“Understood.”
“Whose plan was it to break into the school pool after hours?”
My best friend, Genevieve. “Mine, sir.”
“Whose idea was it to bring the beer, weed, and alcohol?”
Genevieve’s boyfriend. “Mine, sir.”
“And how did you, a seventeen-year-old junior, get access to these things?”
“I have some friends at Blue Harbor University, sir.”
“Hmph.” He shakes his head. “Some friends. Then again, maybe I should be commending you for being a good friend since you’re the only one here taking the blame for this and acting as if you did this alone.”
“I did sir.” I swallow my lie. “It was my idea.”
He slides a sheet of paper across the desk. It’s a medical report about my “friend” Brynn Michaels, a guy I’d never met until last night. “The medics said his system was two shots away from needing his stomach pumped, so thank God you called 9-1-1 when you did.”
I sigh and avoid looking directly at the paper. I’m trying to block as many of last night’s memories from replaying in my mind for as long as I can.
“They assumed that he drank anywhere between eight beers and six shots,” Mr. Thompson said. “Would that be correct?”
Ten shots. Six beers. “That sounds about right, sir.”
“Well, that’s quite interesting. When they gave you a Breathalyzer, your alcohol level was clear. Why is that?”
“I don’t drink, Mr. Thompson.”
“Good.” He narrows his eyes at me. “So, if you weren’t drinking and your friend Brynn only had eight beers that night, why were there over fifty empty beer cans around the pool, Miss Ryan? Why were there tons of empty jello-shot containers and cigarette butts?”
I don’t answer.
I know the truth is written all over my face, but I’ve promised my best friend that I would cover for her. That I would take whatever is coming so she won’t be punished twice in the same school year.
“I see.” Mr. Thompson shakes his head. “Well, I’m disappointed in you, Miss Ryan. Given your stellar grades and your excellent track record with our debate team, I would’ve thought that you would be completely honest with me. That’s what a real aspiring lawyer would do.”
No, that’s what a real snitch would do...
“Since the police found fifty beer cans and twenty-two jello shots, you’ll spend seventy-two days in after-school detention, and you’ll complete every Saturday service with the janitorial staff here in the mornings until you decide to tell me the truth.” He scribbles a few words onto a green pad. “You’re assigned to Detention Group D, and you’ll need to report to Room 221 every afternoon at three thirty. No exceptions.”
“What about my debate team practices?”
“You’re more than welcome to attend all of your debate practices in their entirety, Miss Ryan.” He stops writing and glances up, giving me a look of sympathy. “Just tell me the name of every person who was here with you that night.”
“I already told you.” I sigh. “It was just me...And Brynn.”
“Um hmmm.” He rips the sheet off the pad and hands it to me. “Room 221. Three-thirty. Enjoy.”
I take the paper from his hand and stand to my feet. I leave his office without another word and walk to my locker.
“So, what was the sentence?” My best friend, Genevieve, is suddenly next to me. There’s a look of worry etched on her face. “Remember, if he threatened you with a suspension or expulsion, you were supposed to give the guys and me up. No exceptions.”
“He didn’t threaten me with either of those.”
“Oh?” She hands me a bottle of my favorite tea. “What did he give you?”
“Detention every afternoon, and on Saturdays,” I say, sighing. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
I pull my yellow notebook from my locker. “Can you drop by my debate practices after your cheerleading practices every day and write down whatever topics are on the left side of the board? I’m going to talk to my coach tomorrow morning, but I think he’ll let me stay on the team if I make up for my studying by doing the topic research after hours.”
“Of course,” she says. “Wait. You have to start detention now?”
I glance at my watch. “Yeah. It’s three fifteen.”
She hugs me. “I’m sorry. I can’t thank you enough for taking the fall for me. I’ll find a way to pay you back.”
“I know.” I smile and pull the pack of Twizzlers that’s sticking out from her purse. “I’ll call you later tonight.” I walk down the hall—toward the part of Blue Harbor’s campus I’ve never needed to go to, the part where all the detentions and behavioral counseling classrooms are. (It’s also, according to the rumors, where all the guidance counselors secretly smoke weed after school.)
218, 219, 220, 221...
Letting out a breath, I twist the doorknob and open the door—revealing an empty classroom. The only words on the whiteboard are:
3:30-6:30
Detention Hours
Group D
I take a seat in the back, right near the windows—watching other students talk and laugh in the parking lot.
“Is your last name Ryan?” A man in a tracksuit opens the door, making me look over.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, good.” He bites into a donut. “Don’t leave this room until six thirty. Don’t even try. Me and the other detention leaders are in the hallway, so we’ll see you if you do.”
“What if I have to pee?”
“Do you have to pee?”
“Not right now.”
“Okay, well when you do, we’ll talk about it.” He takes another bite of his donut and steps out of the room.
Confused, I pull out my notebook and start to write a list.
Things I Need to Bring to Survive Weeks in Detention:
1. Music Player
2. Headphones
3. Books
4. Donuts (For Bribes Maybe?)
5. ???
