Rival (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 1)

by Ketley Allison

  As I take to the path, I notice lights flashing a quarter-mile away, in rough proximity to Lover’s Leap. I’ve never been there, so I can guess, but chances are there isn’t any other reason for police vehicles to be parked nearby.

  Oh, Piper, I think, unable to tear my attention away from the blinking lights through the rising fog of the morning. What happened?

  My feet keep moving despite my distraction, and I’m in front of Thorne House before I register the distance I crossed.

  I’m surprised to find Ivy behind the front desk when I enter.

  “Callie!” she says, and flies to the front, gripping me in a tight hug. “Omigod, are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I say, but it comes out shakier than I intended. “It was just basic questioning.”

  “Thank goodness. I thought you were under arrest, after what Chase said.”

  My eyelids lower, my vision darkening with held-in frustration. “Unfortunately, it takes more than a flippant comment to solidify me as a suspect. I also think they’re ruling it as an accident or suicide.”

  “Oh. Gosh. That’s terrible.”

  We pull apart, and Ivy walks with me to the elevators. “Hey, while you were out, you got a delivery.”

  I think of my previous “deliveries,” and my steps slow. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Some boxes,” Ivy says, then hits the UP button. “Return address was from NYC, though.”

  “Oh.” I exhale the remnants of tension. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

  Ivy laughs as we step into the elevator together. “You poor thing. No wonder you’re desperate to leave this place.”

  We fall into silence once we stride down the hallway to my room. My keycard clicks us in, and I focus on the tower of boxes sitting in the center room, instead of the commotion in Piper’s bedroom, cameras clicking and low-voiced mumblings of cops clogging up the atmosphere.

  I count three boxes, and notice a note stuck to the top one.

  Hey, Callie!

  Here’s the winter clothing I promised. It’s supposed to get cold a lot sooner, so we’ve sent you proper gear. Did your dad tell you? We’re headed to Tahiti for two weeks to celebrate your baby sister. Six months already! Can you believe it? I’ll be loaded on virgin pina coladas before you know it.

  Anyway, enjoy the clothes. We hope you’re having SO MUCH FUN at school and have made a ton of friends, just like we knew you would.

  We’ll touch base when we get home. Talk soon, hon!

  Xoxo, L.

  I release the letter from between my fingers, the note fluttering to the ground.

  “What did it say?” Ivy asks behind me. “Who’s it from?”

  “My parents,” I say dully. Then, I say it again, with forced pep. “My parents.”

  “Girls?” A policeman ducks his head out of Piper’s room. “You can’t be here. Not until we finish processing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ivy says, then obediently cups my elbow and leads me into the hallway.

  My lips spread wide in a vacant grin. “My fucking parents.”

  Laughter bubbles up, uncontrollable, and soon I have to clutch my stomach, I’m giggling so hard.

  “Uh, Callie? Are you all right?”

  “My parents!” I screech through my laughter. I lift my head to the ceiling and cackle.

  “Callie … hey.” Ivy comes up beside me, peering closer at my face.

  “MY PARENTS!” I laugh again, laugh and laugh until tears start streaming down my face.

  Ivy starts rubbing my back as I buckle from mirth. “Callie, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I throw my hand up, signaling for Ivy to give me a sec. Through my gasps and hiccups, I manage to say, my lips salted with tears, “They have no idea.”

  Ivy asks, “Who? Your parents?”

  “Yes!” I cry, my arms splaying out as I straighten. “They have no fucking clue what’s going on!”

  “I … I guess that’s true.” Ivy tries on a tentative smile.

  “I’m-I’m bullied, harassed, then my roommate dies, and they want me to have fun!”

  My knees turn to jelly as I laugh harder than I’ve laughed before, and soon, Ivy's clutching me, because I can’t stand on my own.

  The laughs turn to chuckles.

  Then, morph into quiet giggles as I turn my face into her shoulder.

  Then sobs.

  “Callie,” she whispers in my ear. “Shh. It’s gonna be okay.”

