by Lynn Stevens
“What’s going on?” I asked again.
Ceci hiccupped on a sob and lifted her gaze to meet mine. “After class, Madame took me to her office.” She hiccupped and sobbed again. “She told me she was tempted to recast me if I didn’t get my act together. She accused me of trying to ruin the ballet.”
That made no sense whatsoever. Ceci was one of the most naturally gifted students in class. Yeah, I thought I was just as good, but I worked at it. Ceci just was. And I’d always thought she was one of Madame Gutherie’s favorites. Since day one, Ceci had been at the top of the class, praised for her effort and her abilities. What had changed?
“She was so mean about it too. Kinda like how she was with you earlier.” Ceci clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
I shrugged it off. “Why do you think she was like that to you?”
Ceci sighed and stared off toward the mirrors. Her gaze met mine in the reflection. “She pointed out my time in the studio had gone down. I wasn’t in here as much to practice.”
“Because?” I raised my eyebrows, knowing where this was going. We all had our own codes to the studio. Madame Gutherie could check the extra hours spent inside. The less time in the studio, the less committed you were. That was probably why she rode my ass so hard, despite my medical reasons for missing.
“Because I’m sort of seeing someone,” she said with a cringe.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“I think so, but… I spend as much time with… her as I can.” Ceci’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. “So it takes time from the studio. Not that I don’t dance outside or in the common room, but Madame Gutherie doesn’t count that. She doesn’t see that.”
“Does your girlfriend dance?” My mind wrapped itself around this information. Was it someone in class? Or someone I knew? Ceci and I had a couple of other classes together. Was her girlfriend in one of them? My nosiness was heightened to new proportions. It wasn’t any of my business, but I was very curious.
Ceci smiled sheepishly. “No, she’s not a student here.”
My curiosity only piqued higher. When would Ceci have time to meet someone not on campus? It was like a forbidden love story playing out in real life, and I was one of the heroine’s confidantes. Ironic, considering Ceci and I weren’t really friends.
“You know that club over off Palace Road? The one that looks like a fairytale castle?”
I nodded. “Fever, right?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Ceci’s gaze took on that faraway look people get when talking about love. “She’s a bartender there. We met a couple of weeks ago after Heide and Lucille ditched me at the bar to dance with a couple of lacrosse players.”
My blood burned at the thought of them with those cheating jerks.
“We texted for a few days, then we went out on a date.” Ceci sighed again, this time with a positive memory. “It was perfect. We’ve spent as much time together as we can, but she works six nights a week at the club, so I go there a lot. The dance floor isn’t overly crowded during the week, so I practice when I can.”
“I bet that gets you a few looks,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
Ceci shrugged. “It’s kinda weird not to have my toes on. I don’t have a great floor to practice on or the music I need. Maybe I’m just … acting like Madame Gutherie said.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. Besides, I already knew what Madame had said. She’d said it to me before. “Selfish?”
Ceci nodded. Her eyes rimmed with tears.
“She tells everyone that.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but I’d learned over the last several years of being in Madame’s crosshairs that she uses shame as a teaching tool. “She told me I was selfish to put myself in a position to get hurt.”
“You had a concussion,” Ceci said, her eyes wide with horror.
“Yeah, and I didn’t ask for it.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Look, Ceci, Madame is abusive. She’s mean-spirited and thinks that’s the only way to get things out of her dancers. She’s normally not like it publicly to anyone but me, and I don’t know why she hates me so much, but she does it behind closed doors all the time. You can’t let it get to you. If you need to spend time with your girlfriend, do it.”
Ceci’s face lit back up at the mention of her girlfriend. “Yeah, it’s still pretty new. I like just being around her.”
Knowing this girl as well as I did, that was going to be a problem in the long run. Ceci tended to get a little obsessed. “That’s exactly what you do, but don’t forget to come to the studio. If it means you don’t hang out at the club a couple nights a week, then you don’t. Meet your girlfriend after she gets off work or go to the club after you get a few hours of practice in.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Emmy.” Ceci rose to her feet. Like water, lifting toward the ceiling. “You’re okay, though? I mean, after the concussion?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I stood with much less fluid motion. “My muscles are still stiff, but I’m working through it.”
“Nobody wanted to ask you what happened, but we’re all dying to know.” She bit her lower lip and furrowed her eyebrows.
“I just ran into somebody who didn’t like what I was working on for the paper,” I said, keeping it as vague as possible.
“Oh God,” she screeched as if I’d given a detailed description of how Colin had slammed his fist into my face and blood spouted from my lip like a fountain. “Do you think he’ll attack anyone else?”
I snorted. “No, this wasn’t some random guy. He was after me and me alone.”
“Will he come after you again?”
“I don’t know. Max killed the story, so I doubt it. Unless I keep working on it.” And I plan to. “I’m safe.” For now.
Ceci’s phone rang in her bag. She fished it out and grinned before answering. “Crap, I missed her.”
“Call her back in a few. Don’t let Madame see you rushing out of here on your phone. She’ll lay into you again.” And you won’t look too eager to your new girl.
