by Callie Rose
“Good.”
I grin in triumph, and only now that I’ve won does my heart start to beat faster, the adrenaline of the moment catching up to me. I turn and head in the direction of the admin offices, with the guys behind me and Savannah walking stiffly by my side. Mr. Arndt passes us in the hall, and his brows furrow as he catches sight of me.
Shit. Good thing we’ve already got Savannah in tow, or I’d get kicked off campus before I had a chance to nab her. I have no doubt he’ll be reporting this to the principal, but luckily, that’s just the man I want to see.
When we reach the offices, the guys wait outside as I go in with Savannah. Mr. Osterhaut’s secretary looks a little taken aback by the sight of us—maybe because I look like I’m escorting a prisoner or something. Savannah fidgets anxiously, seeming like she might make a break for it any moment. But before she can, Mrs. Wheland tells us the principal will see us.
I march her inside his office, a room that’s become way too familiar to me over the past few months, and we stop in front of Mr. Osterhaut’s desk. His gaze bounces from the redheaded cheerleader to me.
“Harlow, I thought I made it clear that—”
“Savannah has something she wants to tell you,” I blurt, shoving her forward a little.
His gaze flickers back to her, his eyebrows lifting slightly.
“I—” She breaks off, like she can’t physically force herself to say the words.
“Yes?”
Savannah shoots a glance at me over her shoulder, and I give her a warning look. You tell the principal, or I tell the whole student body you’re a cheater and a liar.
“I… was the one who swapped out Harlow’s tests. In her Business and Economics class, and in Calculus too.”
Mr. Osterhaut’s eyes widen in surprise at her confession. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It was… just a prank.”
He tilts his head as a disapproving look crosses his face. “Ms. Harris, that’s more than a prank. That’s a very serious offense.”
I’ve heard this speech before, and I’m so fucking glad it’s not directed at me this time I could jump for joy. Victory blazes in my chest, but it’s dampened quickly as Savannah begins to cry. And not like I did when I got expelled, but a theatrical, chest-heaving, voice-quavering kind of cry.
“I… I know. I’m so sorry!”
She presses a hand to her chest, somehow managing to tug her top—which was already pushing the boundaries of the student dress code—a little lower. Her chest rises and falls as she sobs, stepping closer to the desk.
“I know I shouldn’t have done it, but ever since Iris died, I’ve just been so… so sad! I—I haven’t been myself. I’ve just been a mess. Do you know what it’s like to lose your best friend?”
She steps even closer to his desk, sinking into one of the seats in front of it and leaning forward, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.
Excuse me, what?
The first time Savannah fucked with my test, Iris was still alive. Is she seriously going to try to pin this all on grief?
Mr. Osterhaut keeps his spine straight, but his expression softens a little. “I understand that must be very difficult for you, Savannah. But as I told Harlow earlier, we simply cannot allow bad behavior to slide, no matter what the extenuating circumstances.”
She nods, her face scrunched up in a way that still manages to be attractive as more tears pour from her eyes. “I understand. And I’m so, so sorry. It’s not the kind of thing I would normally ever do—I’m not that kind of person! And I just feel awful that I did it to Harlow, when she must be going through such a terrible time with her mom being in jail and all.”
Dragging her gaze away from the principal, Savannah turns to me, her blue eyes glassy with tears. Spite burns behind them for a second, then her mask of contrition falls back into place.
“I’m so sorry, Harlow. I never meant for this to happen. That’s why I asked you to come with me to see Mr. Osterhaut today to clear things up. I couldn’t believe it when I heard you got expelled. I’ve been just sick about it.”
What the actual, ever-loving fuck?
I don’t speak. I’m too busy gaping at her like she just turned into a fucking alien.
Savannah turns back to face Mr. Osterhaut again, sniffling softly. “Thank you for listening to me, sir. I understand there have to be consequences, but if someone has to be in trouble, I’d rather it be me than her. It’s my fault.”
He squints slightly, deepening the shallow wrinkles around his eyes. Then he nods.
“Thank you, Savannah. That’s very mature of you, and it says a lot about your character. I know Iris’s death has been hard to cope with, especially for her closest friends.” He sighs. “She was a… a special student, and a lovely girl.”
“She was,” the redhead agrees softly, her blue eyes big and wide. “I miss her so much.”
Mr. Osterhaut leans forward a little. “In light of the fact that this was your first infraction, Ms. Harris, I’m going to let you off with a warning. However, I would like to have you visit the school counselor a few times. She may be able to help you process some of your feelings and find better ways to channel them. There are more productive ways to deal with grief than acting out.”
Her tear-streaked face lights up, and she hiccups a breath. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Osterhaut! That would be… amazing. Thank you. I—”
She breaks off again, apparently overcome by her tears.
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
My focus shifts from her to the principal, stunned that he’s buying this shit.
But he is.
Oh boy, is he.
He’s eating it up by the fucking spoonful, and probably patting himself on the back for intervening in a troubled student’s life.
I’m trying to tamp down my rage so I can speak without screaming when he turns his gaze up to me.
