The Bully (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  There’s a slight pause, as if Miss Robin and the Chancellor glanced back over their shoulders.

  I hold my breath, worried that they might hear even an exhale.

  After a moment, their motion resumes.

  “Well, that’s your problem,” Miss Robin says coldly.

  Then I hear the light patter of her feet descending the stairs.

  Luther Hugo comes stomping back down the hallway.

  I shrink behind the urn, praying that he won’t look in my direction. I’m only partly concealed by the oversized pottery.

  Born along in a cloud of irritation, he sweeps into his office and slams the door.

  I stay exactly where I am, too scared to move.

  I only heard a fragment of the conversation.

  But I can’t help thinking they must be talking about Snow.

  Finally Saturday rolls around again. I prefer the weekend—it’s much easier to avoid Lola.

  Rakel and I spend the morning as we’ve been spending all our weekends lately—searching for my missing person.

  We have to take the laptop up to ground level, because there’s no connection down in the Undercroft. We’re holed up in the ice house on the west side of campus, Rakel tapping away on Ozzy’s laptop and me keeping watch by the door so we’re not caught with technological contraband.

  Rakel has become even more obsessed with this task than I am. She’s been neglecting her homework in favor of chasing up obscure leads that inevitably conclude in more dead ends.

  “People can’t really disappear,” Rakel says grimly, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen. “There’s always some trace . . .”

  “Unless they’re dead,” I reply.

  “She’s not dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  I don’t share Rakel’s confidence. I told her from the beginning this might be a fool’s errand.

  “I found her sister easy enough,” Rakel says. “She’s a nurse, too. Works at Evanston Women’s Hospital in Chicago. Which is a little weird ‘cause the address on her tax return is Madison. That’s a long commute.”

  “Could be an old address,” I say, drawing idly in my sketchbook with a piece of charcoal.

  “No, it’s from January.”

  “Is that her only family?”

  “Yeah, her parents are dead.”

  I’m drawing two sisters, both blonde and dressed in nurse’s uniforms.

  Two sisters that look alike, not like me and Zoe.

  The charcoal smudges on the page as my hand jerks involuntarily.

  “Rakel . . .” I say.

  “What?”

  “Pull up the hospital directory.”

  Rakel finds the right page, scrolling until she sees the nurse in question: Lida Copeland.

  “Look at that,” Rakel says. “They could be twins.”

  I join her at the laptop, my eyes fixed on the blonde woman facing the camera with only the ghost of a smile. Her face is angular and elegant, the austere lines of her jaw and her wide, full mouth offset by the heavy frames of her glasses.

  The glasses can’t disguise her beauty, or the sadness in her eyes that is all too familiar to me.

  “Not twins . . .” I breathe. “That’s her. That’s Dean’s mother.”

  We found Rose Copeland.

  21

  Dean

  Cat comes running up the stairs of the Bell Tower, filled with a nervous energy I’ve never seen before.

  “You look excited to see me.” I grin, grabbing her and trying to kiss her.

  “I am!” she cries. “But not for—not just for that.”

  “What, then?” I say, my fingers slipping through her curls as she twists out of my grasp, too anxious to stay still.

  She’s pacing around the tower, nervy and almost hectic. Bright spots of color flame in her cheeks, her eyes glinting like black jet. She’s grasping a folded piece of paper in her fist.

  “I was looking for something. I didn’t want to say anything in case I couldn’t find it. But I did! Earlier this morning. And I’m almost certain of it.”

  “What . . .” I say.

  Her agitation is infecting me. Not in a positive way—I’ve never liked surprises.

  Cat twists the paper in her hand, her eyes as big as I’ve ever seen them.

  “I think I found your mother.”

  I stare at her, uncomprehending.

  “She’s working at a hospital in Chicago. At first I thought it was her sister, but her sister lives in Madison with her husband and kids. I think your mother is using her name and social so she can work without anyone knowing . . .”

  Cat’s words are a swarm of wasps swirling around me—too fast and too loud.

  “It took some digging but she has an apartment in Chicago, too. You wouldn’t need an apartment and a house if it was the same person . . .”

  I shake my head, trying to clear the cacophony.

  “Cat!” I bark, my voice louder than I intend.

  Cat breaks off, startled by my tone.

  I try to speak softly, but my heart is racing in a sickening way.

  “Are you saying my mother is alive?”

  “Yes!” Cat cries happily. “Or at least, I’m almost certain.”

  The uneven floor of the tower seems to lurch under my feet.

  I really thought she was dead.

  I thought that’s why she never tried to contact me.

  Now Cat is telling me my mom was alive all along.

  She could have called me any time.

  “She’s in Chicago,” I say dully.

  “That’s right.” Cat nods. Her expression is eager and hopeful. It hurts me almost as much as her words.

  I always wanted to move back to Chicago. I wished I lived there instead of Moscow.

  My mother went without me.

  “There’s something else,” Cat says, unfurling the paper she’s been clutching so tight. It’s a grainy black and white photograph, printed on the shitty printers in the computer lab.

  I take it from her though I don’t want to.

  I’m afraid to look.

