• Author / Uploaded
• Mariana Viana

Citation preview

Table of Contents Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Dedication Signup for my Newsletter Author's Note Map of The Hot Springs Lodge Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23

The Forever Crew Cover Shadowed Cover The Family Spells Cover Filthy Rich Boys Cover Filthy Rich Boys Chapter 1 Keep Up With The Fun More Books By C.M. Stunich About the Author

Psst, I know a secret. The same secret that the Student Council—the super-rich, super handsome elite of Adamson All-Boys Academy—knows, too. Jenica Woodruff, the only girl to ever attend the academy before I showed up, didn't commit suicide: she was murdered. Now, someone is after me, too, but no matter where I go, the killer follows. My new high school isn't safe, and turns out, neither is my old one. I'm not a member of the Student Council, but after everything we've been through together, after the horrible things we've seen, I may as well be. These ruthless boys have taken me under their wing. Church, the fearless leader (and hopeless coffee addict). Ranger, the bada** VP (and naked baker). The identical McCarthy twins (and MMA enthusiasts). And Spencer, the boy who was willing to question everything about himself to fall for me … oh, Spencer. Murder and romance are both in the air at Adamson; I'm just not sure which one will kill me first.

Table of Contents Table of Contents Front Matter o Title Page o Copyright o Dedication o Signup for my Newsletter o Author's Note o Map of The Hot Springs Lodge Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19

Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Back Matter o The Forever Crew Cover o Shadowed Cover o The Family Spells Cover o Filthy Rich Boys Cover o Filthy Rich Boys Chapter 1 o Keep Up With The Fun o More Books By C.M. Stunich o About the Author

The Ruthless Boys The Ruthless Boys © C.M. Stunich 2019 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

The For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478. www.cmstunich.com Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

this book is dedicated to Dick Supreme. you've always got my back; I appreciate it more than words could say.

Sign up for an exclusive first look at the hottest new releases, contests, and exclusives from bestselling author C.M. Stunich and get *three free* eBooks as a thank you!

Want to discuss what you've just read? Get exclusive teasers or meet special guest authors? Join my online book club on Facebook!

Author's Note ***Possible Spoilers***

The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2) is a reverse harem, high school bully/murder mystery romance. What does that mean exactly? It means our female main character, Charlotte Carson, will end up with at least three love interests by the end of the series. There isn’t much bullying in this book when compared to the first one however. This story in no way condones bullying, nor does it romanticize it. The love interests in this sequel are actually pretty damn nice (especially when compared to my boys in The Rich Boys of Burberry Prep series).

Any kissing/sexual scenes featuring Charlotte aka Chuck are consensual. This book might be about high school students, but it is not what I would consider young adult. The characters are quirky, the emotions real, the f-word in prolific use. There’s some underage drinking, sexual situations, mention of a side character’s possible suicide, and other adult scenarios although this remains a fairly lighthearted read.

Charlotte starts off as a bit of a brat, but I hope you enjoy the character growth in this series. ;) None of the main characters is under the age of seventeen. This story will have a happy ending in the third and final book.

Reading Order: Adamson All-Boys Academy Series The Secret Girl The Ruthless Boys The Forever Crew Bonus: Orientation, a Burberry Prep x Adamson All-Boys Academy crossover novel

Spencer can't be dead. That's the only thought going through my mind as I drop my hands to my lap and turn my attention back up to the body in the tree. It's just … swinging there, the rope creaking against the limb. “You're alive,” Tobias whispers, eyes watering as he looks at Ranger. He dashes his arm quickly across them and sniffs, trying to regain his composure. It's such a guy thing to do, I'd make fun of him if … if … “Why are you holding that rope?” Ranger asks as Church rushes forward to where Micah's standing, helping him to undo the knot. “Why do you think I'm holding it, man?!” Micah snaps back, his red-orange hair wet and plastered to his forehead. We're all shivering, teeth chattering, and probably in serious, serious need of medical help. “I'm trying to get him down.” Ranger moves like a zombie across the clearing and over to the rope. Please don't let it be Spencer, I repeat over and over in my mind, like some sort of mantra. Don't let it be him. Even if I feel just a tad bit guilty about wishing it were someone else, I don't care. I just want to give him a hug. Please, god, let him be alive so I can hug him. We never really got a good, proper hug in there, like the one Ranger gave me at the Twilight Slumber Camp party. The look on Spencer's face when he caught us was so hard. Not to mention the expression of betrayal he was wearing in the hallway yesterday … It can't end like that.

I won't let it. I stand up and rush over to help with the rope. Ranger just sits down heavily on the ground beneath the body. It's too far up to actually see the person's face, so I don't look too hard. I won't let myself look. Looking won't change the outcome. “I have a knife,” I whisper, pulling out the serrated blade that Ranger gave me for protection and handing it over to Church. He's breathing so hard, and his face is as white as a ghost. He doesn't look at all like himself. It's interesting though, to see this sort of near-panic in his expression. He's human, after all. “Cut him down, please. Please.” My voice starts to shake as I step back and wait for Church and the twins to take care of it. Slowly, respectfully, they lower the boy to the ground. That's when I hear the sirens, and we all exchange looks. “See if it's Spencer, man,” Tobias groans, putting his face in his hands. “I can't look. I just can't. Micah …” “It's okay, bro, I'm on it.” Taking in a deep breath, he approaches the body, but a distant shout cuts through the moment and makes me feel so weak, I almost collapse. “Chuck!” It's my dad calling. “Over here!” I shout back, cupping my hands around my mouth and waiting as the sound of approaching footsteps draws closer. My dad appears just a few seconds later with several police officers and EMTs behind him. “Oh thank god,” he breathes, rushing up and grabbing me in a huge hug. “Oh, Charlotte. Thank god.” He's so happy to see me that he forgets to call me by my nickname for a moment. Archie cups me so close, I feel like I'm being choked. I push away from him, shaking like crazy. There's an EMT trying to put a blanket over my shoulders; I take it, but honestly, I'm more concerned with Spencer than myself. “Dad,” I start, pointing back at the body and closing my eyes. The rest of the Student Council is being dragged away, too; we still don't know who it is yet. “Please tell me if that's Spencer Hargrove.” “We need to get you to the hospital,” Dad is murmuring. He's clearly not listening to me at all. At this point, however, I'm too tired and cold to keep pushing. The chattering of my own

teeth is giving me a headache. I let him herd me away, into the back of an ambulance with Ranger. Without even thinking about it, I reach down and curl our fingers together. He squeezes mine back, and we sit that way for the rest of the drive into town.

The police are refusing to release the name of the boy from the woods. That, and Spencer Hargrove is missing. Not just him, though, a lot of boys are proving difficult to track down. Hell, it's spring break. Nobody's surprised that there are a few students that are unaccounted for. “If Spencer's dead, I'll …” Tobias trails off, putting his fingers on the glass of my father's living room window. His breath fogs against it as he leans his forehead against the jamb. “Well, shit, I don't know what I'll do, but … he can't be dead.” “He could be,” Micah whispers, sitting beside me on the sofa. I glance his way, taking note of his glassy green eyes, and the way his mouth tightens into a thin line as he says those awful words. “Take that shit back.” Tobias spins around, ready to start a fight with his brother. The McCarthy twins have been doing this on and off, ever since we got to the hospital. They actually got into a full-on fistfight in the exam room, and Tobias gave Micah a nosebleed. Of course, that was after Micah gave him a purple shiner on his left eye. “Why?” Micah looks up and then rises to his feet. Church and Ranger are up in the next second, getting between the two of them. “We have to face facts here: the boy in the tree was wearing a gym uniform. He had silver hair. Spencer is missing. How long do you want to lie to yourself before you start accepting it?” Micah's eyes water and he turns away, scowling. Nobody stops him as he takes off, disappearing up the stairs and into one of the guest rooms. I let him go, feeling this strange numbness inside of me. “You two need to learn to stop taking your emotions out on each other,” Ranger whispers, voice dark and low. He levels his sapphire glare on Tobias, shadows dancing behind his eyes. “You're lucky you're both still alive.” “We're lucky you're alive,” Church whispers, his face impassive and closed-up. He hasn't smiled once since we left for the hospital, not once. That over-the-top cheerful side of his that I used to think was the result of like, him being a psychopath or something, I'm pretty sure now

