by Lucy Auburn
An oblique, slightly angry curve turns his mouth into a caricature of a smile. "No, there isn't."
"Maybe I should call my lawyer."
"That won't be necessary." Putting away his pad, he tells me, "I'll just note that the association with LeGrand was anonymous—and shut that part of the case. After all, I'm not supposed to investigate it. For some reason."
A reason that begins and ends with the Elites, I imagine, and whatever it is that Cole did to get me back at Coleridge. If that's what money buys—a change in an open police investigation—I shudder to think what else that kind of influence might have covered up in Great Falls.
Now I don't know if Lukas warned me about the cops because some of them are corrupt—or worse, because some of them aren't, and can't be easily bought by outside influence.
Detective Lyons tells me, "Have a good day, Ms. Wilder. We'll be in touch if any developments are made in your case."
"Thank you," I tell him, even though my heart is still slamming against my chest.
When I get back in the truck, Wally and Mom both shoot me worried looks, but I just say that the detective wanted another description of the men who took me. They don't need to worry about all the other things going on, things I've gotten myself into—and in over my head.
Rosalind Hall looks different.
It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since I was last here, but everything about it feels like I'm in a dream. Finals are still happening—I'm barely prepared—and the campus is filled with activity as students head towards their post-lunch classes. Everything looks, and feels, normal.
I can't forget Georgia's hateful face as she told the whole campus the truth about me.
I have angry texts from Chrissy. Confused ones from Sasha. Disappointed-but-not-surprised voicemails from Tricia. Then the texts trying to figure out where I was, if I was missing, if this was a prank or I'd just run away. I let them all know that I'm fine, and their replies were one word answers, their worry no doubt replaced with anger at me for all the lies.
This is what it feels like to no longer have friends because of things you've done. The rest of my semester at Coleridge is going to be cold and lonely. I can handle it, as long as Hass getting arrested is my early Christmas present.
"Alright, here we are." Wally looks up at the building; he and Mom walked me through security, and he's got my bag slung over one shoulder, my few things shoved in it next to Silas's laptop. "You sure you want to do this? Because you can still come home, Brenna. Stay with me and my parents if you need to, go back to Wayborne High. It's boring, but that can't be so bad compared to what almost happened to you last night."
"I'll be fine." Reaching out, I squeeze my mother's hand, worry pinging through me at the thinness of her bones and tendons as they rub against each other beneath her pale delicate skin. "This place has top notch security. And the officers investigating what happened are right nearby. Nowhere could be safer."
"We can stay for a while," she offers, even though we both know she doesn't have the luxury of taking time off work for that. "If you need me, if you need Wally, we're here for you."
"I know." Looking into her eyes, I really believe that she wants to do her best to protect me—even if she doesn't know how, or she lacks the strength to join me in the coming fight. "I'm not going anywhere. You won't lose me Mom, I promise."
I kiss her on the cheek and hold her tight, trying to give her a little of my strength, desperate for the fire that burns inside me to light the flickering candle of her vitality. I don't know why it is that she's so weak and grown weaker—grief, maybe, or being abandoned by her husband after losing her son. I worry for her being alone, and wish there was something I could do to help.
But I can't go home. Not yet. Not until I've laid my demons to rest, and the only place to do that is here at Coleridge, among the Elites.
"I love you," I murmur against her hair, and she says it back, her voice fierce and proud. "I'll come home soon for Christmas. Finals will be over in the blink of an eye, and then we'll be together again. You'll see."
"I'll be counting down the days."
After I step out of her arms I step into Wally's, and this time I'm the one receiving strength, not giving it. He's impossibly warm, a furnace beneath his thick coat, tall and broad and strong as an ox.
He tells me, "I'll come pick you up on the eighteenth. As soon as these damn tests of yours are over. And we're driving straight home, no stops."
"Got it." I smile up at him, then glance over at Mom. "Take care of her for me?"
"Always." He squeezes my hand. "Not just for you."
For Silas.
We share a brief moment of silence, both of us in that memory together. The one where we found his body hanging from the rope. The one where we cut him down.
"I'll get the men who killed him," I vow in a low voice to Wally. "I swear to you."
"Let the cops handle that."
Mouth tight, I shake my head. "They'll pay. I'll see to it."
"Fierce, wild Brenna. Don't destroy yourself in the process."
I promise nothing.
We say goodbye, and I watch them go for as long as I dare. Before the temptation to follow them grows too strong, I turn away to face the place where I'll be living until the exams are over, and after that, until Hass has been taken down.
Rosalind Hall. Ancient, beautiful, and foreboding. But what's really intimidating about it isn't the stately architecture or the impressive gardens that wrap around its brick walls.
The frightening thing about Rosalind Hall is the girls who live, and sleep, inside.
My room is just as I left it: a little bit messy, bedsheets askew, the dampness of the walls oppressive. Once I stopped living with Holly and left the Rosalinds, I was assigned to this room beneath the stairs, big enough for one and sad enough for a Gothic heroine to be stuck in while she waits for her hero to arrive.