  I smooth out the wrinkles, battling against my churning stomach and the frantic thudding in my chest.

  I see my mother, older but instantly recognizable, holding the hand of a small girl with blonde pigtails.

  “I think you have a sister,” Cat says.

  I look at that image, my mother holding the hand of the girl the same age that I was when she left.

  The little girl looks up at her, happy and trusting.

  I tear the picture in half, ripping mother and daughter apart.

  Cat stares at me, stunned.

  I rip those pieces into smaller pieces and I throw them on the floor.

  It does nothing to stifle my rage.

  That paper might as well be tinder—my fury flames up ten times higher.

  Cat is open-mouthed, already backing away from me.

  “You had no right,” I hiss, the anger rising and rising.

  “But I—”

  “YOU HAD NO RIGHT!” I howl, snatching up the closest thing at hand, which happens to be my speaker, and smashing it against the wall. Cat jolts at the impact. The music abruptly cuts out, leaving a deathly silence between us.

  “Dean . . .” Cat whispers. Her eyes are filling with tears.

  “I DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHERE SHE IS! I FUCKING HATE HER!”

  Cat flinches away from me, her hands held up in front of her in helpless defense. It’s less than useless—we both know I could tear her apart as easily as that paper.

  “I didn’t know—”

  “YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME!” I shout. “You don’t fucking know me at all. You thought I would like that? Are you fucking stupid?”

  Now the tears are running down her face, both sides.

  They don’t placate me.

  They only make me angrier, because now I feel guilty as well as enraged.

  How dare she do th
is to me? How dare she make me feel this way?

  I knew this would happen. I knew Cat was too good to be true.

  I knew she’d lie to me, and sneak around behind my back, and stab me in the place that hurts the most. It was only a matter of time.

  “I’m sorry—” she starts.

  “Yeah, you’re fucking sorry,” I hiss. “You’re pathetic and sorry.”

  She’s fully crying now, sobs shaking her shoulders.

  And I hate myself far more than I hate her, but I can’t seem to stop.

  “You’re nothing to me,” I spit.

  She’s shrinking down, huddling away from me like a little kid scared of a monster.

  I am a fucking monster, I know that. It was stupid to pretend any different.

  Why did I think I could be happy?

  I don’t deserve that.

  I expect Cat to break down entirely.

  Really, I’m the one who doesn’t know her. Because she surprises me yet again.

  She straightens up, still shaking, pulling her shoulders back. She faces me with swollen eyes and trembling lips.

  “This is over,” she says. “I don’t want to see you anymore. You’re broken, and I can’t fix you.”

  Her words hit me, straight and swift like arrow shafts.

  All in an instant, the world flips and reverses.

  I thought I meant what I said while I was saying it.

  Now I see it for what it was: rage pointed in the wrong direction.

  Whereas, with horrid clarity, I see that Cat is not speaking in anger at all.

  Every word is true, and she means every bit of it.

  I finally went too far. She’s done with me.

  “Cat—” I say, reaching desperately to take her hand.

  Too late.

  She wrenches it away from me and flees down the steps.

  22

  Cat

  Arcade — Duncan Laurence

  Spotify → geni.us/bully-spotify

  Apple Music → geni.us/bully-apple

  I run away from Dean, down to the Undercroft where he can’t follow.

  Then I remember that he broke into my room last year, so he absolutely can find me down here if he cares to do it.

  But I doubt he will.

  I lay face down on the bed, guilty and miserable.

  I shouldn’t have gone looking for his mother without talking to him first.

  I wanted to surprise him. But I knew how emotionally fraught that whole situation is for Dean.

  On the other hand . . .

  It’s better that I know how he actually feels about me.

  He doesn’t love me. He never did.

  Why would he?

  Dean has always been one of the smartest, the strongest, and the most disciplined people at this school. With all I’ve changed, I’m still barely average.

  But god, it felt good to believe that he loved me.

  I can’t stop crying.

  I’m soaking my pillow like a fucking baby, all tears and snot and embarrassing sobs.

  I’m glad Rakel isn’t here.

  How did I fuck that up so bad?

  I’m stupid, just like Dean said. I think I understand what’s going on around me, and then I don’t, not even a little bit.

  I didn’t see what was going on between Rocco and my sister until it was almost too late. I wasn’t able to help Hedeon. I don’t know what the hell is going on with Miss Robin. I’m a shit Spy.

  Maybe Lola’s right about everything—if Dean thought I was an idiot all along, maybe Anna and Chay do, too. Maybe Ares does, and Hedeon. Even Rakel might only be tolerating me.

  I’m spiraling down a greased slide into a pit of slime.

  All my darkest thoughts and worst fears are waiting for me at the bottom.

  I’m worthless. No one loves me. No one ever will.

  Except Zoe.

  The thought comes to me—one tiny beacon of light in the blackness.

  I still have my sister.

  I could call her right now.

  I snatch up my phone, already dialing before I remember there’s no service down here.

  Without bothering to grab so much as a sweatshirt, I run out of my room and back up the stairs to ground level. I hurry north to the wall, too impatient to find my usual secluded spot on the far corner of campus. Instead, I wedge myself between the leafless orange trees and call my sister.

