GAME OF FEAR
Copyright © 2016 Gledé Browne Kabongo
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this book is illegal. No part of this book may be shared electronically, scanned, uploaded, used whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Notice: This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 9780692607275
Cover Art by Najla Qamber Designs
Dedication
For Donat, Amini and Max
Table of Contents
Prologue: I'll Never Tell
Part One: The Good Girl
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
Part Two: Trapped
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
Part Three: Hacked
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
Part Four: The Drop
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
Part Five: Tainted Love
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
Part Six: The Crash
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
Part Seven: Diary of a Mean Girl
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
Part Eight: Ivy League Swagger
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
Part Nine: Tick, Tock
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
Part Ten: A Farewell to Friends
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
Epilogue
Author's Note
Other Works by the Author
About the Author
Prologue
I’LL NEVER TELL
They were going to kick me out. That’s what the meeting was about. The last piece of my lousy existence was about to crumple like a paper doll. Two weeks ago, Dad called a family meeting and announced that he would resign as chief financial officer of Orphion—a multi-billion dollar global technology company. He would have been CEO in a year. This crisis was a greedy little monster that couldn’t be satisfied. The sensational and relentless media coverage, the sly, not-so-kind comments from classmates, and the possibility that Mom was facing life in prison were enough to make me want to crawl into a rabbit hole and never come out.
I pulled my shoulders back, stuck my chin out, and put on my game face. The door opened on the first knock. When I entered the office, my guidance counselor, Ms. Morris, and the school psychologist, Dr. Burns, were already seated. Our Headmaster, Dr. Stephen Kellogg, gestured for me to take the empty chair. He sat behind his desk, cleared his throat, and adjusted his glasses. A bunch of documents was spread out before him.
“None of us wants to see you in here,” he began. “You’ve been an exemplary student in every way, and we’re all proud of your accomplishments.”
I waited for the proverbial shoe to drop. Their solemn faces made my stomach lurch.
“Dr. Kellogg is right,” my guidance counselor said. “We understand you’re facing difficult circumstances. It’s our job to help you stay on track. This meeting is about your support system here at school.”
“I appreciate the support, Ms. Morris, but I’ve already met with everyone in this room and the school chaplain.”
Dr. Kellogg cleared his throat again and picked up one of the papers in front of him. “We’re concerned about your academic performance as of late,” he said, scanning the paper. “You’re well aware of our high standards here. Our reputation is built on it. You’re part of it. We think it’s best to take action now before it’s too late.”
I blinked a couple of times. “You mean before you have to expel me.”
Dr. Burns stared straight ahead, and Ms. Morris opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. She just looked like a fish on dry land gasping for air.
“Goodness, no.” Dr. Kellogg gave off a forced laugh and adjusted his tie. “We want to formulate a plan to get you through these tough times.”
Dr. Burns spoke for the first time, “Processing your emotions and having the proper tools in place is critical. A parent incarcerated, awaiting trial, and an uncertain future ahead is a lot for a young person to handle. We’re here to help you cope successfully within the walls of Saint Matthews and beyond.”
I sat ramrod straight in my chair. My anger bubbled over. “My mother didn’t kill that man. She was set up and doesn’t deserve to be in jail. We’ll prove it. When we do, she’ll come home where she belongs.”
I saw the doubt in their eyes, the challenge to my statement. I could practically read their thoughts. Poor, delusional kid.
“Your teachers say you’ve been unfocused and withdrawn,” Ms. Morris continued. “They tell me you’ve given up. It’s our responsibility to make certain you don’t fall any further behind. You’re one of the best students we have. We don’t want to see you lose your edge. I’m sure your parents would agree.”
I smoothed out my skirt as I struggled to hold back the tears. They were right. I couldn’t allow school to fall apart too, along with the rest of my life. If I didn’t get myself together, Mom would be heart-broken. Dr. Kellogg handed me a box of tissue from his desk. I placed it on my lap without using a single sheet.
“We can talk right now if you need to,” Dr. Burns offered.
Dr. Kellogg and Ms. Morris took the hint and left the room.
I turned to Dr. Burns. “May I have a few minutes alone, please? We’ll chat. I promise.”
When he left, I took deep breaths to wash away the humiliation threatening to strangle me. I couldn’t make excuses anymore. The time had come to take drastic measures. I searched my bag for the piece of paper I’d carried around for weeks—the phone number of a classmate with an easy-going disposition, and a reputation as the guy who could make your troubles go away. I fished out my phone and dialed the number. He answered on the first ring.
“Need your help,” I said.
“I am surprised to hear from you. But I understand why you called.”
“Good. I don’t want to go to The Pit. Someone might see me.”