that it’s real. After seeing Church's emotions in the woods, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. He's a happy, but damaged individual. Right now, however, there's not much to be happy about. “I'm glad you're here, Ranger,” I tell him, my voice cracking. He looks over at me, dressed in sweats and a hoodie. We're all still in recovery here. We were all in the second stages of hypothermia; we're all lucky to be alive. He looks at me, long and hard, and then turns away toward the window. He doesn't talk much on a good day, but after everything that just happened? I'm not surprised that he's at a loss for words. The front door opens and my dad walks in, glasses fogging up from the change in temperature, hair disheveled. He looks like he's aged ten years in the last twelve hours. I stand up from the couch, heart racing. Archie Carson isn't a man that's easy to read. I can tell he's upset, but he's holding all his emotions in. One day, the guy is going to crack and lose his shit. Or hell, maybe he never will? Maybe he just doesn't care enough about anything to let loose like that? “Dad, is it—” “I can't tell you anything, I'm sorry.” He looks over at me with sympathy in his face, but I can feel my hands curling into fists at my sides. The tears I've been fighting back for so long tease the corners of my eyes with salt. It hurts; I've been crying far too much, mostly in the bathroom where the boys can't see. It feels selfish of me to be so sad over Spencer when he was their friend first, their friend for longer. If you think about it, I barely knew the guy. But there was something there. There could have been something great there. My knees shake, and my throat feels suddenly dry. “I've spoken with the police, and until they release an official statement, I'm not permitted to say anything regarding—” “I'm your daughter,” I spit out, shaking, my eyes lifting to Dad’s matching blue ones. “I'm your only family. You know how much we care about Spencer. Can't you just tell us if that was his body, swinging in that goddamn tree?” “Charlotte, I'm not going to—” He calls me by my name, but it doesn't matter since everyone in that room knows my secret. Now we all know another one, don't we? There are at least three

people who want me dead and gone. And there's at least one student at this school who won't be coming back to class after break. “You can't break one, tiny little rule for one stupid second? Just one second to make your daughter feel better?” My temper is white-hot, and I can barely breathe. Church reaches out a warm hand and lays it on my shoulder. His dry palm feels good against my skin, and I take a deep breath, a strange sense of calm washing over me. My mind strays back to that hot water bottle and chocolate he brought me. That was a surprisingly thoughtful gesture for someone I thought was a psychopath. “Please. Just say yes or no. That's it. That's all you have to do to change our world.” “I'm sorry, Charlotte.” Dad looks at me for a moment with this flicker of regret in his eyes. “I've alerted your parents,” he nods in the direction of the boys, “and you all have cars coming to pick you up. Please stay here until they arrive.” “I'm not leaving Charlotte,” Tobias declares, crossing his strong, muscular arms over his chest. He's changed from his soggy, wet uniform into an Adamson Academy zip-up sweater and matching sweatpants, and holy crap, with the sweater partially unzipped, and the pants hanging low, the outfit shows off the muscles in his chest and lower belly in a way that's criminal. Too bad I'm too worried about Spencer to enjoy it. Worried. Right. Like worried he might be fucking dead. I close my eyes tight. “That's not your choice to make, Mr. McCarthy. I'm sorry. Your mother's already sent a car.” “Then send Charlotte with us for break,” Church inserts, and I open my eyes to see him stepping forward. His face is all business, closed-off and unreadable. He's like some sort of marble statue, carved by the deftest and most skilled of hands, but missing the gentle vulnerability that comes with being human. Poor Church. His heartbreak is hidden under a layer of stone. “We can spend the next week in California,” Micah adds, and I hear the stairs creak as he comes down to stand on the landing. “It's gotta be safer there than here.” “There’s nothing unsafe about this campus,” Archie begins, and my jaw drops open.

“Nothing unsafe?!” I choke out, trying to keep my voice low. Screaming hurts too much right now. Hypothermia is no joke. “Nothing at all? You mean, you didn’t call 911 when you found that bloody handprint on the dorm wall?” “Charlotte.” There’s most definitely a period at the end of my name, a definitive punctuation mark in the conversation that eloquently says all the words my father isn’t capable of uttering: shut the fuck up, Chuck, we don’t argue in front of company. But my emotions are riding high on a wave of fear and melancholy, and all I can think about are Spencer’s last words to me. “We could've been something, Charlotte, but I hate being lied to. I hate it.” “How about the secret, flooded underground tunnels beneath the school?!” Church squeezes my shoulder, but I ignore him. I’m too fired up right now. “Or the dead guy hanging from a noose? What about a bunch of hypothermic students, and someone who almost drowned?” I swing my arm over to point at Ranger. “So, the campus isn’t unsafe? You’re full of shit.” “I think it’d be better if Charlotte left with one of us,” Church begins again, but Archie is having none of it. His nostrils are flared, and his face is turning a purple/red color that I hope means he’s close to breaking. I’ve been waiting years for this. “Sometimes inappropriate actions lead to poor consequences. Although I’m sorry for what you all are going through, you should never have been in those tunnels.” Archie pauses for dramatic effect, and I feel myself start to shake with barely repressed emotion. “My daughter will be staying with me, and that's final.” Archie stares me down, a battle of wills that I refuse to lose. “It’d be no problem to put her up in a hotel near my mom’s place,” Ranger says, his voice rough and ragged from the near-drowning. “Your rides should be here soon. Until then, I’ll be in my office. Regardless of your friendship with my daughter, I’m still her father, and I’m still the headmaster of this school. There will be no more arguments about this.” Archie exhales, and all the color drains from his face, leaving a steely calm that infuriates me to no end. He turns and heads into his office, pulling the door closed so there's only a small crack. Jazz music filters out the opening as I frown. Hard. Hard enough that my mouth hurts. Hard enough that I feel the tears start to sting my eyes again.

Archie wants me here, on this campus of death. Of course he does. He's too selfish to admit that something’s wrong here. Why should he? That would tarnish his perfect work record. God forbid he admit that things are out of his control. “I'm not leaving if you're not,” Tobias repeats, and his brother grunts from his position on the landing. “Neither am I,” Ranger declares, but Church just crosses his arms over his chest, a slight frown on his face. I wonder what his parents are like, or if arguing with them is even an option. Arguing with mine isn't, that's for damn sure.

Surprisingly, the boys end up getting their way, and the cars that came for them go right back the way they came. Fucking spoiled brats. I'm jealous as hell. I wish my dad cared enough to let me go. I just want to get away from this stupid school and all of its bullshit. Spencer is dead. I try to make that sentence compute in my brain, but it refuses to accept it. There's no understanding that concept, no way of making it real. I don't want it to be real. As I lay on my bed, I go through the whole scenario over and over again, what the person in the tree was wearing, the shape of his body, the color of his hair … There aren't a lot of guys at this school with silver-ash hair. That is … except for Eugene Mathers. My mood perks up a bit, and I scramble out of bed, looking for my laptop. I took this one pic of the school to send to Monica way back when, and Eugene just happened to pass by as I was doing it. It should be saved in my messenger somewhere … I flip open the top on my computer and scroll back through my conversations with Monica (add another layer of frosting to my depression cake, thank you very much social media). There it is.

I zoom in and squint at Eugene's hair. It's about the same color as Spencer's, like he was trying to copy him and got close, but just didn't execute it as well. The mosaic plagiarism version of a hairstyle. There are parts that look old-man gray instead of silver, like the style is more geriatric than anime-cool. And, like, Eugene is an asshole, right? I feel sort of bad for hoping he's the dead guy, but also … maybe it's karmic justice? I start up a group message with the guys when I hear a rock ping against my window. Earlier, my dad sent me back to the dorm with Nathan, the creepy security guy, and some uniformed police officers to grab my stuff. I grabbed the bag with the weapons in it, too, so I'm fully armed when I tiptoe over to the window and look out. But it's just the Student Council waiting for me in all their glory, moonlit and beautiful, every last one of them. Well, except for Spencer, of course. My stomach twists, and I exhale in an attempt to ward off the nausea. Carefully, I crack my door and listen to my dad's snores. I feel like there should be police officers guarding the house or something, but there aren't. There are a few on campus, patrolling for the night, but that's about it. It's like nobody's taking this murder seriously. Or else … they don't think the boy hanging in the tree was murdered? Quick as I can, I change from the tank top and sweats I was wearing into a new, clean uniform. I still don't want the whole school to know my secret, especially after what I've been through recently. Clearly, someone—several someones, actually—are out to get me. “What are you guys doing here?” I ask as I slip out the back door with my bag over my shoulder and my laptop under my arm. I push my glasses up my nose and shiver in the frigid air. It's freezing here, even though it's March. It's supposed to be spring; it's supposed to be warm. Have I ever mentioned how much I miss California weather? The northeast is chilly year round, I swear to god. “We're going to look for Spencer,” Tobias says, sighing heavily. He doesn't look very hopeful. “For all we know, he could still be off sulking somewhere and maybe he doesn't even know about the guy in the woods.” Ranger sighs and ruffles up his dark hair with his fingers, closing his sapphire eyes for a moment. This all must be doubly hard on him, considering how his sister died.

