Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Charlisa sends me to my next class with a packet of tissues and a warning: don’t cause trouble, and don’t fuck with Hunter Sinclair.
Well, not in those exact words.
Thanks to my rearranged schedule, avoiding Hunter shouldn’t be a problem. Except that now he’s the person I’m looking for.
Charlisa was right. I need to get back into Hunter’s good graces. While I’d happily punch him again if he so much as touches me, he’s worth more at my side than he is at a distance. If he decides to press charges, I’m as good as expelled, and losing my last chance to investigate what happened to Solina will be the least of my problems.
Playing nice keeps me out of jail and inside Hunter’s perfect little bubble. Which includes his perfect little friends. If I want any chance of getting inside Poppy’s room again, or Gabe’s, for that matter, my only shot is to suck up my pride. I’d rather eat nails than grovel to people like them, but I came here to find the truth. Not stroke my ego.
Step one is forgiveness.
After the final bell, I head across campus to Hyacinth Hall. Same dorm as Poppy. Figures they’re all in the same building. Only the best for Kingswood’s elite.
While Hunter and Gabe don’t have the luxury of singles, they’re not lacking for space. Their room is one of four as opposed to Kincaid’s twelve per hall—a room in each corner, with a common area in the middle. I double-check Hunter’s text from last week. Someone in one of the dozens of group chats Poppy added me to had asked him for his room number to drop off some edibles they’d brought back from Denver.
Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I take a deep breath and head for the room at the opposite end of the hall. It’s unnervingly quiet here, my footsteps padded by the carpeted floors. Any other sound is swallowed by the fifteen-foot ceiling. There’s a quiet, constant buzz on my floor in Kincaid. Showers squeaking to life, music pouring out of a laptop speaker, conversations muffled by drywall and closed doors. Here there’s nothing but the sound of my heart, waiting for me to slip up.
The silence makes the shout that cuts through the air all the more terrifying.
My hand flies up to my mouth, stifling the gasp I couldn’t hold in. I press myself up against the wall, as if that’ll do anything to hide me. There’s a new upset voice, but I can’t make anything out over the pounding in my ears. I stay as still as possible, flat against the wall, and will myself to calm down.
I take a risk, inching closer to the room at the end of the corridor. Room 317 comes into view, the door cracked just enough for a familiar voice to carry out to the hall.
Gabe, sounding so small and timid I wouldn’t think it was him if it wasn’t coming from his room. “I already told Mom—”
Dean Hughes cuts him off, all the professionalism I saw in the chapel long gone. “You told us that this was over.”
“It is over,” Gabe snaps.
“Then what the hell is this, Gabriel?” A pause. Then the sound of something slamming against what I’m assuming is his desk. “Three students were sent to the emergency room this weekend! I’ve had parents calling the office all goddamn morning. I couldn’t hear myself think!”
“Why don’t you take it up with them, then?”
Dean Hughes lets out a frustrated sigh. “You know how these people are. These parents would donate twice my salary before they let me give their kid so much as a detention.”
“What makes you think they got it from me? I wasn’t even at the bonfire. Ask Hunter, check the library cameras.” Gabe’s a convincing liar. If I hadn’t seen him myself, I wouldn’t question him. All the more reason not to trust anything he says.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Dean Hughes sneers. His footsteps get louder, closer to the door, and I brace myself to bolt. “This ends today, Gabriel.”
“Right, ’cause you haven’t already taken everything away.”
Dean Hughes’s rage seethes red-hot enough for me to feel it out in the hall. “You do not speak to me that way.”
Fun as it might be to watch Gabe get knocked down a peg, I’m not willing to risk getting caught. After the Hunter incident, I’m sure Dean Hughes would be more than happy to send me packing for being somewhere I shouldn’t. After making sure the coast is clear, I bolt down the hall. I’ve almost made it to the stairwell when the elevator dings open, too late for me to crank the brakes and skid to a halt.
