Rival (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 1)

by Ketley Allison

  I smell bullshit. “Go on.”

  “No one talks about it because a lot of what they do to get their kids on the elite track is illegal. If it ever came out…”

  I think of the journal, and all of Piper’s coded secrets. It’s all that remains of Piper’s working mind, and I’m keeping it from Ivy and Chase. I should tell Ivy, but I’m held back by something. Instinct. Caution.

  She’s lying.

  Ahmar’s warning sounds in my head. Getting involved in all this … it’s not healthy for you…

  I ask, “Who’s a part of it? Chase?”

  Ivy makes a see-saw motion with her hand. Noncommittal.

  I let it go, since I’m prepared to find the source and ask Chase straight out.

  “Whether he’s a part of these Nobles or not, Chase is adamant about keeping it quiet.” I pick at my lower lip as I parse through Ivy's explanation. My foremost thought being, is any of this in the missing pages of Piper’s diary?

  “Because the Nobles are to be feared, Callie. Don’t let the name fool you. There’s nothing noble about them.”

  My attention drifts to my bag, and the diary that rests in it.

  “Anyway.” Ivy says in an attempt to move the conversation along. “Why do you keep bringing up Chase? You interested in him or something?”

  “Ugh,” I say, but even as I make the noise, I’m conscious how overdramatic it is. “He’s not my type.”

  “Chase isn’t any girl’s type, which is why they all chase after him.”

  “Not me,” I say, and tell myself to mean it. “That goes to my point, though. If Piper became exclusive with him again, she’d let the entire student body know he’s hers, right? There wouldn’t be a dust mite in this building that wouldn’t have heard.”

  Ivy frowns, thinking. “No, Piper wouldn’t say anything this time around, because of their parents.”

  I perk up, sensing a clue. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yup.” Ivy huffs out a laugh. “It was the scandal of tenth grade. Chase’s dad and Piper’s mom met on one of our Family Days. Don’t ask. It’s the lamest event on the planet, and it involves potato sack races. Anyway—they both left their spouses, and, when was it … this summer, I think, they announced their engagement. So, to wrap that all up in a neat bow…” Ivy mimes tying a knot, “Chase and Piper were destined to be brother and sister. Their parents forbade them from getting back together, since it would be quite the scandal in Charleston society if they hooked up as step-siblings.”

  My mind whirs with the implications Ivy’s brought forward, but she doesn’t recognize any of it as she eats.

  I think I’ve just found out Mr. S’s … Chase’s … secret.

  Yet, Piper’s last words to me won’t stop screaming in my head. How she shouted in the dining hall that I was stealing her boyfriend, basically telling everyone within her vicinity that Chase was hers. Was keeping their affair on the down-low becoming too much for her once she sensed my interest in him?

  Ivy wouldn’t have those answers, so I change the subject. “How can my researching Rose Briar make these Nobles angry enough to send me a blackmail text?” I ask her instead.

  “If it was them.” Ivy plays with her empty cup by spinning it in a circle. “Piper managed to turn the whole school against you, and even in death, she’s still accomplishing it. That text could be from any of her followers who want justice.”

  “But I didn’t kill her! Can’t you see how much of an elaborate game this is?” I blurt out, and even to my ears, it’s too loud. But hell, I’m shocked and perturbed by all of this.

  Ivy shushes me, but it’s too late. A couple of patrons look our way. One in particular catches my eye.

  “Hey,” I say to Ivy, unable to move my gaze away. “Isn’t that what’s-his-name? Addisyn’s boyfriend?”

  Jack must notice my deeper scrutiny, because he unfreezes and goes back to wiping down a front table, his apron stained with a morning’s worth of boiling lobster.

  “That’s about as far away from elite Briarcliff stock as Addisyn can get,” I observe.

