Olive’s words from last night come back to me. We can’t be so scared of each other.
“I followed up on an address Ava wrote down in her journal. I don’t even know how to describe it. Like a fight club?” I check his expression, but he doesn’t appear to be freaking out. Relieved, I run through the rest of the details, only leaving out the parts with VT. No need for Gramps to know that I went off alone with an informant.
“Have you heard of anything like that?” I ask once I’ve finished.
He thinks it over. “I don’t believe so, although that sort of petty local crime would hardly have been on my radar.”
I hesitate. I don’t want Gramps to think I’m jumping to conclusions, but what VT said last night made sense. I keep my tone casual. “This place was pretty well organized. Someone must be covering it up, right? Like the police, or a politician maybe?”
“Possible,” Gramps says, watching me carefully. “But why? It seems like a needlessly extravagant enterprise. Those types tend to be more discreet.”
“Yeah, but they’re also raging narcissists. Maybe they didn’t think anyone would ever be smart enough to catch them.”
Gramps doesn’t answer right away. I know what he’s thinking. The last time I went head-to-head with the rich and powerful, I didn’t come out looking too good.
This would have been the moment where Mom lost it. Where she threatened and begged me not to go any further.
“I’ll look into it,” he says eventually.
He’s the one who stays.
“By the way,” he adds, “I called in a favor with that old colleague of mine at NYU. Apparently, she’s good friends with someone in the bursar’s office. She asked a few delicate questions about the tuition money, and it appears that Ava paid for both semesters in cash several weeks ago.”
Cash. I didn’t even know you could pay school tuition in cash. That definitely rules out a scholarship or a loan. Where the hell did she get that kind of money?
A breath rushes out of me. “Thank you.”
“Yes, well. Have a nice day in school.” My grandfather can make his expression perfectly neutral and at ease whenever he wants. The worry in his eyes is there because he wants me to see it. To know that he is scared.
Unease tightens in my gut, but I force it aside. He’s scared, but he’s helping me anyway. Trusting me not to let him down this time.
“You look like hell,” is the first thing Cass says when I get in her car. “Did you sleep at all?”
“At all? Sure. You’ll never believe what I found.” My questions about the fight club have been hammering my brain all night, and I want to share them with someone who will get it.
Cass pulls out of my street, her eyes flicking from the road to me and back again.
“Well?” She sounds a little on edge. She did spend all of last night with her mother, which always puts her in a bad mood. Maybe I should let her rant first? Do the best-friend thing?
She wouldn’t want me to sit on something this huge, though. It all spills out of me, the fight with Olive, the hospital, the fight club, VT. Unlike with Gramps, I don’t hold anything back.
There’s a long silence, punctuated by the clicking of the turn signal.
I wait, but Cass is freaking me out. “What do you think? I mean, I’m more observant than your average bear, right? Kids from school have been fighting for cash in an abandoned hospital. How did this slip past us?”
Cass doesn’t respond. She’s very focused on looking up and down the road to make a turn.
I get that unsettled feeling again, the same one I felt with Gramps in the kitchen.
We arrive at school. Cass focuses on parking the car so intently, it’s like she’s landing the Mars rover.
I stare at her the whole time, but she ignores me. “Are you mad at me?”
Cass finally turns the car off. “You said you’d wait.”
I shift in my seat. My winter coat is stifling and bulky in the confines of the car.
“I know, I’m sorry. But I had to—”
“No, you always do this!” she explodes, and it’s like stepping on a land mine—I thought we were on safe ground, until the earth blew apart under my feet. “You are always a disaster, Flora. That doesn’t mean you get to just treat me however you want and expect me not to say anything.”
Cass bites her lip like she’s trying not to cry, and that makes my own throat close up with tears. She’s one of the few people in the world I absolutely could not survive losing, and I’m fucking it up.
I grab her hand. “I’m sorry. Okay? Really, I am.” The words come jumbling out of me. “Please. I was a mess last night, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I kept hearing those gunshots, and I couldn’t take it anymore, and I know I broke my promise, and that’s not okay, and I won’t shut you out, or at least I’ll try, but—”
She squeezes my hand. “Stop.”
“Cass—”
“No, shit, I’m sorry. It was a really long night with my mom, and I’m nervous for the audition. I shouldn’t have unloaded on you like that.” She gives me a tentative smile. “We don’t need to be in a fight right now.”
I frown. “You’re sorry? I think you have it backward.”
“Come on. Let’s go to class.” She starts to get out of the car.
Something feels off, though. It shouldn’t be that easy.
“Cass, seriously—”
She grabs her stuff out of the back seat. “We’re good. Swear.” She gives me an earnest look. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I promise we’re okay.”
But all that stuff she said didn’t sound like it was only about last night. It sounded like it’s been brewing for a while.
“C’mon,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks across the parking lot. “We’ll be late.”
It doesn’t feel right. But I grab my stuff and run to catch up with her.
In history class, I squint at Ruby Eaton’s neck. There’s a splotch of mismatched skin, like she didn’t fully blend her makeup. Covering a bruise? Or maybe a hickey.
