Chapter Twenty-Two Sam
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SAM
What the hell was he thinking? Better yet, what the hell was I thinking?
And now that I’m sneaking around after dark like a two-dollar hooker, I’m questioning my own intellect. Why would I expect anything decent from him? Of course, aligning myself to him couldn’t possibly result in anything good.
It seems he has a knack for off-the-wall things that seem to usually land him in trouble. And now, it’s literal breaking and entering. Into the administration office.
Maybe Aaron knocked him upside his head a little too hard in that fight. Because there is no way he thought this through. Right?
When I said I wanted his help getting information, I was thinking more along the lines of maybe accidentally stumbling across his dad’s emails. Or, I don’t know, maybe just ask questions. Not committing a freaking felony.
He just went from zero to a hundred, passed go, and did not collect two hundred dollars.
And I get it. His father practically owns this school, and he’s like a god around here. But, if we get caught, it won’t be a slap on the wrist for me. It’ll mean getting expelled.
Yeah, this is a bad, bad idea.
“Alex.” I crouch low to the redbrick wall like a bandit in the night while throwing my gaze around to make sure no one sees us. “We can’t do this.”
But he keeps moving, ignoring me as he peeks around the corner.
“Alex,” I whisper-shout, my fingers tingling as numbness pricks at my skin.
“Come on, the guard just walked down the hall,” Alex announces over his shoulder with a wave of his hand and the tilt of his head.
Before I can protest, he’s on the move, staying close to the building, occasionally shifting his gaze across the courtyard. My chest tightens, and every step feels like a countdown.
I should leave. Right now. Thank him for his consideration and get the hell out of Dodge.
I move, but not in the opposite direction. I find myself closer to Alex.
Walking away would be the right thing, the non-criminal thing. But then, I’ll never get my answers, and the suspicion around my scholarship will drive me insane.
I pause, flaying tentatively, battling between turning around and trekking forward. And then out of nowhere, shouts erupt in the distance.
I flinch, and my throat drops into the pit of my stomach. I snap around, my nerves now a fragile mess. Across the quad, there’s a group of students, six of them, all in a world of their own. They’re swaying and laughing among one another, clearly having had a little too much to drink.
The sound of a lock clicks, and I turn to Alex slowly inching the door open and scanning the area. He doesn’t need words to tell me to follow him.
I hesitate for a beat, knowing that the moment I step into this building, there’s no turning back. And even though he hasn’t asked for anything in return, it would be foolish to think this could just be labeled as a good deed.
No. Allowing him to do this for me gives him leverage. He’ll own me. There will be no escaping him. I’ll be bound to him despite how much we dislike each other.
But the alternative is never getting answers, never knowing the truth. So I throw caution to the wind and step in behind him.
I’m careful not to touch the door, using the sleeve of my shirt to keep from leaving fingerprints behind. But not him. He just raw-dogs the door, his prints all over it. Amateur. Not leaving proof is Burglary 101. Not that I would know.
The lights are out, save for the neon red signs above all the exits, and the lights flooding in from outside. The lobby is hollow, the soft pads of our footfalls bouncing off the walls.
“Stay close,” Alex whispers while turning his head from one direction to the other.
I huddle in behind him, grabbing the tail of his shirt to keep from losing him in the darkness. My eyes have yet to adjust, and I end up running into his back.
He grunts. “I said stay close, not run me over. But if you wanted to be that close to me all you had to do is ask, Sunshine.”
“Shut up. I couldn’t see.”
Alex chuckles and I just know he’s got that stupid, crooked smile plastered to his face. God, he makes me sick.
He takes out his phone, fumbling around with it before the flashlight beams onto the wall. I feel small under the scrutiny of the decades of academic scholars whose portraits hang on the walls. I feel their eyes following us—judging us.
“If we get caught, Alex, I’m going to kill you,” I announce.
“Do you want the information or not?” he says as we approach the registrar’s office door.
“Y-yes,” I stutter. “I do.”
“Okay then.” He peers at me for a beat, one hand on the knob. “We won’t get caught. Besides, it’s only breaking in when you don’t have a key.”
Alex holds it up, the dull gold gleaming under the flashlight.
“And you just happened to have one?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“I cloned a copy from my father’s key ring years ago,” he admits and inserts it into the lock. It clicks and he pushes the door open.