  “Yeah, I guess. Listen, whatever you’re doing to gain attention, I’m better off not figuring it out. And you should put this to rest, too.” Ivy rises, and I stand with her, handing over her purse. Before we exit, Ivy presses her hand into my shoulder. “And if you’re thinking about Chase offering you any sort of protection while you keep at it—”

  Damn her for reading into my thoughts.

  “—don’t. He’s the one with the defenses, Callie. And I have no doubt he’ll toss you aside the minute you lose your usefulness. Keep it in your control—ditch him. That’s my final advice.” She searches my eyes again. “Okay?”

  I’m reading between Ivy’s lines. She no longer wants to discuss the Nobles, and if I continue to press, if I’m determined to keep trying to decipher Piper’s journal … Ivy won’t be any further help, and I can’t blame her.

  Yet, that inner doggedness of mine rears its ugly snout, and I know with certainty that I won’t be able to let this go.

  Not until I uncover the truth about Piper, lying within the hidden artifacts of an elite high school.

  33

  Ivy shows me the local marketplace, and I toss some apples, granola, chocolate bars, and potato chips into my basket for midnight snacking. I also buy manila envelopes and stamps. We don’t mention the Nobles or Piper for the rest of our morning. I respect Ivy’s need for distance, so I keep our topics inconsequential and innocent as we finish up, poke around a furniture store for some basic items, then wait for our chauffeur service on the sidewalk outside the lobster shack. As the cars pass, and I idle beside Ivy, I notice the post office on the corner.

  “You know what?” I say, pretending spontaneity. “You go back. I’d like to explore Main Street.”

  “Really?”

  “I like it down here. It feels … real.”

  Ivy doesn’t argue. “I’d stay with you if I didn’t have to study for chem. Kinda jealous. It is nice in this town.”

  “Next time.” I smile and start walking. “Send me the info on the car app. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “Okay … um, Callie?”

  I turn. “Yeah?”

  “You’re just exploring, right?”

  “You and I made a deal,” I say. “I’m not going to involve you.”

  “My fear is you’ll turn to Chase instead.”

  “All I’m doing is getting some errands done. You don’t have to worry.”

  “What is it about Piper, Callie? I’m trying to understand, but I just don’t. Can’t you leave this to the detectives?”

  I deflect the question with a subject I’m coming to learn she’s passionate about. “Now you’re starting to sound like Chase.”

  “Well, that proves he has at least one thinking brain cell in his head. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Would you mind dropping my food off by my front door?” I deflect. “I’ll owe you one.”

  “Why can’t you leave Piper’s death alone?”

  “Because it’s not just my bully’s death.” I pause for a moment, staring out into the street before I turn back to Ivy. “It’s her murder.”

  “But—”

  I’m saved from further discussion when the Briarcliff car pulls up and Ivy gives up. She gets in, but not before sending me an assessing stare above the car’s hood.

  “Give me your stuff,” she mumbles.

  “Thank you,” I say, and hand over my groceries.

  As she pulls the door shut, I wave and promise I’ll see her at lunch.

  The post office is a block away, and I get to the entrance just as a man is stepping out. He holds the door so I can slip in.

  “Thanks,” I say, then walk into—

  A library?

  A row of stacks and the musty smell of well-worn books and much older carpet hits my nostrils. I pause at the turnstile for entry, convinced I walked into the wrong building.

  “Can I help you?”
a woman asks from the front desk.

  She’s wearing ’50s-style glasses and curled her hair in a vintage bob. She sets down the paperback she was reading—The Duke’s Hidden Duchess.

  “I’m sorry, I thought this was the post office.”

  “It is,” she chirps. “We merged quite some time ago. You’ll notice the mailboxes behind me. We’re a small town with limited municipal resources.”

  I nod, then pull out my textbooks until I find the manila envelope I’d stuffed the diary in when Ivy wasn’t looking. A quick search on my phone told me the police precinct’s location, and I set the envelope on the receptionist’s desk and scrawl the address, tilting it so the receptionist can’t see. I’m hoping Briarcliff isn’t that miniscule of a town that the librarian/post office clerk will make any connection to me and a newly discovered diary of a dead girl.

