by Lucy Auburn
Lukas is back in class, but he looks pale and withdrawn, and we don't get a chance to talk—not that I know what I could say to him without revealing myself.
Cole still isn't on campus. A full week of classes go by without a sign of him. I spot Holly walking down the hallways arm-in-arm with a boy named Jacob Granger whose parents own a tech company that makes, among other things, facial recognition software and virtual reality devices. She doesn't meet my eyes, but when I receive my last paycheck from the Rosalinds, I cash the full amount and slide it under her door in an envelope that includes yet another apology note.
More time passes. Chrissy is still tight-lipped and awkward around me. Sasha and Tricia have gotten close in a way that seems to verge on romance, their giggles turned distinctly flirtatious.
I get an email from Mariana Marks, to Legacies, that makes me cry. She blames the blog's inaccurate post for a number of death threats and renewed harassment she's received. Her uncle, Dean Simmons, wants her to withdraw from Coleridge, but she refuses—she's going to fight and stay. I don't know what to say to her, but I wind up spending a whole sleepless night thinking about her words over and over again.
I'm starting to think I was the wrong person for all of this.
Maybe it was a mistake from the start.
When I respond to Mariana, it's with nothing but apology, taking full responsibility for what happened. The blog keeps getting tips—in between the death threats and pointed comments about its reputation being ruined now—but I don't have the stomach for another takedown.
But then. Monday rolls around. And as I'm heading to class, I hear something that makes the fire in me burn again, tingling down my arms and legs, roaring back to life.
Cole is coming back tomorrow.
He's returning to campus, like nothing ever happened.
"We should probably talk about our project. There's only a couple of weeks to put our final presentation together."
I blink up at Lukas, who I was sure might ignore me for the rest of our shared English class, all over a kiss—either the one we shared, or the one Blake and I shared, which for all I know, he found about. "I texted you like, three times about it."
"Oh, I changed my phone number." He pulls out his phone, which looks, impossibly enough, like the model released just a day ago. "Here, let me give you the new one. I don't have it memorized yet."
He reads off the numbers, and I edit his contact in my phone. "Why did you change your phone number all of a sudden?"
"I kept getting too many death threats," he says casually. "My dad's security team insisted I change the number and give them the old phone so they could monitor it. They're supposed to be sending my new number to any friends or family members who text the old one, but I guess your name wasn't on the list."
Of course it wasn't. I have other worries, though. "These death threats... they weren't because of the..."
"Blog that accused me of violent rape?" He says it so casually. I wince, staring down at my hands, unable to look up into his face and meet his blue eyes straight on. "Yeah, that was part of it. But some assholes on social media did a deep dive on all my information, and even though it should be on lockdown, they somehow got hold of my phone number. Now I'm getting all kinds of disturbing stuff."
Playing with the edge of my skirt, I murmur, "I'm sorry."
There's a long moment. I wait for him to say something like, "It's not your fault." Instead he just says, "So let's schedule that meeting now."
I glance up, frowning a little, because his voice sounds different. Off a little. Almost like he's upset about something. But there's no time to examine it further; I have a minute at most to get to lunch before all the good food is gone. So I schedule a meeting about our project, then grab my bag and rush off to the dining hall. Things may be awkward with Chrissy, while Sasha and Tricia are getting cozier, but now that Hector is back at school I at least have him to talk to.
There's a proposal I have for him, something I think only he may be able to help me with.
"This has to be the dumbest thing I've ever done," Hector hisses to me as he opens up the back door to Hadley Hall. "I swear to God, Brenna, if you get me suspended again, or worse, expelled, I'm sending you to the hospital to take care of my tía when she has a heart attack."
"You're not going to get suspended. Girls come to the boys' dorms all the time, and vice versa."
"Is that what this is?" He waggles his brows at me. "A late night rendezvous?"
I roll my eyes. "Don't tell me you're eager to turn our friend group into as many romantic pairings as possible."
Hector chuckles. "You should be happy for your friends."
"I will be when they stop calling each other honey," I mutter. "Given Sasha's proclivity for weapons, you'd think she'd be less... sugary."
"Love makes us mad."
I wouldn't know. Tiptoeing quietly, I follow Hector down the empty, darkened hallways. More than one dorm room has a light showing under the doorway. They could be studying; finals are coming up, along with final projects, but somehow I'm guessing somehow that most of them are up to other types of activities. Of all the rules, the mixing of boys and girls is the least enforced one; the last thing the administration wants to do is kick half their donors' children off campus because of teenagers being teenagers.
"Which room?" I ask Hector.
"It's right around the corner, but as far as getting in goes..."
"Let me worry about that. I'll get the door open."
No one needs to know that, among the other things I discovered while I worked with the Rosalinds, I found out the master code that opens every students' dorm room on campus.
Hector peers at me as I approach the door. "Do I want to see how the sausage gets made?"
"Probably not."
He looks away, giving himself plausible deniability as I pitch in the six digit master code. The door makes the distinctive sound of the bolt unlocking, and I push it open, officially walking into Cole Masteron's dorm room. His roommate, Blake, is out of course—tomorrow is our last big pre-final calculus test, and he's holed up in the library until midnight, committed to his routine.