“Look.” I take my computer out and show the picture of Eugene to the guys. “He's got the same hair color as Spencer, right? Maybe that was Eugene that we saw?” “Why do you have a picture of Eugene Mathers on your laptop?” Micah asks, like he's all butt hurt about it. I give him a narrow-eyed look. As much as I find his tiny spark of jealousy comforting, now is not the time. Spencer … We need to figure out what happened to Spencer. “I keep all my numbers on the cloud, so even with a new phone …” Church whips out a brand-new iPhone, and I narrow my eyes. See what I mean? Replacing my broken iPhone with a Samsung was a purposeful jab. It’s been half a day, and he’s already secured a replacement for himself. “Yes, I still have Eugene's number. I could text him and see if I get a response.” Church is already tapping his fingers on the screen. He's definitely got the leader vibe, this natural charisma paired with a take-no-shit attitude. He doesn't ask questions; he just takes action. “Now we wait. And while we wait, we search. Let's start with the staff cabins.” “Roger that, Mr. Student Council President,” the twins report, saluting Church in unison. Ranger frowns heavily, but doesn’t protest, and Ross claps his hands together. “Oh, it’s like a Hardy Boys adventure. Or more preferably Nancy Drew.” Ross pauses then, his smile quivering like he’s about to lose it. I’m assuming the guys have already filled him in on everything that happened. That, and I’m pretty sure he’s at least half in love with Spencer Hargrove. “When I find that boy, I’m going to spank him with a paperback copy of each, just for good measure.” “You be sure to do that,” Tobias says with a roll of his eyes, and Micah sneers. He really believes Spencer is dead, doesn’t he? I look away because I can’t stand the hopelessness etched into his pretty features; it’s too much. Hope is the thing with feathers, right? It gives you wings, and I really, really could use some wings right about now. The twins each take one of my hands, and we start off toward the ominous darkness of the woods. I'm not particularly keen on going back in there, not after the bullshit from last night. But as I slip my laptop in my bag, I’m reminded that I've got my knife, my Taser, and what’s left of my pepper spray with me. That, and there's no way in fuck I'm going back in those underground tunnels ever again. We should be fine, right? The six of us together. It'll be fine. Keep telling yourself that, Charlotte. This is a bad idea, and you know it.

The thing is, Spencer is worth it. I'd … walk into a thousand shady looking forests to find the guy. “You lied to me, and I hate being lied to.” The shock and sadness on his face will haunt me the rest of my life if I don't find him. I can't imagine that being the last interaction we ever have. “Fuck,” I murmur, my feet squishing in the wet dirt beneath the trees. That was some rainstorm. The whole campus is soaked, flooded with huge puddles that drown half the walking path. “What?” Micah whispers, but I'm having a hard time making words that aren't profanity. “I just … Spencer and I … I don't want the last experience he ever had in life to be a fight with his friends. A fight that I started by not telling him the truth sooner.” Micah makes a sound, but nobody else acknowledges that I've even spoken. I realize in that moment that I'm an invariably selfish person. Like really fucking selfish. This is not about me, none of this is. In fact, I'm the person who has the least right to Spencer. Chemistry and vibes do not a relationship make. Releasing the twins' hands, I scrub my palms down my face as we pause near a row of cabins. The windows are all dark, ominously so, and there are several cabins that look like they're in the midst of construction. Church removes a key from his pocket, just like that, and unlocks the first one. “Where did you get that?” I whisper as Ranger turns on the flashlight he's been carrying and sweeps it around the room. “Spence?” Ranger shouts, not bothering to keep his voice down. I cringe a little, but I figure we've made about as much noise tromping through the woods as a Mack truck driving through a nuclear power plant, so why bother to be subtle now? “We stole it from the teachers' lounge,” the twins reply in unison, and I roll my eyes. It's such a normal gesture that I'm instantly overwhelmed with guilt. Things shouldn't be normal if Spencer is … well, dead. My stomach clenches, but I push it down, waiting for Ranger to clear the cabin. It's only one story with two twin beds, two desks, and a kitchenette in the corner. It doesn't take a thorough search to see that nobody's here. We move onto the next cabin, and the next, and then the next. When we get to the last one, with the tarps over the windows and roof, we find a broken window in the back, and a piece of wood nailed across the front door.

“Do you think the board was put here to discourage students from breaking in?” I ask as we circle the cabin in a group. This isn't a horror movie, okay. There's no way we're splitting up. “No.” Ranger shines his flashlight across glittering pieces of glass on the ground. “The window was broken from the inside. Besides, why this one cabin? None of the others are boarded up.” Ranger and Micah help lift Tobias up and into the window. I'm worried the whole time that he'll cut himself, but he seems okay, no blood just yet. The flashlight sweeps around the room as Church and Ranger boost Micah in next. “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. My eyes water, but I blink rapidly to clear them. “What?” I ask, sticking a huge bite in my mouth and watching my father warily. He hasn't exactly been the most forthcoming, more like some sort of prison guard. He hugged me hard that first day, but I think he has intimacy issues, so that's all I've gotten. Just that one hug. And it was only an okay one at that. Ranger's the one who showed me what a hug should really be like. “The police have ruled the death a suicide. I just wanted you to know that.” “A suicide?!” I shout, accidentally flinging a huge lump of hot mac ‘n’ cheese onto the wall. Both Dad and I cringe, but I can't help it. I'm shaking here. “Are they stupid?! I'm a seventeen year old student, and I could see murder written all over that scene. How could a person even

get a rope that high up in the tree, and then hang themselves from it without there being some sort of ladder around?” “Charlotte, I'm not a detective. I'm just telling you what the outcome of the investigation was. If you have an issue, you can take it up with the officers involved.” My mouth is quite literally hanging open, and my words have escaped me completely. I'm reeling here. “But … someone locked us in those tunnels. Someone wanted us dead.” “The door to the tunnels was closed and locked, yes, but it could easily have been an accident or a prank gone wrong.” “And the hole in the ceiling in Mark's room?!” I ask, standing up so fast that I send my chair tumbling over. “Was that a prank, too?” “There is no hole in the ceiling in Mark's room,” Dad says, and my eyes go wide. What … the … fuck?! “What do you mean there's no hole?” I whisper, my voice low and dark. I'm having a little trouble processing what my dad's just said. “There was very distinctly a hole there before. I told you what happened.” Well, part of what happened. Some of what I said was a lie. I told Dad that we heard loud noises in Mark’s room and opened the unlocked door. I didn't tell him that I was attacked in the shower. Maybe I should have? Although … I swear, I smell a conspiracy here. Something isn't right. “I don't know what to tell you. There's no hole in his room, Charlotte. And while I agree that what happened in the tunnels was horrible, it was the result of a rainstorm. You shouldn't have been down there in the first place.” “Someone closed and locked that door on us.” Dad gives me a long, lingering look and sighs. “Maybe. But what do you want me to do about it? I've told the police everything you've told me. Unless there's something you'd like to add?” The way he stares at me, it's pretty obvious that he knows I'm holding back. I just return the look, but I don't say anything else. If I do, he might send me to another school like he promised. Until I know what really happened to Spencer, I'm not going anywhere. I shove up from the table and storm up to my room. When I'm alone, in the dark, that's when it gets impossible to hold back the tears. Lying on my bed alone, I cry into my pillow for hours.

Spencer liked me for me. He didn't know all my secrets, and yet even when it came to questioning everything he thought he knew about himself, he was willing to take a chance. How often in life does a girl run into a guy like that? Ugh. My pillow is wet with tears, and I'm all snotty. But it doesn't matter. All I can think about is all the things I wanted to talk to Spencer about that I never got a chance to. Guess all that hokey shit they paint on distressed wooden signs is true, sayings like Live every day like it's your last or You don't appreciate what you have until it's gone. With a growl, I throw my pillow across the room and it hits a water glass, spilling it everywhere. Grabbing my laptop, I message Spencer a dozen more times. I tell him all sorts of things I'd never have the courage to say aloud. And then I fall asleep and dream of his scent, that hyssop and cedar smell that makes my stomach tighten, my heart race, and my body heat up from within. I may never smell that scent again. The thought just kills me.

The next morning, I don't even bother to get out of bed. What's the point? I have two days left of spring break, and nowhere to go, nothing to do. All I want is to find Spencer, but as the days pass, my hope gets less and less. If he were alive, he'd have texted us by now. If he were alive, we'd have seen him by now, wouldn't we? He's dead then. That's it. He's really and truly dead. Some part of me hoped that, like in a good book, his death was just a cliffhanger, some tease from the author that would resolve itself in due time. But this isn't a book, it's real life, and nothing is the way it's supposed to be. I don't get to reset the things I don't like, start over as if I'm living in a video game. No. I have to accept it. I have to accept that he's never coming back. Plugging in my headphones, I curl up on my bed and blast the saddest music I can find, as if listening to other people's problems will make mine go away. But no matter how much I cry, I

