Chapter Two #2
By the time assembly let out and the halls flooded with students headed for class, Thomas looked gray from choking back his own secrets. It didn’t help that the principal made a beeline for them.
“Pretty sure she’ll walk past,” Thomas said.
She did not.
“Hello, gentlemen,” Principal Grant said. “I hope you’re both well. Mr. Perrault, you had a safe flight? And Mr. Rye, I see you’ve neglected your blazer. Good thing you have time to rectify that before class. But first, I must borrow you for a moment.”
The cops hadn’t left, Andrew now saw. They stood at the stairwell leading up to the faculty offices. Students flowed around them, whispering behind cupped hands.
“I didn’t do anything,” Thomas said, too high-pitched.
Concern softened the principal’s face, and that was more terrifying than a reprimand. “Unfortunately, this is about your parents. Those officers need to ask a few questions.”
Andrew glanced at Thomas, but the other boy’s face had gone blank. Did he seem smaller than usual? Messier? His auburn hair stuck out in unkempt tufts.
Then there was that blood on his sleeve.
Principal Grant turned for the stairs, but Thomas stood frozen.
Andrew unbuttoned his blazer. “Take this.” Cover the stain, he didn’t add.
Thomas tugged it on, the sleeves a little long on him. “Come with me?”
The principal had made it to the stairs and cast him a stern look. “You may catch up to your friends in class, Mr. Rye. Come.”
Thomas trudged up the stairs, the cops at his heels. A gallows march.
Andrew’s chest tightened, and he felt light-headed all of a sudden. Returning to Wickwood and Thomas was meant to make everything better. Nothing should be unraveling this fast.
Andrew couldn’t follow, but—
Damn it. He had to.
He waited a few moments, chewing the inside of his cheek, and then ducked up the stairs. The faculty floor was forbidden without a permission slip, but Thomas had whispered Come with me, so nothing else mattered.
Andrew slipped soundlessly down halls of antique burgundy carpets and dark mahogany doors set against chestnut wallpaper. Priceless art covered the walls in gilded frames. It was hard not to feel smothered by the decadence of this place.
He put his ear to the principal’s closed door and tried not to breathe.
Muffled voices. The thump of feet on carpet. Andrew knew two leather armchairs sat before the principal’s intimidating desk, and behind it were ceiling-high bookshelves stacked with classics and antiques. It didn’t sound like anyone had bothered to sit.
“… explain the situation to you, son.”
“My name is Detective Stephanie Bell. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“I’m fine.” That was Thomas, his fury tightly laced.
“First off, can you tell us when you arrived at school?” Bell’s voice sounded chill and efficient, a frost that would unapologetically burn anything new and green.
No one asked Where were you–type questions for good reasons.
Andrew’s skin felt too tight.
“This morning,” Thomas said, guarded.
“You live in the city? An hour’s drive, isn’t it?”
“I took an early bus.”
“Do you still have your ticket? Is it time-stamped?”
“Officers.” The principal had an odd edge to her voice. “I was informed this would be a meeting to relay sensitive information, not an interrogation. Do I need to place a call to his guardians?”
“Unfortunately, that’s why we’re here, Mrs.—”
“Doctor Grant.”
“My apologies. This is following up on a concerning 911 call. Neighbors reported hearing loud noises coming from your home last night, Mr. Rye. Screams.”
Andrew forgot how to breathe. The moment didn’t seem real: kneeling bunched up next to a keyhole, listening to his best friend, his heart, be dissected.
“Nobody was home this morning,” the detective went on. “House was trashed. Looks like an animal tore through. And there’s … blood. Due to the volume of blood, we surmise it’s not yours, so we’re just wondering if you knew anything about that.”
“Excuse me.” Footsteps sounded like the principal had marched out from behind her desk. “Does Thomas need a lawyer present? What exactly are you implying?”
“Not implying anything, ma’am. We are merely trying to get ahold of the boy’s parents, but no one is answering calls. Did they say they were going out of town, Thomas?”
Silence. It lasted a beat too long before Thomas mumbled, “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“It was quite a lot of blood.”
