by Tijan
Becca shouldn’t have been able to see the motion, but I had a feeling she wasn’t missing anything.
He bent down and whispered in my ear, “Cops want to question me about last night. Cross said to wait to talk to everyone before deciding the story.”
I couldn’t give him my opinion—not my real opinion. Nosy people were overhearing, so I hissed, “What story? We were home last night, remember?”
Jordan was silent, and Mr. Broghers had grabbed whatever he needed.
“Okay. Right. Off we go, Miss Salla—” He moved around us toward the office door.
“Becca, please.” She began to follow, casting a furtive look over her shoulder to Jordan and me. “Or Rebecca.”
He paused, a genuine smile on his face. “Rebecca, then. And I’m Kenneth, as I’ve already said.” He added a nervous little hiccup laugh.
“That’s disgusting.” Jordan groaned behind me. “He’s, like, thirty years older than her.”
Agreed.
Becca stepped past him out into the hallway.
Mr. Bro almost let the door close, so eager to please, but then he remembered me and ducked back in, a cloud forming over his face. “Miss Monroe?” There was no question to his command. He was just playing the part.
“What is going on?” Jordan whispered.
“I’ll tell you later,” I whispered back, starting forward. “Don’t say anything. I already lied to Principal Moron about last night.”
Jordan’s head moved back. “He was asking?”
“Bren!”
I could only nod before stepping out into the hallway, and then we were off to the library.
But bright side, I knew Cross had study hall in the library, and double bonus, it was during first period. If Miss Becca was intrigued by Jordan and me, she’d be consumed by Cross.
I was kinda looking forward to that.
I was right.
As soon as we swept into the library, I spotted Cross at the desk. He turned as we approached, and Mr. Bro groaned at the same time Becca ground to a halt.
“Oh my,” she said. “Is that what high schoolers look like nowadays?” She narrowed her eyes, as if musing to herself. “Then again…”
“Mr. Shaw.” Principal Broghers’ shoulders rose, held, and fell. So dramatic. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in class?”
Cross left the desk, stepping to the side so he could see me better.
Mr. Bro stepped between us. “I don’t think so. Miss Monroe is here to assist Rebecca today. She’s been excused from her classes.”
Cross’ eyebrows shot up. “She has?”
“I have?” I echoed.
Becca stood silently, taking it all in.
“Mr. Shaw. The reason you’re here. I’m waiting for it.”
If he could’ve stomped his foot and gotten away without looking like a toddler throwing a tantrum, I had no doubt the principal would’ve done it. There was a slight whine to his voice too.
“I’m sorry.” Becca stepped forward, holding her hand out. “You are…” She shook her head in amazement. “You are gorgeous. Holy crap.”
Cross didn’t shake her hand, but she didn’t seem to notice. She stepped back, taking him in from head to toe. “Has anyone told you you could be a model?”
My thoughts exactly.
“You play sports?” she added.
“Uh…” Cross turned to me. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
“Mr. Shaw!” the principal barked.
“Chill, Kenneth. He’s got first period here. Study hall.”
“Kenneth?” Cross mouthed at me, a grin teased at his lips. “We can’t use the cafeteria. Someone in the administration said it was too much like social hour. You know, with all the talking and snacks. You sent us to the library since there’s no empty classrooms. Remember?”
Becca pointed between us. “Wait. Are these two in a…”
Kenneth rolled his eyes ever so slightly. “They are a couple, yes.”
Becca stopped talking, but her mouth remained open. Her eyes pinged between us. As if coming to a decision, she folded her hands together and took a step backward.
I could read Cross’ thoughts: What the fuck? I wondered the same thing.
“Is the back room ready for us?” Kenneth asked the librarian, who had perched at the counter, waiting.
She grabbed her keys and moved around, stepping through our little circle. “I’ll unlock the doors.”
Becca started to follow, but the principal waited, his beady eyes on Cross and me.
I didn’t move. Neither did Cross.
Then Cross sighed. “Really? We can’t even talk? She’s not going anywhere.”
Kenneth chewed the inside of his cheek, seeming to think it over. “Fine.” He sighed, surrendering. “But make it quick. Miss Monroe is finishing off the rest of her hours with this project. It’s important, and I don’t want anything to mess this up.”
His threat was clear. He didn’t want us to mess anything up, our crew.
He stalked off, and Cross moved next to me, still watching our principal weave through the tables of students. “What the hell is going on?”
I filled him in as quickly as I could and with as much I could say. Mr. Bro was going to come barking for me to follow him any second.
“Kenneth?” That was Cross’ first question.
I grinned. “Yeah. Isn’t it awesome? I didn’t know his first name.”
Cross smirked. “Okay, but Kenneth aside, you’re worried about this show?”
I gave him a look. “Aren’t you?”
He shrugged, leaning against the front desk. “I don’t know. I mean, why would we? It’s nothing to do with us, right? It’s about your brother’s friends. Right?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
I stepped in closer. “They already did that show on the Kade people. Why come back? And why do I have this feeling it does have to do with the crews?”
Cross straightened up. I had all his attention now. “You think this is a thing against us?”
