by Callie Rose
Neither of the copper-haired boys comment on it though. Instead, Chase shakes his head.
“Samuel fucking Black, huh?”
“Yeah. Maybe so.”
God, it still feels so weird to talk about it out loud. It’s hard to wrap my head around the possibility that the man who hired my mom could be a killer. Hard to reconcile the powerful, controlled figure in the black ski mask with the man who smiles more than most situations call for.
“Linc’s gotta be losing his shit,” Chase mutters, still craning his neck to look at us in the back.
My body goes rigid with worry, and River’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
“He can handle it,” he tells Chase. There’s an admonishing note in his voice, and I can read between the lines pretty easily to pick up the subtext—don’t freak Harlow out.
The boy in the front seat flicks his gaze to me, and he nods vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah, of course he can. We just gotta find some evidence to prove it, and then we can finally go to the cops. Let that Dunagan guy take it from there.”
Yes, please. There’s nothing in the whole damn world I want more than to pass off the information clogging up my brain and heart to someone who knows what they’re doing. Who has the resources to investigate and the authority to arrest the true killer.
But I can’t do that until I know it won’t put my mom or any of us in worse danger.
Not until we have solid proof.
We meet Lincoln outside the front doors of Linwood, and it doesn’t look like he slept at all last night. He looks slightly disheveled, his hair unkempt and his eyes a little too bright, like he’s exhausted and wired at the same time.
I step into his embrace immediately, and he wraps his arms around me, his grip almost bruising. When he pulls back, his gaze darts from me to River. The gray-eyed boy nods slightly, and I have a feeling they just pulled a Dax and Chase and communicated some message without words. I also have a very strong feeling that message is about me.
Linc’s amber eyes focus on me again, and when he speaks, his voice is low, meant only for me.
“Did you go swimming, Harlow?”
I want to laugh at the fact that somehow that’s become our code word for whatever this thing developing between us all is, but I’m too nervous to even crack a smile. I know what he said, and I know what River said. But it’s still hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that they could all really be okay with this. That it could really be possible.
“Yeah. Just… in the shallow end.”
He does smile at that, and some of the strain and exhaustion leaves his face for a moment. Then his grip tightens on me a little. “We still good, baby?”
“Yeah. Always.”
He nods in satisfaction, and we all turn to head through the front doors of the school.
In the afternoon, Mr. Arndt gives the class a pop quiz in Business and Economics, and—as he promised Mr. Osterhaut he would—he takes steps to ensure I can’t cheat. I have to leave my backpack and cellphone at my desk and go sit right up front where he can watch me. He even makes the two kids on either side of me move so there’ll be no chance I can cheat off of them.
The quiz isn’t actually all that hard, but I deliberately get a couple questions wrong. The last thing I want is to be accused of cheating when I just happened to know all the answers for once.
As soon as I finish filling out the last section, I drop my pencil and hold up both hands, fingers splayed like I’m being held up at gun-point. I keep them there until Mr. Arndt calls time at the end of class, and when he comes by to personally collect my quiz sheet, I think I see him fighting an amused smile.
Good. He used to like me pretty well, and I want him to like me again. I need all the allies I can get around this place.
I pass Savannah in the hallway as I head to my next class. Trent is leaning against a bank of lockers, and she’s leaning against him, her back to his front and his arms around her waist. His gaze lands on me and slides away immediately, but her blue-green eyes narrow as they track my movement.
“Don’t you just hate pop quizzes?” she asks loudly, turning her head to direct the question toward Trent, even though I’m sure it’s meant for me. He chuckles but looks a little uncomfortable.
My footsteps freeze, and I turn toward her, my hands already curling into fists. We haven’t spoken since our altercation in the girls’ bathroom, and I really thought she knew better than to keep fucking with me.
She snorts a laugh, although I notice she sinks deeper into Trent’s embrace, probably hoping to use him as a shield if it comes to that. “Don’t worry, Pool Girl. Nobody messed with your quiz. You can fail that class all on your own.”
Her falsely sweet smile makes me want to knock her fucking teeth out.
But I don’t.
I force my fists to unclench, then turn and walk away, pressing my lips together as her lilting laugh follows me down the corridor.
Focus on what’s important, Low. Focus.
What’s important is finding something real to tie Mr. Black to Iris’s murder.
What’s important is keeping out of trouble at school so Mom has one less thing to worry about.
Punching Savannah in the face would be satisfying as fuck… but it’s not important.
Calculus goes by in a blur, and by the time I make it to my eighth period History class, I’m so ready for this day to be done. I barely got to talk to the guys at lunch, and I want to find out if Linc has any ideas of where to dig for clues about his dad. I’ve snooped around the house a bit, but he’s got to have access to stuff I don’t.
I take notes as best I can with half my brain already focused elsewhere, and as soon as class ends, I gather up my bag and head for the door.
“Ms. Thomas. Hold on a minute, please.”
Our teacher, Mr. Heller, is an older man who always looks like he’s counting down the days until retirement, and when he says those words, there’s a flatness to his voice that makes my stomach drop.
