Grayson’s being blackmailed, but how and why I don’t know. Whatever the case, he’s willing to take lethal measures.
“Grayson.”
From the attic window comes a voice I never thought I’d be so happy to hear. Moore is framed in the attic window, looking like he might Hulk his way through the brick and glass rather than climb through the open space.
“Brynn, Henry. Everyone inside.”
My gaze flicks to Grayson and back to Moore. None of us move.
“Now,” Moore barks.
Grayson saunters over first, crawling through the window. I’m next, and finally Henry. By the time he’s inside, Grayson has already disappeared through the twists and turns of the attic.
As Moore closes the window, the dark becomes a living thing, crawling over my skin, blinding my eyes. I don’t know what I expect to happen—Grayson isn’t going to jump out of the shadows and murder us, but he did kill Susan and lie about knowing Dr. O.
And trick Henry into planting evidence on his father.
I don’t know who he is, but he is capable of more than I ever imagined.
“Get to your rooms,” says Moore.
“I can’t,” says Henry.
“You have to,” Moore tells him.
I need to tell him. I trust Moore, and he might be able to help us.
“Grayson and Dr. O—”
Moore’s hand covers my mouth before I can finish.
“I know,” he says clearly. He turns to Henry. “But that is not something we’re going to discuss.”
“What are we going to do?” Henry whispers.
“You’re going to go back to your rooms, and get some rest. And in the morning, you’re going to put big, grateful smiles on your faces. You’ll go to class, and do your homework, and keep your heads down every day until graduation, understand?”
“But…” Henry starts.
“Do you understand?” Moore’s tone is coated with ice and promise. His intention is clear: we are not getting out of here unless we play the game. Even if that means doing things we don’t want to. Even if that means living with Grayson Sterling.
We can’t leave.
If we do, we will be unwritten. Erased. Maybe even hunted, like Jimmy and Margot.
“I understand,” says Henry, more somber than I’ve ever heard him. He laces his fingers with mine, a cold, firm reminder that neither of us is alone.
I nod.
Moore lowers his hand.
We all go to the supply closet exit—easier than shimmying through the crawl space that leads to the boys’ wing. My skin feels raw. My bones, too soft. But I force my chin up and grit my teeth.
Because I’m Brynn Hilder, from Devon Park.
And I’m done playing by someone else’s rules.
Before we part ways, Moore tells us if he finds us on the roof again, he’s writing us up.
Then he tells us to lock our doors before we go to sleep.
CHAPTER 38
2 Months Later
I sit on the top step of an outdoor staircase, the iron grating digging into my hamstrings as a bitter November breeze scrapes my face and the back of my neck. Huddling into my coat, I pull my knit hat lower over my ears and hug the large envelope against my chest.
I’ve been waiting over an hour.
I’d wait ten more if I had to.
The heels of my Chucks drum against the metal as I take yet another look around the parking lot below. A few cars fill the lot, none of them as fancy as the blue Jeep in the back. A few people are smoking near the road. From below comes the tinny sound of piped-in music, and laughter.
A clang on the metal, and then the heavy steps of someone coming up. I jump to my feet, heart in my throat.
Please, I think. Just please.
I see him before he sees me. His head is down, his black hair shaggier than I’ve ever seen it. Despite the cold, he’s not wearing a coat. Just a black-and-white-striped button-down shirt over a long-sleeved thermal. There’s a red stain on the right side, below the name badge, and his jeans are worn at the crease points.
He’s wearing the same shoes I am, and this gives me some small measure of hope.
I blow out a hard breath at the sight of him, and at the sound, his chin jerks up.
I found you.
Caleb stops, the wind ruffling his hair. His eyes find mine through the same black frames he left in, and his lips part the slightest bit. Heat rises in his cheeks. From the wind. Maybe from me.
I grip the envelope tighter. I’m not going to crumble. But my heart feels like I’m in the middle of a hundred-yard sprint, and there’s not enough air in the whole west side to fill my lungs.
His head tips forward, and absently, he rubs the back of his neck. Then he looks up again, as if unsure I’m really here.
It’s me, I want to say. I’m sorry. I’m here. I found you. I’m going to fix this.
I haven’t seen him in eight weeks, since the night he left Vale Hall, and since then, this moment has played out a hundred different ways. In some versions he hugs me and says I’m forgiven. In others, he passes by like I’m no more than a stranger on the street.
I need to say something.
Anything.
Anytime.
“Hi,” I say.
Good one.
He continues up the steps, slower, heavier now, and pulls a key ring from his pocket. Giving me room, he passes without looking up and opens the door behind me.
My throat burns. The envelope crinkles in my grip.
He goes inside, and I catch a glimpse of a small table, a hot plate, and a stack of noodle packs. He’s out of sight, somewhere behind the door.
“Are you coming in?” he calls.
I exhale in a whoosh and rush inside, then carefully, I close the door behind me. I hope that’s okay. I don’t know how to act around him right now. Everything I want to say seems wrong. I don’t know if I should take off my hat or my coat. Maybe that looks like I’m making myself too comfortable.
