by Zara Rivas
"Something's going on at the school," Xavier said, voice sounding odd. "Lexington, someone painted your locker black."
"What the fuck is this, a blitz?" I burst out, and hung up.
I only realized after I'd hung up that Sinclair wouldn't have any idea of what I was talking about.
Chapter Twelve
Xavier watched her walk up to her locker, surrounded by curious onlookers. Her expression betrayed absolutely nothing; she surveyed her black-painted locker with a clinical disinterest bordering on complete apathy. Teachers were already herding students to their classrooms, demanding that people stop crowding around Sloane and gaping like morons.
Hotchins pushed his way through the throng, coming to a standstill in front of Sloane. He held a file in his hands.
"Miss Lexington," he nodded curtly. "Miss Montgomery, Mister Sommers, Mister Sinclair, Miss Jameson. Follow me."
Everyone obeyed: Avery, Christian, Xavier, Torrance and Sloane filed behind him silently. When they reached his office, he directed all of them to sit in the chairs in the waiting part of the office. When Sloane began to sit down, he shook his head and motioned for her to follow him into the office. She did, and he shut the door securely behind them.
Xavier turned to Christian and asked, "So what are you doing here?"
He hesitated. "I got a note."
"I did too," Xavier said. "What did yours say?"
Christian told him. Avery raised her eyebrows; Christian hadn't told her yet. "Yours?"
"I made a copy of it," Xavier said, digging around in his pocket. He unfolded the crumpled paper and read, "Of course you'll be the one to pass it along, so please take care and don't get it wrong. Thirteen across and only one down, starting from where they all turn up brown. Now this next part is tricky, and keep it all straight: so she'll be sure and take all of the bait. Forty-seven counts to the right from your own, and you'll find the black heart's one and only home."
"Oh great, they've progressed to being a poet," Avery sighed. "I'm guessing it meant her locker?"
"Yeah. I figured it had to mean the lockers because they alternate between brown and blue, and I found the note in my locker and it had all the numbers…so I went forty-seven to the right. The thirteen was just a system to check it—her locker really is thirteen to the right of where the brown ones start. And then I went one down, and before I ever even had to count I saw the paint."
"Who's messing with us?" Torrance asked hollowly.
No one had an answer for her.
oOoOo
There was a police officer in Hotchins' office. He sat in one of the chairs across from the desk, and Hotchins beckoned that I should sit in the other. I sat down slowly, watching Hotchins open the file on his desk and sit down with a heavy sigh.
"Miss Lexington, as you can see I've brought the police into this." He pulled a paper towards him and never took his eyes off my face. "Miss Jameson informed me of the newspaper edits hack from yesterday, and with the series of notes your friends have received, and now the vandalism of your locker, I'm afraid this situation has escalated beyond the point of my own capabilities of dealing with it."
I nodded, saying nothing.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions, and then Officer Barker will."
"Alright."
"You're known for your practical jokes here, Miss Lexington."
I simply said "yes" because that was common knowledge.
"Have you ever played a prank on someone that may have taken it personally?"
"I've only played pranks on a few people, and they're all my good friends. They've gotten me back, why would they want to do something like this?"
"I have to ask, Sloane," Hotchins said gently.
The questions continued in much the same vein, and before too much time was gone Hotchins let me leave. He asked me to wait in the office while everyone else went in, one by one.
The only empty chair was next to Sinclair, so I sat down in it and avoided looking at him. Torrance was the next to be called. Avery and Christian struck up a conversation about whoever could have done that, and Xavier put his two cents in occasionally, but I stayed completely silent.
Trouble at Carroway, I texted to Dominic. Details tonight. You may be getting a phone call.
Avery and Christian weren't paying attention to me in the least, so I felt comfortable glancing over at Sinclair.
"You alright?" he asked quietly, shifting almost imperceptibly in his chair.
"My friends are everything to me," I murmured.
He nodded in understanding.
"I just—I don't put up with shit like this. If someone's messing with my friends, or threatening them, or lying about them, I take care of it—no questions asked." I shook my head. "I don't even know anyone who would go after Avery. She's practically the nicest person here."
"Do you want to read this?" he asked, handing me a sheet of paper I hadn't seen before. I read the poem through with disgust.
"So that's why you're here. They dragged you into it."
"Have you opened your locker yet?" Sinclair asked, looking worried.
"No, why? Do you think there's something in it?"
"There could be."
"I guess we'll find out."
