One by one, they all go to bed.
“Goodnight, friends,” says Henry with a yawn. He pats me on the knee and then stands. “You guys are the best.”
“Have sweet dreams of me,” says Grayson.
“Maybe I will.”
“For sure you will.”
I snort.
Henry blushes.
It’s late, and I should go, too, but there are things Grayson and I need to discuss, and we haven’t had a chance alone all day.
“So,” I say. “About that safe in Dr. O’s office.”
His grin is reflected in the television as we change to a mountain track and pick new trucks. “About that.”
“What were you doing?”
“Looking for the phone.”
I pause.
“What phone?”
“The phone that was on … you know. That was in the car.”
The warmth of the room falls steadily, one degree at a time.
“Susan Griffin’s phone.”
Grayson took it off her after he found her dead in the car. He hid it in a hollowed-out tree near the accident site and gave it to me when he told me he’d been the one to run her off the road.
He nods.
The game starts, but my fingers slip off the right buttons on the controller, and he jumps into the lead.
“How did you know it was there?”
“Deduction,” he says. “Your director said it was in a safe. Henry said there’s a safe in his office, hidden in the fireplace. It’s where he keeps all your student files.”
Why Henry is telling Grayson, who doesn’t even really know what we do here, about our student files is beyond me.
“If there is, it’s locked by combination.”
“You don’t need a combination if you’ve got an axe.”
“You have an axe?”
“I was working on that part.”
My monster truck takes a dive off the road, and I drop the controller into my lap. “Why the hell do you want that phone?”
He shrugs. “Insurance.”
“Explain.”
“What’s your director doing?” he asks. “He knows Dad covered up what I did, and he’s just sitting on it. Why? What’s he waiting for?”
More information on Jimmy Balder.
Urgency rises in my veins.
“He’s letting me stay here without question until I testify against him, but when will that happen? Dr. Odin hasn’t made any reports. He hasn’t done anything.”
“I know.”
“He’s up to something,” says Grayson, tossing the controller on the couch beside him. “And unless I’ve got my own insurance, I’m the one who’s going to get screwed here.”
He says screwed as if he weren’t the one to run Susan off the road.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask, shifting in my seat. “Get the phone, then what?”
“Keep it. I never should have given it away.”
A wave of guilt washes over me, a reminder that I betrayed him by passing the phone along to Dr. O. Never mind that I was trying to protect Grayson by doing so. Never mind that I could have turned him in to the director, or the authorities, and didn’t.
“Without that phone it’s his word against mine that I actually … you know.” His brows are furrowed, and his tone is thin with unease. “If my dad admits I did it, it will destroy his reputation, and since he’s not talking, the only evidence I was there that night is that phone, with my fingerprints.”
“You want to get rid of it,” I realize.
He looks back at the television.
“Grayson, I…”
“Before you say anything, tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”
I swallow my breath, feeling it burn in my throat. If I had done what he had, and the only thing standing between me and jail time was a stupid cell phone with my prints on it, I would get rid of it, too.
I’d burn this house to the ground if it meant making my guilt disappear.
“Somebody died,” I say.
His eyes flash to mine, and in a snap, a desperate anger sizzles across the room. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t think of it every second of every day? I tried to make it right, but I couldn’t. Now it’s just me. I’ve got to look out for myself.”
He is scraped raw and aching. I can hear it in his voice. I can feel it in the throbbing tension between us. This is the boy who went to his father after the accident. This is the boy who tried to tell the cops and was sent home.
This is what exists beneath the anger, and the privilege, and the sarcasm.
“You’re not alone,” I say.
For a while, he doesn’t respond. Then, he reaches for me, his hand closing around my calf. I stare at his fingers, glowing red and green and brown in the reflection from the television. The weight of them burns through to my muscle.
“Help me,” he says. “You helped me before. Help me get that phone.”
“I can’t.”
He starts to pull back, but I stop him. My hand over his.
“I will help you. I just need some time to figure out a plan.”
“What kind of plan?”
I don’t know. I squeeze his hand, but it feels too heavy to move. “I need to know everything you do about Susan Griffin.”
“I told you everything I know.”
“What about Jimmy Balder?”
He looks confused. “The intern you were talking about? I don’t know anything about that.”
“What about your father? Is there anything else he’s done? Anything we can use to make a case against him?”
He flinches.
I wait.
“He called her,” he says.
“You father called who? Susan?”
He nods.
“On that phone?”
He nods again.
This doesn’t seem that important—Pop Store had already reported that Matthew Sterling and Susan were likely having an affair. Of course he’d call her.
“They were talking on the phone when it happened.”
“When you hit her?”
He grimaces.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
His hand slides from my calf. He crosses one ankle over his knee, then sets both feet back on the floor.
“I heard someone talking on the phone when I got to her car. It was sitting there on the seat.”
He bows forward, head in his hands. “He kept saying her name. Susan? Susan? Talk to me. What’s going on? That kind of stuff. I knew it was him.”
“What’d you do?”