  “I don’t belong,” I say in a hitched whisper into her neck. “Anywhere.”

  “You do,” Ivy says. “You’re my friend. You belong with me.”

  I sob into her shoulder. For Piper or for my mom, I can’t be sure. Maybe it doesn’t have to be one or the other.

  Ivy rubs circles on my back. “You’re not alone, okay? We’ll get through this. We’ll get answers.”

  No, I want to scream. The answers will never come.

  23

  Ivy is an expert at the guilt game. Somehow, she convinces me to stay at Briarcliff, at least until Piper’s investigation is completed.

  Maybe the “somehow” should be better explained. The boxes of clothes Lynda sent me made my reality a lot clearer. She and Dad are off living their lives, Ahmar doesn’t have room for me, as much as he wants to, and the place I have now is … one I shared with Piper.

  There aren’t many options, so until I clean up my life a bit more, I’m stuck at Briarcliff.

  Since I’m not allowed back into my room yet, I scrub my eyes dry and we head to the assembly. The lecture hall is packed when we arrive, but Ivy finds two vacant seats toward the back. Headmaster Marron is well into his speech about student safety and mental health availability, as well as the dangers of drinking, essentially cementing the idea in all our minds that Piper either committed suicide or became so drunk she fell, before the investigation is officially concluded.

  But having heard this all before, I use the time productively and scan students’ heads, searching.

  I find Piper’s girlfriends, seated in the front row, just off center. Willow and Violet hold tissues, their eyes and noses bright red from crying. Falyn is pale—colorless—and stone-faced as she listens to Marron, her hands clenched so hard in her lap, they match the unhealthy white of her face.

  Some friends they are. Did they really leave a drunk Piper to walk alone by herself back to the dorms?

  Nearby, I see James’s strawberry blond mop of hair, Tempest’s textured ebony locks, and Riordan’s close-cropped one. They sit, stoic and serious, their uniforms buttoned and pressed, the epitome of Briarcliff representation and not the least bit hungover during such a tragedy as they display themselves, front and center, while Marron waxes on about the importance of reaching out for help.

  It’s who I don’t see that grabs my attention the most.

  Chase is nowhere to be found, and my mind ponders the reasons why. He was severely incensed in my room, desperate to unleash his fury on the nearest victim. I’d think he’d make himself present, if only to rake his stare across the entire student body, as if someone in this room has reason to know why Piper toppled off Lover’s Leap.

  “Do you think there are pictures?” someone mutters to their friend in front of me.

  “What, like of the crime scene?” the friend asks. “Or is it even a crime scene? She offed herself, right?”

  “Yeah, but, like, someone must’ve taken pictures of the body. How fucked up do you think it is?”

  Bile spreads in my throat, and I cough with disgust. Both pairs of eyes glance back, ashamed, until they realize who they’re looking at.

  “Maybe the possum did it,” one sneers.

  I sneer right back, surprised at my defense of Piper, a queen whose subjects are ready to turn on her as soon as news hits that she’s dead.

  Movement in front redirects my focus, and I notice Tempest leaving the lecture hall. I rise to follow him.

  “Where are you going?” Ivy whispers loudly.


  “I missed an assignment. Need that guy’s notes. Don’t worry,” I say, then duck out the back exit as Ivy whispers furiously, “What guy?”

  I catch Tempest in the foyer, just as he’s about to hit the steps to the Wolf’s Den.

  “Tempest!” I call, sprinting to catch up to him.

  His head turns, his unsettlingly green eyes meeting mine before sliding away in disdain.

  “You,” he says, once I skid to a halt in front of him. “What do you want?”

  Up close, it’s easier to spot the hangover. Purple crescents mar his unblemished skin and his hair isn’t stylishly messy as usual. More like one side of his face laid flat against a forest floor all night.

  Did you watch Piper fall?

  The incredulous question rattles my bones, and I gnaw on my lip to cover my thoughts.

  I ask instead, “Have you seen Chase?”

  Guile replaces the disinterest in his expression. “Why?”

