“Well,” he begins, lowering his voice and stepping forward. One of his cool, dry palms comes up to cup the side of my face as his eyes meet mine. “I don't need to marry an heiress. My family is wealthy beyond all reason.” Church leans down toward me, and I feel myself start to tremble at the thought of him kissing me. I mean, he's a damn good kisser. My mind strays back to that night at his parents’ house, the way his hands roamed up under my skirt, the heat of his lips against mine. “And what is money for, if not to provide some level of freedom and control over one's life?” He levels his gaze on mine, speaking directly against my lips. “You've met my parents. They don't believe in arranged marriages, or convenience marriages—they believe in true love. They're fanatical about it.”
He releases me and steps back without actually following through with a kiss, and disappointment fills me the way that ice-cold water filled the tunnels beneath this creepy school.
Don't get embarrassed, Chuck, stick with the snark! That's our thing.
I flick some of my blond hair back from my forehead and give Church a saucy Monica-inspired look.
“Don't you think they'll freak when they find out?” I ask as Church lifts a few of the boxes marked Miscellaneous Crap from the floor to the top shelf in the closet. I'm too damn short to reach it.
“Find out about what?” he asks as he raises his arms up, and his pajama top climbs just high enough to show off the muscles in his lower back. I reach up to wipe drool from my lips, even though it's just a metaphorical move in the first place.
“That we're not actually …”
“In love?” he questions, looking back at me just before the door opens and Spencer appears, Ranger not far behind. Spence’s hands are tucked in his pockets as he moves into the room and looks around like he's sizing up the place. Then his attention lands on the uniform lying across my bed, and his mouth twitches.
“In love?” he says, repeating Church's words back to him. “And with a schoolgirl uniform just waiting to be put on? Come on, what am I supposed to think about this?” At least he's smiling when he says it. Ranger, not so much.
“I can't believe we were written up during senior year. Your dad's an asshole.”
“Yeah, sorry about that …” I say, tapping a finger against my lower lip. “Come to think of it, I really shouldn't have talked back to him like that. He's going to go out of his way to make this year a living hell for me.” I pause as Spencer unzips the garment bag and fingers the pleats of the skirt, and Ranger steals a coffee from Church's little red mini-fridge. “And also, probably for you guys, too. Apologies in advance.”
“Eh, you're worth every write-up,” Spencer says, lifting his turquoise eyes from the uniform to my face. Heat strikes through me like lightning, and I find myself shifting nervously in front of him, suddenly self-conscious about my baggy California Love sweatshirt and matching sweats. The way Spence looks at me, you'd think I were wearing a ballgown and a full face of makeup. He coughs suddenly and turns away, back to the stupid uniform again. “You know, now that we've got a lead on Mr. Murphy for the notes and … Mr. Dave for … Church stabbing him …” Spencer trails off and Ranger makes a grunt of protest as he sits on the edge of his best friend's bed. “What I mean to say is,” he lifts his head up to look at me, “why not just go as a girl now?”
“What?!” I blurt out as Church closes the closet and turns back around with that contemplative look on his face. Where are the fucking twins anyway? I wonder as all three guys stare at me like they're actually considering this nonsense. “I can't go as a girl! Newsflash: one of our teachers has been leaving me threatening notes, another one of our teachers got stabbed by someone in a hoodie, and there was a dead kid in the woods. Not to mention the creepy people in fox masks.”
“Yeah, but it's pretty clear at this point that it isn't femicide,” Ranger says, his blue-streaked black hair shiny and razored into an edgy rock star look. He puts just enough gel in, that one might think he spends zero time in the mirror. Now, I don't know for sure, but since the twins each spend an hour perfectly mussing their hair each morning, it wouldn't surprise me if Ranger did, too.
“Femicide?” Spencer asks, also snagging an iced coffee from the mini-fridge. Church snatches it right out of his hand, and he rolls his pretty turquoise eyes as he goes in for another.
