“I told you, I’ve got places to go and people to see. Try to keep up.” He pointed to a dark silvery blob, apparently warming up to the role of tour guide. “The pigeon statue was donated five years ago from one of our alums. It’s made of titanium with gold and silver accents.”
“Classy pigeon.”
Sebastian inclined his head. “Behind him is the Turin library, which houses an exceptional rare books collection on the third floor.”
I nodded. I doubted I’d ooh and ahh over their pretentious first editions, but it might be a good place to hide out if my roommate turned out to be a high-maintenance germophobe.
“So where is your crazy-expensive computer lab?” I asked.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done some research. I think that’s the first bit of initiative you’ve displayed.”
I snorted disdainfully. “You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that this preppy nightmare wouldn’t be complete without a tech center. Let me guess, it’s state of the art and staffed by experts.”
“Your jealousy is showing, Emmy. You might want to work on that, now that you’re attending this ‘preppy nightmare,’ as you so charmingly put it. The lab is actually staffed by students, many of whom have internships with Slate Industries. Emptor Academy strongly encourages students to pursue real world experience in the tech industry.” He sounded like he had swallowed the academy brochure.
Audrey would have geeked out over the opportunity to challenge Emptor’s biggest techies to a coding battle. Me, though? All I wanted was to be left alone. To keep my two best friends updated on Operation Find Father, or OFF for short. And then to get the hell out of there.
Of course, Ben would say that I was off my meds if he ever heard my ridiculous codename.
“How many pretenti—I mean,” I smiled with a sugary sweetness that wasn’t even remotely genuine, “how many kids go here anyway?” It was the kind of question that made me regret not scanning the website when I had the chance.
“We have two hundred students, give or take a few.”
Overwhelming claustrophobia struck out of nowhere. I was accustomed to a fair amount of anonymity. Unless you were one of the rich, popular kids at my high school, it wasn’t hard to fly under the radar. That was exactly how I liked it. Audrey, Ben, and I were able to say and do virtually whatever we wanted with nobody the wiser.
That was a far cry from this expensive fishbowl.
“Two hundred? For the whole school?” My mouth fell open. “So that’s what, fifty kids in each grade?”
“Impressive mathematical skills, Emmy. Two hundred divided by four does equal fifty. I can hardly wait to see you multiply and subtract.”
“Shut up, Sebastian.” It was the first time I’d come right out and said it, and the words felt so intoxicatingly wonderful that I repeated them. “For the love of all that is holy, shut up.”
He pointed to yet another impressive-looking building, which had probably been designed from Frank Lloyd Wright’s secret schematics, but he didn’t say a word.
It was galling to admit, but I’d actually kind of appreciated his running commentary. The huge brick buildings felt slightly less imposing when I could distinguish the library from the computer lab.
“You have got to be the most frustrating person in the history of the world.”
His grin was one hundred percent self-assured male. “I always aim to be the best.”
I chose to ignore that particular comment. “So what’s that building? The etiquette hall? The music building? Is that where our trusty steeds are housed?”
“It’s the girls’ dorm.” Sebastian didn’t offer to lift my suitcase up the four stairs that separated the cobblestone pathway from the entry doors, leaving me without the satisfaction of turning up my nose at his assistance. “Enjoy room 258. Tell Kayla we’re still on for tonight.”
“You’re not going upstairs with me?” I couldn’t hide the surprise from my voice, which was stupid because I didn’t even want him mucking up my roommate introduction. He would probably call me “the scholarship kid” and say that he’d rescued me from a life of painful mediocrity.
“Inviting me to your bedroom already, Emmy?” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve only had ten minutes to become reacquainted. I don’t unzip for everyone, although I suppose if you ask real nicely . . .” He trailed off, letting the words hang there between us.
If Ben had said that, I would’ve laughed. In fact, I had trouble suppressing my amusement even knowing that Sebastian wanted to needle me into an unguarded response. To charm me into cooperation. I pretended an air of nonchalance. “And here I thought you’d never overlook an opportunity to skulk around the girls’ dormitory.”