  The phone rings several times. My stomach clenches up, thinking she’s not going to answer.

  Then Zoe’s cheerful voice trills, “There you are! I haven’t talked to you in forever!”

  I’m already crying again before I can even say hello. Poor Zoe has to wade through my gulps and sobs to try to figure out what the fuck is going on.

  “Are you okay?” she cries. “Did somebody hurt you?”

  “No,” I say, miserably. “I just . . . Dean and I broke up.”

  “Oh,” Zoe says.

  I can tell this isn’t exactly a surprise to her, which only makes me cry harder.

  “I’m sorry, conejita,” Zoe says, “but maybe it’s for the best.”

  “No it isn’t!” I cry.

  “But Cat—”

  “You don’t understand,” I sob.

  “Then explain it to me,” Zoe says.

  She’s such a good sister. She always wants to be on my side.

  “I want to understand,” Zoe says. “Tell me how this whole thing happened.”

  She doesn’t know what she’s asking. Still, I’m going to tell her. I’m so tired of carrying this secret.

  I take a long, shuddering breath.

  “I killed Rocco Prince,” I say.

  The silence on the other end of the line is deep enough to drown an ocean.

  “No,” Zoe whispers.

  “I did. And Dean saw me.”

  I can almost hear her mind whirring, putting together the pieces with astonishing speed.

  She knows it’s the truth. Only her image of her sweet baby sister prevented her from seeing it before.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Zoe murmurs.

  “I didn’t want you to worry. I wanted you to be free.”

  “I can’t believe it, Cat. How did you—”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  I’m still filled with a sick sense of dread every time I remember waiting on the wall for Rocco Prince to arrive. Knowing that he was stronger than me, faster than me, and maybe smarter, too . . . Knowing that if one of us was about to die, it could just as easily be me . . .

  “It worked, and that’s all that matters. No one else knows.”

  “Thank god for that,” Zoe breathes.

  “Dean promised not to tell. In return for, ah, a few favors.”

  “What!” Zoe shrieks, outraged. “Did he—”

  “No! I mean, not exactly. It’s complicated.”

  Now she’s fuming on the other end of the line, imagining the worst.

  “We weren’t friends at first, but then we were, and then it turned into something romantic . . .”

  I’m trying to explain to Zoe what I barely understand myself: the long progress of Dean’s and my relationship from hatred to lust to love.

  If it ever was love at all.

  “He changed, and so did I. We connected in a way I’ve never felt before. And I thought we were . . . I thought it was something special. But now I fucked it up. Or he did. I don’t know, I’m so confused . . .”

  Zoe sighs, trying to parse my rambling to find the truth.

  “He really hurt me,” I sob, remembering Dean’s words cutting me deeper than any knife.

  You thought I would like that? Are you fucking stupid?

  You’re nothing to me.

  “If he hurt you, then he doesn’t love you,” Zoe says.

  It’s not what I want to hear. But the wrenching pain in my chest tells me that she might be right.

  “When someone loves you, they’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

&nb
sp; I want Zoe to be wrong. She’s never wrong, though.

  “What should I do?” I ask her.

  “Stay away from him,” Zoe says. “And make sure no one else finds out about . . . you know.”

  “He won’t tell,” I assure her.

  As furious as Dean might have been, he’ll keep my secret anyway. I still feel certain of that.

  A dry branch creaks behind me.

  I whirl around, thinking Dean came looking for me.

  There’s nothing there.

  It was probably just a squirrel, or one of the several cats that prowl the school grounds.

  “And by the way, Cat . . .” Zoe says.

  “What?”

  “Thank you for what you did. I hate what it must have cost you . . . but just know, I’m finally happy. Finally at peace. Because of you.”

  Her words put warmth in my chest, where there had only been ice.

  “It had to happen,” I tell her. “It’s exactly what you said—when someone loves you, they’d do anything to keep you safe.”

  I’m gripping the phone tight, wishing I could hug my sister just as hard.

  “Te amo, hermana,” she says.

  “Te quiero,” I reply.

  23

  Dean

  After Cat leaves the Bell Tower, I stay up there alone for hours, pacing back and forth in an agony of indecision.

  I fucking hate what Cat did. I hate the image she put in my head of my mother and her new fucking family, her new child, the one that replaced me.

  I hate knowing that she’s living in Chicago, fully moved on without me.

  And yet, pathetically, I find myself scrabbling through the torn-up pieces of paper on the floor until I find the ones that show my mother’s face.

  I try to piece them together again.

  It doesn’t work. I destroyed them past recognition.

  I want to go find Cat. But she doesn’t want to see me right now.

  Actually, she said she never wants to see me again.

  Did she really mean that?

  If she did, then I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Something fucking drastic.

  Close to midnight, I finally leave the Bell Tower. I wander around campus until I happen upon a party in the old stables on the northwest corner of campus. The festivities are nowhere near as well-organized as when Miles Griffin used to run the show, but the music is loud and Louis Faucheux is selling 40s for $100 a pop.