“You won’t have to. I can hook you up. How much?”
“As much as you can get.”
“Whoa. Are you sure about that?”
“Yes. I lost a lot of ground. It’s time to make up for it.”
“I can get you a discount, but it’s still going to cost.”
“Just do it.”
“At your service, Mademoiselle.”
“And one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“This stays between us. Forever.”
“I’ll never tell.”
Part One
THE GOOD GIRL
CHAPTER 1
I attract trouble like a magnet, despite my best intentions. Perhaps it’s because I attend an exclusive private s
chool where the pressure is overwhelming, the secrets are dirty, and the games are wicked. I have a plan, though: Princeton for college, then off to Harvard or Stanford for medical school. I’ll wrap up my internship and residency at the Mayo Clinic and Massachusetts General Hospital. My life is orderly, focused, and predictable, the way I like it. But some people have other ideas.
“What’s up, Abbie?” he asks, making sexually suggestive motions with the lollipop in his mouth. I’m talking about Christian Wheeler, the only guy in New England who can cause an Abercrombie & Fitch model to have self-esteem issues.
For the past few weeks, since school started in September, he’s been appearing at my locker every morning, asking me out like it’s his new religion. I roll my eyes at him and then turn my attention to swapping the books I need for my first-period class. A couple of sophomore girls pass by and giggle as their friend tries to flirt with him. The lollipop comes out of his mouth, and he pushes a blond lock of hair away from his eyes—a luminous shade of Spanish blue that’s so hypnotic I’ve heard girls faint when they look at him too long. Whatever.
“You’re so gross,” I say, hostility rolling off me in waves. “Isn’t there some poor girl on this campus waiting to be dumped by you? Oh, wait, I don’t think there’s anyone left. You’ve been with every girl at Saint Matthews. Man-whore.” I glare at him.
“Since we never hooked up, does that mean you’re not a girl?”
I flip him the bird, but it doesn’t faze him. He makes obnoxious kissing noises with his lips.
“That ice princess thing you do is all an act, isn’t it? I know you want me.”
“No, thanks. I have standards and an aversion to STDs.”
“Ouch. Watch where you point that thing you call a tongue. Somebody could get hurt.”
I snort in disgust and stuff a couple of books in my backpack. “Why are you all over me, Christian? I’m not interested in joining your fan club. Get lost.”
“I’m an enlightened man.”
Christian turned eighteen over the summer and thinks that makes him a man.
“You’re still a boy. Let’s not get it twisted.”
“I should get points for bravery. Every guy at this school is afraid to ask you out.”
“I’m fresh out of brownie points. Besides, you don’t want to date me.”
“Why not? If you stopped hiding your, um, considerable assets,” he says, ogling me, “you’d be a total babe.”
“I find that statement deeply offensive. You belong with cavemen and Neanderthals.”
The corners of his mouth turn up into a smile, revealing perfectly even white teeth as if they were painted on by a master artisan. I can’t help it, so I grin, too. I zip up my backpack and sling it over my shoulders. I’m about to close my locker, but my hand stops in mid-air. I see Sidney Bailey Shepard sauntering toward us, elbowing people out of her way. Her eyes laser in on Christian like a lioness about to pounce on its prey. Sidney is a fellow senior, but that’s where our similarities end. She plants herself in front of Christian and tosses her hair back, the long auburn locks coming to rest in a perfect cascade past her shoulders. I’ve seen her do this a million times, her come-hither ritual.
She hands him a brown paper bag. “You forgot this. I know it’s your favorite belt.”
Christian’s eyes bug out of his head. He doesn’t take the bag, so Sidney shoves it into his hands.
“Oh, my bad. I didn’t know we were keeping it a secret, us getting back together. You won’t tell anyone, will you Abbie?” She gives me what’s meant to be a conspiring wink, but it comes off as fake as her surgically-enhanced nose.
I give them both a dirty stare. I’m sure they can see the daggers aimed at them. Then Sidney melts into the crowd of kids on their way to first period, as if she wasn’t just standing here, staking claim to her territory. I’m steaming mad.
“Sidney’s lying,” he begins. “It—”
“I don’t care.” I want to get away from him as fast as possible. I’m about to close my locker when something catches my attention—my psychology textbook at the far right corner of the top shelf, with a glossy, ivory-colored paper sticking out of it. I remove the paper from the book, haphazardly place it in the side pocket of my bag, slam the door shut, and reset the combination lock.
I join the hallway crowd, bobbing and weaving my way to a meeting with my STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) Advisor. I want to distract myself from my anger at Christian. How dare he think he can play me? Not that I would have accepted a date with him, but it’s the principle of the thing. Asking me out when he’s still hooking up with Sidney. Eew!