can't seem to shed the sick melancholy inside of me. No matter how many sweaters and blankets I pile on top of myself, I can't seem to chase away the cold. The boys stop by, but their moods aren't much better. We end up sitting together in my room with some dumb movie playing. Tobias cracks the window and lights up a joint— probably one of Spencer's—and we all take turns exhaling through the screen so my dad won't smell it. Well, everyone but Church. He just sits quiet and contemplative in the rocking chair near the closet, but he doesn't rock. He sits still as the statue he looks so much like, his amber eyes gazing at nothing while he sips a coffee. “I'm guessing there'll be announcement on Monday?” Micah asks quietly, lounging on my bed. The twins have made themselves at home in a way that would be charming if I weren't so deep in mourning I feel like I might drown. They're sitting on either side of me, ankles crossed, hands steepled on their chests, identically posed. I wonder if it's just force of habit, like they had to practice their twin routine, or if they do it without even meaning to. “An announcement?” Tobias asks, scoffing, his red-orange hair disheveled, big purple circles under his eyes. He clearly hasn't been sleeping. Sleeping's the only thing that's gotten me through all this shit in the first place. “About the 'suicide'?” He makes quotes with his fingers. “It's not Spencer, I'm telling you.” “If it's not Spencer, then where is he, and why has he disappeared from social media completely? He's not answering texts or phone calls, and his parents won't respond to any of my messages.” Micah spits this back with a caustic bite to his voice that makes me cringe. “That doesn't mean anything. Spencer's Mom is impossible to get a hold of on the best of days, and his dad …” Ranger trails off and shrugs his shoulders. I don't know much about Spencer's father except that he owns a pharmaceutical company. Shit, I don't know much about Spencer himself, let alone his family. “And we all know Jack is a total waste of time.” Jack, huh? I’m guessing they’re talking about Spencer’s older brother, the infamous drug dealer of Adamson Academy fame. Sounds like a real stand-up guy. “I asked my mother to look into it,” Church begins with a sigh, “but she's in some sort of feud with Sheena, and can't get a hold of her. She did admit that there's some hush-hush gossip about the suicide, but she didn't catch a name. The parents want their child's identity withheld, so they can mourn.”

I glance between Church and Ranger. I’m pretty sure Sheena is Spencer’s mom, but what do I know? That’s how little I actually knew … know the guy. “Not a lot of people would want their supposedly suicidal child's name dragged through the mud.” Ranger's voice is low, and a bit growly, like gravel rolling down a hill. He's understandably sensitive about the whole thing. His dark hair isn't as shiny as usual, sticking up at strange angles, like he hasn't showered in days. I can't blame him. Neither have I. Pretty sure I smell like B.O., but I don't care. It doesn't matter. “Mm.” Just one sound from Church, and then he stands up to refill his water glass from the pitcher on my desk. Dad brought it in here for us, and then he tried to leave the door cracked which just pissed me off. Like I'd be doing anything sexual after my friend just died. Asshole. Also, note to parents: cracking the door doesn't actually stop teenagers from having sex. We have sex. Get over it. Well, most of us do … I have yet to cross that threshold, but it's not because Dad is breathing down my neck. I made that decision for myself. “I can't believe tomorrow's Sunday,” I mumble, hating that the vacation's coming to such an abrupt end. Spring break is supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be spent surfing and lying in the hot sun, drinking and smoking and dancing, hooking up, going to concerts on the beach. How did I end up here, spending it in a dreary old academy while it poured rain outside, and I cried my eyes out every night? I almost miss my shallow relationship with Cody. If he'd died, I'm sure I would've cried for like a day, but then Monica would've called, and we'd be out riding the waves again. Sounds callous, but … it's true. I don't think I ever cared about Cody the way I care about Spencer. Cared about Spencer? No. No, care is okay. Present tense is still okay. Until I'm standing at Spencer's funeral, laying flowers on his grave, I'm going to use present tense. “Did you guys get a chance to check the hole in Eugene's ceiling?” I ask, and Ranger shakes his head once. “There were cops all over the dorm. We were only allowed to hit the kitchen and go straight to our rooms or the bathroom. They looked like they might be clearing out before we left, so maybe tonight we could take a look. I'm still having trouble understanding why the assholes

who attacked you would go to the trouble of sealing up that hole. I mean, it's just weird as fuck.” He sighs and stands up, stretching his arms over his head. “My head is killing me, and I swear, this weed is making me paranoid. I'm going back to my room to take a nap. Wake me up when this nightmare is over.” He heads out the door and Church stands up to follow without a word. Almost losing one best friend … and possibly losing another, it's fucked him up royally. “He's never going to get over this,” Micah says, and Tobias sneers. He doesn't like his twin talking about Spencer like it's already over and done with. “If Spencer's roommate moved overseas, why was he sharing with Ranger?” I ask, the boring, mundane aspect of that question soothing me, like everything is normal, like things are good again. “Church and Ranger are supposed to be roommates, but Church likes his space. He and Spencer switched rooms, but it's not official. They'll get written up if they're caught.” Tobias pauses. “Well, they would've been written up, if Spencer wasn't—” “Don't. Don't you dare.” Tobias turns over and glares at his brother across the width of my body. “If you do, I swear to god …” “You'll what? Give me another bloody nose? I'm not afraid of you.” “Maybe you should be,” Tobias snaps, but then I sit up suddenly, getting between them. I can't take anymore fighting. “Please,” I whisper, my eyes brimming with tears. My hands start to shake in my lap, and Tobias frowns, leaning over to put his forehead against my shoulder. A small laugh escapes me. Well, okay, half-sob and half-laugh. “Do I stink? You can be honest.” “Maybe just a little,” Tobias murmurs, and I can feel him smiling against my skin. “But it's okay. I don't mind. I like my girls a little musky.” “Gross,” I murmur, pushing him away from me. Micah stands up suddenly, like he's upset, and both Tobias and I pause to look at him. “How can you guys laugh and talk like that when you know he's gone? I don't … I don't understand …” He sits down heavily on the bench in front of my window, and gets the joint out of the old rusted tin Altoids container. He smokes a little bit and then leans his head back against the jamb of the window.

“Because we still have hope. People live off crumbs of the stuff, you know.” Tobias sits up and leans back against the headboard, mimicking his twin’s pose. “And if he is gone, you know we have to go on, right? We don't just get to check out of life. We only get one, bro. We have to live it, regardless.” Tobias licks his lips and looks away, toward the closet door. “I wasn't going to say anything out of respect for Spencer, but I kind of have a crush on Charlotte. When he comes back, he might have to fight me for her affections.” “Oh, really?” I ask, forcing a smile through the tears. “I have a feeling he'd put up a good fight.” “Yeah, but you know I've been training for years to fight in the ring. I could totally kick his ass. I mean, he's pretty scrappy, but—” Micah stands up again, tossing the remainder of the joint out the window into the rain before storming off. Tobias sighs and looks back at me, green eyes half-lidded with fatigue. “Go with him. I don't want him to be alone,” I whisper, and Tobias nods. He hesitates for a second before leaning forward and capturing my lips with his. The kiss is bittersweet as hell, but tinged with this desperate, aching warmth, so much so that I end up clinging to his shirt without even realizing that I've moved. “I don't want to leave you alone either,” he whispers, pulling back slightly and looking me in the face. There's definitely a spark with the twins, too. I'm not sure how to process it, especially in the face of tragedy. My feelings for Spencer are clouding my judgment right now, like I can't think about Tobias or Micah when I'm so worried about him. “We'll revisit … this,” I whisper, pointing back and forth between us, “after we know.” “Fair enough,” Tobias whispers, and then he kisses me again, leaving the sweet taste of a high school crush along with the bitter sadness of a broken friend on my lips. It's too much. I stay calm until he leaves, and then I race into the bathroom and turn the water on scalding. It hurts like hell, but I climb in and let it wash over me as I plug the drain and let the shower fill the tub for me. I stay in the bath until my skin is pruned, but it doesn't make things easier. Grief sucks. It's like a little demon that dogs your every move, no matter how fast you run, how well you hide, how much you fight against it. It's there, ready to latch on at any moment.

Wrapping my arms around my knees, I lean my forehead against my legs and close my eyes, letting the water drain until my body feels too heavy to hold up. When I get back to my room, I stare at my laptop screen for a long, long time, hoping and wishing and praying for those little dots from Spencer to tell me he's typing. My heart races at the thought, but no matter how long I stare, things don't change. My hope won't bring him back to life, will it? Finally, I get desperate and message Monica instead. Even though things went bad, I miss you. That's all I say. Because it's the truth. Losing Spencer is making me realize how many things in my life I've taken for granted. After a moment, I text my mother as well, but I know she won't be able to respond for a while. No phones allowed in rehab. At least, not the kind she goes to, these luxurious spa-like places that my dad pays for even though they've been divorced for years. Sleep finally takes me, but the Sandman must be seriously slacking as I wake up just a few hours later to the sound of rain pouring outside, thunder cracking in the distance. “Fucking shitty northeast weather,” I grumble as I climb out of bed, blinking through big, white circles as I try to force my sleepy eyes to focus on the brightness of my laptop. No messages from Spencer. Or Monica. Or my mom. Hope you're getting some sleep. That one from Tobias. Just that. And from only a few minutes ago. I tap out a quick reply, head to the bathroom, and pee while I wait for a response to my brief storm woke me up message. Me, too. Do you want to come over? I hesitate for a moment, and then type out a quick yes, pulling on a heavy rain jacket, boots, and grabbing my stupid emoji face umbrella that Monica got me. It's the cringing face, you know, the one with the teeth? Anyway, she says I make that face all the time, so it was only appropriate that I have a matching umbrella. Personally, I hate it, but it was a gift, so I accepted it graciously. And by graciously, I mean I made that exact cringing face. “Hey,” I whisper when I open the front door and find Tobias, all cute and soggy and wet from the walk up the hill. He's all alone which I don't like. Just because he's a dude doesn't mean he's any better off wandering around campus by himself. “You shouldn't have come up here alone.”

