Despite my father's desperate attempts to keep the gossip buzz to a minimum, the following Monday at Adamson is flooded with rumors about Jason and what might've happened to him.
“He was the only person on this campus who stood a chance running against Church and saving us from the shitty Student Council,” Mark declares loudly as I take my seat in my English and literature class. Of course, he's timed his remarks in just such a way that the twins—my escorts for today—have already left for their own class. “Has anyone else noticed that all of this weird shit started happening after Chuck enrolled here?”
I ignore him, pulling out my academy-issued iPad and using the eReader program to open my textbook. I'm determined to do well this year. I'll have to, if I want to get into college. The twins talked about Bornstead University like they were sure I could get in, if I really wanted to. And I do. For the first time in my life, I have a plan for my future—as tentative and unsure as it may be. In the past, I used to just fantasize about hanging out at the beach, surfing until the sun went down, and supplementing my income with something random like working at the Jamba Juice.
Yeah, I'm finally starting to figure out how silly that sounds.
“You have nothing to say for yourself, Chuck,” Mark sneers, coming over to stand in front of my desk. He puts his palms on top of my iPad, smearing fingerprints across the screen. My lips twitch in irritation as I look up at him. “And then on top of everything, your skinny, pathetic ass is now engaged to the richest guy in school? What a crock. You're nothing but a gold-digging faggot.”
I shove up from my seat, bristling with anger as the rest of the class turns to look at us. Mark's dark eyes twinkle with satisfaction, and the smirk working its way onto his face makes my fists itch with the threat of violence. I'd love to deck this ass pig, but what good would that do me? He could probably kick my ass in his sleep.
“You don't know anything about my relationship with Church,” I hiss, narrowing my blue eyes on him. “And besides, you're one to talk. Your best friend committed suicide, and you don't seem to give two fucks. I bet you tied that rope to the tree and hung him yourself.”
Mark's faces flashes with barely suppressed rage as he reaches out and grabs me by the new blue tie I've got on. While juniors wear navy slacks and blazers with champagne colored ties, seniors get the reverse: champagne colored slacks and blazers with blue ties.
“Really? You're accusing me of helping my best friend commit suicide? I could just as easily ask you why the only guy in this school who's ever challenged Church Montague for his position in the Student Council is now missing. Seems pretty convenient, huh?”
The door to the classroom opens and Mr. Murphy walks in. Unfortunately for me, he teaches both junior and senior English. Most particularly, he teaches the non-AP classes which, obviously, I’m in.
So now I get to sit here and learn about classic literature from a guy who's been leaving me threatening notes. He glances my way and notices Mark's hand on my tie. The asshole releases me fairly quickly and saunters back to his seat, but not before tossing a look over his shoulder that says he isn't done with me just yet.
I take a seat and glare at Mr. Murphy for the remainder of class. He pretends not to notice, but I know he does. His smile looks a little forced, and there's sweat on his forehead, despite the cool autumn temperature.
The rest of our first week back is like that, uneventful but a little weird, a little off. It's like the student body can sense that there's a murder-mystery brewing right beneath their noses. I'm actually surprised to reach the weekend unscathed.
Well, relatively unscathed. With the lockdown in full effect, Nathan breathing down our necks, and my dad treating me like a delinquent, it hasn't been a very exciting five day stretch.
“I swear, I could close my eyes and like, not wake up for an entire month.” I flop down in Ross’ old chair in the lobby of the Student Council room and lean my head back against the seat. His job is so much harder than I thought. Like, I had no idea how much I was padding onto my workload by accepting the job of personal assistant to the Student Council. It's a job I won't have much longer if we don't win the elections next week. Each guy has to run separately for his position, although based on what I hear of past years, there's absolutely zero competition.
