry down the stairs.
Hall follows me, his expensive sneakers thumping the steps. “Since we ran into each other, we should grab a bite.”
“No thank you.”
“Come on. I know a great place.”
“I said no.”
“Don’t be like that.” He smirks and grabs my hand.
I shake him off. “Mr. Hall, this is not appropriate.”
“Since when do you care about being appropriate?” He pulls me close.
I try to tear away, but his hands are sweaty clamps.
My heart jackhammers against my ribs. “Let go!”
“Come on, Miss J.” Dark shadows play over the planes of his face. His teeth flash like a wolf’s. “I bet you didn’t give Zane this much trouble.” He starts yanking me down the stairs. “How much did he pay you to screw? I’ll give you double.”
The acrid taste of panic surges up my throat.
He’s too strong.
I can’t break away from him.
“Those rumors aren’t true.”
“Yeah right.” Hall glances back at me with a sardonic grin. “You act so high and mighty. Like you’re so much better than us. Like you can’t be bought. But in the end, you’re just like everyone else. That picture was proof. You’ll do anything for money.”
Using all my strength, I rip his hands off me. Hall lunges forward, but I’m ready for him. Hurling my purse full of books, I smack him across the face.
He roars, arms lifting to protect himself.
Desperately, I dash down the rest of the steps.
He pursues me. I feel his clammy fingers close around my elbow and dig into my flesh.
He wrenches me around.
I open my mouth to scream, but he clamps his hand on my lips.
I gag. He tastes like sweat and sand.
Holding my breath, I bite down on his hand.
Hard.
He shrieks in pain. Anger glittering in his eyes, he comes at me like a whirlwind. I brace myself, prepared to be slammed into the ground.
A hand suddenly grabs Hall’s shoulder and wrenches him off me. Before his body even hits the stone, he’s being slammed in the face.
His body drops like a sack of sand.
My eyes widen and I peer through the darkness. A tall boy in a hoodie climbs on top of Hall and punches him.
Over and over again.
After the third punch, Hall stops responding.
But the attacker doesn’t quit.
I hear the sickening crunch of bones splitting.
That’s when I move.
Grabbing a hoodie-clad arm, I yell, “Enough!”
Slowly, the boy turns to look at me. The side of his face is splattered in blood. The stark red is a brutal contrast against blue eyes swimming in the darkness of dusk.
“Zane?” I gasp.
He lifts those blood spattered hands to my face. He’s breathing hard, but the fingers that cup my cheeks are tender.
“Are you okay?” he growls.
I meet those sky blue eyes and realise that I am not okay. Not even remotely.
Because in this moment, my student…
My step-brother…
My biggest danger…
Made my heart skip a beat.