“I don’t know if it’s us specifically, but the crews. Yeah. I mean, we know they were starting to make moves against the crew system last semester.”
“Yeah, but…” Cross cut himself off, thinking, his jaw clenching. Then he cursed under his breath. “You’re right. They haven’t been able to get rid of the system. What’s a last ditch-effort someone might take?”
A sick feeling had taken root since I was called into the principal’s office. “Shine a spotlight on us?”
“We look like fucking gangs to the outside world. People don’t like gangs. They hate them. That’s how they’ll spin everything. They’ll talk about the violence.” His gaze centered on me. “They’ll talk about you. But…” He stepped back again. “Who’d actually talk, though? If you’re a Normal, you keep your mouth shut. If you’re crew, you keep your mouth shut. We shouldn’t have to worry.”
But I was worrying. And I could see he was now too.
He cursed again, raking a hand through his hair. “This is not good.”
“Speaking of not good, I saw Jordan in the office. He mentioned the cops?”
“Yeah—”
“Miss Monroe!”
There it was, that bark I knew was coming.
Kenneth stood between two bookshelves, his tie thrown over his shoulder. He jerked his hand toward me. “Are you coming?”
Cross shifted to stand behind me, brushing up against me. “Why am I having bad thoughts about Broghers?” He clarified, “Things we could do to shut him up.”
I grinned. “I don’t think egging his car would do it.”
“We saw how well the last principal reacted when Jordan dated his daughter.”
“Bren!”
I had to go. “Yeah, but he is gone after all,” I called over my shoulder.
Cross didn’t respond, but he watched me, and those tawny hazel eyes softened before smoldering. I could r
ead his mind. He needed me, and I was there with him.
I suppressed a groan. Desire could roar through me at a moment’s notice, and it was spreading wide and fast, all through my body.
His eyes darkened. He was reading me too, and his lips twitched. He mouthed, Later.
I nodded, forcing myself to turn and walk away from him.
Kenneth huffed in impatience and stepped aside as I entered the aisle that went to the back section.
“I am going to have your boyfriend moved to a different class during this hour,” he informed me. “And do not push me on this, because I could get him banned from the library for the rest of the year. And yes, while you’re helping Miss Sallaway, you will be spending most of your time in the library.”
I didn’t know what to think about that.
That told me Cross’ presence would be a huge threat to this project and also how invested Kenneth was. All facts we needed to know for whatever was coming.
“What about my class time?” I asked.
“I’ve talked to your teachers. Given that we only have a few weeks left in the school year and that you are not attending college, they’ve agreed to give you modified work to complete. There will be extra tests for you to take, which you will need to study for, and they will provide the specific learning materials you’ll need.”
“But—” I was reeling. Was that even legal?
“This is a special scenario, and yes, I did get permission from your guardian,” he snapped. “I explained the general scope of the project and the extra studying you would have to do to pass your classes. But let’s be honest. You are intelligent. You do minimal work in the classroom to pass your exams, and most of you seniors have already completed the majority of any requirements you need to graduate. The last month is a cake month for you, and seniors will be released within two weeks anyway. So no, you will not find a loophole to get out of this project. You are on probation. The law requires you to be here, I require you to be helpful, and I am your judge, jury, and possible executioner. Got it?”
With that, he stormed back to the room where I could see a camera guy standing in the opened doorway, the lens pointed our way.
Yeah.
Two things hit me at once:
One, whatever he’d recorded there was going to be destroyed.
Two, I really needed to start bringing my knife to school with me again.
Becca had a stool just behind the camera, to the right.
After seeing the entire camera setup in its entirety, I was awed but also nervous about the direction of this whole thing.
Becca talked to the librarian a bit more, then Kenneth. Another older couple, probably in their early fifties, were there as well. They all conferred.
The librarian left first.
The principal next.
Becca remained in that circle, her head bent with the other two, and I had a feeling maybe they were the real bosses. They kept going over a list and pointing at items on there, speaking to Becca. She nodded until they asked a question.
She pointed at me. “Her,” she said.
They looked at me.
The woman’s hair was almost silver, but it didn’t look old on her. It looked regal. With her thin frame and her hair pulled up in a loose bun to frame her angular face, she could’ve been a model in her day. Long arms, long legs. There was an intense perusal in her gaze as she looked me up and down.
She didn’t speak for a long time. The man didn’t either, but it was her that pulled me in and held me captive. I wanted to shift around, adjust my shirt, scratch my face. But under her gaze, I couldn’t. Kenneth was a bonehead at times. Becca was young and smart, but with this woman, there wasn’t anything. She was an impermeable wall. It was as if she was reaching inside of me, and she could sense my inner thoughts and emotions, though. And just like that, the old Bren sprang to life.
I almost sighed.
She’d been getting teased awake more and more today, and I was not liking it. I had a balance going. Yank too deep inside of me, and that old Bren would come out, and no one wanted that. Me included.