“Did you inquire at local hospitals?” the principal said.
“Of course, ma’am. So, Thomas, was there a fight last night? Or a party, maybe? Anything get a bit rough?”
“No.” Thomas bit out the word like he wanted it to eviscerate the detective. “I don’t know anything. I’d already left.”
Bell’s voice sharpened. “But you said you only left this morning.”
“Yes … really early. It was still dark. That’s what I meant.”
“All right, no need to get agitated. We’re sure you’re worried about your parents.”
Thomas didn’t sound worried—that was the first thing Andrew had noticed. But maybe he could read Thomas too well. He imagined Thomas’s body language right now, taut and defensive, fingers picking at his bottom lip or a loose thread.
Or at the bloody sleeve hidden under the borrowed blazer.
“I’m sure your folks are fine, but we’ll have the blood tested and continue trying to locate them. Dr. Grant, would you reach out to his emergency contact and alert them of the situation?”
The voices continued for a minute as information was exchanged, and then the doorknob turned.
Andrew’s brain caught up a beat too late as the office door started opening. Then he remembered to run.
He made it to the top of the stairs before realizing flinging himself down would look even more guilty. He was so bad at subterfuge. He pretended to stare at one of the vaguely impressionistic art pieces on the wall as the cops passed behind him.
“—did you think?”
“Kid is lying.” The detective said it with finality. “And I want to know why.”
Her eyes met Andrew’s and she immediately cut off. Her smile came thin, barely polite, then she continued downstairs after her colleague.
Behind him, the principal cleared her throat.
Andrew turned slowly, his cheeks burning.
“Why, Mr. Perrault,” Principal Grant said, unimpressed, “I believe you are missing first period.”
“I … lost something?” Andrew said. “I, um, a pencil.”
Next to her, Thomas had been attempting to control his scowl, but at this, he raised one eyebrow at Andrew. So it was a bad lie, fine. But Andrew wasn’t exactly well practiced at sneaking about.
“Despite my better judgment,” the principal said, “I will believe you were not lurking at doors where you don’t belong. This meeting contained private information, and I won’t have gossip in my halls, Mr. Perrault.”
Andrew nodded far too fast.
The principal turned back to Thomas. “I’ll inform your aunt, but I’m sure there’s no cause to worry. Your parents are … eccentric, as we are all aware. I’m sure we’ll hear from them before the day’s out.”
Thomas said nothing.
The principal gestured for him to go downstairs before casting Andrew a stern look. “You may leave.” The grim set of her mouth said Get going or get detention, so Andrew shot after Thomas.
They fell into step as they headed for English, but Andrew felt so shaken he couldn’t even remember where the classroom was. Thomas still wouldn’t look at him.
Kid is lying—
“What’s going on?” Andrew’s voice barely passed a whisper. “Is this what you were going to tell me about?”
“Nothing. You heard them. My parents are weird about their art. It’s probably not even blood. I-I-I don’t know. I don’t—” He broke off and tugged at his bottom lip.
Andrew nearly tripped. Thomas never stumbled over his words. He also never lied to his best friend.
The corridor was empty, classroom doors closed. They’d be marked tardy before the school year had taken its first proper breath. Andrew started to say as much, but Thomas snatched his wrist and dragged him into a small alcove.
They pressed close to the thick velvet drapes by a huge window, dust motes dancing against the glass. The world felt too quiet. Too heavy.
Every breath seemed to tremble in Thomas’s lungs. “It’s not going to be like last year.” Something desperate shone in his eyes. “Nothing bad will happen to you. I swear.”
Bad things were happening to Thomas, not Andrew. He was the one who needed protecting right now. Andrew couldn’t help noticing that not one adult had asked Thomas if he was all right.
“I’ll sort this out,” Thomas said. “I don’t want you making yourself sick over it. I’ll fix everything. Do you believe me?”
If they stood any closer together, they could fit into each other’s skin.
“I want you to say it.” Thomas’s voice steadied. He could pin Andrew to the wall with the way he shaped those words.
“I believe you,” Andrew whispered.