“And as for you, Harlow—since you weren’t the one to tamper with your exams, your disciplinary action will be rescinded. Your expulsion will be reversed, and I’ll alert your teachers to allow you to make up what class material you missed.”
His expression turns stern, and he glances back and forth between the two of us.
“I know this has been a difficult semester, ladies. On a number of counts. But I don’t want to see either of you in my office again, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I mutter.
At least I got what I came for—I have a school to go to again—but the victory tastes bitter on my tongue.
“I promise.” Savannah nods and rises, still sniffling as she rests her hands on the desk and leans toward the older man, letting her cleavage do what it does best—draw his focus like a fucking magnet. “Thank you again. I’m so glad I decided to come forward; it’s such a relief to have that off my chest.”
His gaze flicks down to said chest, and instead of telling her that her top is in clear violation of the student dress code, he just clears his throat and nods.
“I’m glad. You can both collect tardy slips from Mrs. Wheland on your way out.”
Savannah moves toward the door, flashing me a conciliatory, apologetic smile as she wipes the tears from her cheek. It takes me a few seconds to get my body to move, then I’m striding after her, my footfalls heavy. She’s already picking up her tardy slip when I reach Mrs. Wheland’s desk, and the middle-aged woman with the bottle-blonde bob hands me a slip too.
I mutter a thanks under my breath, barely looking at her. The second Savannah and I are back out in the hallway, I grab her shoulder, spinning her around to face me.
The kings all waited for us outside the office, and at the sight of me stepping up to Savannah, they move to flank me quickly, though I see confusion flash in their eyes.
They don’t know why they’re backing me up yet, but they’re doing it anyway.
“What the fuck?” I hiss, glaring at Savannah.
I want to scream it, but I
know if this altercation gets too obvious, we’ll end up right back in the principal’s office—and considering he just said he didn’t want to see us again, that could only end badly.
The sadness, the contrition, and the puppy-dog innocence in her expression disappear like someone flipped a switch. Tears still gleam in her eyes, still dampen her cheeks, but they look incongruous and out of place on her face now.
“See, Pool Girl?” She sneers and arches a brow. “It’s not that hard. If you were better at it, maybe you wouldn’t have been expelled in the first place.”
“I got expelled because you sabotaged me!”
Fuck, that was louder than it should’ve been. Hands wrap around my upper arms, squeezing in warning, and I suck in a deep breath, forcing my body to relax. It’s poised and tense like I’m about to go into battle.
“I could still tell the whole school your dirty little secret, Savannah,” I mutter, my voice strained. “So watch the fuck out.”
Her features stiffen, the look of helpless fear and anger returning for a second. Satisfaction flares through me, but I don’t let myself celebrate. When animals feel trapped, they’re more likely to bite.
Her lips curl, and she takes a step closer to me, lowering her voice.
“Don’t worry, Pool Girl. I won’t mess with your tests anymore. But murderers don’t belong here. Everyone knows that. And if I don’t get rid of you, someone else will.”
21
I spend most of the weekend trying to catch up on schoolwork I missed—again.
Trent returns to school on Monday, and even though he’s had a few days to heal up, his face still looks pretty bad. Anyone who hadn’t already figured out that his “flu” was a lie knows it by now. The rumor spreading around the school is that he was jumped over the weekend outside some club downtown—which happens to be exactly what happened.
But none of the kings’ names are ever mentioned in connection with the assault. Most people have no idea who did it, and the few who do know aren’t saying shit.
Trent isn’t protecting the guys with his silence. He’s protecting himself. He sounded almost hopeful when he asked if they were even that night, but I’m sure he knows if he rats them out, they won’t be.
And he’s not dumb enough to start a war with these boys.
The man in black, Iris’s death, my mom’s arrest—we’re all in over our heads as far as that shit goes.
But here? Inside the walls of Linwood Academy?
The four kings really do rule.
Maybe that’s why, despite Savannah’s cryptic warning to me, the entire week passes without incident.
No more of my tests or quizzes get fucked with, and Mr. Osterhaut instructed my teachers to allow me to catch up on the assignments I missed.
The second half of this semester has been rough. Mentally, emotionally—and sometimes literally—I just haven’t been here for it. But it matters to my mom that I do well, so I cling to my passing grades like a mountain climber on a sheer rock face.
On the Saturday before finals week, I go see her again. I went last weekend too, but it’s been harder to fit in more frequent visits while trying to stay on top of school. Her entire body seemed to loosen with relief when I told her I got re-admitted to Linwood, and even though I was glad I could deliver good news, I hated that she’d spent a week worrying about me.
“So, are you ready for all your tests?” she asks, after we’ve gone through our usual greeting and inane chitchat.
It always takes us a couple minutes to work into a real conversation when I visit, maybe because so little about this is natural. The phones we have to hold, the glass partition between us—none of this is what it should be like to talk to my mom.
I scrunch up my face. “Um, define ready.”
“Low.” She fixes me with a serious look.
“Yeah, I am. Or, I will be. There are a couple classes that are gonna be tough, but I’ve got friends who are helping me study.”