“I don’t need to skulk. Not when it comes to girls. You might want to hold off on making too many assumptions. Boxing me in has never ended well for anyone.”
“Why? Because you’ll only pick the lock?”
His smile broadened. “Something along those lines.” Sebastian hadn’t taken more than two steps before he swiveled, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the unmistakable slim package of a Slate. “One more perk of being a student here. Everyone gets the newest model to hit the marketplace.”
My jaw fell open. I couldn’t accept a brand new Slate, especially not when Sebastian’s own grandfather had died after slipping one of them into my pocket less than forty-eight hours ago. I had no business carrying that Slate around already. So accepting yet another piece of expensive equipment, courtesy of the St. James family, definitely pushed the boundaries of my moral code.
It made me feel greedy. Manipulative. Totally materialistic.
“I can’t.”
Sebastian didn’t lower his outstretched hand. “Because you already have one of your own, right?” he scoffed. “Everyone has a Slate here, Emmy. It’s standard issue. Take it.”
I didn’t know what to say. Actually, yes, I do happen to have one. Your grandpa gave it to me, in fact. But thanks for that generous offer, Sebastian. You really have a talent for irritating the crap out of me.
That would only lead to yet another interrogation.
So I reached out, my fingers grazing over the side of Sebastian’s thumb as I awkwardly accepted the small package. It wasn’t nearly as light as the Slate currently hiding in my suitcase, but I chalked that up to the inclusion of a charger and the inescapable weight of packaging.
“Thanks. I, uh . . . appreciate it.”
Sebastian leaned forward and I felt transfixed under his intense scrutiny. It reminded me of waiting to be chosen for a basketball game, being examined by a team captain who clearly thought of you as more of a liability than an asset. “Want to know how you can repay me for it? Fill me in on the plan.”
“Tell me more about your grandpa,” I countered. “What was he like? What did he do? Who were his friends?”
His eyes somehow did the impossible and became even harder and more remote.
“That’s what I thought.”
Grabbing my suitcase, I beat a hasty retreat into the warm depths of the girls’ dormitory.
Chapter 12
Room 258 didn’t look like anything special from the hallway.
There weren’t any personalized touches or name tags to distinguish one room from any of the others. If Sebastian hadn’t told me which door to knock on, I would’ve been stuck wandering through a maze of bland wooden doors. As it was, I half expected to be on the receiving end of a prank the moment I knocked. I wouldn’t put it past Sebastian to send me into the boys’ dorm instead. Steering clear of the aptly nicknamed Sebastian St. Jerk was going to be a lot harder at a small school like Emptor Academy than I’d initially thought. Some contact would be unavoidable, making my promise to Ben to steer clear of Sebastian nearly impossible to keep.
I was tempted to call him and repeat my conversation with Sebastian verbatim, just in case it sparked some jealousy. In case a little danger was all he needed to realize there was more bet
ween us than mere friendship. The fizz of heat warming my cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature inside the girls’ dorm. I had no trouble picturing it.
Exterior shot: Ben’s apartment.
Emmy: I know you think of me as a friend, but I want more, Ben. I want to wake up tomorrow morning with you. I want to fall asleep in the safety of the crook of your arms. I want—
Ben: I want you, too. I always have.
They kiss deeply. Passionately. Exquisitely.
Every part of that sounded right to me.
It’s possible I would’ve stood in the middle of the hallway, clutching my suitcase and fantasizing about my best friend, if the door hadn’t jerked open to reveal a black girl with riotous curlicue hair and dark, almond-colored eyes. She looked perky.
Really perky.
I wasn’t sure if she’d been practicing a cheerleading routine when I had knocked on the door. Her white tank top revealed sleekly toned arms that Michelle Obama would envy and there was a slight gap between where the top ended and her short skirt began that showcased a magazine cover–worthy set of abs. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her upper lip that she wiped away with the back of her hand as she shot me an enormous smile.