  “Because he’s a dick,” I say, and my frankness makes half of his mouth tilt in a smile, stretching what I thought was a large freckle in the lower corner of his lip. Turns out, it’s a hole for a piercing. I add, “And he needs to explain to me why he accused me of murder this morning.”

  Tempest’s eyes flare, but he regains his languid composure. “Nobody knows why Chase does what he does. You might as well ask a fairy godmother for an explanation.”

  My hand tightens on my bag’s strap. “I’d prefer to ask him.”

  “Well, he’s not up there.” Tempest’s eyes drift upward.

  I exhale and bite down on my lip again. “Hey, I’m sorry about Piper.”

  Tempest’s hand freezes on the banister. “She made your life fucking hell, possum. Why are you sorry?”

  “Because she was a person?” I respond, but I take a closer look at him. He seems so emotionless, so unaffected by the death of someone who—“Wasn’t she your friend?”

  He shrugs. “An acquaintance, but yeah, it sucks she died.”

  I set my jaw, but I stay silent, reluctant to agitate Tempest’s icy calm.

  Tempest must take pity on my inability to properly converse with him, because he adds, “Chase goes one of three places. Here, his room, or the boathouse.”

  Incentivized, I nod thank you, then turn for the exit.

  “Possums are blind during the day,” Tempest says.

  “Uh, excuse me?”

  After an offhand shrug, he replies, “Just a fun piece of trivia for you.”

  After a pause, I say, “It’s their night vision that’s limited.”

  Tempest raises his brows.

  “And here I thought someone with pest in their name would be more familiar with their species.” I add, “See? Creativity has its benefits.”

  I shoulder through the front doors, having no need to witness Tempest’s resultant, vengeful glare.

  24

  Navigating the trail down to the boathouse is a lot harder when Ivy isn’t in front directing my steps, but I manage to make it without breaking an ankle or getting my hair tangled in any branches.

  It isn’t hard to locate Chase once I hit the clearing, since the broad-shouldered figure seated at the edge of the dock could only be him.

  I take the path Ivy showed me and enter the boathouse through the side door. Anger provides the bravery to walk through the clubhouse and equipment room until I’m through a boat bay and onto the docks.

  Chase’s legs hang over the side of the dock, water lapping at his knees as he lifts something that glints against the light and puts it to his mouth.

  Unable to quell the good girl instinct, I glance up at the windows, conscious that a coach or a teacher might be watching. Though, when it comes to Chase, it’s anybody’s guess how little it takes to turn a blind eye to his blatant disregard of school rules. It doesn’t take a genius to notice no one at this forbidden party is being overtly punished. I wonder how much money it took to keep Marron from expelling each and every one of them.

  Yeah. Like that would ever happen.

  Or maybe, the families and Marron see Piper’s death as punishment enough.

  I stanch the morality of my thoughts as I approach Chase, my shoes sounding against the wood. His head turns at the noise, showcasing his strong profile with his straight nose and sharp jaw. When he registers who it is, he goes back to gazing straight ahead at the view, lifting the bottle again.

  My shoes stop at his back. Chase doesn’t react.

  “It’s not even lunchtime,” I say.

  “And?” He scans the lake before him.

  “You’re getting drunk.”

  “What an astute nose you have, rodent.”

  The barb doesn’t hit its mark. Instead, I volley one of my own. “It’s funny, you never lowered yourself to Piper’s insults when she was alive.”

  His back goes rigid.

  I involuntarily gulp. I’m poking the beast. But it’s too tempting to disturb him like he did to me this morning.

  “You’re so fucking clueless,” he mutters, tipping the beer bottle to his lips.

  I drop my bag and sit cross-legged beside him, ensuring no part of me hangs over the edge. “Then why’d you finger me to the cops?”

  Laughter bubbles into his throat, and a genuine smile crosses his lips. “Did you actually try to sound like a crime show just now?”

  I frown. “No, because that’s what you did. You told them I killed her, Chase. Even your overly-entitled ass has to know how screwed up that is.”