He’s standing in front of a coiled heater, and with a clang and a cough, it begins to hum. While he warms his hands in front of it, I take a look around the small room. There’s not much to it. Half seems to be dedicated storage for the bowling alley downstairs; the other half is occupied by a deflated air mattress with a rumpled sleeping bag on top. On the windowsill is the framed picture of his family. The glass is cracked, a lightning bolt splitting him from his parents and brothers.
It is a far fall from a room with a piano, a laptop, and a queen-sized bed with throw pillows.
“How’d you find me?” His voice is low, his dark brows furrowed with uncertainty.
I read people for a job, but at this moment, I have no idea how to set him at ease.
I try a smile. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
He waits.
“I, um…” I look for a place to sit. There’s not one. “I found your mom’s address.”
He rocks forward, panic thinning his lips.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her. I didn’t even talk to her.” I intended to when I first learned where she lived, but it became immediately clear that Caleb hadn’t come home. As she carried on with her routine, she didn’t seem particularly concerned that one of her sons was missing, which made me realize he didn’t tell her he’d been kicked out.
Since then, I’ve been checking in from a distance as often as I can.
“I followed Jonathan to the care home,” I say. “I overheard the office manager telling him it was no problem changing the billing address on his care to this place.” I glance toward the storage area. “Ragtime Bowling.”
Since I learned the name, I’ve researched this place as well as I could. I know they’re the only bowling joint on the west side. I know the owner, John, is a recovering addict, and takes in employees with criminal records, no questions asked. I know he has a room to rent above the bowling alley that a guy named Price had before he went back to prison. A phon
e call and a few innocent questions lent that much.
How Caleb is covering his dad’s care working here I have no idea. He can’t make more than minimum wage.
The thunder of bowling balls striking pins roars through the air vents. A never-ending crash from 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 a.m.
“Jonathan said he didn’t know anything about a new billing address,” I say. “I think you’re in the clear.”
Caleb gives a single nod.
A tense silence settles between us. “I’m sorry. About Grayson. About school. You were right about everything.”
He doesn’t look at me.
The past eight weeks have been a balancing act—playing like everything is fine while Grayson struts around the property. He hasn’t told Dr. O that we know they’re working together from what I can tell—Dr. O hasn’t said a word about it to me or any of the other students. But if Grayson’s keeping secrets from his friend the director, I don’t know why. Maybe they are trying to cut corruption out of the city in their own corrupt way, but he’s got his own game going, otherwise that phone never would have found its way into his father’s safe.
Whatever he’s up to, I intend to find out.
“Why are you here, Brynn?” My name sounds too stiff on Caleb’s lips.
I want to tell him that I’ve been looking for him every day. That I’ve made a dozen excuses to leave Vale Hall and search the city. But what does that matter when I’m the reason why he’s gone?
I step closer. He breathes in slowly, chest lifting.
Everything about him breaks me.
“I should have trusted you.” I take off my hat, wringing it out in my hands. “Everything got all twisted up. I didn’t know who to believe. I didn’t even listen to myself.”
His fingers tap against his thigh.
“But you should have trusted me, too,” I say. “I didn’t know who Margot was when I was working with her, and I only brought up that police report because I thought it would convince Dr. O that you were dedicated to the school. I didn’t know what was in it.”
He sighs. “I know.”
I blow out a tight breath, but my voice is still rough when I ask, “Then why didn’t you try to contact me?”
A long beat passes before he answers.
“You know why.”
Because it was too dangerous. Because he couldn’t put his family more at risk.
“When I told Dr. O about Margot, I almost got her killed,” he says quietly. “I promised never to put the people I care about at risk again.” He holds my gaze, and my eyes burn with tears. “Especially you.”
My chest hurts. Everything hurts. But I blink until the tears are gone.
“Margot’s looking for you, too,” I say. “She wants to help.”
His brows arch. “You talked to her?”
Twenty times or more. She wants a girl on the inside to bring down Dr. O? She’s got one.
“I have.”
I hand him the large envelope. Our fingertips brush as he takes it, sparking heat up my arm.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
He unhooks the brass clasp and pulls out a slim Vale Hall notebook. His fingers slide over the raven emblem, the ink stains that were always present on his fingertips faded.
“Look inside,” I say.
He opens the cover while I perch on the balls of my feet.
Inside is a file folder. He looks up at me before opening it.
I move beside him, not too close, as he pulls back the cover, revealing a shot of his face, younger, but no less troubled than right now. His glasses are different, his clothes a little baggy. He’s standing outside a boat on the river—an architecture cruise where he worked before he was recruited.
On the top of the typed page opposite his picture is his name. Caleb D. Matsuki. Other information follows. His birthday. His parents’ names. His school records. His Social Security number. Behind it are pages on his academic performance—his transcripts and health forms. A thin envelope pokes out from the back, and he pulls it free.
“Henry intercepted that before Ms. Maddox got it,” I say.
He opens the letter from the testing site, and I hold my breath as he scans through the numbers.
Caleb Matsuki. Combined SAT score: 1490.