“You must be Emmy! I’m so excited you’re moving in here. We are going to have the best time together. Come in, come in.”
She flung open the door and I realized that it was the only part of the room that Kayla hadn’t decorated within an inch of its life. There were pictures and posters everywhere, most of which featured gymnasts in graceful, albeit slightly unnatural looking, positions.
“Is that all you brought?” Kayla pointed at my suitcase, as if she expected it to magically expand. It didn’t. “Well. That’s okay! We’ll go shopping together!”
A cold sweat began to trickle down my back. Kayla’s mom must’ve had an affair with the Energizer Bunny—that was the only explanation for her undiminished enthusiasm. “Uh, that’s okay. I’ve got everything I need.”
Kayla eyed the suitcase dubiously, but didn’t press the issue. “I wasn’t sure if you brought bedding, so I put my extra set of sheets on your bed. Don’t worry, they’re clean. You’re going to love them!”
I glanced at the bed and struggled to hide my immediate reaction. They were the same eye-burning neon orange color that construction workers have to wear as vests. The bed would probably glow in the dark, like some demented crime scene taped off from nosy onlookers.
“Uh, thanks.” My smile felt forced on my face, but I refused to let it fade away. Kayla was obviously trying to make me feel at home. Just because I wanted her to dial down the enthusiasm by, oh, twelve notches, didn’t give me the right to be a jerk. Kayla’s body maintained constant motion—feet shuffling, arms flapping, hands fluttering—and I braced myself for the possibility that she never tired. That I’d fall asleep while she practiced her imitation of a whirling dervish.
I unzipped my suitcase as she pointed to a dresser decorated with stickers of energetic hedgehogs romping about with their quills at half-mast.
“I condensed my clothes into the dresser with the kittens on it.” Kayla said, reaching her arms skyward then folding her body in half until her palms rested on the floor in a deep stretch. “And I have some hangers you can use for dresses or jackets or—” her voice trailed off as she straightened. “I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I always do this. I get excited and then suddenly I’m talking a mile a minute while people edge toward the door. It’s like, Wow, overshare much? I didn’t want to know that much about you. And then I keep going and going and—”
Going. I got the picture.
A blush spread across her cheeks, an instant giveaway that dozens of people in her past had mocked her for being so bubbly and energetic. It must have sucked.
“Oversharing works for me.” Exhaustion dampened the edges of my reassuring smile, but I gave it my best shot. “I tend to be on the nosy side.”
“Really?” Kayla looked like I’d promised to whisk her off to Barbados in a private jet for spring break. Something that most of the kids at Emptor Academy could probably afford to do.
“Definitely.” I shoved a handful of shirts into a drawer and eyed the makeup sprawled across every available surface. Most of it was really, really sparkly. “Feel free to share any how-I-met-my-boyfriend stories. Or girlfriend. No judgment here.”
Kayla sank to the floor and continued stretching. “Oh. My love life isn’t that interesting. The closest I’ve come to a relationship lasted roughly, I dunno, sixteen seconds?”
“How is that even possible?”
“We kissed in an airport right after a gymnastics training program. It was kind of unexpected. Then we went our separate ways, never to cross paths again.”
I eyed the effortless way she’d contorted her body.
“Gymnastics training, as in Olympic-level stuff? You can do all the flips and the handsprings and the double whatchamacallits?”
She shrugged. “Sure. I’ve been training since preschool, but I landed wrong, heard my knee pop, and it was goodbye Olympic tryouts. Hello Emptor Academy.”
“Can’t you compete for a spot next time?” I instantly wished I’d kept the question to myself. Kayla looked deflated, as if her boundless energy had been sucked right out of her.
She shook her head. “Gymnastics doesn’t work that way. You have a very short window to make it. No do-overs. No take-backs. My window closed and the doors to this place opened instead.”
I nodded as if that transition made perfect sense and then froze. “So are you here on a scholarship, too?”
