“Spencer was definitely here,” he calls out, and then there's the sound of crunching wood as the front door is kicked open from the inside, tearing the board off its hinges.
“MMA training,” Ranger explains with a slight shrug. I raise my brows, but say nothing as we come around the front and find the twins going through the garbage on the floor.
“Doritos wrappers, containers of leftovers from Culinary Club, and some rolling papers. This mess has that stoner dickhead written all over it.” Tobias stands up as Micah tosses aside the blankets on the couch, searching for … I don't know, blood? Signs that he was here recently? I don't know. I'm not a very good gumshoe.
This cabin is a hell of a lot nicer than the others, larger, two story, and with a huge king-sized bed on the top floor. Seems like this was the model for the construction projects that were started on some of the others. No wonder Spencer likes to hang out here.
Or liked … Please don't let it be a past tense thing.
Exhaling, I look around with the others, but there's nothing of real significance, just some garbage and a cell phone charger left in the wall. That's it.
“Well, he was definitely here,” Church says, leaning against the wall near the front door, chin tilted down, eyes closed. Blond hair slides forward to cover the top part of his face, but there's not much to see there anyway. He's still completely closed-off. “But that doesn't tell us if he's still alive.”
“No, but it's a good start.” Ranger exhales and turns back to face us, putting his hands on his hips. “Spencer was here. And he always bitches about the gym uniform, says it cooks his balls.” He gives me a look and a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Excuse the language.”
“No, I get it. Gym shorts cook the ball sack. Okay. So what does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, after he left us in the hall, he probably went back to the dorms and grabbed a change of clothing. The guy that was hung in the tree was still wearing his uniform. There's no way Spencer would hang out here and smoke a joint and binge in those shorts.”
“You're grasping at straws, man. A sweaty ball sack isn't exactly the groundbreaking clue we're looking for. That doesn't mean shit.” Micah kicks a soda can across the floor, and it fizzes out.
Fizzes.
Like it's not all that old.
We exchange a look as he bends down and picks it up, taking a sip from the can. Both brows go up.
“Dude, this is fresh. Like super fresh. It's still fizzy.” He hands it over to his brother first, then Ranger, me, Ross and Church. We all take a drink. It really is fresh, like maybe it was opened just a few minutes before we got here. My heart leaps in my chest, but I know that doesn't mean a damn thing. Spencer Hargrove is not the only student at Adamson that sneaks out to the edges of campus to smoke a joint.
“I've tried texting the asshole, but no response.” Church runs a hand down his face. “He could still be pissed at us. Maybe his phone is off?”
“Or maybe he's in the morgue and can't answer,” Micah whispers, and I swear, Ranger growls at him.
“Why are you so determined to be a pessimistic asshole when the rest of us are trying so hard to be positive?”
“Because I don't want to get my hopes up only to get fucked again. Dude, I … I don't know how to deal with this. When I saw his body hanging in that tree, I just wanted to die. Don't make me relive that moment. I'd rather … think he was dead until proven otherwise.” Micah closes his green eyes and sits down hard on the edge of the couch. It creaks, like it can feel more than just the weight of his body, like his emotions and his stress are too heavy to hold up.
There's a long stretch of silence before Church pushes off the wall and stands up straight.
“We've seen what we need to see. Let's get Charlotte back before the headmaster notices she's missing.”
We head back out to the front porch, but I can't resist looking over my shoulder one last time, missing Spencer, wondering where in the world he is, and wishing with every beat of my heart that I'll get to see him again.
If I do, I'm going to give him the kiss of a lifetime, that much I promise.
Maybe more.
Yeah, probably more.The next few days are these long, awful slogs. Just hour after hour of wondering when I can sneak out again, when Dad might tell me something, when the police might wrap up their investigation.
Three days into this nightmare, there's still little news coverage, and only a few angry parents to deal with. It's nearly eight in the evening when Dad comes in and sits down at the dinner table, looking at my bowl of macaroni and cheese with a skeptical eye. He probably thinks it's from a box, but little does he know, I learned how to make this during Culinary Club. Spencer's the one who told me the secret about mixing breadcrumbs with butter and sprinkling them on top before baking.