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
Praying fervently that this is about something stupid and mundane, I hesitate by the doorway, turning to look back at him. When he grabs a small packet of papers from a stack on his desk, I blink at it like he just picked up a live snake. I know exactly what that is. It’s the test we took a week ago.
“I’ll be handing these back tomorrow, but I noticed some… discrepancies with yours. I need you to come with me to Mr. Osterhaut’s office.”
The air seems to go out of the room.
Shit.
Shit.
That’s what Savannah’s falsely sweet taunt was about. She was fucking with me. She didn’t sabotage my Business and Econ quiz—she picked a new class.
And that makes me look guilty as hell.
I can’t get my mouth to open, can’t form words to answer Mr. Heller, but he doesn’t wait for me to respond, stepping forward with my graded test in his hands and gesturing me toward the door. He leads me down the steps to the admin wing, and my legs feel numb as I follow him.
How many times can I fucking do this? I already begged the principal for a second and third chance. He won’t give me another, I know it.
Mr. Osterhaut looks up as we enter, his face pinching when he registers who it is. And I’m positive in that moment he already knows what this is about, and he’s already determined I’m guilty.
I don’t know what to say. Last time, I started blurting out declarations of innocence as soon as I sat down, but it hardly helped my case. And I don’t know how to convince him I didn’t fucking do this.
Mr. Heller hands over my test—one of the biggest we had all semester—to the principal, explaining how my exam was clearly doctored.
Mr. Osterhaut glances over the papers, shakes his head, then sets the packet down and interlaces his fingers. His expression settles into a mixture of frustration and resignation. “Harlow, I thought when you promised not to cheat again, you understood that applied to all of your
classes, not just Business and Economics. To say I’m disappointed is an understatement.”
Jesus, no. This can’t be fucking happening.
“I’ve given you allowances and second chances—more than are usually granted in these types of situations, because I know you’ve been going through a lot.” He leans forward, his expression softening somewhat, like he’s going to try to convince me this is all for my own good. “But when people who act out continually get away with bad behavior, it sets an unacceptable precedent for me, for the school, and for them. I simply cannot allow it.”
“So, what?” My voice is harsh, thick with angry tears that haven’t fallen yet. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that effective immediately, you are expelled from Linwood Academy, Ms. Thomas.”
The words hit me like a punch to the solar plexus, and the tears I’ve been holding back pour out of my eyes. I hate crying in front of people—I’ve never been the type to use tears to get out of traffic tickets or make people feel sorry for me. But I can’t keep them contained right now.
I don’t say anything, hardly make a single noise as the world blurs in front of me. When I glance over at Mr. Heller, he looks awkward and uncomfortable, like he really wishes he didn’t have to be here for this part.
Mr. Osterhaut’s face is carefully blank, as if he doesn’t want to be accused later of being either too cruel or too kind.
“You may collect your things from your locker. We’ll notify your mother in writing.”
My mom. Oh fuck, my mom.
At least they can’t call the prison to tell her. It’ll take them a few days to send her the notice, and by that time, I’ll have told her myself. She deserves to hear it from me.
I don’t know what else to say. I want to drag the principal down the hall and find Savannah, to put him face-to-face with her and make her fucking admit what she did. But she won’t. All that will do is give her a front-row seat to my expulsion.
Mr. Osterhaut says something else, but I barely hear the words. The second he dismisses me, I grab my backpack with numb hands and bolt for the door, still half-blinded by tears. I’m charging down the hallway with the vague idea that I have to get to my locker when a voice stops me.
“Low?”
It’s Dax.
I turn to see him and Chase striding toward me, twin looks of concern on their faces. The sight of them snaps the last bit of manic energy that was keeping me going, and I start to shake all over. My legs feel like they’re about to give out, and I just want to get off this fucked up ride before the people I love get hurt any worse.
“Jesus.” Dax’s voice drops to a low growl, and the next thing I know, he and Chase are at my sides, their hands gripping and supporting me. “What the fuck happened? Is it your mom? Did Mr. Black—”
“Dude. Not here.”
Chase shushes his brother, then the two of them tug me toward a door and pull me inside an empty classroom. I almost trip over my own feet; I’m still trembling so badly I can hardly stand.
The classroom is dim. The lights are off, so the only illumination is from the gray winter sky outside. I can feel Chase hovering nearby as Dax grabs my shoulders gently, ducking his head to peer into my eyes. “What the hell happened, Low? What’s going on?”
“I got… expelled,” I choke out. “Savannah. She fucked with my tests again—and I got expelled.”
“Oh, shit.”
His face drops, and he tugs me into his arms. I never bothered putting my backpack on, and now the straps fall from my fingertips and it hits the ground with a dull thud.
Dax’s voice rumbles in his chest as he glances at Chase. “Text Linc and River. Tell them where we are. What’s going on. Shit.”
There’s a pause while Chase does what his twin asked, and then he steps up behind me, the hardness and warmth of his body shielding mine.