  He allows his head to fall to one shoulder until he’s staring at me with his depthless brown eyes, rimmed in thick lashes that he bats adoringly at me. I dismiss the flutter at my core as fast as it comes. “Relax. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

  “Oh, so now you don’t think I killed your girlfriend. How kind of you to be so wishy-washy. It’s not like we’re talking about a real death here.”

  Chase winces at my words. He says into his bottle, “I’m aware of the reality of the situation. And it’s my fucking fault.” He tosses the empty, and it lands in the water with a clunk. Squinting, I notice the few friends floating with it.

  “How is it your fault?” I ask.

  “I could’ve walked back to school with her.” He shrugs, then reaches into the six-pack beside him for another beer. “Didn’t, because we got in a stupid fight over her drinking too much.”

  “Don’t go there. The rabbit hole of despair is a deep one. How could you have known she would turn around? Or get lost on a campus you all know by heart?”

  His gaze slides back to mine, but it lands uncertain and unfocused. “I should’ve taken her back to the dorms. I should’ve looked for her. Should’ve searched harder and made sure no one was left behind before I walked away.”

  Chase’s lips clamp shut, and he turns to the lake. I decide to sit with him a while, because he’s not telling me to go. A quiet truce settles onto my shoulders as light bird chirps sound from the trees and water laps against the dock.

  The reflection of the sun breaks into shards against the soft ripples of the lake, mesmerizing, meditative, and takes my mind off the horror of broken things.

  I take advantage of this placid moment to study Chase's features, beautiful in sadness. His arched brows are lowered enough for his lashes to touch, and he’s pensive, staring at the water as if the floating leaves can tell him why Piper fell into its depths.

  I startle when he throws his arm out toward me. “Want one?”

  “Um. No. Thank you.”

  “If you’re here to tell me you’ve been through it, that you know how I’m feeling, you can kindly fuck off,” he says.

  “That’s not why I found you.”

  “No?”

  “I came here to yell at you.”

  Chase snorts.

  “It’s terrible, what Piper must’ve gone through before she died,” I say. “But that doesn’t give you the privilege to come into my room this morning, when I’m still registering the news, and yell and threaten t
o make my life hell.”

  “Poor Callie, you don’t know how it works around here. I did it because I could.”

  “And now you’re lashing out,” I say. “Which is, again, unfair.”

  “Oh, is life unfair to you, sweet girl?” The brown of his eyes resembles sharp chips of wood. “Too fucking bad.”

  “How did you know my mom was killed?”

  He jolts, then glowers upon realizing his tell.

  “You said it to me this morning.” I hesitate, but barrel on, “Piper said it to me before she … How did you guys know?”

  Chase's shoulders move in an unconcerned shrug, but his hardened features tell a story he intends to keep hidden. “We looked you up once we heard you were coming here.” Chase glances at me sidelong. “It helps to be aware of who’s stepping onto our turf.”

  I roll my eyes, but the implications sit heavy on my soul. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  I glare at him. “While this is clearly a tough time for you, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the details of my mom to yourself.”

  “Don’t want the school to see you as a murder victim’s kid, huh?”

  Chase says it so callously, I reach out to smack him in the arm.

  It’s with cat-like reflexes that he catches my wrist mid-launch, and his resultant glare would freeze this hell I’m in if I let it.

  “I’d second guess that decision,” he rasps, then pushes my arm back against my chest.

  The force makes me wobble, and I slam a hand onto the wood to keep me level. Yet, the rising indignation in my belly won’t keep in balance.

  “Piper isn’t like my mom,” I say, hating that my voice is uneven. “But it’s still an unfair death. Being angry at something you can’t change isn’t worth it.”

  With similar reflexive force, Chase twists and grabs my chin, holding my jaw between his fingers and thumb. “Oh, yeah? So, you’re okay with your mom’s murder never being solved? You’re fine finishing the rest of your life without her? Dead is dead, right? Finding the killer won’t change shit.”