“Good.”
That seems to cheer her up immensely. I don’t mention that the “friends” who are helping me study are the four boys who tormented me during my first few weeks of school—the four boys I’m now hopelessly entwined with, caught up in a web of shared secrets, burning attraction, and undeniable chemistry.
Boys who are much more than friends.
“And how are things with Lincoln?” she asks, as if she somehow reached inside my head and plucked his name right out of my thoughts.
I’m falling in love with him.
He’s agreed to share me with three other boys.
He’s waiting for me outside right now.
“They’re… okay,” I say evasively, wishing I could tell her any of those things. “I just feel better living somewhere else. It makes things less awkward.”
As far as Samuel Black knows, Linc and I are still “broken up”, so I have to let my mom believe it too. Just in case. I’m careful never to outright lie to her about him, but it’s all fucking semantics at this point. Whether it’s a straight-up lie or a lie of omission, there are so many things my mom doesn’t know about my life right now that it makes me a little sick.
There was a time in my life when we told each other everything.
I miss those days.
“All right. As long as you’re okay,” she says, but I can tell she’s beating herself up again for not being able to take care of me—for leaving me alone to fend for myself.
I wish I could tell her that I’m not as alone as she thinks I am. That I have a good support system, four boys at my back who won’t let me fall if they can possibly stop it.
Someday.
Once she’s out of this place, I’ll tell her every fucking thing.
“I am, Mom. Promise.” I put my hand against the glass, and she mirrors the movement. “I’m excited for winter break though. It’ll be nice to have a little time off. Plus, I can come see you more.”
“Well, I always like that.”
She smiles, fiddling with the collar of her jump suit. I hate that I’m starting to get used to the sight of her in orange, that it’s no longer as shocking as it used to be. I don’t want to get used to any part of this.
We talk for a few more minutes, but she seems distracted and quieter than usual today. Something’s bugging her, but I can’t figure out what. Maybe she got some news from her lawyer?
The court-appointed attorney is a guy named Scott Parsons. He looks like he could be my age and acts way too fucking nervous to give me any confidence in his courtroom abilities, but Mom insists he knows what he’s doing and that she trusts him.
When I finally can’t take it anymore, I blurt, “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Mom opens her mouth like she might try to brush it off, then closes it and sighs. “My trial date has been set.”
My throat goes dry, and my heart kicks against my ribs. Fuck. I always knew we didn’t have unlimited time, but this puts a ticking clock on our attempt to find any damning evidence against the real killer.
“Shit, Mom. When?”
The words are barely a whisper, but the phone’s mouthpiece must pick them up anyway, because she hears me.
“Two months. The prosecution is pushing hard to speed this along. Scott is trying to slow things down, but…” She trails off and sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a good thing. The sooner my trial comes, the sooner I’ll have a chance to go home. Get back to my life.”
No. It’s not a good fucking thing. I don’t want my mom within a hundred yards of a courthouse until I know there’s no chance a jury could ever convict her.
And right now? With the evidence built up against her?
I can’t count on that.
Clutching the phone with both hands, I try not to let her hear the sharp, uneven breaths that fall from my lips as I work to get my emotions under control.
Shit. This can’t be fucking happening.
Linc’s been trying to get something on his dad, trying to pinpoint the conn
ection between him and Iris—but he hasn’t been able to find the paternity test I stumbled upon in Samuel Black’s drawer all those weeks ago, or anything else so far.
“Oh, and Judge Hollowell isn’t the one assigned to my case,” Mom adds with a slight grimace. “Maybe it’s for the best, anyway. He’d probably have to recuse himself since we went out a few times.”
I sit up straighter, my grip on the phone tightening.
“That is better. Now that you know he won’t be presiding over your trial, there’s no reason you can’t reach out to him. Just for advice, Mom,” I add, leaning forward, my whole body taut with tension. “I know Scott means well, but he’s not—”
Good enough. Tough enough.
Connected enough.
Alexander Hollowell is a respected judge in Fox Hill, and the fact that he’s been invited to several of the Black family’s cocktail parties means he’s definitely well connected.
He might be able to talk to the right people, nudge things in the right direction, and give mom a fighting chance here. If she had to go on what sounded like two pretty “meh” dates with him, maybe she can at least get some legal help out of it.
“Oh.” Mom shakes her head, waving a hand like she’s brushing the thought away. “No, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I was just grasping at straws before.”
“So grasp! Grasp!” I blurt the words so loudly that the guy having a quiet conversation with the prisoner behind the glass partition several feet away glances over at me. I bring my volume down but scoot to the edge of my seat, leaning my elbows on the little counter in front of the pane. “Now’s not the time to play it cool or worry about imposing, Mom. If there’s even a chance he could help you, even a little bit, you have to take it!”
She considers my words—I can see her turning them over in her mind—but then she shakes her head, a sad, patient smile tilting her lips. “I don’t think it’s worth it, Low. We didn’t have a love connection. It was just a couple dinners. Even if he remembers who I am, why would he want to help me?”
“Of course he remembers who you are, Mom, come on!”