Kayla grinned wryly. “I share my gymnastics expertise and the school pays for my bed, board, and education. It’s an unorthodox arrangement, but hey, I’m not complaining. Total win-win scenario.”
I wanted to ask Kayla if she’d ever been in a lose-lose situation. She was such a positive person it wasn’t hard to picture her insisting that she was totally fine with an uncomfortable situation. Letting manipulative jerks like Sebastian steamroll right over her.
“This is just a stepping stone for you, right? Something you have to do until something better comes along?”
Kayla stared at me as if I’d spoken in Klingon. “Um, are you crazy? I love Emptor Academy. Everyone loves it here.”
I shoved my jeans into the second dresser drawer. The intense way she said that last part made the school sound like a cult full of brainwashed preppy kids. It wasn’t going to suck me in. Kayla might enjoy being at the mercy of the academy, one pen stroke away from being back at square one, but it was a temporary situation for me. I was merely biding my time until any potential killers trailing me lost interest.
I decided to keep that last part to myself.
“Sebastian mentioned something about seeing you tonight.” I shoved clothes into the dresser and tried my best to be casual. Breezy. As if there was only mild curiosity propelling me onward. “Is it, uh, a tutoring session or something? Tumbling or fencing or—”
An entirely different kind of exercise hit me from out of nowhere.
Please don’t say sex, I thought desperately. Please, please have too much self-respect to hook up with that asshole. You seem really nice, Kayla. You deserve better. And I never want to find Sebastian’s monogrammed sock hanging on the doorknob.
I would never be able to fall asleep knowing that Sebastian had once been intimately acquainted with the borrowed sheets on my bed. No amount of laundry detergent could bleach out the ick factor.
“I guess you could say it’s like tumbling.” Kayla bit her lower lip in a cagey gesture.
“But you’re not dating him or anything, right?”
So much for subtly gleaning information from my new roommate.
Kayla laughed. “I guess you really don’t know Sebastian. He doesn’t date. Not that he’s a monk or anything,” she lifted her arms for another stretch, “but it’s never serious.”
“And the two of you?”
“God n
o!” Kayla’s nose scrunched up as she made a face. “Never. Not my type. Wait. Are you interested in him that way?” She clapped her hands together. “If you need a wingwoman, I totally volunteer! I can try to feel him out, see if he might have any feelings for you, and then—”
“No!” I interjected, but it was too late.
Audrey would’ve had no trouble explaining to Kayla that I had zero interest in becoming another notch in Sebastian’s undoubtedly elaborate four-poster bed. Coming from me, though, every fervent headshake seemed like a desperate attempt to cover up my real feelings. In a way, I guess it sort of was; I didn’t want Kayla to know that I already had an enemy.
Or at the very least, an irritant.
“Sebastian’s a really great guy, Emmy,” Kayla assured me with all the enthusiasm of an eight year old trying to convince her parents to buy a puppy. “He’s a little reclusive, I guess? But he’s incredibly smart and—”
“Rich?” I suggested, because describing him as “vain” or “shallow” would’ve sounded even bitchier.
“Well, yes,” Kayla looked taken aback. “I was going to say loyal.”
Kayla was obviously one of those people who saw the best in everyone. She couldn’t be any more misguided about Sebastian St. James, though. Loyal guys didn’t smile when they were informed of a death in the family. Then again, Sebastian still refused to accept that his grandfather was dead, so maybe I was reading too much into that particular reaction.
My brain felt like it was gripped in a vise that kept tightening. There had to be something I could say to get my point across, but I couldn’t seem to find the words to explain it. And I was too worn out to care. The last time I’d reached this level of exhaustion I had spent two full days obsessively studying for a math final.
“He’s super loyal, actually. His friend recently went through a breakup and Sebastian couldn’t have been more supportive,” Kayla’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if the IRS pays her family a visit. I admit, he can be a bit . . .”
Dial Em for Murder Page 8