“A sex-based hate crime,” Ranger replies, leaning back on the bed, dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. Tomorrow, he'll be back in his uniform, so I take a brief moment to enjoy the sight. “Meaning, I don't think Charlotte is being targeted for her gender.”
“Yeah, but …” I start, thinking of all the reasons I didn't want to attend Adamson as a girl in the first place. I'm not going to lie: I was scared. It was scary to be a girl surrounded by unfamiliar guys, especially in a new school, a new state, on the opposite side of the country from everything I'd ever known. And then the notes started coming, and the boys were bullying me …
Things are different now though, aren't they?
But I'm still scared. Just for a different reason.
“It might actually make things easier,” Church muses, leaning against the wall next to the closet. He's got that faraway look in his gaze again, like he's piecing together clues nobody else is even aware of. “You've got us now, and only a complete moron would bother the Student Council's girl.”
“The Student Council's girl?” I say skeptically, but … it's pretty much true, isn't it?
“But it would get more eyes on you,” Church continues, pushing off the wall to open the door for the twins. He must be, like, psychic or something, because they didn't even get a chance to knock.
“More eyes?” Tobias asks, lifting a red-orange brow in question as he and Micah fill up the narrow hallway space between us and the door.
“If Charlotte starts attending class as a girl, then the whole school will be talking about her, looking at her—”
“This is not a very compelling argument,” I murmur, but Church just plows on.
“The more people that are looking at her, the more she stands out, the less she can be targeted in the shadows.” He slides his palms down the lapels of his fancy pj shirt. “It's a solid idea, my darling.”
“Your darling?” the twins echo, making faces and then sticking their tongues out. “Gross.”
“It may be, Churchie-poo,” I retort, and both Ranger and Spencer join in in looking squicked out as I pick up the ring box and flick the lid open, examining the pink diamond inside. “But I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with attention from the entire school.”
“It's your decision to make,” Ranger says, narrowing his eyes to slits, like he's pissed off about something. He's probably not though. I've learned over the last year that he just always sort of looks like this. But it's also his fierce determination and overprotectiveness that make him likable. And also, lickable. Notice how those words are only one letter apart from each other. “We're here to back you up either way.”
There's a brief knock at the door before it opens up and Nathan the douche-canoe security guard is swinging the beam of his flashlight in all our faces.
“Curfew time, everyone to their own rooms,” he barks as the twins turn in unison, blocking Nathan's view of me in my pajamas. Hopefully they're baggy enough that he won't notice anything noteworthy, but the moment also makes me realize how much easier it'd be for us to hunt the murderers if we didn't have to worry about this secret on top of everything.
“You're supposed to knock first,” the twins snap, lifting their lips up in matching snarls as Nathan blinks bored eyes at us. His beard is sprinkled with Doritos crumbs again, and I can smell the Mountain Dew from here. How pleasant.
“I did knock,” he says with a shrug, tucking his flashlight into his belt. “But, despite what you little shits think, I'm not on your orders. The Headmaster wants all students accounted for and in their own rooms by eight.”
“This is ridiculous,” Spencer growls out as Church's face goes ice-cold.
He's looking at Nathan like he's almost certain he's one of the prime suspects. “Since when do you get to cuss students out?”
“Good question, Mr. Hargrove,” Church says, watching as Nathan's eyes swing his way and stay there. The two of them stare at each other for a long, long moment before Nathan retreats, slamming the door behind him. He'll be back in thirty minutes to check on us. And then once every few hours after that. Thanks to Jason What’s-His-Name’s ‘disappearance’—aka his death—we really are being subjected to nightly attendance checks. Guess dad just didn't mean at the hot springs resort, huh? And there goes my new sex life, I think, flushing a bit. “When did Nathan get so uppity?”
“He was looking at you funny, too,” Spencer adds as the twins exchange a look and Ranger stares across the room at me.
Maybe he can tell I'm actually entertaining the ridiculous thought of attending Adamson in a skirt?