And I crash right into Hunter.
“Watch where—” He trails off once he gets a look at me, his look of annoyance morphing into a snarl. “What’re you doing here?”
My carefully rehearsed apology comes rushing back, but I’m still too out of breath to give it the performance it deserves.
“I came to see you.” Once I’ve caught my breath, I lay it on thick. Let the words ooze with longing. Hunch my shoulders, duck my head. Make myself small.
Hunter doesn’t reply, just arches his eyebrow. Without missing a beat, I run through the script. It’s easier to pretend I’m five years old, coming up with plays and fairy tales with Solina in the living room. Reading off the crayon scripts we spent all morning writing as we perform our magnum opuses to our captive audience of two. I can almost smell the burnt popcorn, feel the scratch of Papi’s stubble on my cheek as he hoisted me into the air after his standing ovation.
I’m a princess, a wizard, a mermaid looking for her mother. Not a girl begging a monster for forgiveness.
“I’m sorry about Friday night. I didn’t mean to hit you—I don’t think I even really knew it was you. I’d never tripped that hard before, and I started seeing all this weird stuff, and hearing voices and I just … freaked out.”
The scared, inexperienced act hits all the right notes. Hunter’s scowl softens, the edges of his mouth curling up in amusement, like he thinks it’s cute. His sweet little na ? ve girlfriend nailing him in the face because she was scared. Because she doesn’t know how drugs work. It’s almost funny, how predictable he is.
He shrugs, uncrossing his arms. “That stuff was pretty intense.”
“Yeah.” Relief runs through me, but I keep my eyes down, demure and apologetic. “Maybe I can find a way to make it up to you?”
When I finally look up to face him again, he’s a breath away and smirking like he’s ready to pounce.
He adjusts the collar of my shirt, letting his fingers linger along my collarbone. Dread follows his touch, leaving the worst kind of goose bumps behind. “Maybe you can.”
Before I can respond, he takes my hand and pulls me back the way I came. Toward the room at the end of the hall.
I tug his arm with my free hand, digging my feet into the carpet. “Gabe’s in there, actually,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as desperate as I feel. I’m not afraid of Hunter like I was before, but I still don’t want to be alone with him.
Hunter rolls his eyes. “I can just kick him out.” He lets go of my hand to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “He owes me one anyway.”
This gives me the perfect excuse to wiggle out from under his arm. I take his hand this time, pulling him close as I whisper, “I meant he’s not alone in there.”
He looks back at their bedroom door in shock, muffling a laugh behind his fist. “Well damn, Gabe’s actually gonna get some this semester.”
I shake my head, resisting the urge to gag. “His dad’s in there.”
“Oh.” Hunter’s smile drops. He groans, pushing his hair away from his face. The black eye glimmers in the dim afternoon light. “I’m not getting in the middle of that.” He whips around to face me again. “Your place free?”
I shake my head and give him my best disappointed frown. “Claudia’s there studying.”
He sucks his teeth, waving his hand like she’s dust we can sweep under the rug. “Can’t she just go to the library?”
Another question I’d prepared for. “She’s never in our room. She’ll hate me if I kick her out the one time she’s actually there.”
Our room is as empty as ever. I didn’t have to ask to know that Claudia’s probably going to be at rehearsal until past midnight again. If Hunter tries to call my bluff, I’m screwed, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never set foot in the concert hall across campus.
Before he can come up with some new bright idea, I pull him in by the lapel of his blazer. “I’ll make it up to you soon, though. I promise,” I whisper against his lips before closing the last of the distance.
Kissing him still feels like a punishment. But I messed up, and now I have to pay the price. There’s at least some comfort in knowing what to expect—rough fingers on my waist, his weight pinning me in place. Plus, it gives me the perfect opportunity to grab his phone out of my blazer pocket and quickly slide it into his.