Officer Barker and Headmaster Hotchins accompanied all of us to my locker, just as a precaution. I spun the dial on my combination, conscious of so many eyes on me, and opened it with a click. Nothing alarming jumped out at me, so I looked inside curiously. There was nothing in there except my belongings and another note. I sighed, tired of this person's antics already, and unfolded the note.
Isolate yourself or you won't be the only one who gets hurt.
"That," I declared, "is tiresomely predictable."
I handed the note over to Officer Barker and grabbed my things. Slamming my newly-painted locker shut and spinning around, I nodded curtly at the headmaster and his officer.
"If you don't mind, I'm going to class."
oOoOo
Dominic blew a gasket. I kind of figured he would, but I didn't anticipate the intensity of his aggravation until I actually saw it. Amy was in the middle of listening to my critiques of the CAP idea sheets when she got a phone call. She picked up the phone, listened for a second, and motioned for me to move closer to her desk.
"You need to go to Headmaster Hotchins' office," she said in a low tone. I nodded and went to go collect my things.
"Something wrong?" Tyler asked. "Aside from the obvious, of course—the nutty person painting your locker."
"No idea, but I guess I'm about to find out."
Dominic was railing at Hotchins, and I could hear him from the hallway outside the office. Raising an eyebrow in interest, I pushed the door open without asking the receptionist first. She looked slightly irritated at that, but I ignored her and shut the door behind me.
"Wait, Mr. Lexington, you're not getting the whole picture here—" Hotchins attempted to placate my brother. He laughed derisively.
"The whole picture? The whole picture is that my sister and her friends are getting threatening messages, and some psychotic fuck is painting her locker black, and the best you can do is 'we'll try to see who's behind this'!" Dominic leaned forward. "That's a problem. This school has incredibly lax security if you can't even figure out who's been traipsing around with home decorating tools in the dead of night."
I smiled at that one. Dominic noticed me standing silently by the door and beckoned me over. Hotchins took the opportunity to get his two cents in.
"The problem," Hotchins said delicately, "is that Sloane and her friends have no idea who could have done this. You know as well as I do that your sister is well-liked by almost the entire student population, and no one would speak out against her."
"Why are there no security cameras?" Dominic asked abruptly. "Security guards at the entrances at night? Motion sensors in the parking lot? Metal detectors?"
"We've never had need of them before," Hotchins said.
"Nic, it's really no big
deal," I said, trying to placate him. "Probably just someone playing a practical joke."
"Sloane, you may not give a shit about your own safety, but I do," he growled. I shut up and glared at him.
Hotchins and Dominic continued their back-and-forth argument, and eventually I just gave up and sat down in one of the chairs with my feet up on the headmaster's desk. They continued that way for almost forty-five minutes.
oOoOo
I dealt with whispers for the whole day, and it seemed like the only people who didn't talk when I walked through the halls were my friends. I'd already decided to ignore the whole business, considering it a truly dumb ploy to try and freak me out, and I wouldn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me looking worried.
Avery, of course, caught on immediately and didn't say a word about anything. Our group was quieter than usual at lunch, but other than that we all made light-hearted conversation. Christian seemed to get fed up with the quietness midway through, and slid his chair back so it scraped on the floor.
"Alright, enough of this," he declared. We all looked at him, surprised. "No more moping. My house, tonight. Party. Yes, I know it's a Tuesday, and I know we'll all be dead on our feet again tomorrow, but hey. It'll be worth it."
"Who should we tell?" I asked, liking the idea immediately.
"Keep it simple. Maybe just the lunch group?"
Avery nodded enthusiastically, and Sinclair leaned forward, making sure his arm was brushing mine.
"This group doesn't stay down for long," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. An involuntary shiver worked its way through my skin and I shook my head.
"There's no point in giving whoever it is the satisfaction of seeing us bummed out," I whispered back, letting my fingertips brush the back of his neck. Two could play that game.
He saw my satisfied smirk when goosebumps appeared on his skin, and gave a rueful grin.
oOoOo
"Dominic, it's impromptu, nobody knows about it," I said, trying to convince him to let me go to the party. "And it's only going to be my close friends."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Just the lunch group, pretty much. And none of them hate me, so if they come after me with a kitchen knife I can safely say that they're joking. Probably." I grinned.
He shook his head with a laugh. "Okay, but keep your phone on, alright?"
"I always do."
The doorbell rang just then, interrupting us.
I went to go answer it and found Sinclair standing on the other side, hands shoved in his pockets.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, surprised.
"What a welcome," he said sardonically. He walked past me without asking permission and closed the door. "I figured we could go together tonight."
"Together how," I asked suspiciously.