“I picked up the phone.”
“You what?”
Sweat has blossomed on Grayson’s forehead, and he swipes it away with the back of his hand.
“I said there’d been an accident, and she wasn’t moving. He didn’t understand why I was there.”
The scene is playing out in my mind in bold colors. Susan’s car, smashed against a tree. Grayson reaching across her to pick up the phone off the seat, while she lays there, still as death.
“I said I needed to call the police, and he told me not to. That I had to come home. I shouldn’t stop anywhere or do anything. Like I’d take a detour and catch a movie or something.” His heels are drumming against the carpet. “When I got home, he was crying. What’d you do? he asked me. He kept saying it over and over. What’d you do? What’d you do?”
“He was crying?” I can’t picture this, but maybe it was part of the act.
Grayson closes his eyes. “Then he got mad.”
He pounds one fist lightly on his thigh. It takes a second to adjust to this new version of his story. It’s like earlier, when he made it sound like Geri was the one who hurt him instead of the other way around. When I thought he was shallow, it was easy to assume everything he did was reckless, the actions of some spoiled brat. But the more time I spend with him, the more I realize there’s so much beneath the surface that no one, not even his father, has bothered to explor
e.
“Does that help your plan?” he asks.
“I think so. But tell me if you think of anything else.”
He exhales. “Okay.”
Tilting forward, he stares at the floor, his jaw working back and forth.
“Do you think I’m a terrible person?”
“No.”
He snorts, like he doesn’t believe me.
“I don’t,” I say. “It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone.”
“Not to you. You’re too smart.”
It’s not meant to be a compliment, but a fact. Even if it’s not true, it means something that he thinks that way about me.
“It was one night,” I say. “A few minutes. There’s more to you than that.”
He’s quiet.
I reach for him, my fingers spreading on his hard shoulder, feeling the breath move his back. With a pang, I remember the night Caleb called me down here, after the Wolves had beaten him up. How he looked at me, like I held all his secrets. Like I could crush him.
I remember the way he put his hand on Geri’s back earlier.
I remember that he chose Dr. O’s assignment over me, and even if I understand why, I still hate that he did it. He may have given me his trust, but he’s been taking mine, piece by piece, since my first night at Vale Hall. Now I can’t get it back, and the armor I’ve worn all my life is riddled with holes. It lets in too much. I feel too much.
As the minutes pass, a change comes over Grayson and me. I focus on the white of his shirt between my tan fingers. On his slowing breath.
On the way mine quickens.
I try to push Caleb from my mind, but the wounds are too deep, and a pulsing ache remains behind my ribs.
“I haven’t always been here,” I say. “Before this place, I lived in Devon Park, and it was all anyone ever cared about.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, the light from the TV washing over his face.
“You’ll break through this, just like I did,” I say, and then I look away, embarrassed. I didn’t want to tell him that. It’s too personal. It’s in the past.
He leans across the cushion and lifts his knuckles to my cheek. I don’t move, frozen by the idea of what’s happening, and whether I want this or don’t, and if it even matters because if it’s what Grayson needs, it has to be what I need.
My pulse jumps in my throat as his hand turns, cupping my jaw. He stares at my lips, the dark blue in his eyes turning stormy gray with an angry kind of need. A slick fist of warning closes around my lungs, but there’s heat in my belly.
I don’t want it to be there. I want Caleb. I miss Caleb.
“Grayson,” I whisper. We can’t. We’re friends.
I say none of it, because all I can feel is that hole inside me that Caleb left, that keeps ripping more every time I see him outside Risa’s, following me. Every time he touches Geri, and I picture that card with his trust, and I hear his voice whispering we should take a step back.
We’re supposed to meet tonight. Fix things. Tell each other the truth.
But what if he doesn’t want to fix things? What if he just wants to ask more questions about my assignment?
What if I can’t trust him again?
What if this place that brought us together has broken us for good?
Grayson leans close and kisses me.
It isn’t gentle. There is no question in the press of his lips, no tentative exploration. Only a heated, desperate desire, a demand to fix all the broken things inside him, to sand away the razor-sharp points.
And I answer with my own hurt and doubt and anger.
Until I can’t smell Caleb’s soap, or hear his breath, or feel his glasses nudge my nose.
Until there’s only Grayson.
His other hand rises to my cheek and he kisses me hard again, his eyes closed tightly, the force of his grief threatening to swallow me whole.
I place my hands on his chest to steady myself, or push him back, I don’t know, and he responds by grabbing my shirt and bunching it in his fist, dragging the fabric tight across my chest.
“Grayson,” I say, gasping for breath. This isn’t right. He’s my assignment. Kissing him makes me no better than Geri, no more immune to his callous brush-off than any one of his conquests. Doing this isn’t a job requirement; there are a dozen other ways to make him feel safe and comfortable.
I don’t want this.
Only …
Only I kind of do.
“Brynn.”