Ceci pointed at me. “You’re totally right. But are you sure you’re okay? I mean, it sounds like this person can come after you again.”
“It’s possible,” I admitted. “If I work on the story. It needs to be known, but I don’t have the evidence to back it up.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she said as she waved goodbye.
I stood in the center of the floor and stared at myself in the mirrors. Maybe it was a good thing Max made me drop the story. If only for my safety. But it wasn’t a good thing that these guys were getting away with cheating. Who knew what else they were doing? No, I wasn’t giving up on the story. I just needed more sources.
Colin and his friends needed to be taken down a notch or two.
The library was packed when I got there. My phone dinged with a text, but I ignored it. There had to be more to the cheating by the lacrosse team. I was persona non grata around anybody involved with them, including the girlfriends and friends of friends. Heck, I was pretty sure the coach’s dog would’ve growled at me if I got too close. My breakup and the subsequent rumor I had plans to expose the cheaters was enough to put a target on my back. So I needed a new angle.
A new way in.
I needed to spy on the team and their girlfriends. And I needed to get their academic records. There had to be proof in there somewhere. Latisha and Laura, twins who hung all over the goalies, sat near the stacks in the corner. They were working, but I knew they loved to talk. If I staked out the stacks close enough to them, I might hear something.
It took me a few minutes to maneuver the Labyrinth without being seen. I snuck into the stacks nearest them and slid to the floor. It didn’t take long before they started talking.
“Did you finish Demarco’s sociology paper?” Laura asked her sister.
I opened the voice recorder on my phone.
“Yeah,
now I’m behind on my own homework. What about you? Did you finish Mickey’s?” Latisha’s voice carried better than her sister’s.
“Shush, you fool. Somebody might hear you.”
Latisha snorted. “Nobody’s around us, silly.”
I kept my eyes down and listened as someone, presumably Laura, shifted to glance around.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Laura paused for a moment. “Mickey’s is done. So are Colin’s history paper and Will’s English paper.”
“You did theirs, too?” Latisha sounded impressed. “Why?”
“They paid me. I wasn’t going to, but a hundred bucks each is enough incentive. I get why they used to buy their papers. It’s easy money for the people who write them.”
“We should charge everyone, including our guys.” Latisha laughed. Okay, more like cackled.
“If I had more time, I would, but we’ve got our own work to do, too.” Laura sighed and tapped her pen against the table. “I could probably add one more person to my list, though. You could add a few. Think about it, that would be six hundred bucks between us. We could send some money home to Mom.”
“Where do some of these guys get the money, anyway? I mean, most of them are bankrolled by their parents, but some of the other guys? They’re as broke as we are.”
Laura laughed quietly. “Scholarships are a blessed thing. Besides, silly, the school pays the lacrosse boys to play, especially the boosters. They hide it in their records somehow, but that’s where the money comes from. Being National Champions four years running has its privileges.”
“All of them?”
“Okay, not all of them, but the stars for sure.” She tapped her pen on the table. “The lacrosse team has a lot of donors.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know, all right. Let’s get back to work. I need to finish my own paper for history before tomorrow. Unlike the guys, we can’t afford to lose our scholarships.”
Laura and Latisha went silent. I peeked through the stacks. They both had their heads down and typed away on their laptops. I waited a few more minutes, but neither one of them said anything about the lacrosse team. Quiet as a cat, I slipped out of the stacks and turned off the voice recorder. Once I was outside, I replayed the conversation. It was clear as day.
I had them. I finally had them.
I have something to show you. I sent the text to Max.
Bring it over. In the office.
I rolled my eyes. Of course he was, where else would Max be? I stopped just outside the door and took a breath. This was big. Huge. The story I’d been working on landed in my lap like a Christmas present from the heavens. I glanced down at the voice recording and smiled.
Then I thought about what would happen if I dropped my phone. I uploaded it to the cloud and sent a copy of it to my email account. I’d learned the hard way that backing up once was never enough.
Max sat behind his desk at the front of the empty newsroom. It wasn’t as busy as I imagined it had been before the digital era. The old-time idea of a newsroom was long gone. Writers could post their stories in an instant from anywhere with an internet connection instead of calling it in from a payphone.
Clearly, I’ve watched too many old movies.
I rushed his desk as he hung up the phone. “I got it.”
“The story on the homeless shelter?” He steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “I gave that to Erin.”
“What? That was my pitch.” Irritation coated my words. “Why’d you give it to someone else?”
He shrugged. “She needed a story, and I needed her to gain some confidence after the last debacle she turned in. It’s a fluff piece anyway.”
“It was mine either way.” I almost put my phone in my pocket when I remembered the real reason I was here. Shaking my head, I swallowed my pride and moved on. “Bad move, but I have my story anyway.”
With a dramatic flair, I put my phone down on his desk and hit play on the recording. Max’s eyes went wide as he listened to Laura and LaTisha talk about writing papers for the lacrosse team. When they talked about making money off it, his gaze shot to mine. He leaned back in his chair, a loud crick ricocheting off the walls. Max’s brow furrowed, then he shot forward in his seat and hit delete on my phone. Before I could stop him, he hit yes to confirm.