“Holy cow,” I say. “You’re a genius.” But I already knew that. I got a 1110, which Shrew tells me is adequate at best. I’m set to retake them in two weeks.
He swallows a breath, and then another, as if he can’t quite get enough oxygen.
“Where’d you get all this?”
“The safe in Dr. O’s office.” The director changed the combination and the location of the safe, but unfortunately for him, he lives in a house of sneaks and con artists.
“This was a bad idea,” he says. “If he finds out you did it…”
I smile. Still Caleb. Still worried what will happen to everyone else, even when they stab him in the back.
Something shifts inside me, locking in place. Caleb has lost everything, but he is still fighting. He’s still there for his family, still worried about my safety. Still cautious. He may be at a low point, but he is not backing down.
It reminds me of something Margot said—she could see why he loved me. I may run hot and he may run cool, but I balance him.
I can still do that.
Because the things that make him Caleb—his cool head and thoughtful intentions, his unwavering dedication to his family, his consistency and focus on everything he does—are things I’ve been searching for my whole life.
Not a college degree or a fancy high school. A home and a family.
Not a ton of friends or expensive clothes, but the kind of people who stick, no matter what.
“I can go back to school with this,” he says.
“You can.”
“Brynn…” The way he looks at me, with genuine hope, makes me stand two inches taller.
I interrupt whatever thanks he thinks he owes.
“You’re going to finish school and go to college. And I’m going to figure out a way to help your dad. We’re going to get out of this mess, I promise.”
Cheeks heating, I reach into my back pocket and run my fingers along the edge of a note card I’m not brave enough to pull out.
He looks down again at the file, then frowns at the one behind it. I move a little closer.
“What is this?” he asks again as he opens the page to the copied report. A pretty girl in a sweatshirt is pictured on the left. The right side has the same demographic information from Caleb’s chart. “Renee Gibson. Who is she?”
“She was like you and Margot, I think,” I say. “Kicked out. Erased, before you started.”
He turns to the next file, finding a guy with a buzzed head and a hard glare. Rafael Fuentes. There’s another file behind it, and another behind that. Six students I could find no record of online. I have memorized everything I can about them.
“I’m going to find them,” I say.
He looks up at me again. “How?”
“I don’t know. But when I do, I’m going after Dr. O.”
He holds my gaze, but doesn’t warn me to back off. He knows I know what’s at risk.
“Vincit omnia veritas,” he says. Truth conquers all. Then, “I’ll help.”
My smile is bright enough to light the whole city.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Again, our gazes match, but this time my stomach does a slow roll, and my pulse skips. I can’t look away from the tiny square of light reflected in his glasses, and his dark lashes beneath, and the determined line of his mouth.
“You tried to stay at Vale Hall to protect us. Me,” I add with a shaky breath. “You pretended to be with Geri to keep Grayson from getting upset. I thought when you said later, it meant you didn’t care, but—”
“I never stopped,” he says.
My lungs feel too full. My heart pounds too hard.
“Me neither,” I tell him.
His shoulders lower, the guarded look in his eyes drawing back to reveal a tentative question I never thought he’d ask again.
The answer is still yes.
The knock at the door makes us both jump. He quickly shuts the file and shoves it into the envelope.
“I’m sorry for this,” I say, threading my hands behind me. My cheeks are still stained from his confession, and from the hope kindled inside me.
He tucks the envelope beneath his sleeping bag. “For what?”
The knock comes again. He rises slowly.
Warily, he goes to the door, looking at me one more time before turning the handle. He probably thinks I’ve called Moore or Dr. O to come get him. Maybe told his mom where he’s hiding out.
That’s okay. I’m going to earn back his trust.
The door caves inward as he opens it, and Henry barrels in, two full paper bags hoisted in his arms. He drops them at Caleb’s feet and pulls him into a hug so tight, Caleb wheezes.
“Did you miss me?” Henry asks.
“I can’t breathe,” Caleb manages. But there’s a smile on his face when Henry pulls back.
“Okay, okay, we get it, now move over, the pregnant girl is freezing out here.”
Caleb chokes, wide eyes finding Charlotte, who is shoving past Henry into the apartment. Her wild hair’s braided back today, and she’s proudly wearing the shirt I made for her birthday. GINGER PRINCESS, it says in puff-painted letters.
It’s one of the few things that always makes me smile.
“Hi.” She pulls him into a hug. “Before you ask, it’s not Henry’s.”
“Ha,” he says. Then looks to Sam, carrying another two bags, full to the brim.
“Mine,” Sam says, then grins wider than I’ve seen him do in months. He and Caleb shake hands and do the half-hug thing.
“A lot has happened since I’ve been gone,” Caleb said.
“So much,” Henry says. “I had my first and last kiss ever.”
“Technically that was before he left,” I say.
Sam closes the door behind him. “Henry’s sworn off boys forever.”
“Been there,” says Charlotte, who has crossed the small room and is picking through a cardboard box of marquee letters.
“It’s cozy here,” says Henry with a smile. If anyone else said it, it would be condescending, but Henry always says what he means. He takes off his coat and hangs it over the heater.
Scammed Page 33