As I’m thinking of number five, the classroom door opens again, and Jace Kennedy walks into the room. His eyes meet mine and he stops, looking as if he can’t believe that I’ve been subjected to criminal punishment.
A smile slowly crosses his lips and he steps closer.
I look around at all the rows of empty seats—hoping he’ll get the hint, but he doesn’t. He plops down on the desk right next to me.
“Seriously?” I say. “Out of all the empty seats in this room?” I don’t give him a chance to respond to that. I grab my folder and move to a front row I can enjoy myself.
I return to making my list—deciding that a collection of “PLEASE DO NOT SIT HERE” signs will be a good thing to start making tonight.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Jace says, sitting next to me again. “I’m Jace Kennedy.”
“Do you know the rules of personal space, Jace Kennedy?” I ask, hating that his smile is making me blush against my will. “Like, if you’re not friends with someone, it’s rude to just impose your presence upon them.”
“Why do I hardly ever see you around this school?”
“Probably because before today, I wasn’t a criminal like you.”
He smiles. “Are you a senior, too?”
“No, I’m a –” I stop myself. “You’re bypassing the conversation about personal space.”
“I am.”
I open my mouth to say something else, but The Donut Man walks into the room and slams the door shut.
“Now, listen up.” He walks to the whiteboard and then he looks at us. “Wait, there’s only two of you for D-level detention this year? Wow. You must have done something beyond stupid for Mr. Thompson to insist on sending you here this early in the school year.”
He picks up a blue marker and writes our names on the board, circling them for effect. “So, I’m technically supposed to make you write three, five-paragraph essays every day about new life lesson to
pics. Then I’m supposed to sit here and listen to you read them, but look.” He lowers his voice. “I don’t get paid enough for that. If you don’t tell, I won’t tell. Clear?”
We both nod.
“Good,” he says. “Now, every now and then, I will need you to help me with a few things in the athletic department, but most of the time I won’t. So, be sure to bring your books and stay in the room until I come and dismiss you at six thirty.” He looks at me. “When you have to pee, use the restroom across the hall. I’ll pop in every hour or so to make sure neither of you has gotten any ideas about leaving early, but until then...” He looks at his watch and walks to the door. “See you in an hour.”
When the door closes, Jace turns toward me again.
“Since we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other, what exactly did you do to get in here?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
I blink. “That’s personal. Besides, I’m only obligated to talk about things like that with my friends.”
“And I take it that your friends understand the rules about your personal space?”
“Yes.”
“So, why aren’t your friends in here with you right now?”
I try to fire back something sarcastic, but I can’t. He’s pushing his desk so close that it’s touching mine and my heart is flipping in my chest again. I’ve been attracted to plenty of guys at this school before, but not like this. Never like this.
Before I can come up with my next line, he pulls the green detention slip from my notebook and holds it away from me.
He stares at it for a long time—far longer than necessary to read Mr. Thompson’s messy handwriting.
“If you need help reading, I can bring you some remedial aids from my debate club,” I say. “We have letter blocks, and we even have some in color.”
He smiles and sets the paper down. “I have no problems reading, Courtney Ryan. But from the looks of things, you’ve been sentenced to the same amount of days in detention as me. So, contrary to what you’ve previously said, we are definitely going to be friends.”
FOUR
Jace: Present Day
THERE WAS NO COMPARISON between my old firm in Seattle to New York’s Walton & Associates. Instead of the hushed murmurs and ugly secrets that accompanied clients between meetings, there was an open and honest dialogue about cases the lawyers actually wanted to take. There were no unmarked envelopes stuffed under my door from the mob (yet), and the first large case I’d been assigned to handle was the type of case I went to law school to help fight: Big greedy corporation with endless power tactics versus small group of defenseless clients.
The cherry on top of my relocation to New York City, though, was the view from my office. It was utterly impeccable.
Every morning, I was treated to the sight of full red lips, mesmerizing green eyes, and the sexiest body I’d ever seen. Unfortunately, those sexy sites belonged to the same woman who ruined an amazing friendship from years ago. I couldn’t deny that time had treated her well, and I left my door open all day just to steal glances of her scowling at me whenever our eyes happened to meet.
It’d been a week since we met in Mr. Walton’s office and she’d gone out of her way to avoid speaking to me. I thought this was going to be a short phase and I was tempted to tell her to get the hell over it—that she was the one who left me. But there was a hint of pain in her eyes whenever we looked at each other, which made me realize that her nonchalant act was just a façade.
I was convinced I’d seen her at the bar nights ago—that the sexy woman causing a scene and saying “Hell no! No, no, no!” and rushing out was the same girl who cruelly rejected me years ago, but when I went after her, she was nowhere to be found.
Picking up my phone, I dialed the main secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” She answered on the first ring.
“Did Miss Ryan call in sick today?”
“No sir.”
“Did she call to say she was going to be late?”