In Spanish, Jack Kimora keeps stretching his knee under his desk like it’s sore. Did he fight yesterday?
I scan the hallways between classes, but the tall green-shirt sophomore is nowhere to be seen. I’m questioning everything, unsure of what’s real or normal anymore.
My phone vibrates in my bag during math. I pull my eyes away from a scratch on Grace Kirkland’s arm.
It’s a text from Olive: In the computer lab. Found the address of the fight club in your room and looked it up. Want to know what came up?
My eyebrows shoot up. I type: I thought I said MAYBE you could help. I pause, then add: But yeah. Send me what you have
It takes a few minutes for Olive to respond: The hospital was closed six years ago when they built a nicer one across town, but they couldn’t sell the land because of some zoning thing. I also checked out crime in the area. There’s been a 30% increase in crimes like robbery and assault since this summer, but all of the incidents are at least three blocks away from the hospital
You’d think some of the club’s violent energy would spill into the streets, but crime records only document police activity. If what VT said is true, if the police have been told to look the other way, there wouldn’t be a record.
So who would have the kind of clout that could persuade the police to ignore something like that?
I write: Thanks. Email me the links? Then stop digging through my stuff. And texting in class
Her reply: Hypocrite! Links sent
I chew my lip. I don’t want Olive to turn out like me, but the fight with Cass this morning still has me on edge. I text her again.
Thank you. Really.
At lunch, Cass picks at her sandwich. Her guitar is propped against the table next to her. She’s supposed to eat quickly, then go to the music room for her audition, but she’s chewing on her lip more than her food.
“You nervous?” I ask. Hopefully it’s performance anxiet
y and not lingering weirdness from earlier.
She sighs. “Wanting something sucks. I can’t even remember the last time I really tried to go for anything.”
She doesn’t mean it as a slight, but it stings anyway. There’s a reason Cass isn’t in any clubs. Doesn’t play on any teams. It’s because I suck up all her time.
Cass doesn’t notice my flinch. “Distract me. Tell me more about this club.”
I hesitate.
She drops the hunk of bread she’s been shredding onto her plate. “Stop. I know you want to talk about what you found last night, but you’re feeling all guilty that you’re not paying enough attention to me. I’m really nervous, and I want something else to focus on. Might as well be our classmates beating the ever-loving crap out of each other for cash.”
I cave. “I just can’t get my head around how I missed something this big. Am I that self-absorbed?”
Cass gives me a pitying look. “I don’t think that’s what this is. For one thing, I didn’t notice, either, and I’m not half as self-centered as you are.”
“So how do you explain it? How did this many people keep a secret? And from us?”
Cass looks around the crowded cafeteria. “If I was fighting in some illegal club on the weekends for cash, you and me would basically be the last two people I’d want to find out about it.”
“True. Olive dug up some more information on the hospital.” At Cass’s raised eyebrows I add, “I swear I didn’t ask. She found the address in my room and went rogue. I have no control over her.”
“Wow, that must be annoying,” Cass deadpans.
I ignore her and explain what Olive found. “This guy, VT, he thinks it’s got to be someone with serious power running the place. Maybe Ava got on their bad side?”
Cass doesn’t look convinced. “Maybe.” She casts another troubled glance around the room. “What makes you so sure it’s not someone we know? A bunch of teenagers beating each other up for money? A fight could have gone wrong, or someone had a grudge. It was bound to get out of control at some point. Maybe Ava was just the one who paid the price.”
“It was a pretty sophisticated operation I saw last night. You really think one of the idiots at our school is capable of something like that?”
Cass gives me a look. “I don’t know, do you really think a sixteen-year-old girl can solve a murder?”
Right.
Cass’s expression turns more serious. “Have you considered telling Detective Richmond?”
“No. Why bother? She wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Maybe.” She hesitates over her next words. “But she did send those officers back to search Ava’s room. Why would she do that if she was totally sold on the mugging thing? And if what we really want is for Ava’s killer to pay, isn’t it better if everyone has all the information?”
Cass has a point, but if someone is paying off the police, then what could Richmond really do anyway? Richmond’s not incompetent or corrupt, I don’t think, but she follows orders.
I’m about to respond when I notice Penn crossing the room.
I nod in his direction. “Do you see that? Tell me Penn isn’t totally limping.”
Cass follows my eyes. Penn finds a seat at a table by himself.
“Let’s go talk to him.” Cass stands.
I don’t move. “Um, audition?”
Cass slings her guitar over her shoulder. “I have time. Come on, you want me there for this. You need my people skills, on account of you have none of your own.”
She’s not wrong. “If I find out you blew off your audition for this, you and me are going to be the feature showdown in the ring next week, because I will have to kick your ass.”
Cass is already walking away. “If you think I couldn’t take you, you’re seriously deluded.”
I grab my stuff and follow her.
Cass sits down at Penn’s table. “Hey, Penn, how’s it going?”
Penn’s lunch is set to one side, and he’s sketching on a pad of paper. His face is drawn tight with concentration, hovering bare inches above the paper as he draws.
He doesn’t look up. “You know. Weird week.”