“Of course you did.”
Alex steps aside, one arm sweeping out like he’s welcoming me into a five-star hotel. “After you.”
“Just a regular rule breaker,” I mutter as I walk through the door.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex follows me in, shutting the door behind us with a soft click.
The air inside is stale. It’s laced with that old institutional smell—dust, toner, and floor wax.
“You’re always doing something you shouldn’t.” I peer around to gather my bearings. “Like that fight earlier. What was that about?”
“He’s a dick. And was asking for it,” he replies flatly, his delivery cold and indifferent.
I continue on. “So, you just go around punching people you deem a dick?”
“That’s gold coming from you.” His voice cuts through the stale air like a blade. “Do you just go around breaking the kneecaps of anyone who pisses you off? What’s that about?”
I suck in a breath. I walked right into that one, didn’t I?
I groan, regretting that I said anything at all.
“Never mind.” I move around the front desk, checking for unlocked drawers.
“Not buying it. What could have possibly been a good enough reason to assault Jackson?”
I wince at that. There’s that word again, and like before it’s being directed at the wrong person.
“What difference does it make?” I shrug, moving on to the next drawer. “It’s not like anyone will believe what I have to say anyway.”
Alex stands in the center of the room, his silhouette looming. “Try me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I broke his knee, plain and simple.” What’s the point in telling him? It was so easy for them all to believe that bullshit ass story Jackson gave.
“He tried something, didn’t he?”
I freeze, my eyes snapping to him. Thank God he can’t look into mine right now. I wouldn’t be able to hide the truth.
“All of these drawers are locked,” I say instead, then rush to the closest door. Nothing.
He huffs again, and I know it’s because I just changed the subject.
“The hard copies of records should be in that room straight ahead. And here.” He tosses the key, and to both our surprise, I catch it. “I’ll keep watch.”
My boots make the softest squeak on the linoleum as I move past the front desk and into the dark corridor. Every shadow feels like it could swallow us whole.
I dig out my phone from my back pocket and turn on my flash as well. Sweat forms on my palms, forcing me to wipe them on the front of my jeans, but I’m thankful to be putting distance between us, even if it’s only a brief reprieve.
Being careful to use my sleeve to avoid touching things, I insert the key and push inside. It clicks shut behind me, and I hold my phone up to see what’s in front of me.
A wall of cabinets looms ahead, their drawers tucked beneath rows of labels.
Finally, my eyes adjust to the lighting, and I inch toward the cabinets.
I read the labels, stopping when I find the first drawer labeled C, and pull it open.
The metal creaks like it’s protesting, and it’s loud as hell in the silence.
I wince, listening to be sure it didn’t alert the guard. But nothing. Alex never calls out to me, and when I glance behind me through the threshold, he’s still in place.
I refocus, my fingers working fast as I flip through names. But my file isn’t in this one. Damn. Just how many students do they have with a last name that starts with a C? I move to the next drawer, scanning through those until I finally see it. My name jumps out in sharp print.
COLLINS, SAMANTHA.
My stomach knots. For weeks questions have swirled around in my mind. So why am I so scared to find out the truth?
I inhale deeply and reach for the file, setting it on top of the others to thumb through it. Anticipation builds and I brace myself. Best case scenario, it’s fine and I’ve made a big deal out of nothing. And maybe good things really do happen to people.
The sound of the pages turning fill the dead air. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here. Just standard stuff—name, date of birth, home address.
I flip to another. The original rejection letter.
And the next. The acceptance letter.
I read them both carefully, something deep down not allowing me to move on. It’s a generic template; with the exception of my name and the SKU logo, it’s your run-of-the-mill text. Nothing special on these pages. But then I get to the signature line and the frown forms before I fully register it.
The name on the rejection letter is not the same as on the acceptance. I hadn’t realized that before. I received them a year apart and trashed the first one.
I scan to the bottom of the acceptance letter.
Richard Williamsburg, School Chancellor.
I rifle back to the rejection.
Alice Drumming, Dean of Admissions.
Confused and curious, I dig out another student’s record. I aggressively flip through the pages until I land on their offer.
Alice Drumming, Dean of Admissions.
I shake my head, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. Quickly I grab another folder, and it’s the same.
Alice Drumming, Dean of Admissions.