  I don’t have to worry, though, because she’s cocking her head at my textbook I tossed out of the way. “Are you searching for something in biographies, hun?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your sticky note there. That’s our library’s reference code.”

  She’s looking at the note I’d stuck to the front of my Calc text, hoping to ask Ivy about it but never getting the chance. I’d forgotten it was there. “It is?”

  I stare at the numbers I wrote down: 01.08.05.Ha

  “Sure, honey.” She points to the first number. “Number one means first floor, and eight is the number we give to our biography section. Five is the shelf-level. Then we end with the first two letters of the author’s name.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” I drawl. I peel off the note and shove it in my pocket before depositing the textbook back in my bag. “So, my mail just goes in there?” I point behind her, fisting the manila envelope.

  She chuckles, likely amused by Gen Z kids trying to relate to snail mail. “Yes, dear.”

  In an attempt to distract, I say, “How old is this library?”

  “Oh, ancient in your eyes, dear. Maybe sixty years? Not as old as Briarcliff Academy’s, however. Sad, how we lost it.”

  “I thought Briarcliff’s library smelled a little too much like fresh paint,” I say. “It’s newly built, isn’t it?”

  “As it happens, it just reopened.” The receptionist pushes up her rhinestone glasses and leans forward in her seat. I catch her nameplate: DARLA. “Quite the scandal. The old library burned down.”

  “It did?” I put extra oomph in my gasp, though a lot of it is real. Darla’s interest has clearly bypassed what I’m mailing and is on to juicier gossip.

  “And the new building was gifted by the victim’s family. Can you believe it?”

  “Wait…” Didn’t Chase say his dad financed the library?

  “Such a tragedy. If you have the time—” her phone rings, and she glances toward it. “Darn. Anyway, take a look around. Most of the original documents exclusive to this town were destroyed along with it. But this library has the rest.”

  My heart beats faster. I’m ready to track down the source of Piper’s reference code. “Are there papers on the founders here?”

  “Another intrepid student, I see. Briarcliff pupils don’t think to come to this library for local research. I suppose they don’t care, now that the web exists. The last girl here asking for founders documents was … well, she’s a tragedy, too.”

  The phone keeps ringing.

  Piper. She was here and it hits me in a wave, confirming that the jumble of letters and numbers in her last entry point to this place. Piper said she found documents at the library. I assumed she meant Briarcliff’s, but she totally meant this one.

  “You should get that,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Um, so, that section you mentioned…?”

  Darla lifts the phone, covers the receiver and gestures forward. “Biographies are in aisle eight, dear.”

  I nod my thanks, then peruse the aisles until I come to 8. I don’t run into anyone else as I explore, the library comforting and quiet, save for Darla’s murmuring voice. Running my fingers along the dust-covered spines on the fifth shelf, I notice old texts on Briarcliff, most written by someone named Margaret Harris. I spend twenty minutes skimming through a handful and come to the resigned conclusion that I’m not going to find anything but dry material on the school’s construction and the town’s burgeoning economy. Maybe Piper scribbled the reference code down for no other reason than to come back to this section for additional, drab research.

  Or to send me here.

  It forces me to think. If Piper’s death really is related to what she discovered, wouldn’t she try to hide it? I focus harder on Piper and who she was. Vain, self-centered, and uncaring about the lives she ruined.

  On a whim, I unfurl from my seated position and keep looking through the “Ha” section. After perusing the row, I find nothing, and I’m about to rationalize that I should be focusing on my other running theory, Mr. S, when I backtrack and come across a book by Allan Harrington about his life on the high seas. I have nothing else to go on except for Piper’s vanity in choosing an author with her last name, but I pull it out, then let it fall into a random section when I open it.

  A sheaf of paper, stuffed between the pages, flutters to the ground.

  A surge of adrenaline jolts through me—part of Piper’s missing pages?—but after unfolding the single page, it’s too aged to be Piper’s. But it’s a handwritten letter, in feminine cursive.