“I didn't.” He nods, and I squint at a figure in the distance. It's Micah, with an umbrella decorated with cherries. He's standing near the bench in the curve of the road, leaving his brother to get soaked from the storm. Nice. Twin infighting. I step out, closing the door softly behind me, and hold my umbrella over Tobias' head. It's hard not to stare at him, with his red-orange hair bleeding into his face, his long lashes beaded with water from the rain. We link hands and start down the path, Micah moving ahead of us. I don't blame him. Everyone grieves in their own way. An eerie chill passes over me as we slip through the back door into the dorms. A flashlight sweeps down the hall and Micah pushes us back into an alcove, pausing as creepy Nathan the night watchman shines his light toward the open door and curses. He shuffles our way, keys jangling, boots scuffing against the floor. “Goddamn it,” Micah curses, digging in his pocket for a key. He opens the closet behind us, and we slip inside with our wet umbrellas. Hopefully Nathan won't notice the puddle on the floor. More than likely he won't because, let's be honest, he's a pretty shitty security guard. There's cursing about those stupid fucking kids, and then the sound of the door opening wider. Micah peeks out to see what's going on. “He's smoking a fucking cigarette just outside the door.” “Then let's just chill here until he leaves,” Tobias whispers back, and the door closes. It's an awfully tight space to be trapped with two towering dudes. The twins are tall as hell, and they smell good, like fresh rainwater mixed with tart cherries and vetiver. My heartbeat picks up speed, but it's just my body reacting to their nearness. I'm too broken and sad inside to actually get turned-on or truly appreciate the moment. Some wicked subconscious part of me files away these feelings for later. Note to self: consider being the juicy middle part of a twin sandwich, with two slices of hunk for bread. Eww. That was sort of a gross metaphor, huh? “You guys aren't going to pity fuck each other tonight, are you?” Micah whispers, and my head snaps up so quickly that I bump his chin and he curses just quietly enough that I hope derpy Nathan doesn't hear. “That's more your style, isn't it? The pity fuck?” Tobias snaps back in a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah, well, I was gonna say, if you two aren't then maybe Charlotte and I should.” “You're assuming I even want to,” I growl back, hitting him in the chest with my palm. “I'm not interested.” “You'd sleep with that creep Cody, but not me?” Micah asks, sounding all butt hurt. Now that I think about it, he does sort of have the personality of someone who'd like to fuck his grief away … Good thing there aren't any other girls here. That thought hits me in the face like a rubber band, and I end up frowning so deeply that it feels like the expression is etched into my face. “I never slept with Cody.” “You dated him for two years, and you never slept with him?” Micah chokes out, like he's beyond surprised. “Bro, we already knew that,” Tobias retorts. “Now shut the fuck up before we get caught.” “If you weren’t sleeping with Cody all that time, who were you sleeping with?” Micah asks, and I roll my eyes. It’s dark, so he can’t see me, but at least it makes me feel better. And then something dawns on him, something that makes me squirm and wish I could burst out of this closet and run like hell. But as much as creepy Nathan doesn't scare me, I don't want him to call my dad and wake him up. As not afraid as I am of Nathan, I'm ten times as terrified of my father. He'll send me to that Everly All-Girls Academy place. Or worse. Maybe he'll ship me off to some gross military boarding school in the desert, in some nightmare town like Lancaster or something. I shiver. “Can you look and see if he's still out there?” I grumble, trying to distract the bigger dickhead of the two McCarthy twins. How anyone could confuse Tobias with Micah is beyond me. Tobias has a much more generous nature than his jerk of a brother. “She's a virgin,” they say in unison, looking at each other over my head, and I swear to god, my entire body heats up five degrees with a self-righteous sort of anger. I take it back. Tobias doesn't even know the meaning of the word generosity. He's just a … well, he's an ass pig. “Condom face,” I growl, and the two boys grin so big that I can actually see the white of their teeth in the darkness. Finally, there's the sound of the heavy exterior door closing followed by

the shuffling of feet. That's something that seriously bugs me about Nathan: he drags his feet. He's so lazy, he doesn't even bother to pick them up. Drives me nuts for some reason. “I might be a condom face,” Micah says as he kicks the door open and then leans back against it to hold it there. The smirk on his face is much crueler than I've ever seen, like his grief has stripped him raw of all his good parts and left only the bad stuff behind. “But you're a virgin, a pure, white little snowflake. No wonder Spencer was so interested; he can sniff that sort of thing out, you know.” “Micah, that's enough,” Tobias growls, stepping between me and his brother. “I know you're hurting; we all are. But don't take it out on Charlotte. You know damn well that Spencer wasn't a fucking cherry hound, so don't belittle him like that.” Micah frowns and turns away, licking his lower lip softly, like he's trying to regain some crucial part of himself he can't quite hold onto. “I know. I'm … sorry.” Micah pauses and pushes his hair back, grabbing a bucket full of old washcloths from inside the closet and using it to prop open the back door again. “Just in case he comes back.” Micah turns away and heads down the hall, leaving Tobias and me standing in the dark. “He's not as hopeless as he pretends to be,” Tobias says, but I already know that. “Are you guys going to mercilessly tease me for being a virgin?” “Probably.” “Jerk-off stain,” I grumble, and Tobias laughs. It's a reserved sort of sound, but I appreciate the effort. “That's … a really good insult, actually,” he says as we head up the stairs. He takes me to the room he shares with his brother, and I find my palms suddenly sweaty as I step inside. It's the same set-up that I saw in Ranger's room: two beds, an electric fireplace, and dressers on the wall at the end of the short entry hall. Micah is already curled up on his bed, so I take a seat on Tobias' and pretend not to be staring lasciviously as he pulls his soggy shirt over his head, revealing a long, lean body that's chiseled in all the right places. My mouth waters, and I curl my hands into my jacket to keep them steady. His nipples are hard, probably from the cool rainwater and all that, but I can't help but focus on them and wonder what they'd feel like beneath my palms. Cody had the ugliest nipples, I

swear to God, like they were long and bumpy and had weird curly black hairs growing out of them. Tobias' are … nice. Like, way nice. “Are you ogling me?” Tobias asks, feigning shock as he puts his fingers to his smooth chest. “Avert ye eyes, you perv.” “By checking him out, you're checking me out, too. We have the same DNA, you know. Same nipples—because clearly you like those—same feet, same hands … same cock.” “Gee, thank you for supplying information I never asked for,” I grumble, stripping off my jacket and tossing it aside in a wet heap on the floor. “Were you raised in a barn?” Tobias asks, picking it up and hanging it on a hook near the door. He turns the fireplace on and then, much to my chagrin, doesn't bother to ask me to turn away or close my eyes before he drops his wet sweats and underwear, flashing all sorts of stuff that I wasn't quite ready to see. Tobias' dick is half-hard and on its way, erm, up. “Oh my god, you teabagger, put it away!” I throw one of his pillows in that general direction, but keep my eyes focused on the dancing flames in the fireplace instead. I'm getting a mad sense of déjà vu here, thinking about Spencer and Ranger and that night in their dorm room. That makes the mood pretty somber, pretty quick. Tobias slips into some fresh sweatpants and sits down next to me, the mattress bowing under his weight. Tomorrow is Sunday, the last day before school starts up again. It feels like we're on a countdown, like if Spencer doesn't show up before then, then he's really gone. He's really dead. “Do you guys have any video games in here?” I ask, feeling my eyes start to water again. Tobias puts his arm around my waist and pulls me into his lap, squeezing me close. The warmth of his bare chest seeps into me, driving away some of the cold. It's a different sort of cold though, like an icy fog that I know will come drifting back as soon as he lets me go. It's not the cold of a stormy night; it's the frosty feeling of an unbreakable melancholy. “Do we have video games?” Tobias asks as Micah finally gives up on trying to be an aloof jerk and sits up, pulling his wireless earbuds out and dropping them into a case on his nightstand. He watches us with half-narrowed green eyes. “What do you take us for? Of course we do.”

“Let's play a racing game or something. I need a mindless distraction.” Micah climbs out of bed and gets something set up on the wall-mounted flat-screen on the wall above his dresser. Each boy has their own TV. How spoiled. Tobias moves back to lean against the headboard, still holding me, while I play a versus match with his brother. After a few rounds, I realize there are tears on my face, but I pretend they're not there. Instead, I try to enjoy my time with the twins, brushing the wetness off my cheeks until I'm laughing and then yelling at Micah with game rage. “You cheated on that last track!” I shout, tossing the controller his direction. He ducks, and smirks, letting it bounce harmlessly amongst his pillows. “We always cheat,” the twins say in unison. “You … toilet-paper-wad foreskin dildos,” I grumble, and they both howl with laughter. That’s when the door flies open and smashes into the wall. It’s dark out there and bright in here, making it hard to see who’s standing there. The question is: is that the killer waiting there … or Spencer Hargrove come back from the dead?