I shove back at the low voice that rumbles from the foot of the stairway. Humiliation scalds me as I register Moore’s stiff posture, his jaw flexed in anger. Beside me, Grayson slumps back in the couch, running a hand down his jaw. He stares at the television, avoiding my gaze.
“Go to your rooms,” Moore says. He’s furious, though my thoughts are flying too fast to think why.
I kissed Grayson.
I can’t even say it was all for the job. I was hurting, and he was hurting, and for a moment, the lines blurred. I stopped thinking about Caleb. I stopped thinking about how this was supposed to accomplish my assignment for Dr. O.
It’s what Margot, Caleb’s ex-girlfriend, did. She played her assignment, and then fell for him, and told him everything about Vale Hall.
I try to swallow, but a knot has formed in my throat. I stand, trying to look innocent. Failing miserably.
Grayson’s thumbs punch the game controller. “I thought curfew wasn’t until—”
“Upstairs. Now.” Moore isn’t playing.
Grayson doesn’t even look at me as he shoves to a stand. Without turning off the game or the TV, he heads toward the stairs. Realizing he needs this quick escape as much as I do doesn’t exactly make me feel better.
He shoves by Moore without a word.
I shut down the game console and walk toward Moore, palms damp. I don’t know what I’m going to say. In the end, it doesn’t matter; I don’t have to say anything.
“I told you to watch yourself,” he growls. “I told you to stay public.”
My hands ball into fists inside my sleeves.
“Get in your room. I don’t want you leaving until morning. I don’t want you calling him or sending a single message. I don’t want to see you looking at him again until you remember this isn’t a game.”
Moore’s never talked to me like this before. He wasn’t this angry when he caught Charlotte and Sam in the hot tub after curfew. This is a step above security officer. This is dad territory.
A wave of shame crashes over me.
With a nod, I hurry up the stairs, through the kitchen, up to the girls’ wing. I close my bedroom door and sit on the edge of my bed. My heels bounce against the floor. My hands fist in the comforter.
I should be heading to the roof to meet Caleb right now, but I’m stuck in my room. Moore said no texting, and if I had to guess, he’s checking my phone. I could probably get a pass if I went to Dr. O and told him Moore’s interfering in my mission, but I don’t want to. Last time I blew off Moore’s orders I ended up careening down Route 17 in a Porsche, half-convinced I was going to die.
No wonder Moore’s touchy when it comes to Grayson.
No wonder Caleb wants me to focus on my assignment.
I can’t even tell him I’m not coming tonight. Maybe it’s better that way. I don’t know what I’d say to him.
My head falls into my hands.
I kissed Grayson.
I’m not sure what to say to him, either—he didn’t exactly look pleased that I’d bolted back when Moore caught us.
This isn’t a game.
I close my eyes, my lips still tingling from Grayson’s searing kiss. My chest still aching from Caleb’s lies. I go to my nightstand, shoving aside my books and notes until I find the card labeled Trust. Gripping it in one quaking hand, I trace the word with my finger, feeling its meaning slip out of reach.
I don’t even know if I trust myself anymore.
CHAPTER 18
C
aleb is gone when I wake up Sunday—out on assignment again, according to Henry. He left early and didn’t say when he’d be back.
I can’t help thinking his absence has something to do with me.
I start to text him, but delete it, because what can I say? Sorry I blew you off, I was making out with my mark. By the way, did you get what you needed from me for Dr. O?
I don’t know what came over me last night. I never intended to kiss Grayson. He’s a friend, one who doesn’t even know the whole truth. He’s angry, and complicated, and messed up right now.
And maybe I am, too.
But that’s no excuse. If I don’t help put his dad away, he’s going to do something crazy, like try to steal Susan’s phone again. Moore was right, this isn’t a game. Grayson’s an assignment, and I have a job to do.
Which is made slightly impossible when he won’t even look at me.
I try to sit by him at breakfast, but he gives me the cold shoulder. I tell him I’ve got a new challenge, but he and his new best friend Henry are going to play Road Racers. Every time I try to corner him, he avoids me. It doesn’t help that Moore is watching both of us like a hawk.
I have screwed this up, and I don’t know where to go from here.
Caleb comes home that afternoon and joins the other guys in the pit. Geri squeezes next to him on the couch, smiling at me over his shoulder while I try to read Othello on the other side of the room. If he’s annoyed by this, he doesn’t let on. He barely acknowledges I’m there.
I am shunned, and every day I don’t figure out a way to fix this situation is another day it feels more permanent.
* * *
MONDAY AFTERNOON IS a teacher in-service day, so Charlotte rounds up the girls and Belk drives us to Uptown for the afternoon to shop. Charlotte’s birthday party is this weekend, and even though she’s ordered four different dresses online, none of them fit right.
“We have to look perfect,” she says as we head into a shop on Lakeside Avenue. “It’s the last chance we have to be young and beautiful.”
“Except for the holiday dinner at New Year’s, and the spring formal you made us all do last year, and graduation, which Dr. O insists we all dress up for.” Geri throws up her hands as Charlotte casts a glare her direction. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re just being mildly dramatic.”
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