I don’t know how this keeps happening. How I keep ending up encapsulated between these two boys. I only know that it’s starting to feel like one of the safest places in the world. Their bodies surround me completely, Dax’s head by my right shoulder and Chase’s by my left, their arms looped around me like we’re some kind of three-headed statue.
And in this little bubble created by the three of us, the chaos and awfulness of the world can’t quite reach me.
I can breathe.
We stay like that until the door bangs open again, and when River and Lincoln storm into the empty classroom, I’ve finally pulled myself together enough to stand on my own.
“What the fuck?” Lincoln snarls. “Savannah?”
I nod, wiping my cheeks with the heel of my hand. “Yeah. Probably Trent too. They were giving me shit after my Business and Econ class—I just didn’t realize what it was about until it was too late. This was my third strike, and Mr. Osterhaut wasn’t kidding about coming down hard.”
River looks quietly furious, and Linc looks like this news, coupled with our suspicions about his dad, might send him over the edge entirely.
I shake my head slowly, trying to make myself believe the words even as I say them. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not that big a deal—it’s just a stupid school. I haven’t even gone here for a full semester anyway. I just… didn’t want to make shit harder on my mom.”
Linc’s eyes soften for a second as he looks at me. But then he shakes his head right back, his features hardening like steel.
“It does matter. And we’re gonna fucking fix this.”
19
I know Linc meant what he said, and I appreciate that the kings of Linwood, once my biggest detractors at the school, want to find a way to help me stay there.
But it’s not as easy as just busting into Mr. Osterhaut’s office and demanding he take me back. We need to come up with solid proof that I didn’t do it—and when the hell did my life become all about searching for evidence, trying to clear both my mom’s and my name before the people who framed us get away with it?
I can’t even help since I’m not supposed to be on school grounds. And since I’m not living in the Black household anymore, I can’t even use any of my sudden copious free time to snoop around in Mr. Black’s study or the rest of the house.
I feel fucking useless.
The day after my expulsion, I visit my mom at Fox Hill Correctional Center. I try to put a positive spin on it, pointing out that maybe now I’ll find a school that’s a better fit for me and assuring her that I didn’t actually cheat on any of the exams. I’m not sure if it makes her feel any better though.
What parent wants to hear that their kid essentially got bullied out of high school?
She doesn’t yell at me or blame me, but I can practically read the thoughts bouncing around in her head. They mirror my own.
If I just got kicked out of my fancy prep academy, and my mom’s currently sitting behind bars on a murder charge, what the fuck did we come to Fox Hill for?
As stressful as it may have been trying to make ends meet back in Bayard, at least our lives there were simple. Normal.
I can see guilt in Mom’s features, and I hate that I’ve taken away the little piece of consolation she was clinging to—the belief that no matter what’s happened to her, at least my life is better out here.
Our visit is short, and it’s the first time in as long as I can remember that we run out of things to say to each other.
I spend the next two days holed up in the basement at River’s house, trying to find a decent school that will take me this late in the game. I may have to wait until next semester to start, and that’ll put me behind for graduation.
River’s parents know I’m staying here now, although they think I’m sleeping in the guest room on the other side of the large basement, and they don’t know I’m camped out at their house all day instead of going to school. I feel like a fucking bum, more truly uprooted and homeless than I ever have before.
I don’t know what River told his folks that made them okay with having a teenage girl sleeping down t
he hall from him—at least, as far as they know—but they really don’t seem to give a shit that I’m here.
Then again, they’re both gone so much of the time that it’s possible they’ve sort of forgotten I’m here.
On Thursday, River gets home from school a little after 3:30. I’m sitting cross-legged on his bed, poring over my open calculus textbook. I didn’t return any of my books. Mr. Osterhaut can come collect them himself if he wants to, but in the meantime, I’m not letting myself fall behind like I did after Mom got arrested.
When River arrives, he opens the door and peeks inside before swinging it wider and stepping through. He always does that, and I find it sweet and sort of funny that even though this is his room, and even though he’s seen me completely naked, he’s still so hell-bent on giving me that bit of privacy.
Maybe it’s also because even if he knocked, he wouldn’t be able to hear my answer—so he’s just making sure I have fair warning before he comes in.
As soon as I see him, I flop backward onto the bed, grateful for the excuse to stop studying for a little while. A second later, the mattress dips as he crawls up beside me, planting his hands on either side of my head and framing my face.
“How was your day?” he asks quietly.
“Shitty.”
He grimaces, lifting one of his hands to brush his fingers along my collarbone. Then his expression lightens. “We’re going out tonight. The guys will be here around nine.”
“Out? Where?”
I don’t want to sound like a party pooper, and I’m sure they’re just trying to cheer me up, but I’m not really in the mood to go anywhere. The idea of drinking or partying while my mom’s in jail—while I should be working to get her out—makes me feel a little queasy. As much as I’d kill for a normal high school experience, I’m pretty sure it’s way too fucking late for that by now.