"Oh relax, don't be so uptight. I just meant in the same car." He looked me up and down and asked, "You're not wearing that, are you?"
I punched him in the arm; I was wearing sweatpants and a tank top for comfort.
"So what if I am?" I asked.
"Well then I obviously can't be seen with you," he fake-sneered.
"Who is it?" Dominic called down the hallway.
"Just an unloved stray," I called back. Turning to Sinclair, I said, "If you're wanting to take me to this party, you're really early."
He shrugged. "I always come early."
I burst out laughing, and it was Xavier's turn to shake his head.
"Always?" I asked slyly. "That could make a girl really…unsatisfied."
"Believe me, girls being unsatisfied has never been a problem around me," he said dryly.
"Of course," I said, still chuckling at his word choice. We walked down the hallway and Dominic nodded at Sinclair.
"I figured it was you."
"Good to see you again," Sinclair said, and Nic agreed.
"Apparently I have a bodyguard for the party tonight," I said sarcastically. "Are you happy now?"
"Yeah, actually, I am," Nic said.
I ignored this and made my way up the stairs, Sinclair in tow. When we got to my room I fished around in my DVD collection and pulled out one of my favorites, popping it in the player and walking into my closet to find something to wear that night.
"I thought you didn't like chick flicks?" Sinclair's voice, saturated with distaste and laughter, followed me into the closet.
"I do sometimes. Besides, Moulin Rouge is one of my favorites." I pushed aside all the bright pink clothing into one corner of my closet. It wasn't a night to look like a highlighter. "It has some really good music."
"That's true, I never would have guessed Ewan McGregor could sing until this came out."
"You've seen it?" I asked, surprised.
"Emma."
"Ah." I dug through a pile of jeans, hunting for my dark ones with rhinestones on the pockets and belt line. "What did your sister have to do for you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm assuming there was something in it for you if you watched a chick flick, and since sexual favors are definitely out, it must've been something else."
"You just mentioned my sister in the same sentence as the phrase 'sexual favors'," Sinclair said, sounding even more disgusted.
"Only in the capacity that they aren't happening," I shrugged, then realized he couldn't see me.
"It was her birthday, there wasn't any repayment."
"That makes sense."
My phone buzzed in my back pocket and I flipped it open. The text message was from Finn.
Need me to run intervention? Nic told me about the creeper.
I smiled and tapped out a quick reply.
Nah, it's probably just some douchebag. Party tonight at Christian's! You should come.
I slid my phone back into my pocket and surveyed my clothing with dismay again. I couldn't find anything I particularly wanted to wear. I spotted the rhinestone-encrusted jeans and snatched them up, though.
"Good grief," Sinclair said, and his voice came from directly behind me. I jumped a little. "It's like you live in a clothing store."
"I just need variety," I defended my wardrobe.
"This much variety?" he asked, holding up two skirts that looked exactly the same. "Seems a bit excessive to me."
"Here's a little girl logic for you," I said, taking them back from him and hanging them up. "that's my favorite skirt. So, when I went and got it at the store, I had a little extra money, and it fit so perfectly, I got two. That way if one gets stained or ripped or fades or something, I'll still have the other one."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Attached to your clothes, are you?"
"Not so much," I argued. "Just my favorites."
"Oh, you're not attached to your clothes." I practically heard the mischievous smile. "Want to get out of them, then?"
I rolled my eyes openly at him. "That's why you showed up early, hmm? Wanted to see me naked?"
"Not really, I was just bored. But if you're offering…."
"Don't worry, I'm not," I quipped, turning back around to find something to wear.
He heaved a dramatic sigh as his fingers started dancing across my waist over my tank top. I ignored him and picked up a couple of shirts, holding them up for comparison. He stepped closer to me, his chest flush against my back, and rested his head on my shoulder while his fingers continued skimming.
"What do you like, I wonder?" he asked, and I could feel the rumble of his voice on my neck. It tickled and I shifted while trying to hold back the laugh.
"What do you mean?" I asked nonchalantly.
"You know exactly what I mean," he said, voice practically oozing innuendo. "You certainly don't seem the vanilla sex type."
"Hmm," I pretended to think about it, trying to drive him a little bit crazy.
Sinclair's hands reached my hips and he drew them back towards him. I swallowed as heat flooded my stomach.
"I'm the kind of person who wants to try everything at least once, and keep what I l
ike," I said, fighting the urge to press backwards against him. I finally just gave in.
"See? Not tame. Definitely not vanilla."
"I never said I was," I said lightly. My phone buzzed in my back pocket and Sinclair flinched, hands flexing against me as he jerked backwards.
"What the hell?"