“The first time, a man and a woman. The second time, two men.” I nod my chin and exhale. “Okay, this is making more sense, but also, that means the people who are really trying to kill me are here.” I muse on this for a moment, and then look up. “Is there anyone missing at school? Students? Teachers? Creepy Nathan?”
“Creepy Nathan's definitely here,” the twins say together, glancing at one another. “But the librarian's not.”
“Mr. Dave?” I ask, and they both nod as they turn back to look at me. Their red-orange hair is all spiked and sticking up all over the place, gelled to keep its shape, and adorable as hell. I wish I could run my fingers through it. Instead, I bite my lip and curl my hands together in my lap. “He's been a total dick to me. That, and he never liked me digging around in the yearbooks.” I pause. “What about Mr. Murphy?”
“He was here today,” Spencer supplies, still leaning over the chair, his champagne colored tied hanging down. “But Mark wasn't. Couple of his football buddies were missing, too.”
“And yet Eugene was his best friend,” Ranger says, growling low under his breath. “What sort of monster would string their buddy up in a tree like that? And why? Obviously, Jenica and Chuck have a connection.” Ranger lifts up one finger. “First, they're both girls. And second, they're both tied to me in some way. But Eugene? I barely knew the guy.”
I pull the stone from my pocket and stare at it, trying not to think too hard about the headless bird.
“Spencer,” I start, because something's just occurred to me.
“Yeah?” he asks as I lift my eyes from the stone to his face, so far away, and yet so crisp and clear and beautiful on my screen. It's like, if I just lifted my fingers up, I could reach out and touch them to his lips.
“When we went to look for you in cabin ten, we found the back window broken and the front door barred. Do you know what happened there?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, standing up straight and tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Someone locked me in while I was sleeping, and I couldn't get out. The rear window doesn't open, and I wasn't about to climb down from the second floor.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I didn't think much of it at the time; I thought it was a prank or a staff member or something. But now that you mention it, Jack was creeped out by it, too.”
“Jack, huh?” Ranger starts, and Spencer gives him a look.
“Don't start on my brother, man,” he warns, but Ranger's got that narrow-eyed look of determination on his face.
“He's the one that encouraged you to hang with him that whole week, got you baked every day, and suggested you don't check your messages until you cooled off?”
“What are you getting at?” Spencer snaps, frowning hard. “Jack isn't involved in this shit. Why would he be? What would he have to gain from it?”
“Let's take a step back,” Church suggests, rising to his feet. “Charlotte, are you going to talk to your father?”
“Might as well. What is he going to do? Ship me back to Adamson?” I can only hope. I exhale, letting my eyes trail across the boys' faces. I want nothing more than to be back at Adamson right now, but instead I'm all alone in Santa Cruz with a trio of psychos on my ass. “Wish me luck, boys.”
And then I hang up and dial Archibald Carson.Our conversation does not go well.
“I already received a call from the school,” is the first thing he tells me, frowning. “And frankly, Charlotte, I'm beginning to question the validity of your stories. There's never any proof, and the incidents only seem to occur when you want something. First, it's because you didn't want to be here. And now, it's because you don't want to be there. What am I supposed to make of that?”
I gape at him.
“I was chased by three people with baseball bats, knives, and Tasers, and you don't give a crap, that's what you're saying?” Archie removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Look, Charlotte, I'm still dealing with this plagiarism thing. The students who participated hired lawyers to tell me that yes, they did participate in mosaic plagiarism, but it's hard to prove in court, so what am I going to do about it? This is on top of the fact that a student committed suicide on my watch. I could very well lose my position, and if I do, my reputation will be shattered. I'll never get another teaching job.” The hurt and frustration in his voice is evident, but I want him to believe me, too, even if he is stressed, worried, overworked. I need that from him.
