Page 121 of A Dead Man's B-Side
Callum and his peer were unequal, as the boy barely lifted his head to glare, to shout, tofight back. Nothing.
His eyes remained empty.
The boy who had played dead seemed to step out of line and move as far as he could without notice or persecution from Callum.
“I expected better, and I expect toseebetter at tomorrow's rehearsal,” Callum said, not waiting for a response, or rather, not expecting one. “Dismissed. All of you.”
When he returned to his seat and turned to face me, I realized we were alone. Something told me to remain vigilant of my surroundings.
“So, still interested?” Callum’s suddenly dead eyes watched me. The hand he slapped the boy with was twitching.
I matched his stare. “Was that show for me?”
“If you wish for it to be.”
I ground my teeth. “So, he didn’t do anything wrong. And yet, you felt the want to slap him?”
He raised a brow, as if my words had been dripping with audacity. “Don’t lecture me on how things are run here. He knows, as does everyone else, what they’re getting themselves into. I expect perfection. And if these are the means to achieve it, they understand.”
I rolled my shoulders back, trying and succeeding in remaining glued to the seat under me, praying I don’t blow this entirely by lunging for him. “So tell me, what is… expected of a member of the Queen’s Club?”
He laughed, cold and slightly manic, as if only now feeling the rush of what he’d done. “Oh, you’d have to join and find out. We don’t disclose such information to outsiders.Youunderstand.”
I stiffened.
He couldn’t possibly know about the Founder’s Society. In fact, Thaddeus had emphasized the importance of its secrecy on multiple occasions. Matthew Queen wouldn’t–unless he would.
I watched Callum through a new light, choosing my wordsverycarefully. “I don’t. This is the first club I’d be considering since arriving at Castle Hill.”
“Surely not. A socialite like yourself, invitations should be arriving in a flurry. I thought perhaps that was why you’d taken so long to reach out,” Callum retorted.
“I can assure you, they aren’t. I just…” I denied, finding it best. If he invited me because of mysupposedposition within the Founder’s Society, I had to get him off my scent. “I struggled to find my footing at first. I couldn’t understand how you all balance it.”
I didn’t mind offering up a half-truth, this time. Miraculously, despite the ring of honesty, I didn’t feel embarrassed or pitied.
If Callum wasn’t among the seven chosen, his father had nominated someone else. Unless he suspected Mathew Queen nominated me, I couldn’t find any other reason for why he insists I join.
To figure me out as Rain once tried?
“If you’ve come to accept the offer, it still stands, and I’d be happy to have a new member under my wing.”
I regarded him cooly, my answer already made up but now, for different reasons. I’d wanted to join the Queen’s Club because of itsmystery. Curiosity ate at me at who Callum Queen, the ‘what would have been’ Founder’s Society member, truly was.
Now, I wanted to join to prove Callum wrong. To show him that I was simply another lost and drowning student in the clashing waves of Castle Hill’s body. However, I wouldn’t be opposed to butting heads if push came to shove. If Callum saw in me what the Founder’s Society seemed to see, I’d show him exactly why and how I’d survived as long as I have.
“Alright, Callum… you win. I’ll bite and join the Queen’s Club.”
He clasped his hands together, the echo resounding in the empty theater, and the script he held falling away and fluttering to the floor. “Excellent choice. Though, I suggest beginning in January, after the holidays. The play is already written and finished, roles already assigned. It would just be easier.”
I didn’t care about what he was saying anymore, because my mind was already playing out scenarios of what Callum knowing about the Founder’s Society might look like. “Yeah. I understand.”
He smiled expectantly. “The second Monday of January, at five. Don’t be late, as I do hate tardiness.”
Callum, from what I understood, was a quiet psychopath, and something told me he couldn’t see it.
If I felt he stepped out of line, I’d be glad to open his eyes.
Pounding on Paris’ door later that evening felt as though I were begging to be let in as invisible monsters licked at the ends of my feet, nipping just out of reach in hunger to swallow me whole.