“This can’t get out,” he said quietly. He ran his hand through his hair. “I tried to …”
“You tried to what?” I asked. The bottom had just dropped out from under me, and I had no clue how to react to this. “What did you do, Max?”
“Look, Emmy, I did it for your own good. The dean came to me and told me to kill the story. He’d heard rumors—”
“Rumors?” My voice jumped an octave. “You mean from his son?”
Max closed his eyes and pinched his nose.
“What did you do, Max?” I asked again, feeling the rising tide of anger taking over me.
“Did you back this up?” he asked quietly. “Tell me the truth, Emmy, or I can’t protect you.”
“No,” I said after a few beats. The lie felt smooth on my tongue. “I came straight over here.” My knees gave out, and I collapsed into a chair. “I only thought about the story.”
Max nodded and stared over my head.
“Why?” I asked meekly.
He dropped his gaze to meet mine.
“Why would you do this?”
“Dean Franks was going to pull your scholarship.” Max shook his head. “I know… I understand how much you need it to finish your degree. Losing that over a story isn’t worth it.”
I snorted. “But allowing a bunch of cheaters to hold on to scholarships they didn’t earn is okay?” I stood and picked my phone off the desk. “Good luck, Max. I hope your politics don’t get in the way of your ethics again.”
“I still need that editorial piece on LeHigh you promised,” he said as I walked toward the door.
I turned to face him, seeing him in a completely new light. The Max I thought I knew would never have let external pressure kill a story, especially a scandal like this was. The Max I saw now would do anything to save face.
“Give it to Erin,” I said, then I pulled open the door and didn’t think twice as I strolled down the hall.
Chapter Seven
I walked with no direction. The campus blurred by me until it gave way to the surrounding business. A few blocks later, I was standing at the back entrance of the Church of Perpetual Sorrows. Even though I was raised Catholic, we didn’t go every week. Grandma preferred to watch mass on TV. I walked around it toward the front and stared up at the twin bell towers built with stone, not found in this part of Florida. The placard at the corner said the church was built in the 1890s.
It was beautiful in a way only old churches could be. The building commanded praise and demanded obedience. I’d never really looked at it before. Two years at Camelot U, and I’d never been inside it. A need pulled at me. I wanted to go inside, confess my sins, and admit my confusions to the priest.
“Em?”
I turned quickly at the sound of his voice.
“Hey.” Quinn walked toward me with a bag of mulch on his shoulder. His black tank showed off the carved muscles of his arms. He dropped the bag by a dug-up flowerbed next to the stone steps. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I turned to stare up at the bell towers. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? We go through life, rushing to get somewhere, that we don’t take the time to appreciate what is around us.”
“Yeah.” He stopped next to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head tilted back to admire the view. “Camelot’s trying to buy the property, but the church won’t sell. Father Rossi’s convinced the archdiocese to hold on longer, to serve the community. Even though the school’s working on buying that up, too.”
“Seriously?”
“In the last six months, a lot of for sale signs have come down.” He turned toward me. “It won’t be long until the walls start to come d
own, too.”
“That’s… wow.” There was so much to process. I could smell the story and filed it away. It was definitely something to look into. I shook my head and faced him. “Sorry, I just had a really bad afternoon and found myself here.”
“It’s okay. You wanna talk about it,” he said, pulling off gardening gloves. “I can take a few minutes before Father Rossi comes out to check my progress.”
“Is this where you work?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise. Based on the wary expression on his face, I failed. Miserably. I smiled shyly. “You never told me.”
“Yeah, Father Rossi found me at the shelter after I got out.” Quinn shrugged as if it was nothing, but I knew this was the biggest thing he could tell me outside of his time overseas. This felt bigger, more personal somehow. “He goes to the shelter to talk to the guys about faith and God. I wasn’t the most open person back then. But he talked to me like I was a normal guy in a bad situation and not just somebody who’d been to hell and back. He treated me like a person.”
I waited as he collected his thoughts for a few seconds. This was hard for him.
“He’d been the first to take my confession since I was a kid. I started to go to mass regularly. After a couple of months, he offered me a job and a place to live. So I live above the garage of the parsonage and take care of the grounds and maintenance of the building. Father Rossi also helped me get into Camelot.” Quinn glanced up at the doors of the church. “I owe him my life.”
I put my hand over his. “Sounds like a great guy.”
Quinn snorted and squeezed my hand before letting it go. “He’s a real ball-buster, to be honest. He accepts no excuses. Takes no bull.” He picked up a shovel, leaning on the handle. “What you see is what you get with Father Rossi.”
“I bet.” His stare made me uncomfortable, and I shifted. “What?”
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or do I have to guess?”
I pursed my lips together. Quinn had shared so much with me, and it was so much bigger than my little problems. This felt like child’s play compared to the life Quinn had led so far. He’d been in war. He lived in a homeless shelter for a while. He had a bag of crap handed to him. What did I have? My ethics were hurt. Big deal.