Someone crashes into me and makes a quick apology. My backpack almost slips from my shoulders, but I grab it in time. That’s my cue to retrieve the paper before it falls out of the side pocket. Christian catches up to me.
“You don’t have to keep showing up at my locker, pretending to be interested,” I tell him. “I don’t even care what your motive is. Just stop it.”
“I swear Sidney’s lying. I would never do anything that shady to you.”
I shake my head, peeved by his lame attempt at honesty. I open the paper, a standard 8.5x11. What I see written on it stops me cold.
CHAPTER 2
I know what you did. Hypocrite!
Justice will be served.
The Avenger
Someone has a sick sense of humor. Is it that witch, Sidney, stirring up trouble? But how did she get into my locker? How did she figure out the combination? My hands are shaky when I unzip my backpack and drop the note inside.
Christian taps me on the shoulder; his face is bursting with worry. “What is it, Abbie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mumble. “I don’t want to be late for my meeting with Ms. Lyons.”
I increase my pace in a frantic effort to escape his prying eyes and questions. He won’t be deterred. He keeps up with me.
“Ms. Lyons can wait. Who sent you that paper? What does it say?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. You froze in your tracks when you read it.”
“Stop making a thing out of it,” I say, irritated.
“Ookay. Why are you flipping out, then?”
“Can you please drop this?” I ask, scowling at him. “Don’t say anything to anyone.”
“So, now you want me to do you favors?” he asks, stroking his chin like some evil cartoon villain. “Fine. I won’t tell if you go out on a date with me. A real date.”
I stare at him, slack-jawed. Why the urgency for a date? What is he up to?
“I’m not desperate enough to go out with you.” I make sure my tone is dripping with contempt, sharp enough to cause bodily harm. “It’s been amusing for the past few weeks, stalking me daily. Now, the fun is over. Move on to someone else.”
He remains stubborn. “If you want me to keep quiet about what you found in your locker, go out with me. Those are my terms. Otherwise, I’ll start spreading vicious rumors about what’s in the note.”
“You’re a total scum bag, and I hate you.”
He taps the face of his watch. “Need an answer by 3:00 p.m. Catch you later,” he says, and then he disappears into the crowd of kids, leaving me to untangle a giant ball of confusion.
I make it through my morning classes, distracted the whole time. I keep thinking about the message, looking for clues in the tone, the word choices, something that would point to the kind of person who would do this (obviously a psycho). The text is typewritten. There’s nothing special about the font. The note could have been printed from any computer. I push the thoughts aside. There’s a simple explanation: wrong locker. I feel terrible for the intended victim.
My stomach growls as I enter the dining hall, already buzzing with gossip, socializing, and students making their way through the lunch lines. Hardwood floors and wooden tables and chairs enhance the dining ambiance. Portraits of famous alumni and hunting trophies are mounted on the walls—te
staments to the rich and illustrious history of Saint Matthews Academy.
One of my best friends is waving to me. Our group nicknamed the Rainbow Posse because of our diverse ethnic backgrounds is one member short this year. Anastasia Cruz, our sidekick from Columbia, returned home after her parents were kidnapped and brutally murdered, a crime rumored to be politically motivated. She made the move to Madrid and now lives with her soccer superstar brother and his wife.
Now, our trio is made up of Callie Furi, a free-spirited California girl my mom says reminds her of a young Elizabeth Taylor, and Frances Lin, a tell-it-like-it-is Jersey girl and future Pulitzer Prize winner.
I drop my backpack on the floor next to the seat saved for me and sit. My friends started lunch without me.
“Nice earrings. Are they new?” I ask Frances.
She fiddles with the gorgeous, diamond-accented rosebud earrings on her left earlobe and gushes, “Trevor spoils me. He bought them for our six-month anniversary.”
“Is it love?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
“You’re not sure?”
She scoffs. “We don’t need to put labels on our relationship, Abbie. We’re so past that.”
Trevor Forrester is a fellow senior from Philadelphia. His dad founded Forrester International, one of the largest advertising firms in the country. His mother, Grace, is a well-connected socialite. In spite of his pedigree, Trevor is not a snob like most of the kids at our school. He’s an all-around good guy whom everyone likes.
I head to the lunch line to grab some food. When I return to our table, the interrogation begins.
“What’s up with you and Christian Wheeler?” Frances asks.
My brain seizes for a moment. I wasn’t expecting that question since I’ve told the girls about Christian’s habit of asking me out every single day of the school week. It’s a running gag, but right now, I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“The usual.”
“I don’t think so.”
Callie starts fanning herself with a napkin. “I would pay to see him naked.”
“I’m sure he’ll show you for free,” I say, giggling.
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