The Lie That Traps (Lies and Truths Book 1)

6. Gulliver

GULLIVER

Mr. Long slaps his hand against the top of the desk, drawing our attention. His beady eyes scan the room as he pushes his pretentious rimless glasses up his nose with one finger, a glass full of iced tea with a slice of lemon held aloft in his other hand.

“Today we will be discussing the principles we have been learning for the last four weeks. I’ll be grading all of you on your ability to competently discuss and analyze a chemical hypothesis and then perform a practical application,” he says, his voice a monotone drone.

Sighing, I lean back in my seat, watching the rest of the class from my position in the back row. Davis, Kip, and I claimed these seats during freshman year and have kept them ever since. Back then, we thought it made us cool. Now we just enjoy having a wall to lean against and the best view.

Unbidden, my gaze falls on the back of Penelope’s white-blonde head. Running my eyes over her, I spot the cell phone she’s typing on hidden beneath her desk. A wry scoff falls from my lips. Surely Little Miss Perfect rule-follower should know better than using her cell during class.

After she and her parents left on Friday night, Dad and I got into it yet again about me marrying her. All he sees when he looks at her are dollar signs. He doesn’t care if I like her or if I want to tie myself to her for the next however many years. All he cares about is the money.

I’m so sick of having the same argument with him about her and her family, but no matter how many times I say it, he refuses to hear that I have absolutely no intention of ever marrying that evil little whore.

But the way she acted on Friday is still playing on my mind. I’ve refused to really get to know Penelope. I know who she is, and that’s enough to know she’s not who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Which is why the wide-eyed fear I’d seen in her eyes when I’d teased and taunted her has bothered me so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was shocked by the way I spoke to her. But that can’t be true because I’ve overheard her say much more suggestive things to guys before, without even a hint of a blush in her cheeks.

It’s stupid to think that the fear I saw was anything more than an act, but something about the way her lower lip had trembled when I’d suggested she put on a show for me seemed almost…real. In fact, the way she behaved the entire time she was at my house was strange. She acted like she’d never been there before, which is ridiculous considering I’ve lost count of how many times her flowery, vanilla perfume has stunk up the place.

Now that I think about it, she hadn’t been wearing her signature scent that night. Instead, there’d been a subtle hint of roses that lingered after she’d left.

“Miss Rhodes, please put your cell phone away, the rest of us are ready to start the class,” Mr. Long hisses derisively.

“Sorry, sir,” Penelope says sweetly, lifting her chin to flash him her perfect smile.

While our teacher returns his attention to the rest of the class, my gaze stays focused on her. She almost looks flustered, something I’ve never seen Penelope Rhodes, heir to a small fortune, ever look before.

Her fingers are tapping agitatedly against her desk and her head keeps moving, like she’s darting her eyes from side to side. From my seat behind her, I watch as her arms tense and she visibly stops herself from tapping and instead lifts her hands and runs her fingers through her hair.

Most people fidget when they’re bored or nervous or uncomfortable, but never her. She’s almost abnormally still, like a robot, so I can’t help but watch as she pulls her perfect blonde locks into a ponytail at the back of her head, then releases it so her hair falls back over her shoulders again.

Turning her head, she looks at the closed door, then slyly pulls her cell out again, tapping at the screen, while Mr. Long rambles on about today’s project and the grading scale.

“Why are you staring at the fucking harpy?” Davis asks from my side, leaning forward so his head is almost touching mine.

“Does she look twitchy?” I ask, not looking away from Penelope.

“Maybe,” he says after a moment.

“She was really fucking weird this weekend at dinner, and now this. She’s normally so annoyingly perfect. This is strange.”

“Who cares?” Davis says, flopping back into his chair, his body language relaxed and unaffected. “Maybe she’s taken too many diet pills, or that stick she’s got shoved up her ass has ridden up a bit. Since when do you give a fuck about her anyway?”

“I don’t,” I say with an agitated sigh. “But something is not quite right, and I want to know what it is. My dad isn’t backing down on this bullshit about me marrying her. Maybe I can use this odd behavior as ammunition to get him to finally accept it’s not going to happen.”

Mr. Long drones on, but I can’t take my eyes off Penelope. She’s fidgeting more visibly now, crossing and uncrossing those long legs of hers as she obsessively checks her cell phone, bringing the screen to life every few seconds.

“What the fuck?” I whisper beneath my breath, my eyes narrowing as I watch her hands curl into fists at her sides.

“Miss Rhodes,” Mr. Long says, calling on Penelope to answer a question.

I can’t see her face, but I notice the way her entire body freezes, her shoulders tensing so quickly they rise up almost to her ears.

“Miss Rhodes, would you like to offer up your opinion on the equilibrium concentrations?” Mr. Long asks as he moves through the rows of seats until he’s standing in front of her desk.

For a moment, there’s utter silence while she stares at Mr. Long and he stares expectantly back at her. Beneath the desk, I watch her slowly slide her cell phone into her blazer pocket, then her hands jump from her sides and cover her mouth, before she launches herself upright and bolts from the classroom.

A titter of laughter follows her dramatic departure. My lips part and my brow furrows. What the hell was that? I suppose her being sick could explain her strange fidgety behavior, but something feels off.

Mr. Long clears his throat, his eyes moving from the door Penelope just ran through and back to the rest of us still sitting in the room. “Err, well, err,” he says, clearing his throat again.

His eyes scan the room, landing on me, then moving to Davis to my right and Scott Langston to my left, then back to me again. “Mr. Winslow, perhaps you could go and check on Miss Rhodes and escort her to the nurse’s office.”