  …he thinks I’m unaware of the Society, but I know. I know, and I demand my part in it.

  Much of the writing is illegible with scorch marks. My fingers tighten on the fragile paper as my brain moves fast, making the connection. When I skim to the bottom and find the signature, my beliefs are solidified.

  Rose Eloise Briar

  YAS!

  I glance up, noting Darla’s continued distraction on the phone. In a stealthy maneuver worthy of outsmarting any above cameras, I take one of my textbooks from my bag and nestle the letter within it.

  Darla’s back is to me by the time I get to the front, and without her noticing, scoot out the doors.

  My heart leaves lighter, too. I picture the texts and the incriminating video on my phone, but whoever’s responsible isn’t watching me close enough to know what I’ve done. How I can curveball the investigation, too.

  I’ve mailed the diary to the police and thus, pointed the finger at Mr. S.

  I’m sorry, Chase.

  I squelch the unwanted regret. It’s a no-brainer that if it came down to him or me, it should definitely be him. If the detectives aren’t going to focus elsewhere, then it’s left to me to redirect the narrative, and if it buys me the time I need to uncover Briarcliff’s deepest, most scandalous secrets, then I will.

  After being dropped off on campus, I make it through the rest of the day studying for quarter-terms before enjoying the privacy of my room and smoothing down Rose’s letter. In the low lamplight at my desk, I read.

  They think they have control. They do not. I am the one they should fear, and I must maintain ground by carving my place within. I do not love him. Indeed, I despise him, and he can no longer stand the sight of me. Not after losing his fifth child. Thorne would kill me if he could get away with it. I must act before he does, create a section within this educational system for my protection. My quick thinking will either save me, or doom me to—

  Indecipherable, charred jumble. Cursing, I move on.

  He believes creating a Gentlemen’s Society through a boys only school will provide the ample opportunity he requires. It will not. He cannot possibly imagine how far I have come. I must employ my plans now, before it is too late. I aim for balance, and in doing so, summoning a society in secret to operate under the auspices of Briarcliff Boys Academy. An elite group of souls who may protect my name and watch over these children. It is with this letter I deem you to be the wiser, my love. Keep my confession safe, for I am creating the V—

  Damn it! Burned edges and holes obscure the rest, but I’ve been g
iven enough.

  A Gentlemen’s Society involving Thorne Briar. Rose’s discovery of it.

  My hand curls into a fist over the page as I ponder Piper’s reasoning for hiding this letter. To whom Rose was writing to remains a mystery, but there’s a secret written within these pages, one Piper figured out.

  For it can only be Piper who’s seen these pages, too, and put them in the public library before she died.

  After a final read, I switch to my laptop.

  There’s a way I can communicate my theory, write it out and make sense of it. It’s because of them, these Nobles, that I can’t think. Can’t study like I used to. Can’t sleep.

  If I’m wrong, then all I’ll get is Dr. Luke’s brief admiration for delving so deep into Briarcliff lore. He’s open to new theories. Piper said he loved out-of-the-box thinking.

  And if I’m right, maybe I can flush my cloaked admirer out, and force that person to provide some answers.

  After all, two girls can’t die on campus without garnering a whole bunch of attention.

  Right?

  While placing my fingers above the keyboard, I tell myself to be brave. I tell myself to write about the real founding of Briarcliff Academy.

  With Rose’s hidden involvement. I open with:

  While Thorne Briar and his two brothers, Richard and Theodore Briar, founded the Briarcliff Boys Academy, Thorne’s wife, Rose Briar, created a clandestine internal organization as a form of protection against her husband’s similar plan within these school halls.

  What if, instead of literal skeletons, Briarcliff Academy hides two skulls of secret society members underneath their coveted grounds? One belonging to Thorne, and the other borne in retaliation from Rose.

  It begs two questions: Why did these students need hidden protection, and which society was their true protector?

  Soon, the words start flowing.