The suspense is killing me, and my heart is racing so fast I feel dizzy; I can’t move. Please let it be Spencer, I think, putting every ounce of energy inside of me out into the universe. Unfortunately, that bitch never listens to me. “Seriously, an unlocked door?” Ranger snarls as he storms in with Church behind him, both of them soaking wet and pissed-off. “Do you three have a death wish?” There’s this rush of disappointment and sadness in me, but I push it aside. At least it’s not any of my attackers, right? But also … Spencer. Poor fucking Spencer. “Ranger and I walked all the way over to the headmaster’s house, and even climbed the trellis, only to find that Charlotte was missing.” Church crosses his arms over his chest, his cool, businesslike gaze traveling from Micah to me, still sitting in Tobias’ lap. He blinks in rapid succession, a small blip of surprise on an otherwise stony face. Even though I know I have nothing to feel guilty about, I slide off Tobias’ lap anyway. “You climbed my trellis?” I ask, momentarily pleased. I’ve never had a guy climb my trellis before, virgin jokes aside. “But wait, why were you guys at my house anyway?” “To give you this,” Ranger says, moving into the room with Church on his heels. He passes over a box with a brand-new iPhone in it before turning that intimidating glare on the twins. “It’s a fucking phone, like the two of you have. Check your goddamn messages.”

“We …” Micah pauses, shoving the controller down to the end of the bed. “Yeah, we fucked up. Sorry.” He puts his face briefly in his hands, and I have to look away. Our little bubble of happiness has just been popped, and the agony on his face is almost too much for me to bear. “You got me a phone?” I ask as Church sits down on the end of Micah’s bed, watching me carefully. “We weren’t sure how long it’d be before the headmaster got you a new one.” “As in, maybe he couldn’t afford it?” I say as I power the phone on. I’m not really that wellacquainted with my father's finances, but either way, I'm grateful. He spends an arm and a leg for Mom’s rehab, so who knows? Maybe the purse strings really are tight right now? “Thank you,” I add, before the Student Council boys can say anything else. I hold the phone against my chest for a moment, closing my eyes tight. “Sorry we scared you,” Tobias says, and Church nods, like that's the end of the discussion. “We just … none of us could sleep.” He looks down at his comforter and picks at a loose thread as Ranger leans his shoulder against the wall, sighing heavily. “Same. I'm so tired I feel like I could drop, but …” He trails off because there's no reason to put into words what we're feeling, this creeping dread that Monday will bring news and pain that we can never wash clean. “I was thinking of investigating both the attic and Mark's room, see if we can't find signs of that hole.” “Also,” Church begins, closing his eyes briefly. “Someone broke all the bulbs in the hallway. It's dark as sin out there.” He opens them back up and stares at me. “They weren't like that when we left.” “This is so fucking creepy,” Micah growls, scrubbing at his face again. “Someone murdered … someone, and it's like we're the only people in the world that know or care.” “Whoever is responsible for this mess clearly has an in with the police,” Church says, like he's been thinking on this for a while. “What bothers me is that the school board doesn't seem all that concerned either.” “Which would mean what, exactly?” I ask, and the way Church looks at me gives me chills. “That they're in on it, too.” He pauses and uncrosses his legs. “At least, some of them are.” “Why would the school board want Charlotte and … whoever was hanging out there in the woods dead?” Ranger asks, like he, too, has been thinking on this for days. “It doesn't make any sense. Besides,” he gives me an apologetic look, like he's already sorry for what he's about to

say, “if they wanted her dead, any one of them has enough money to, you know, hire the job out.” “You mean, like, hire an assassin?” I choke, because really, is this reality we're living in? An assassin?! For me, Charlotte Farren Carson? What did I ever do to warrant being put on a hit list? “That's insane.” “Insane, but true,” Church says, standing up and brushing his hands down the front of his blue and white striped pajamas, swiping away imaginary dust. “I'll speak to my mother about it.” “Your mother …” Ranger starts and sighs. “Talking to your mother comes with serious consequences, Church. You know that.” “I'm aware,” Church replies coolly, expression hardening as he looks over at Ranger. He rises to his feet then, and everyone else follows. That sort of charisma is scary as hell. And yet, I head into the hallway and up one flight of stairs with the rest of the guys, watching as the twins pull down the attic door and climb the steps. “Be careful!” I call out, rising onto my tiptoes and biting my lip. I can barely handle what's happened thus far. Imagine if one of the twins disappeared into that creepy attic and never came out? “Dude,” Tobias says, crouching down and looking at us through the door, his phone in his hand, flashlight on to illuminate the gloom. “Someone clearly patched this shit up.” “What the actual fuck?” Ranger groans, running his fingers through his hair and sighing. He exchanges a look with Church, and their fearless leader nods. Without skipping a beat, Ranger heads back down the stairs and walks straight up to Mark Grandam's room, banging his fist on the door. Surprisingly enough, it opens up and there he is, a sleepy, exhausted Mark Grandam aka Tampon Guy. He squints stupidly at us, one hand curled around the edge of his door, a scowl plastered on his almost-pretty face. Like, maybe he’d be hot if he didn’t have the personality of a cum stain. “What do you want, Woodruff?” he snaps, and then Ranger's shoving the door in—hard. Hard enough that it slams into Mark and sends him stumbling back. “Get out of my room, you fucking psycho.”

The drama's too much for me to resist, so I clomp down the stairs with Church right behind me, Tobias and Micah trailing after him. “Official Student Council business,” Church declares as the twins burst in and grab Mark by the arms, hauling him back and shoving him down on his bed. Church flicks the light on and surveys the situation with his arms crossed over his chest. Mark's roommate, some unrecognizable meathead jock, groans and covers his head with his pillow, resigned to whatever's going to happen. At Adamson Academy, you do not fuck with the Student Council. “What the hell is this?” Mark snarls as Ranger grabs the chair from Mark's roommate's desk and stands on it, pulling a pocketknife out of his pj pants to poke at the ceiling with. “And what is the little tampon-loving weasel doing in here? He's not part of the Student Council, not unless you fired that fag Ross.” Mark scowls at me, and I flip him off, pushing my glasses up my nose. I'd almost forgotten I was supposed to be keeping my secret. Good thing I probably look a hot mess in the baggy Adamson hoodie I was hiding under my jacket, my sweatpants spattered with paint from that time I helped Aunt Elisa turn her living room purple. Pretty sure I'm believably a dude right now, an ugly dude maybe, but a dude. “Call Ross a fag again, and I'll be forced to let the twins loose,” Church says, smiling this ruthless little smile that assures me he's not joking, not even a little bit. “Now shut your mouth and sit still. It'll be over before you know it.” “This is such BS,” Mark grumbles, tearing his arms from the twins' grips and scowling. “When Eugene gets back from Cancun tomorrow, he's going to rip you a new one.” My ears perk up, and I feel this awful icy chill wash through me. “You've been in contact with Eugene?” I ask, feeling myself start to shake with a rush of adrenaline. Mark just rolls his eyes at me, clearly not intending on answering my question. Micah grabs him by the shirt and jerks him forward, so that they're face to face. “All it takes is a simple yes or no, asswad,” he barks, and I can see the muscles in his arms tensing. Micah McCarthy is not afraid to start a fight, especially not if he feels he’s somehow helping out a friend by doing it. These Student Council boys are more ruthless than I thought.

“Fuck, man, lay off. No, I haven't talked to Eugene. We're not girls. We don't need to gossip over text all day.” A sigh of relief escapes me, and I decide in the interest of just getting this over with that I won't mention his misogynistic little quip. Mark shoves Micah back so hard that the asshole jock slams his head against the wall and lets out a string of colorful curses. Church, meanwhile, just watches it all unfold from the wall near the door while Ranger pulls out his phone and snaps plenty of pictures. “We're done here,” Church declares, and the twins move away from Mark. We exit the room in a group, and I cringe as the door slams shut so hard behind us that tiny bits of plaster flake from the ceiling in the hall. The very, very dark hall. The lights in the downstairs common room are on, but it's dark as pitch up here. I glance back up, toward my room on the top floor, and I shiver. I'm sort of glad I'm not up there all alone, even if living with Dad is a veritable form of hell. The only plus recently is that he hasn't been disconnecting the Wi-fi at night. I suppose that's a form of compassion, coming from him. “There was an obvious seam there,” Ranger murmurs as he takes us back to his room. His and Spencer's. Well, technically, I guess it's Church's room, but … As soon as we walk in and I see Spencer's bed, still unmade from the last day he was here, my eyes fill with tears. I find that I'm drawn to his charcoal gray sheets, and end up crawling under them as I listen to the boys talk. The twins notice and exchange a look, pausing next to Church as Ranger sits down heavily on the edge of his bed. “There was a hole there, and someone patched it up. Did a damn good job of it, too. It's nearly invisible.” “So, whoever's after me is some sort of construction expert then?” I ask, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. There's a migraine coming on, I can feel it. “Mark is guilty,” the twins say in unison, glancing at each other before turning back to the room. They point across at one another. “We can feel it.” “Why do you say that?” Church asks smoothly, but less like he disagrees with them and more like he wants to hear their independent thoughts before making up his own mind.