I double-checked that his location was definitely visible on my phone before leaving. As far as I know, Hunter isn’t planning to hurt me. Or, at least not the way I’m most worried about. But knowing where he is makes me feel lighter. Maybe it’ll even make sleep come easier.
Naturally, Hunter takes my inch and forces it into a mile, gliding his tongue along my lower lip like the dean isn’t just down the hall. I go limp in his grip, give up the fight. Might as well save my energy for the people who matter. Going numb at least keeps the feeling of disgust that consumes me whenever he’s around at bay. With my eyes closed, it doesn’t even feel like him at all. I’m able to lose myself in hazy dreams of what it would be like to kiss someone who doesn’t make me flinch or hold me tight enough to bruise. Someone who didn’t hurt my sister. Soft hands and softer lips. The smell of apricots.
Hunter lets out a low groan as we pull apart, struggling to catch his breath as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m holding you to that promise.”
The gentle touch makes me flinch, my vision still cloudy when I finally open my eyes. For a few fleeting seconds, all I can see is the girl with the brown eyes and shy smile.
Without waiting for a reply, Hunter turns on his heels and stalks off to the common room at the end of the hall. My body sags in relief once he’s out of view, leaning heavily against the wall while I catch my breath. Thankfully, I got off easy.
But I’m not done here yet.
I head back the way I came, lingering in the hall beside the stairwell. Waiting to see if Dean Hughes leaves, or if Hunter decides to chase after me. I crane my neck for any signs that someone is in the bathroom just off to my right—the sound of pipes, or a door closing. The corridor is silent, nothing to see except for the dust dancing in the air. I map out my path until it’s all I can see, even when I close my eyes, and get into position.
Quick as I possibly can, I pull down the handle on the hall’s fire alarm. Within seconds, pandemonium erupts.
“Residents, evacuate immediately. Residents, evacuate immediately, ” an automated voice commands over an unseen sound system, almost buried beneath the wail of the alarm.
Ignoring the shooting pain in my ear, I shove the handle back into place and run as quickly as I can to the bathroom, locking the door behind me as soon as I’m in. Sure enough, I have the room to myself.
The alarm doesn’t let up in here either. Even with my ear pressed to the wood of the bathroom door, I can only just make out the commotion on the other side.
Hurried heavy footsteps that I assume must be Dean Hughes, followed by two familiar voices.
“Can’t we just stay?” Hunter says to who I assume must be Gabe. “It’s probably another drill anyway.”
Whatever Gabe says in response—if he says anything at all—is lost underneath the siren.
It doesn’t take long for the rumbling to fade. Less than a minute. A voice that sounds an awful lot like Tiffany warns me to wait another few minutes, until I’m positive the coast is clear. But I don’t know how long I have until security figures out that there’s no fire and everyone trickles back to their rooms. It could be minutes, it could be hours, and I don’t have the patience to find out.
I bolt through the empty corridor to the room at the end of the hall, the door left unlocked in their rush to get out of the building. Thankfully, I’m able to block out some of the sound by closing the door once I’m inside. The alarm is a constant rhythm, like a heartbeat or metronome, but it’s dulled enough that I can finally hear myself think.
The room is neater than I would’ve thought. Hunter’s bed is so pristinely made I wouldn’t be surprised if he had someone else do it for him. Even Gabe’s side, though sparse, is more put together than he is.
I start pulling open drawers and boxes and notebooks, anything I can get my hands on. Finding something that’ll tie Gabe to Luster may be a long shot, but it’s the best one I have. I can’t lure him in with the promise of a kiss the way I can with Hunter, and he’s definitely not as willing to open his door as Poppy. If I’m going to find something on him, it’s going to be here.
Turns out the surface of the desk is the cleanest thing about his half of the room. His drawers are stuffed to the point that I can barely open them. Crumpled receipts and coffee-stained study guides and wads of fives and tens and twenties jamming the drawer.