There's something exciting about standing in his dorm room. I flip the light on with a little thrill, practically giddy to be in the inner sanctum.
Hector follows me in, pulling the door closed behind him, a paranoid expression on his face. "Are you sure we should put the light on?"
"Trust me when I say we won't get caught. Now, help me go through everything twice as fast than I will if I'm doing this all on my own." I raise a brow at him. "Unless you're scared?"
"No!" He looks affronted. "I just don't know which side of the room to go through."
One look at the beds and nightstands makes it clear. "Cole sleeps on the side of the room that doesn't look like a robot occupies it."
We go through everything: the dresser, the desk, the nightstand, his closet, even underneath the bed and between the mattress and the box spring. There's nothing special here, though, and for a frustrated moment I wonder if he took everything that might give us answers with him.
I have to know what happened to that girl in the trunk of his car, and how it is that somehow he's not being prosecuted at this very second. The public details are still scarce, because the governor himself is involved, but there's no way it was some sort of accident.
"It's almost midnight." Hector shoots the door a nervous look. "I don't want to be here when that Blake kid gets back. I've seen how psychotic he can be."
"Just hold on. One more place."
Grabbing Cole's pillows, I reach into the pillowcases one by one. A thrill goes through me when my fingers hit pay dirt.
Pulling out what I've found, I shoot Hector my widest grin. "Think he might have written some details about that day in his journal?"
"Probably," Hector admits. "But you can't take it with you. He'll notice if it's gone."
"I have a solution for that." Pulling out my phone, I f
lip through the journal and take as many pictures as I can, eyes skimming the boring details on the pages. "I can cross reference the dates..."
"Brenna." Hector pulls on my shirt. "We have to go. Someone's coming."
I wave him off, but even I can hear the footsteps eventually. So I shove the journal back where I found it, hopeful that I got answers somewhere in my photographs. Then I rush out with Hector, flipping the light off as I leave.
Chapter 46
Time passes quickly. My photos of Cole's journal reveal nothing, but I still post about the accident again on Legacies, detailing updates on the scandal.
I scrape by in my classes, despite Blake trying to mess with my tests more than once, and Cole continually moving and destroying my art supplies. Neither one of them actually messes with me again, just with my stuff, which makes me wary that they're planning something big.
I know they want me out. They may have even convinced the girls to try to get rid of me by dumping me in the wolf enclosure. I still shiver when I remember the sound of the wolves howling, and I've taken to pushing my desk in front of my door at night so no one can break in. I've been checking books out of the library and dragging them to my room so I don't wind up alone in there again.
Thoughts of what Ferdinand Von Hassell did to Mariana keep me up at night, and I mentally add him to my list of people to take down when I get the chance—as long as there's no blowback for her.
Thanksgiving break comes and goes. My mom doesn't have money to come visit, and Wally's truck is broken down, so I video conference with them from my old phone. The dining hall has food for the kids who stick around during the break, including most of the international students.
Before I know it, classes are back in session, finals are approaching, and it's almost time for the event I dread more than any other: the Blind Ball.
The Rosalinds cordially invite you to the annual Blind Ball. Held in the Coleridge Center ballroom with our counterparts at Hadley Hall, the traditional ball involves a blind date for everyone. Enclosed you will find a token that matches one your date will carry, but don't try to spoil the fun! Tokens will be revealed at the dance.
Meet us at the party on Saturday at 6:00 PM, and don't forget that finals are approaching, so our traditional campus-wide study group will be held the following day in the ashes of our party.
It's hard to imagine that I have time for the dance, given all the studying I have to do, but it's the only chance I may have to attend one of Coleridge's signature parties. I might not make it to next semester, between being dumped off in the wolf enclosure, getting my tests stolen, and barely scraping by in my assignments. Maybe it's time for me to have a little fun. I have an outfit that I bought with Georgia's card that's long past its return window, and after everything, I find myself without a single ounce of regret for stealing from her.
I'm probably in for some kind of Carrie moment at the prom. The note I got the night in the enclosure made it clear that I'm supposed to leave or face the consequences.
Let them do their worse.
I have no farther to fall from grace.
The Blind Ball
My pale pink dress flatters my skin, its gems glimmering subtly in the light. It cinches tight at my waist and pushes up in a flattering way.
I've got my black pleather clutch in one hand, the token for the dance slipped inside. I have no doubt that my date will be some kind of catch or trick. Maybe, unlike all the other girls, I'll have no date. Or maybe they'll trick me, setting me up with someone just to get me alone and mess with me.
I won't be fooled. I'm strong enough to see through them. I've slept with the wolves and been marked by the snake in the grass. They can try to tempt me into falling for their tricks, but I refuse. Whoever my date is, I'm ready for them, and I've got just the plan to deal with them: if Hector and I both hate our dates, we'll switch and have a friends night together.
Just a friends night. Nothing else. After all my fateful encounters with the Elites, I don't want another complicated make-out session.