“The hole went from the attic to his room. And then it was covered up so expertly. Why bother? Unless you wanted to remove the idea of any connection between you and the attacks.” Tobias shrugs his shoulders and Micah continues on for him. “I guess one of the hoodie-wearing assholes could be Blaine”—I'm assuming Blaine is Mark's roomie until I hear otherwise—”but come on, Mark is a total twat-waffle, complete with butterface and douche maple syrup.” I raise my brows. Whoa. An insult that's Chuck-worthy in its insanity. I'll take it. Seems appropriate anyhow. “If he is one of my attackers, then there are least two more,” I add, feeling exhaustion dig its nails into me and hold on for dear life. I want Spencer back. I want Culinary Club and cake baking and even … even the light bullying, I want it all back to the way it was. “Because I distinctly heard a masculine scream when I nailed the first guy with pepper spray, and a male grunt when I hit the second with the crowbar.” I look at the four faces staring back at me. “Back at Everly, one of my attackers was female.” “Let's keep an eye on Mark,” Church says, face shutting down into this dark void. I would not want to be on his bad side. Hell, I was for a little while and it wasn't pretty. Even then, his wrath was only because of my attitude. Imagine if he thought I'd hurt or even killed his friend? I would not put it past this guy to stab someone. “And maybe he'll lead us to the other two.” “Or to Spencer,” Ranger suggests, and the room falls silent. We're all missing him so hard in that moment. When I lift his sheets up and close my eyes, breathing in that signature hyssop and cedar scent, I know I'm not moving from this spot, not tonight. “Can I sleep here?” I ask. It doesn't even take Ranger a second to answer. “Of course you can,” he whispers, and then I curl up and cry quietly as the light is shut off, the electric fireplace on, and the soft sound of the door closing punctuates the twins and Church leaving the room. “I’m going to take a few sleeping pills. You want any?” I shake my head; words are too hard right now. Outside, the storm rages even harder. I try my best not to think of it as an omen. Doesn't work.

Despite my level of fatigue, it doesn't look like I'll be falling asleep for a long, long time. Instead, I'm left to lie there with the sound of the storm and the dark whisper of my thoughts for company.

Ranger falls asleep first, the soft sound of his breathing a comforting backdrop against the crackle from the fireplace and the pounding rain from outside the window. I lay curled in Spencer's bed, drinking in his scent and holding his pillow close to my face, wishing it were him I was holding instead. That is, if he'd even let me. If he hadn't gone missing, how would things have turned out? Would he have been able to forgive me for lying? Surely he'd forgive the rest of the Student Council. I mean, I don't know a lot about their history, but it seems like they've been friends for a while. Finally, I drift off and let my dreams take me to a school that isn't this school, but you know, still is in that crazy dream-like sort of way. It has big white columns and murals that look nothing like the stone walls and wood beams of Adamson. Spencer is there, and so are the twins, all of them playing that stupid racing game in my dorm room. Church and Ranger show up later with golden retriever puppies in their arms, and that's when I know I've completely disappeared into la-la Land. Then one of the dream puppies ends up peeing on me, and I find myself soaked; I start to wake up, feeling stupid for being so angry at a dream dog. As I blink myself awake, I realize that there's someone climbing into bed with me, someone who's wet, thus you know, the dream about the peeing puppy. “Whoa,” the person says as I push up through the fog of sleep. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

My eyes shoot wide, and I sit up ramrod straight, putting my back against the wall as I gape in shock at the silver-haired boy who's staring right back at me. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Eugene Mathers. “What the … fuck?” I whisper, feeling myself start to shake. I feel like I'm looking at a ghost here, the ghost of Spencer Hargrove who just happens to be sitting warily on the edge of the bed, looking at me like he's not sure what to make of my presence. Frankly, I'm sort of freaked-out by him, too. “Why are in you in my bed, Chuck? Or should I say Charlotte?” He sounds mad at me, but tired, too. And he's all wet from the storm. His turquoise eyes are bright in the orange-yellow glow of the fireplace. “Are you alive?” I whisper back, trying to swallow past the hard lump in my throat. “Please tell me I'm not dreaming. I can't take the disappointment.” “Alive?” Spencer asks, looking at me like I've lost my damn mind. “Of course I'm alive. What sort of stupid question is—” There's no stopping myself. I lunge forward and throw my arms around him, squeezing him as tight as I can, burying my face in the crook of his neck. Tears are rolling freely down my face, soaking him even further. And holy fuck, he smells so damn good. So good. “What's going on?” Spencer asks, his voice tired and groggy. He stiffens up at first, but maybe there's something about the way I'm holding him that shakes loose some of that anger. Slowly, tentatively, he puts his arms around my waist and hugs me back. “What's going on? What did I miss?” “Where have you been?” I whisper in a raspy voice. Ranger is out, doused in sleeping pills. I should probably try to wake him up. Church and the twins, too. But I can't seem to let go of this boy, no matter how hard I try. “This whole week has been hell. We all thought you were dead.” “What? I told you guys I was taking a breather. My brother picked me up and we stayed at his place in Nutmeg.” “Someone died in the woods, Spencer, a student in a gym uniform with silver hair. We all thought it was you. He was hanging from a tree. It was fucking horrible, the worst.” I squeeze him a little tighter, closing my eyes against the rush of fresh tears. Is this really happening? Or is this a dream, too? Please, please, please let it be real. What Micah said, about finding out that

Spencer was dead all over again, it makes so much sense now. I feel like if I wake up and find out this isn't real, that I'll have a nervous breakdown. “Wait, what?” he asks, trying to pull back from me. I stop him midway with a kiss, one that surprises even me with its ferocity. One minute, I'm desperate to hear his voice, to talk this whole thing through, just to make sure it's real. The next, I'm pressing my mouth to his, my tongue forcing its way between his shuttered lips. For a split-second, he resists, pushing me back. “Charlotte, what the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?” I cut him off with another kiss, this punishing crush of mouths. There's a little too much teeth, but I can't help myself. This kiss needs to happen. Spencer groans and leans into me, his sweet-spicy scent overwhelming me and perking up all my senses. I feel like I'm coming alive in his arms, with this kiss, with the smell and warmth of him seeping into me. Charlotte, slow down, my subconscious mind whispers, but Spencer's kissing me back now, his tongue taking over the wild tango of our lips. He kisses me with this barely suppressed need, this searing heat that feels like it's been building forever. It hits me like a train, and I find myself suddenly on my back. My hands slide down his back, pushing his hoodie and shirt up, so I can run my palms across his damp, warm skin. Spencer's hard, hot body is between my thighs, dressed in sweats and unlaced boots. He grinds his pelvis against mine as we kiss, and I groan against his mouth. There are so many emotions in the air right now that I know I should probably step back and evaluate things. My logical brain seems to be going one way while my emotional side is pulling in the opposite direction. When he tangles his fingers in my hair, I really lose my shit, yanking his hoodie and shirt up and breaking our kiss just long enough to toss the items aside. Spencer maintains this undulating rhythm against my core that has me squirming and digging my fingernails into the muscles of his back. He fumbles around with something in the nightstand, and then comes back with a condom. He lifts up just enough to look down at me, silver-ash hair falling around his face. I can see all the delicious variation in his turquoise eyes, those flecks of green and blue and teal, as he searches my expression. That white-hot chemistry we’ve been entertaining for months is thick

and heady in the air between us, my breath coming in sharp pants. It’s almost too much, all this feeling inside of me; I need an outlet. “What are we doing?” Spencer whispers, but he's got the condom in his hand, so he must have some idea. Looking up at him, I feel the tears again and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close again. Relief mixes with lust, creating this potent potion of emotion that takes over my whole being. My only thoughts are about getting as close as I can to him, to reassure myself that he's really here. We work together in a frenzy to shed my pants, leaving my underwear in place. Spencer's hand frees his cock easily from his sweats, and there's this tense moment where he's opening the condom wrapper and struggling to get it on. I pull my panties aside, heart thumping, and realize that I'm not nervous at all, not like I was when Cody and I fooled around. With him, I felt tentative, unsure, almost scared. It's not like that with Spencer. There's no hesitation, no fear. He looks me right in the face and then opens his mouth to ask something that I cut off with a kiss, curling my fingers against the back of his neck, feeling the fine hairs tickling my skin. Spencer lines himself up with my opening and slowly works himself him. A gasp escapes me, stifled by the hot press of his lips, as my body adjusts to the new sensation. It's a little tight, a tad uncomfortable, but it feels so good. Doubly so when he begins to move, slow but strong movements of his hips pushing us closer and closer together. Spencer's right hand slides up under my shirt, and finds my bare breast. I didn't bother with a bra tonight; it didn't seem to matter that much in the face of his possible death. “Holy shit, how did you hide these for so long?” he whispers against my mouth, making me shiver. The sound of his voice is surreal, like a dream made reality. I've never wanted anything so badly in my entire life. “A wing and a prayer?” I whisper back, but I could care less about the secret girl issue right now. All I want is his lips on mine. With a firm but gentle grip, I put pressure on his neck and bring his mouth down to mine, tasting the faint burn of mint, like maybe be brushed his teeth before stumbling in here.