Penn tends to fade into the background. He’s that quiet kid who’s been in all your classes since you were four, but no one ever seems to remember him.
“What are you drawing?” Cass asks. I keep my mouth shut. Cass has this way of striking up a conversation about something totally random and innocent, and before the person knows it they’ve spilled their whole story.
But Penn’s not taking the bait. “Nothing.” He tilts his face closer to the page.
Cass cranes her head to look at the sketch. It’s a close-up of someone’s hands. They’re slender and manicured, like a woman’s, with a dainty ring on the right hand.
Cass’s voice is gentle. “Penn, that’s beautiful. Who is it?”
No answer.
I try a more straightforward approach. “Is something going on with you and Damian?”
His pencil pauses for a second. “Why are you asking?” Under the table, Cass’s foot presses down gently on mine. A warning.
I keep my tone casual. “I saw you fighting in chem. How come?”
Penn resumes sketching. “We weren’t fighting, and you should pay better attention in class.” He smiles like he’s teasing, but it’s forced.
“Yeah, you and Mrs. Varner should have lunch sometime to discuss my issues. It looked like fighting to me.”
He turns his fake smile to Cass. “She always this way?”
“Pretty much,” Cass commiserates. “Hey, how’s Victoria doing these days? I haven’t had a chance to talk to her since our global lit class ended. Is that her?” She nods toward the drawing.
I don’t know what Cass is talking about, but Penn’s smile vanishes. He slams the sketch pad closed.
Good cop obviously isn’t working. I reach into my bag and pull out one of the notes I snagged off the floor that day: I’m sorry, I had to do it. Please talk to me. “What about this? What did Damian do?” Cass’s pressure on my foot isn’t gentle anymore.
Penn stares at the note for several seconds, then looks between Cass and me with cold eyes. “You know, people at this school really suck. I try not to listen, because they have dumb shit to say about me, too, but now I’m thinking maybe they weren’t wrong about you two. You have nothing better to do than pick up some stupid note I dropped?”
I’m done being nice. “How come you’re limping?”
“Fuck off.” He grabs his things and shoves them in his backpack.
I stand, too. “I know about the fights, Penn. I’m going to find out more. Tell me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m going to class.” He swings his backpack over his shoulder. “And you”—he turns to Cass—“you might want to reconsider your friends. Safer to stay away from her.” He sneers at me.
Cass grabs my hand before I can jump across the table and attack him.
Penn limps away.
“That went well.” Cass is still holding my hand. She gives it a little squeeze. “Next time give me a little longer to build the bridge before you blow it up, ’kay?”
She’s right. I’m wound up, and it’s making me sloppy. I flop back into my seat and bang my forehead against the table.
“What was that about Victoria?” I ask eventually, face still pressed to the table. It smells like a hundred years of spilled school lunches.
“Victoria Ramirez,” Cass answers. “She and Penn just started going out. I figure two friends fighting, there’s at least a chance it has something to do with the new girlfriend.”
I lift my head. “You’re brilliant.” She preens.
“Cass? You ready? Hi, Flora.” Elliot Graham approaches our table. He has some kind of instrument case slung over his shoulder, and he keeps twisting the strap around his hand.
Elliot is our resident musical prodigy. I think he can play something like twelve instruments. It’s in his blo
od: his dad, Dennis Graham, is a semifamous blues guitarist who owns a record store in downtown Whitley. Elliot works there after school sometimes, picking out vintage new wave and Motown records for customers with those long pianist fingers.
He’s staring at Cass with the sweetest, most earnest smile on his face.
Well, this is interesting. Frustration with Penn momentarily forgotten, I look at Cass. She’s very determinedly not looking at me as she gathers up her stuff, but the back of her neck is bright red. Perhaps her excitement about rock ensemble isn’t purely extracurricular.
“Did you have to reschedule your audition, too, Elliot?” I ask innocently.
A flush to match Cass’s creeps across his cheeks, making his light brown skin glow.
“Um, no.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I went yesterday, but I’m the student coordinator for rock ensemble, and, um”—he clears his throat—“I thought I should oversee Cass’s audition, for, um, leadership. And moral support.”
“Uh-huh.” Very convincing.
Cass is somehow even redder. “Are you okay by yourself?”
I shoo her off with promises to behave. “Good luck!” I call after them.
As I watch Elliot and Cass walk away, their arms very close but not touching, the dull ache in my chest eases for the first time in days.
My good mood lasts about three seconds. With Cass gone, the other people in the cafeteria don’t even bother to whisper.
“My dad’s friend’s cousin is a cop. He says she’s a person of interest.”
“Yeah, they interrogated her for like six hours.”
I don’t turn my head. Don’t indulge them.
“Megan told me she totally lost it when Lucy was murdered, and she got obsessed with that Matt Caine guy. Like, fell in love with him and stalked him or something.”
I grab my stuff and stand up. I don’t have anywhere to be, but I’m not going to sit in the fishbowl and let them stare at me.
I try not to look at anyone as I walk out of the cafeteria, but my eyes land on Elle Dorsey. She’s watching me. She doesn’t look away.
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