I must be slowly losing it.
Despite my father's desperate attempts to keep the gossip buzz to a minimum, the following Monday at Adamson is flooded with rumors about Jason and what might've happened to him.
“He was the only person on this campus who stood a chance running against Church and saving us from the shitty Student Council,” Mark declares loudly as I take my seat in my English and literature class. Of course, he's timed his remarks in just such a way that the twins—my escorts for today—have already left for their own class. “Has anyone else noticed that all of this weird shit started happening after Chuck enrolled here?”
I ignore him, pulling out my academy-issued iPad and using the eReader program to open my textbook. I'm determined to do well this year. I'll have to, if I want to get into college. The twins talked about Bornstead University like they were sure I could get in, if I really wanted to. And I do. For the first time in my life, I have a plan for my future—as tentative and unsure as it may be. In the past, I used to just fantasize about hanging out at the beach, surfing until the sun went down, and supplementing my income with something random like working at the Jamba Juice.
Yeah, I'm finally starting to figure out how silly that sounds.
“You have nothing to say for yourself, Chuck,” Mark sneers, coming over to stand in front of my desk. He puts his palms on top of my iPad, smearing fingerprints across the screen. My lips twitch in irritation as I look up at him. “And then on top of everything, your skinny, pathetic ass is now engaged to the richest guy in school? What a crock. You're nothing but a gold-digging faggot.”
I shove up from my seat, bristling with anger as the rest of the class turns to look at us. Mark's dark eyes twinkle with satisfaction, and the smirk working its way onto his face makes my fists itch with the threat of violence. I'd love to deck this ass pig, but what good would that do me? He could probably kick my ass in his sleep.
“You don't know anything about my relationship with Church,” I hiss, narrowing my blue eyes on him. “And besides, you're one to talk. Your best friend committed suicide, and you don't seem to give two fucks. I bet you tied that rope to the tree and hung him yourself.”
Mark's faces flashes with barely suppressed rage as he reaches out and grabs me by the new blue tie I've got on. While juniors wear navy slacks and blazers with champagne colored ties, seniors get the reverse: champagne colored slacks and blazers with blue ties.
“Really? You're accusing me of helping my best friend commit suicide? I could just as easily ask you why the only guy in this school who's ever challenged Church Montague for his position in the Student Council is now missing. Seems pretty convenient, huh?”
The door to the classroom opens and Mr. Murphy walks in. Unfortunately for me, he teaches both junior and senior English. Most particularly, he teaches the non-AP classes which, obviously, I’m in.
So now I get to sit here and learn about classic literature from a guy who's been leaving me threatening notes. He glances my way and notices Mark's hand on my tie. The asshole releases me fairly quickly and saunters back to his seat, but not before tossing a look over his shoulder that says he isn't done with me just yet.
I take a seat and glare at Mr. Murphy for the remainder of class. He pretends not to notice, but I know he does. His smile looks a little forced, and there's sweat on his forehead, despite the cool autumn temperature.
The rest of our first week back is like that, uneventful but a little weird, a little off. It's like the student body can sense that there's a murder-mystery brewing right beneath their noses. I'm actually surprised to reach the weekend unscathed.
Well, relatively unscathed. With the lockdown in full effect, Nathan breathing down our necks, and my dad treating me like a delinquent, it hasn't been a very exciting five day stretch.
“I swear, I could close my eyes and like, not wake up for an entire month.” I flop down in Ross’ old chair in the lobby of the Student Council room and lean my head back against the seat. His job is so much harder than I thought. Like, I had no idea how much I was padding onto my workload by accepting the job of personal assistant to the Student Council. It's a job I won't have much longer if we don't win the elections next week. Each guy has to run separately for his position, although based on what I hear of past years, there's absolutely zero competition.
You know, except for the recently deceased Jason.