Unlike Jane Eyre, though, I won't be ending my story with a brooding handsome suitor whose mysterious secrets are mine to accept. There's no happy ending for me. The only way this whole thing ends is with destruction—of the people who killed my brother, or of me.
Sighing, I make my bed and do my best to turn my room into something less depressing. A glance at my phone reveals that I have no new messages—not a big surprise. All my friends must hate me now that they know how long I lied to them. And if they also know what I did to Holly... well, I don't expect I'll be getting any texts anytime soon. I'll be lucky if I'm not completely shunned.
Georgia couldn't have planned things better.
At least I have Silas's laptop. I can't afford to let it slip out of my hands, so I move all my books and stuff into my old backpack and sling it over my shoulders. From now on this thing is going everywhere with me—even to the bathroom. It's the most important thing in my life, the key to everything.
I won't let my brother's murderers get away with what they've done.
Flipping it open and pressing the power button, I watch the cursor spin as it turns on. Before he left my hospital room, Lukas told me to try to come up with different ways to break the encryption Silas put on the hard drive partition. He said that I'd be able to figure out what methods or passwords he used best—I'm his twin, after all, or was before we put him in the ground, six feet deep and lifeless.
I wonder if I knew my brother well enough to know what kind of words he would use to hide something so important he was killed for it. Whatever I thought I knew about him, I was clearly wrong, because I didn't know him at all.
The laptop is a heavy weight as I head towards my last set of classes before finals begin, after which I'll get five days at home for Christmas break before Mom goes back to work and I have to come back here and do it all over again. Thinking about another semester at Coleridge, this time even more alone than before, makes me want to pack my bags and call Wally to beg him to turn the truck around and come get me.
As I'm considering what doing just that would feel like,
even as I know I won't because of all the things I still need to see through to the end here, a familiar voice greets my ears. Dread curls in my stomach as I turn the corner towards my first class, Calculus, and come face-to-face with Sasha and Tricia. They pause in the middle of chatting in low voices, looking startled as they see my face.
Tricia says, "We thought you were still in the hospital." Then a moment later, "We uh, we would've come to visit. Were planning on it. But y'know, finals..."
"What she means to say is, we didn't know how to react to the news about you." Sasha is blunt where her girlfriend isn't; Tricia winces and squeezes her hands together at her words. "I mean, you lied about your name. Apparently you stole money or something—I still don't get how that worked, but I guess that's why you're not one of the Rosalinds anymore. And then you were kidnapped. Now you're just... back?"
I stare at them. "Nice to see you too, I guess."
"We just don't know how to react," Tricia explains, grimacing. "I mean, you could've told us. No one cares about your brother. I just don't understand why you would come here if..."
"Do you hate us?" Sasha blurts out. "I mean, Georgia said something about how you only came here in the first place to like, get you revenge on the rich kids who ruined your brother's life or whatever." I wince; the parts of Georgia's speech that I tuned out were apparently more revealing than I realized. "We're those rich kids, so I guess we just thought maybe you hated us too. Like you hate Holly."
I can feel my face go cold as all the blood drains from my cheeks at once. "I don't hate Holly! Who told you that?"
Shrugging, Tricia says, "We just figured you wouldn't have done what you did to her unless you really, really hated her."
"Yeah," Sasha says, "I mean, I like a good plot as much as the next girl, but using her for her money seems a little much. Why would you do that if you don't hate her?"
Her question digs deep to a place inside me I don't want to look at too closely. A rotten core that grows and festers the more I feed my misery and hate.
Ashamed, I tell the two of them, "I didn't do it because I hate Holly. I did it because I hate myself. There's... something wrong with me, ever since..."
"Ever since your brother died?" Sasha guesses, and I wordlessly nod. "Huh. Well, as long as you don't plan on stabbing me to death in my sleep, I guess I don't really care about the rest."
"Maybe next time, don't steal from someone as nice as Holly," Tricia adds, making me wish that I could sink into the floor right here, right now, and never come back up again. "I mean, if you're going to steal, Sasha is the one to target. She probably has half your bobby pins and a book you thought you were going to read stored in her dorm room."
"I do not!" Sasha objected, huffing indignantly. "I took one of Brenna's old scarves and a few ponytail holders, but that's it. Honestly you make me sound like a serial killer."
"You take things. As a... hobby?"
Raising an eyebrow at me, Sasha comments, "There are worse things to do. Also, it's not like I took anything you needed or noticed missing. I just like collecting old unused stuff. Especially from my friends."
Tricia shakes her head in dismay, but there's a little smile of affection curling up the corners of her mouth. "Like I said, so weird. But I guess if I can put up with her little eccentricities, I can put up with yours, too Brenna—as long as there aren't any other secrets you're hiding."
Just a little deal with four terrible boys, the kisses I shared with each, and my brother's laptop in my backpack, holding secrets untold. But that's not what Tricia is talking about, so I shake my head.
And, because I need to, I tell them both, "I'm sorry. I know I've been kinda fucked up. I shouldn't have lied to you about my name. I just couldn't deal with the truth. It was too hard to live with being his sister and all the consequences that came with it, when I didn't even get to live with him anymore."
