“I'm sorry, but my decision is final.”
I just stare at him, sitting there like he doesn't give a shit about my feelings, so cold and blank and sterile.
“No wonder Mom turned to drugs. You're a serious fucking drag.” I stand up and take off for the stairs, ignoring his shouts as he calls out to me. I lock my door, block it with a chair, and change into my uniform. It might be a Saturday, but I've got things to do today.
Tears fall as I gather my clothes up, and I end up sitting on the edge of my bed with my face in my hands. I don't want to leave Adamson, or its quirky Student Council. Rich assholes they might be, but they're fun, too.
Knowing my father, he'll have the police here to escort me onto the plane if I resist.
I hate him sometimes.
After I'm dressed, I text the boys, and then sneak out the back door to meet them.
They’re all dressed in jeans and sweaters, even though it’s sunny out, layers for the paintball match that’s supposed to happen today. I try to hide the melancholy in my face, but these dickheads are far too perceptive.
“You're leaving, aren't you?” Church asks, looking at me with those beautiful amber eyes of his. He's dressed in jeans, brown boots, and a cream-colored sweatshirt that emphasizes the bright flecks in his eyes and the natural highlights in his hair. He watches me carefully as I nod. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
The word falls from my lips like a curse, and the twins exchange a look. Spencer's expression is one part horror, two parts rage.
“No fucking way. I'm not letting him send you off!” he snaps, but even as he paces in a tight circle around me, I know that no amount of passion or pleading from the Student Council is going to keep me here. There’s a reason I’ve been avoiding this argument, huh? Because I knew I wouldn’t win. Old Charlotte would throw a fit, try something childish or vindictive to bully Archie into giving in. Never worked before, but she’d at least try. New Charlotte … well, like I said, I’m still figuring out exactly who she is, but I won’t get my way by throwing a fit.
“He must know something he’s not telling you,” Ranger says, pulling the stone from his pocket and holding it between two fingers, his nails painted sapphire blue. Emo dick, I think, but I can’t stop myself from appreciating his head to toe, all-black look, complete with combat boots. “I figured out where I’ve seen this symbol before, by the way.”
“Really?” I blink, briefly forgetting the dread of my inevitable move. The twins and Spencer though, they’re all steaming like kettles. “Where?”
“My mother refuses to admit Jenica even existed most days, so I had our housekeeper send me pictures of her journal. There were a few pages in the middle that were stuck together when I first got it. I managed to peel them apart, but I didn’t think much of it then, like maybe she’d spilled a drink on the book or something.” Ranger exhales and turns the stone around, staring at the design on the top. “But I think she did it on purpose, hid those pages.”
“Why?” I ask, tucking my hands into the pockets of my slacks as the breeze tousles my hair.
“Because she’d drawn this on one of them.” Ranger takes his phone out and hands both items over to me, so I can look between the two.
Holy shit.
He’s right.
The symbol on the stone, and the one in the notebook … they’re one in the same.Despite the double revelations—my move, and the stone—we head to the paintball park anyway. Good thing Ross was waiting for us at the limo because once we got in, we were all silent; he filled the empty space with chatter.
“If you get hit with a paintball, you’re out. It has to be a real hit, at least quarter-sized,” Ross continues, waving his hands around with a flourish. “Droplets of random spray don’t count.”
“That’s what she said,” Micah snickers as his brother hefts the paintball gun up to his shoulder and grins. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You get shot, you’re out. Last man standing wins.”
“And what, exactly, he wins is up to me,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and lifting my chin. I try not to think about the fact that I’ll only be here for another day. It’s too heartbreaking; I don’t want to believe it. “Now go shoot each other with brightly colored paint in some sort of weird toxic masculine ritual.”
Spencer chuckles, and nods, pulling down the plastic hood on his mask.
He still thinks he’s going to find some way to keep me here, I can tell. Church and Ranger seem to have a much better grasp on the situation, although I still can’t quite understand their motivation for participating in this stupid duel or competition or whatever you want to call it.