“Not that I know of, sir. To my knowledge, she’s been here since seven o’clock.”
What? “Thank you.” I ended the call and walked across the hall, knocking on her door.
“You can come in!”
I twisted the doorknob and pushed it open. The second I stepped inside, she turned around from her bookshelf.
“You can get out.”
I smiled, looking at her tight green dress and grey heels. “You are aware that you’re responsible for working with me on this class action lawsuit, correct?” I asked. “And that I’m in charge of reviewing your work?”
“I’m perfectly aware of these facts, Mr. Kennedy. Are you aware that I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do for this case this week?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ve completed the pre-opposition research, arranged the interviews, and booked travel for our research-interviews with the clients. Have I missed something?”
“What about the summary of our defense if they file a counter-suit?”
“I sent that to you yesterday.” She sat at her desk. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have other things I need to do.”
“You’re required to work on this case for a minimum of twenty-five hours a week, so you’re going to work on this case for twenty-five hours a week. And you’re also going to stop obstructing my goddamn view. Clear?”
“Only if you want us to bill the clients every time we daydream about their case.” She scoffed. “Since I’m a good lawyer who doesn’t falsely bill clients, I’d prefer if I only billed them for actual work. We don’t need to touch anything until next week.”
“If you were a good lawyer, you would know how to stay on top of things.” I dropped a file on her desk. “You would also know that this case is pro-bono, so that billing shit doesn’t apply. Nonetheless, some of our clients are requesting a meeting with us this month, so we’ll need to start preparing for it. How’s tonight sound?”
“Today sounds better.”
“Okay.” I rolled my eyes, stepping back. “What time would you like to start our meeting so we can get on the same page?”
“Two o’clock will work for me, Mr. Kennedy.”
“You can call me Jace.”
“I’ll leave that for your friends,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the library.”
“Fair enough.” I looked her up and down one last time and started to head back across the hall.
“Wait,” she said. “Question.”
“Yes?”
“Do you need me to get the secretary to show you how to operate the automatic blinds in your office so you can stop blaming me for obstructing your view?”
“There’s no need for that.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped the Walton Firm app, forcing my blinds to open. “The view I’m referring to is you. So, regardless of the fact that you still hate me, I’d appreciate it if you kept your door open.”
Her jaw dropped and her cheeks turned bright red, but the second I returned to my office, she slammed her door shut.
FIVE
Courtney: Present Day
THE MASON FAMILY VS. Bryson Power & Water, Co.
I tried to keep my eyes focused on the document in front of me—a printout of a detailed timeline of incidents that led up to the case in question: a group of small-town families suing a huge utility company for poisoning their water supply. The families lived two counties outside of Blue Harbor, and they were against coming to New York unless it was necessary, so we needed to make sure that we only took the documents we needed for the first trip.
This was the type of case I’d always dreamed of defending—serving up a plate of justice to a greedy corporation that had no regard for human life, but I was pretty sure Jace was never in that dream.
He was currently sitting across from me, highlighting his stack of documents and making phone calls every few minutes. Occasionally, he’d get up and make a new pot of coffee for us to share, but we barely said a word outside of “Coffee?” and “
Yes” to each other.
The tension between us was just as thick and palpable as it was since the day he walked into Mr. Walton’s office, and every time I looked up at him, my heart betrayed me with a hard and fast rhythm.
I still couldn’t believe he went to law school and actually passed, let alone graduated at the top of his class.
He told me he wanted to be an actor...
Setting down the document, I pulled out my phone and noticed a text message from Mila.
MILA: Hey. Did you take my advice about that Jace guy yet?”
I rolled my eyes.
ME: No.
MILA: Why the hell not?
ME: Because that was terrible advice.
Her name crossed my screen via phone call, and I stood up. “Mr. Kennedy, can you excuse me for a second, please?” I stepped out of the library without waiting for his answer.
“Yes, Mila?” I whispered once I stepped into the hallway.
“So, why can’t you fuck him?” she asked. “It’s like fate that he’s the guy from the bar, right?”
“No, it’s the universe torturing me.” I groaned. “It’s also inappropriate.”
“Why? He’s not really your boss, just your supervisor. He’s clearly into you, and you went to high school together, right?” She popped her gum into my ear. “I showed his picture to all my friends, and they’re convinced he’s way too perfect to be real.”
“I used to think that too,” I said softly.
“How come you never mentioned him to me before? You’ve mentioned all your other past boyfriends.”
“It was high school,” I said. “A kiddie relationship from a long time ago. How’s your Cartier photoshoot going?”
“Fabulous! Can you give me three minutes to tell you about this new watch they let me wear?”
“Of course.”
I listened as she described it to me, feeling slightly guilty for abruptly changing the subject from Jace. The truth was, I’d never told anyone about my first true love. I’d let all the memories of my heartbreak sink to the bottom of my brain—weighted down by “fuck him” chains. I’d let the years go by in hopes that my feelings for him would never resurface and that we would never cross paths again.
My Enemy Next Door Page 4