“I've got you guys; I'm not afraid.” I stuff my fingers in the pockets and brush the condoms, lips twitching.
“But maybe you should be?” Ranger begins, his eyes far away again. The twins exchange a look as Church plucks the paper from his best friend's fingers.
“I'll send this to my parents' head of security. Surely he can do something with it.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Ranger asks, giving his president a hard look.
“Positive.” Church pockets the note just as Eddie the janitor and Nathan the night watchman come around the corner. Neither of them look particularly happy to see us.
“The school board wants the halls clear after seven. You’re gonna have to take your pow-wow elsewhere.” Nathan sniffs and reaches up to rub at his nose. His beard has what looks suspiciously like Cheeto crumbs in it, and he smells like a vat of Mountain Dew. My eyes narrow. The guy really isn’t all that old, is he? How did he even get this job? He’s useless.
“Do you enjoy shuffling around campus, stealing the students’ food, and generally being an inept, inadequate fool?” Church asks, straightening the lapels on his navy academy blazer. “Instead of harassing the Culinary Club—we have a late-night permit for this building, by the way—perhaps you could do better ensuring students don’t die on your watch.”
Nathan frowns heavily and his nostrils flare with anger, but I doubt he’s got the backbone to stand up to Church Montague. The guy is terrifying, although I’m convinced now that he’s much deeper and more nuanced than he first appears. His emotions in the woods proved as much. You can’t fake that level of feeling; it was gut-wrenching to even watch.
My eyes shift over to Eddie, this lanky middle-aged guy with a crisp, clean uniform and perfectly combed hair, gelled over, has hands rough and spattered in white paint. He's as plain as they come, but everybody's a suspect in my mind.
“Now, if you'll excuse us,” Church continues, and then he takes off down the hall and the rest of us follow.
“Has he always been like this?” I whisper to Ranger, leaning in and smelling that sugar and leather scent of his. My skin ripples with goose bumps, but I ignore the feeling, tucking my hands into my pockets to hide my reaction.
“Since we were six years old,” he says with a sigh, but I notice his mouth twitches slightly, like he's fighting off a smile. Church takes us down the hall and just happens to pass by Mr. Murphy's office, slowing slightly. He peers into the window for a moment, and then glances down the long, stone hallways.
I'm still not quite used to the history and grandeur of the place. The west coast is like, baby America. The oldest shit we have is a hundred years old. But over here, a lot of the buildings are older than the country itself. It's nothing, maybe, when compared to Europe or Africa, but it's impressive as hell to this Cali girl.
“Micah, Tobias, do you have a key to this office?”
“Not this one, Mr. President,” they say in unison, and then exchange a look.
“But we could get one,” Tobias says.
“Maybe,” Micah adds.
“Teacher's lounge would be a good place to skim keys,” Spencer muses, glancing over at me. “Like, say, if someone were to have a father who was in the lounge …”
“Wait, you want me to steal the keys?!” I choke out, and then Ranger's hand slides over to cover my mouth. His skin is warm, his palm dry, and even though I quickly slap his hand away, I liked the feeling of it. Not covering my mouth, exactly, but just … his touch, I guess.
“Mr. Murphy,” Church greets as the teacher in question comes around the corner and gives our group a bit of a skeptical look, his smile slipping just a tad. “How are you this evening?”
“Trying to maintain positivity in the face of our academy's loss,” he says, and I can't tell if he's like, secretly evil and full of shit, or genuine as fuck.
“Understandable. Actually, that's what we're here about. Ranger here,” Church gestures over his shoulder and Ranger narrows those dark eyes of his. “Has been having trouble coping. He, well,” Church splays his fingers on his chest and gives Mr. Murphy this fresh-faced, dewy-eyed look that makes me narrow my own eyes in suspicion, “has been too shy to ask: do you mind if he came in your office to talk for a little while?”
“I …” Mr. Murphy begins, and then exhales sharply. “I understand you might be hurting, Mr. Woodruff, but I'd like to direct your concerns to the school counselor—”
“I want to talk to you,” Ranger says, giving Church a sidelong look that says I'm going to fucking kill you later. “You knew Jenica. You were friends.”