Fuck this. Fine. If this old broad was going to psychoanalyze me—because that’s what I felt she was doing—I was going to let her see me completely. I’d been standing back in the corner, but under the weight of their focus, I stepped straight out, almost to the center of the room. I stood facing them directly—arms at my sides. Shoulders back. Head up.
The woman straightened as well, her chin lifting. She wore a long, loose skirt with a cashmere sleeveless sweater. She also had an infinity scarf, but it was a whole lot richer than what Becca was wearing.
I caught a brief glimmer of a grin, her eyes flashed, and then she nodded. I was dismissed.
I felt like an animal at an auction. Someone gave their measly last bid on me, and the sale was decided. Exit left for my slaughter.
“Okay. That sounds like a good plan,” Becca said, and the other two left through the side door.
Becca turned and came toward me. “Let’s bring in the first girl, shall we?”
An excited buzz filled the room, and Becca clapped her hands together. “Let’s get this started.” She neared me, lowering her voice. “The first girl we’re interviewing is this one.” She pulled up a file and Tabatha Sweets’ face stared back at me. “We have a general list of questions to go through with her, but while we’re warming her up, getting her comfortable for the camera, I’d like you to jot down some more personal questions. You know, questions only you might know to ask her—the questions she won’t want to answer. You can write them as the interview goes too, just anything you think we should ask.”
The fuck?
She stepped away, speaking to her team, and I was half aware of the door opening again. Someone stepped in, and I heard Tabatha’s voice.
I’d started reading over the questions but looked up, hearing how so not-Tabatha Tabatha was sounding. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and she was tugging fiercely at the bottom of her shirt. Her hair had fallen forward to cover one eye, and she swung her gaze all around the room—as if she couldn’t fully see anyone but was trying to pinpoint their location through sound.
Until her gaze found me. She halted, back-tracked, and then the blood drained from her face
“Oh no.” Her teeth found her bottom lip.
I looked from her reaction to the questions, and that’s when I knew my gut had been right.
There were general warm-up questions about what she’d had for breakfast that morning, general questions about her, her age, her family, and then a whole other list of notes. If the subject is tense, find common ground. Annoying younger siblings? Have them laugh. Favorite hobbies. Talk about what makes them light up at first. Move to harder questions once trust is established.
My heart had fallen past my stomach, all the way to my feet.
I got to another section.
Are you in a crew?
Tell us about the crew system.
What do you dislike about the crews?
What do you enjoy about the crews?
This was my worst nightmare.
I looked up at the name of the entire goddamn project: The Crew Gang World.
I felt dizzy, seeing spots. Air particles were swimming around, and my skin was too hot for me. I had to get out of there. I had to—
“Are you ready?”
Becca’s chirpy voice grated through my panic, and I lifted my head. My hands gripped her clipboard. My knuckles were white. I was going to break it if I didn’t get myself controlled.
What to do? What to do?
This was going to happen with or without me.
I had to stop it. I had to. They would get us wrong. We’d be crucified, vilified. I gulped, a lump forming in my throat. I saw the hate that came out against Channing’s celebrity friends. There was love and adoration, but so much hate too. We’d be worse. We weren’t a success story, an adoring couple that had beautiful children. Gang World. That’s the title
they were going with.
“Okay.” Becca was so fucking calm and smooth. Why was she calm?
I swallowed, feeling myself starting to choke, and then I heard a murmur of voices and the lights went off. The spotlight flashed on and smack in the middle, on a tall chair perched in front of the camera, was Tabatha.
“It’s roll time.”
Becca leaned forward on her stool, and she was so warm, so soothing, almost seductive as she asked her first question. “Are you a little nervous?”
I shoved Tabatha up against the dryer in the bathroom. “What the hell was that?!”
I was in her face. I didn’t care.
I was the bully. I was threatening. I was fulfilling all the stereotypes, but I was livid, and underneath all of that…I was scared.
Terrified.
My hands shook—the aftermath of having to sit there the whole time as Becca took her time. She chatted with Tabatha. Made her laugh. Made her sigh. Little by little, Tabatha relaxed. She got comfortable. She felt sorry for Becca as she told her stories about her childhood. She felt connected to Becca, and I caught the gleam in the young producer’s eye. All that shit she was saying, I didn’t think any of it was true. It didn’t matter. It served its purpose, and after building rapport, Becca started in with the real questions.
Once they were done and Tabatha left, I announced a need for the bathroom. I was hot on her trail, and I’d grabbed her arm and shoved her into the bathroom as soon as I got a chance.
The third-period bell rang, and someone tried to open the door. I shoved it back, kicking the door stand underneath it.
“Hey!” came a voice from the other side.
“Use a different bathroom. This one is busy.”
“I’m going to be late.”
“You’re already late. Get lost!”
She did. I heard her bitching, but she left. The squeak of shoes faded, and I turned, feeling like a predator with my prey. But I didn’t want to eat Tabatha. I wanted to rip her to pieces.
I stepped back. “You have one minute to spill everything. One minute!”
Tears were already rolling down her face, but she wasn’t wiping them. She had balled her sleeves into her fists, and she raised them, then slid down the wall until she hit the floor with a thud. I didn’t think she even noticed.