"Yeah." Reaching out, Tricia squeezes my shoulder, which is basically a huge hug with a kiss, coming from her. "Sounds rough. I'm glad you're back."
"Me too." Sasha throws her arms around me hugs me tight—so tight that I can feel the sheath of a knife against her outer thigh, and have to hold back a little giggle of delirium. "Hope you make it through finals and come back next year."
"Speaking of... we've got to get to class."
"Yeah," I say, voice breathy from having the life hugged out of me by Sasha. "I should probably go too. Don't want to fail out after everything. Then I might really die."
I say it in a joking tone, so they both laugh—and cringe—but the truth isn't so far away.
Even after all this, I might fail out of Coleridge just because I'm not quite smart enough to hack it.
Chapter 9
My predicament with finals, it turns out, isn't exactly a secret. Although Blake isn't a teacher's assistant for our shared Calculus I class anymore, he still manages to pull me aside after class along with the teacher, Ms. Saint.
"Ms. Wilder," she says cooly. I redden as I wonder what message the teachers got about my new name for enrollment—and if it was as curt and steeped in privilege as Detective Lyons' orders not to investigate me further. "You have, understandably, undergone a recent trauma. And it has come to my attention that you may not be as prepared for our upcoming final as one may hope."
Reddening further at Blake's dark eyes on me, I defend myself. "I've been studying as much as possible. And my grades are going up—I'm not failing."
"Yet." I don't love the way she says the words, or what follows. "Your final is twenty-five percent of your grade, Brenna, and if you fail it, you'll fail the class. Which means repeating it next semester, and not graduating on time—not to mention the threat to your scholarship, which I imagine you need to continue attending."
Which I imagine you need. Is it that obvious that I'm poorer than everyone else here? The scholarship, of course, wasn't something I earned, but I've decided I deserve it all the same. I lost a brother and hardened my heart to get it and my place here at Coleridge. Blood has paid for what I've illicitly gained many times over. No one here has sacrificed as much to get here as I have.
That doesn't mean I'll get to stay if I don't do something about how terrible I am at math.
"I'll study more," I promise Ms. Saint, wondering what Blake is doing here at all, after everything. "What happened last night won't stop me from trying my best in your class. I won't let one final jeopardize my spot here."
Studying me over the top of her glasses, Ms. Saint nods sharply. "Good. Blake will help you by giving you private tutoring. I've cleared it with him already—he's most sympathetic to your predicament after what happened to you last night. Please, if you need anything, Brenna, let my know. I'm here to help."
Her warm sympathy falls on deaf ears, because all I can do is stare at Blake in horror. He looks like he's enjoying my dismay, and of course he would—we're going to be stuck in a small room together for hours if he gets his way, free to torture me in private. I don't kid myself that just because I've teamed up with the Elites on a singular goal, and Cole has cleared the mark on me, that anything has changed where Blake Lee is concerned. He's still the same impossibly cold, impossibly privileged son of a movie star and an entertainment mogul, his statuesque handsome exterior the thin veneer that covers up a cruelty just beneath.
To think, I sometimes look into his hard, angry eyes and see a reflection of my own fiery anger simmering there.
We couldn't be more different if we tried.
Looking back at Ms. Saint, I admit to myself that there's no easy way out of this. I'm going to have to do what she wants, even though I highly doubt Blake will actually help me. And based on the expression on his face, he knows it too.
The torture never ends.
"Thanks, Ms. Saint." Even as nausea rises in my stomach, I paste a smile on my face that I hope is convincing. "I'm sure he'll be a real help."
In English with Lukas, we thankfully share no interactions other than friendly ones. Unlike pric
kly Cole, roguish Tanner, and cold Blake, he seems to be mostly normal and easy to deal with—which only makes me wish that much harder that I'd never falsely accused him and only ever kissed him out of the Elites.
Maybe if things were different, Lukas and I would be more than distant acquaintances stuck together for a while. More, even, than friends.
Then again, I'm, well me. Even if I had perfect skin and highlighted hair—the salon appointment I booked with Georgia's card has already bronzed and faded—Lukas and I are almost as different from each other as Blake and I are. He has a literal heart of gold, despite growing up in privilege, and the smooth, easy personality that befits a diplomat's son. I'm all hard edges and scorching fire, certain to turn him off with the truth at my core more than anything.
It's good that my time here at Coleridge has an end date. If it didn't, I just might be doomed.
After English class is lunch, which I dread more than anything else today. Even whatever Cole has cooked up for me in Visual Art class can't be worse than walking back to the scene of the crime. The dining hall in the Coleridge Center is the same exact room where Georgia revealed the truth about me—and changed everything.
Hass will be there.
Just thinking about that makes my hands tremble. I haven't seen him since the Blind Ball, haven't even thought of him much after that day in the library when I saw him push Georgia up against a wall and grope her. But he's the one who found me. He's the one who called the police.
He can't have had a good reason for being there.
I'm going to find out the truth, and I'm going to take him down. To do that, I have to be able to face him. The least I can do is walk into the dining hall without flinching.
So why do I find myself standing still right outside English class instead, unable to make myself walk further? Here I thought the fire inside me was burning bright again and I'd be able to do anything.