“Remember the first year we did this,” Ranger says to Church as the latter of the two starts some fresh coffee brewing on the table in the corner. “Before the twins transferred here. We had that idiot Gerald Mikel as secretary and his dumb-shit of a best friend as treasurer. What a nightmare.”
“Gerald Mikel used to bring decaf coffee to meetings,” Church says, narrowing his eyes in just such a way that says that's most definitely an unacceptable and inexcusable action. “I never liked him.”
He turns around to look at me, an empty mug in hand, holding it out of habit maybe?
For the past five days, we've been dancing around the fact that we're one, technically engaged; two, sharing a room together; and three, dating. It's been a little awkward, but in a good way, in an I have butterflies living in my belly sort of way.
“Has anyone given you shit over our engagement?” Church asks as the door opens and Spencer and the twins come in, laden with Tupperware from yesterday's Culinary Club meeting. We're practicing for the bake-off against Everly All-Girls Academy in spring. You know, provided we're all still alive then.
“Not really,” I start, rubbing my finger over the ring on my hand. Whenever I pass Dad on campus, I swear, his eyes dart right to it and he bristles in frustration. Hypocrite. Mom was nineteen when she had me, and by then, they'd already been married for months. Besides, Dad was in his thirties when he started dating my teenage mother. He really has no room to talk. “Mark called me a gold-digging faggot on Monday, does that count?”
“Let's beat him up,” the twins say, and I smile. It's sort of their, like, motto or something.
“This is getting way out of control. Mark used to know how to toe the line, but now he just insults our girlfriend and gets away with it? I don't like that,” Spencer says, tucking his hands together behind his head and frowning hard.
“Don't forget,” the twins say, each lifting up a single finger in the air. “He's guilty. We're sure of it.”
“So you've said before,” Church murmurs, finally pouring a mug of coffee and then, contrary to his usual character, he douses it with cream and sugar before coming over to stand in front of me. He offers up the mug while the other four boys gape at us like we've just started having a wild rut in front of them. This time, when Church hands me the cup and tries to keep our fingers from touching, I thread mine through his and he goes completely still. Our eyes meet, and a hot cord of tension runs between us, invisible but powerful and potent anyway. “I've been thinking about him. Him, and all our other suspects, and here's what I've got.”
Church releases the coffee into my hands and moves away as Spencer flips his tie over one shoulder and leans back against one of the wal
ls, popping open the top on a Tupperware container and going for a freshly baked molasses cookie. Our food theme this week was autumn fresh. Bleh. Ranger made it up, can't you tell? He also made miniature fondant squirrels to stick on some cupcakes. Don’t think I missed him blushing while he examined their cuteness.
P.S. They had sparkly tails, too.
“And?” Tobias asks, taking a seat on the bench and leaving his feet flat on the floor. When Micah sits beside him, he crosses his legs, and I smile. It's the little tells, right? “What's the verdict, Mr. President?” He takes an M&M cookie from a separate container, picks the blue M&Ms out and then gives them to his brother. Micah does the same, but passes the green ones to Tobias.
“Mark's family has attended Adamson since the very beginning,” Church says as I sip my coffee, wishing I could take my bindings off but knowing that we've got student meetings today. It's my job to check each person in, mark down names and complaints into the computer system, and then lead them back to the boys for their meeting. Once they’re finished, I have to add the resolution—if any—to the student's file, how long they were in the room, and then run any errands necessary. On Monday, I had to head out and reset the locker combinations on five different lockers. Of course, I can't go anywhere by myself, so Spencer went along with me and we may or may not have made out in an alcove on the way.
I'm a bit useless as an assistant right now, I suppose, but the boys want me here anyway, and I'm too selfish to say no.
“And, interestingly enough, so have Selena’s and Aster’s families.” Church pours himself a cup of black coffee and turns around. “By the beginning, of course, I mean since the very first class was held on this campus. They all have ancestors who used to work at the abbey that was here before it was turned into a school.”
The Forever Crew Page 7