So much for the poor-little-dethroned-rich-kid act. Anyone who needs money the way we do wouldn’t leave it balled up in the back of a drawer, like trash you’re too lazy to clear out. Beneath the clutter are small clear baggies, empty except for flecks of white powder. If he’s trying to cover his dealing tracks, he’s doing a terrible job.
Beneath his bed isn’t much neater. Clumps of dust cling to abandoned boxes and shoes and tennis rackets he clearly hasn’t touched since move-in day. The cleanest thing under there is a black-and-white duffel bag. I pull it toward me, surprised by the heft it takes to lug it out from under the bed. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find, and shouldn’t be surprised when I’m met with what looks like hundreds of baggies of pills, strips, and powders.
“Jesus,” I mumble as I take in his stash. He must have five figures worth of profit in here—six if he’s smart enough to overcharge. People here would never know the difference.
It takes most of my strength to shove the duffel back under the bed—not made any easier by the massive suitcase taking up most of the space. Playing Jenga with the crap under Gabe’s bed is a waste of my time, but I can’t leave this place looking like I ransacked it. Especially not when it involves a duffel bag full of drugs.
I yank out the suitcase first, rearranging the duffel back the way I found it. I’m ready to push the suitcase into its proper place when the edge of a slip of paper cuts sharply into my palm. I pull my hand back as if burned, making sure it didn’t break the skin before examining it closer. It’s the edge of a checked bag receipt, wound tight around the handle of the suitcase, the date printed in bold block font catching my eye. December 20. An evening flight from Denver to Maryland.
No, no, no, echoes in my brain over and over until the room starts to spin. Maybe he turned back around somehow, some way, for some unknown reason. Maybe he missed the flight.
But if he did, how did his bag still end up in Maryland?
I kick the suitcase back under the bed hard enough to make it slam against the wall. This isn’t what I came here for. I needed to find proof , not another alibi.
Or is this what I came for? I’m here for answers. Just because they’re not the ones I wanted doesn’t mean I haven’t found them.
I lean back against a bookshelf opposite the bed, my head pounding and eyes watering. There’s no time for me to sit here and wallow. This isn’t over. I still have Poppy. I still have Izzy. I still have an entire campus to comb through. I let my head knock against the wood of the bookshelf, hoping it’ll jolt me out of my daze and back into reality, only for everything on the highest shelf to come crashing down on me.
A tennis trophy clatters to the ground along with a small black lump that breaks into a handful of pieces once it hits the floor, as if it was made of glass.
“Goddammit,” I mutter as I scramble to try to reassemble whatever I just broke.
The cheap plastic fits easily back together, making a small black box, but I can’t get them to stay in place. Unless I find some hot glue in the next couple seconds, it’s a lost cause. I toss the pieces into my backpack—not wanting to leave any evidence that I was here behind—when I stumble on one last piece I must’ve overlooked. A cracked bit of glass, stuck into the carpet.
Sparks prick my finger when I pick it up to take a closer look, my stomach churning as I slowly realize what it might be.
A camera lens.
“ Attention. Building has been cleared. Students are now permitted to reenter. ”
The automated voice replays on a loop, and my heart rockets straight into my throat.
I can try to figure out why Hunter and Gabe have a camera hidden in their bookshelf once I’m back in the safety of my own room. Moving at lightning speed and mumbling every profanity I can think of, I grab my bag, suck in a breath for luck, and book it. Muffled voices and laughs travel down the hallway as I take a sharp left and head for the emergency stairwell instead, hoping I won’t run into anyone on the way down.
I don’t let myself breathe until I get outside. Stars dot my vision as I heave for breath, the afternoon air sharp as a razor against my chapped lips and sore throat. Hunter and Gabe may have alibis, but what I found today sets me even more on edge. Both of them have plenty of secrets, but I can’t imagine why two teenage boys would need a secret camera stashed in their room. Unless there’s something darker I still don’t know about them.
Or, maybe I’m not the only one trying to figure out what they’re hiding.