“Of course, Mr. Long,” I purr politely. Normally I’d be pissed at being sent to play nursemaid to that stuck-up bitch, but I want to know what she’s playing at, and following her now is the perfect opportunity.

Pushing out of my seat, I stride down the classroom, not rushing from the room but moving quickly enough that I’m in the hallway a moment later. Scanning the empty corridor from left to right, I sigh and start to walk in the direction of the closest bathroom. If she really is sick, then that’s where she’ll be.

When I reach the heavy wooden door, I push it open, not caring if anyone else is in there, but the bathroom’s empty, the doors on the stalls all ajar. Sighing, I walk in the direction of the nurse’s office, but I’ve only gone a few steps down the corridor when I hear Penelope’s voice.

“Of course, I texted her,” she whisper-hisses, her voice angry.

There’s a pause, and I wait for someone else to reply, but instead she speaks again. “We had a test; she should have been there. I’m going to kill her.”

Creeping closer to the stairwell that branches off to the right of the hallway, I move silently so she doesn’t hear me approaching. Peering through the partially open doorway, I find Penelope pacing to and fro, her cell phone gripped tightly to her ear, a scowl etched firmly across her lips.

“She’s so selfish. She doesn’t care,” she hisses, her face twisted into an ugly sneer.

I don’t know who she’s speaking to or about, but this behavior is so much more familiar than the scared deer-in-the-headlights act she tried to pull on Friday night. Moving backward, I lean against the wall opposite the door and wait, my arms crossed across my chest.

A pang of disappointment settles inside of me. For a moment, I’d been intrigued by this new side of Penelope. For a moment, I’d considered that maybe I’d been wrong, that the girl who pranced about like she was a prize show pony was the act, and that the nervous, quiet girl who had literally trembled after a few cruel words might have been the real person.

But who you are in the quiet moments when you think no one is watching is the real you, and that’s this version of Penelope. Manipulative, entitled, and mean.

Five minutes later, she emerges from the stairwell and as soon as she spots me, her body language changes. Her eyes hood, and she smiles—that fake, demure smile that repulses me.

“Gulliver, darling, are you waiting for me?” she asks, her tone all sweetness with a hint of seduction.

“Mr. Long wanted me to escort you to the nurse’s office,” I tell her coldly.

“I’m actually feeling a lot better now, but I’m so touched that you were worried about me,” she says, gliding over to me and hooking her arm through mine so effortlessly that I don’t have time to flinch away from her touch.

The feel of her hand on my skin repulses me. In fact, everything about this woman repulses me. Pulling my arm from hers, I take a large step away from her, then gesture for her to go ahead of me with a wave of my arm. “Let’s go, some of us have class to get back to,” I hiss, letting all of the coldness and disgust I’m feeling seep into my voice.

For a second, she looks startled, then she blinks, and all that’s behind her eyes is cold, hard nothingness. Penelope Rhodes is just like her parents. Everything about her is a strategic maneuver to get her closer to her inheritance and all that money.

I don’t speak again as we make our way to the nurse’s office, then I wait just long enough for Nurse Hannigan to start cooing and fussing over her before I leave.

Pulling my cell from my pocket, I type out a quick message to Davis asking him to grab my stuff from chemistry. Hitting Send, I pocket my cell again and pull out my cigarette case. Slowly, I saunter along the hallways until I find the hidden alcove opposite the old darkroom.

Since I saw Penelope sneaking out of the room the other day, I’ve had an intense desire to know what’s in there. To know what interest a disused room could possibly hold for perfect, fucking Penelope. In every other way, she’s obvious, predictable, and boring; but sneaking around, hiding in a forgotten room alone, that’s intriguing.

With my back resting against the wall and a cigarette perched between my lips, I stare at the darkroom door. Does anyone other than her ever use it? Is she meeting someone in there?

The Elite have our own private rooms with a sofa, Playstation, and TV setup, and even a refrigerator full of snacks and drinks that the cafeteria staff keep topped off for us. If we wanted to skip class and hole up in there for a couple of hours, no one would say anything. But that’s an Elite privilege and not something the rest of the student body is allowed to get away with.

But it seems like Penelope is, and I want to know why. A wry smile spreads across my lips when I consider the idea that the perfect little heiress might be using the darkroom as a place to ride some unapproved cock. Holding back a snicker of amusement, I tense, swaying forward as the door cracks open a slither.

Not breathing, I strain my eyes as I try to identify the person who’s trying so hard not to be seen. It feels like months before the door moves again, and when it does, the cigarette falls from my lips.

“How the fuck?” I whisper as Penelope emerges from the room.

How is it possible for her to have gotten here before me? She was with the nurse when I left, and there’s no way she could have gotten into that fucking room without passing me. Unable to move or look away, I watch transfixed as she scans the hallway, then scurries out of the door, spins around, and closes it behind her. Locking the door, she checks that it’s secure, then slides the key back into her blazer.

Just like the last time I saw her emerge from that room, her entire demeanor is different. When I left her less than five minutes ago, she was preening to the nurse and lapping up every bit of praise and attention she was given. Now she looks nervous and unsure. What the hell is going on?

Twice today, I’ve watched her without her knowledge. Earlier, she was angry and venomous, but even hiding in a stairwell, she was still imposing and surrounded by her aura of smug superiority. Now I can practically smell the fear and uncertainty in her.

With my back against the wall, I know I’m hidden from her view, but I still wonder if maybe this is all a show she’s putting on for me. When she pulls in a deep breath and scans the hallway, I wait for her to see me, but her eyes don’t do more than glance past my hiding spot.

Then, just like she did the other day, she hoists her backpack onto her shoulders, lets her hair fall over her face, and scurries away, small, forgettable, and completely unnoticeable.