My phone buzzes with a text from Hector himself. How fashionably late do we want to be?
Not too late. I want to get out of there before the rich kids start humping in the dark corners. I shudder at the memory of what I saw Tanner and Chrissy up to. Maybe 30 after?
Got it. See you soon. I'll pick you up in my Benz.
I laugh at his joke, knowing he's going to be showing up on foot to lead me across campus to the ballroom. Thankfully it's not unusual for students to switch dates on Blind Ball night; after one dance with your chosen partner, it's somewhat expected. Apparently the gay and lesbian student body made a fuss a few years back, and now the ball is only blind dates on paper, supposedly to encourage new friendships with students we don't share a dorm with. No doubt in a few years they'll figure out some other way to reinvent the tradition so it fits in more with the 21st century.
I'm outside, Hector texts.
Stowing my phone in my clutch and double-checking my hair one last time, the bouncy curls I put in it reminding me painfully of the time Holly did my hair for the ice cream social, I head out the door and slowly walk towards the front gates. I picked shoes with a kitten heel for tonight, afraid that I'll make a fool of myself otherwise. I've never been very good at balancing on high heels.
Hector is waiting for me by the gate, wearing a dark blue suit that cuts across his figure handsomely, his tattoos covered up. He smells faintly of spicy cologne and gives me a friendly smile.
"You look fabulous," he says, eyeing me just for a moment, his eyes skimming rather than lingering. "Whoever you've been paired off with, he's one lucky guy."
"Thank you. You too, Hector."
I put my arm on his elbow, and he sighs forlornly. "Why did you have to quit the Rosalinds? You could've paired me off with Victoria Ruiz. Or Toni Brown. I wouldn't say no to either."
I dodge the real answer to his question. "It just wasn't right for me. And I'm so behind in my schoolwork that I didn't have time to plan parties and social events."
"Hmmm." Hector cuts his eyes at me, brows raised, mouth quirked upwards on one end. "One of these days, Brenna Cooke, you'll get better at lying."
I don't tell him that one of my biggest lies just fell out of his mouth, with him none of the wiser. Cole has kept my secret—for now—and so has anyone else he's told. But I don't believe that can last for long, even if he's still busy licking his wounds from the Legacies exposé on him. He's been disappearing every weekend for trips up to Albany to speak to law enforcement and stand by his father's side in exhaustive interviews. He still maintains his innocence, even as the story closes down around him, and no one truly believes he had nothing to do with that girl's death.
No doubt he'll be gone again this weekend, especially since the governor finally resigned under immense pressure. His father is already working his strings, getting his patsies to call for a special election so they can put someone else favorable to them in the office. Whispers claim he's hoping for a pardon for his son if he is brought up on any charges concerning the two deaths, whether for manslaughter or the cover up.
If nothing else, Legacies got that post right, I'm sure of it. And the furor has died down over the post I made on Lukas DuPont, who everyone seems to agree was falsely smeared—even if no one seems to have figured out who really did it. Apparently that tattoo on his ankle was a common flash, given out in a tattoo parlor in New York City that was shut down for not carding its customers properly. Any number of boys could have it, but my gut tells me the truth: that Ferdinand Von Hassell drugged and raped Mariana. One day he'll see justice, even though the camera never captured his face.
"You're quiet," Hector comments, drawing me out of my thoughts. "What are you thinking about?"
I dare to admit the truth. "Murder. Cover ups. Sexual assault."
"Coleridge," he says, easily filing in the details. "If he had his wits about him, my dad would pull me out of this damned school. But he still insist
s that it's an opportunity I shouldn't pass up. Despite everything he's still loyal to the Masterson family. They even invited us to their winter ski trip, and he's dragging me along with him." He makes a disgusted noise. "Can you imagine volunteering to be around those people?"
"Sorry." The thought of spending a vacation with Cole's harsh green eyes on me sends shudders up and down my spine and tingles running up my arms. "At least he won't bully you in front of your parents."
"Oh, in front of them, sure he's a little lamb. But they turn their backs plenty." He sighs and shakes his head. "But let's not let talk of the devil incarnate ruin tonight. It's the last social night before finals take over and we have to leave for winter break, after all. Gotta have fun while we still came."
I murmur my assent, even as my eyes travel to the ballroom. Technically, during the day it's the dining hall, but the tables and chairs have been cleared, and the dish washing station is enclosed behind a wooden panel. What remains are the historic pieces of architecture it's impossible to imagine high school students ignore every day: painted decorative tiles, the swooping beams of the ceiling, stained glass windows set high in the walls, and a carved wooden relief of philosophers lecturing on the double doors we walk through. There are bits of Greek and Roman influence throughout the room, something I know not because of Lukas DuPont's lecturing but because of my own studying of the history of this place.
Almost everyone is already here, split into two groups: girls on the left, boys on the right, waiting for the tokens to be taken out and pairings to be made. With the lights dimmed low, three chandeliers lowered through the room, and classical music playing softly through speakers around us, the entire place is decked out for romance. If Holly and I were still on speaking terms I would congratulate her on all her hard work.