Spencer kneads my breast with his hand, rubbing his thumb over the hardened point of my nipple. It's like he's lit a sparkler inside of me, sending these bright, beautiful colors shooting through my body. A sound escapes my lips, half-whisper, half-groan, as I wrap my legs around him, holding him as close as I can get him. Being together like this, it makes me want to never be apart again. I told you, Chuck, that you’d fall for all these guys. I warned you, didn’t I? Day one. Day one I warned you. My subconscious calls out to me, but I push it aside, tangled up in lovesick heartbreak and new hope. Spencer Hargrove is alive. It’s not often that life throws a curveball, and then lets you hit a homerun. I’m reveling in it. “Spence,” I whisper, calling him by a nickname that doesn’t rightfully belong to me. But … it feels like it does. It feels like he does. He responds by groaning against my ear, this soft, sweet sound of male satisfaction. We’re fucking, maybe, but I think we might also … you know, be doing something else, too. “Chuck,” he purrs back at me, kissing down the side of my neck and curling his fingers in my hair. When his fingertips touch my scalp, they make me shiver. My entire body reacts to his touch, holding tight to him. My fingertips trail through the sweat on Spencer’s back as this pressure and heat builds low in my belly, making me feel tense. “Relax,” he commands, taking my wrists and holding them above my head. Spencer bites my lower lip and then swirls his tongue over it, releasing me so he can brace himself above me, moving his hips harder and faster, driving that intense feeling in my stomach into my limbs. My lips part and my head tilts back, but I can still see him in the crackling light of the fire, moving above me, the rain a staccato rhythm outside the window. I’m not expecting to have an orgasm—most first-timers don’t—but it hits me anyway, this fierce fire, this fervent rush that explodes through me in a bright wave. This time, when I throw my arms around Spencer, I’m shaking for a different reason. I feel light, weightless, airy.

He keeps moving, adding these little aftershocks of pleasure to my starry-eyed relaxation. Spencer comes, too, still buried deep in me, nuzzling against the top of my head as his body quivers and tenses up. “Christ, Chuck,” he murmurs, and then he rolls off onto his back, panting and staring up at the ceiling. I can't move. Pretty sure my legs have turned to jelly. I can barely breathe. That, and I feel empty now that Spencer's moved away from me. My cheeks heat, and I turn on my side, just to make sure he's really here. “That was … unexpected,” he whispers, glancing over at Ranger's sleeping form, buried in blankets, and lightly snoring. “Unexpected,” I start, still struggling to find the right words to say. Spencer gets up to throw the condom away in the trash can at the end of his bed before climbing back in and curling his arm under my waist. “Unexpected, but fucking amazing,” he adds, leaning forward to kiss me. It doesn't just end at that, a single press of lips. No, pleasure shoots through me and I curve into him. I realize that for a good portion of my life, I've been sort of an entitled brat. Never has it been more obvious than in this moment. Maybe I'm actually learning to care about someone other than myself? “Although I'm still pissed,” Spencer adds, frowning slightly as he pulls back from me, his eyes searching my face. I get that he probably does this a lot, hook up with random girls. He doesn't know this is my first time, and I'm sure as hell not going to tell him. If you don't expressly tell the twins not to, they will though. Fuck, even if you do expressly tell them no, they'll probably spill the beans anyway. “I can't believe you guys lied to me.” My eyes water, and Spencer's widen. “Are you okay?” he asks, blinking rapidly. He leans in closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I don't want to ruin this moment. I shouldn't have even brought it up; I'm sorry.” “It's not that,” I choke out, curling my fingers around his arm, just to anchor him in place. “We all thought you were dead, Spencer.” “I'm so confused right now,” he says, sitting up. I sit up, too, and then notice that his eyes have wandered down. One of my boobs is hanging out of my shirt. Flushing, I tuck it away and cross my arms over my chest. I'm shaking, but that's not surprising. There are so many

emotions swirling around inside of me, it's practically a storm. “Some guy killed himself you said?” “A student with silver hair, wearing a gym uniform, was hung from a tree in the woods.” I look Spencer dead in the face. “This whole week, nobody's been able to find you, and the police won't release the student's name. We all thought it was you.” He just stares at me, like he has no idea how to respond to that. Guilt creeps up in his expression and he runs his fingers through his hair. “I threw my phone at a tree in a rage and broke it … and then I figured I was better off without it. Sometimes when I get pissed off, I do stupid shit.” Spencer lifts his head to look at me, and I feel my heart thump in response. I just lost my virginity to this guy, I think, and end up licking my lower lip. He notices, and gives a small half-smile. It only lasts for a second before it fades away, like he's finally realizing how serious this is. “Are you okay?” “I just spent, like, a whole week thinking you were dead,” I whisper back, and Spencer's lips purse. He scoots closer to me and pulls me into his lap, reminding me of Tobias. “Your friends, too. I've never seen Micah so … fucked-up.” “You guys really thought I was dead? All this time?” I nod, and Spencer curses under his breath, holding me close. Ranger was so right: I should've told him sooner. What was I so afraid of? This? Because I'll admit: it's a lot. Spencer and I have an undeniable connection, one that, if I'm honest with myself, scares the crap out of me. It's so intense, so raw. I've never felt like this around anyone before. “I was attacked in the shower that night by two people in hoodies. They took off into the attic, and climbed through a whole in Mark Grandam’s room. Then they lured us into the tunnels beneath the school before locking us in.” I look up to find Spencer gaping at me, both of his dark brows raised. He's all sweaty, and so am I. To curl up in his arms right now and fall asleep, that'd be heaven. But we have to wake the other boys up. They deserve to know their friend's alive. “Ranger almost died. Twice, actually. He almost drowned. I had to give him CPR …” “Who are you talking to?” Ranger mumbles, rolling over and sitting up. He puts his head in his hand, fingers threaded in his dark hair before he finally glances over, eyes bleary and heavy with sleep. When he sees whose lap I'm sitting in, his eyes go wide and he bolts up out of bed

with a roar. “Where the fuck have you been?!” he snarls, yanking Spencer up by the arm. I tumble off his lap and remember that I'm not actually wearing pants … Ranger doesn't notice. Instead, he's got a hand on either of Spencer's bare arms, and he's shaking as he stares his friend down with those intense sapphire eyes of his. “I … broke my phone, and I was just trying to chill out. I had no idea shit was going down here. I was at Jack’s house getting stoned—” “You've been getting baked all week at your brother's house while we fucking died for you?! Are you insane? Do you know what you put us all through?” “Chuck was just saying … Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't know. I didn't know.” Ranger drops his hands from Spencer's arms, leaving red marks. And then he hugs him, one of those tight, squeezing hugs that I like so much. A real hug. No fragile masculine bullshit is keeping Ranger Woodruff from hugging his best friend. My heart swells three sizes, like the Grinch or whatever. Then Ranger glances up and sees me sitting there in my underwear. My very, very wet underwear. I shift uncomfortably, and his brows go up. He stands up straight and looks at Spencer then me, then back at Spencer again. “Did you guys … just fuck?” “Your sleeping pills make you dead to the world, man,” Spencer says, trying and failing to laugh. He looks like he's about to be sick. Ranger stares at me again, and gives me this … I don't know, look. Crap. I give Ranger a responding look that says please don't say anything, and he bends down to pick my pants up off the floor, tossing them to me. “I'll go get Church, and the twins. Stay here.” Ranger opens the door and pads down the hall to wake the other guys up. I don't like him going out there by himself, but it's just a few doors down, so I figure I better get my damn pants on. “This is insane,” Spencer whispers, turning back to look at me again. “I still can't believe you're a girl.” He narrows his eyes on me. “Do you know how much gay porn I watched in preparation for our first time? I was researching how to suck a dick.” I smile, but there are tears again. I'm just so fucking happy he's still alive. “No snappy retorts or witty comments?” “I'm … I just …” For once in my life, I'm literally speechless.

Spencer pauses, and then flicks his eyes to the side, like he's thinking really hard about what he wants to say next. When he looks back at me, I just know it's going to be profound. Then, of course, the door flies open and the twins come barreling in. They knock Spencer onto Ranger's bed, and I can't tell if they're laughing or crying. “You piece of shit,” they wail in unison, rubbing their cheeks against his. He's laughing and trying to push them off, but to no avail. “We should kick your ass for making us think you were dead,” Micah says, and Tobias frowns. “We should beat the shit out of you.” “Aww, look, you guys really do love me,” Spencer says, sitting up and doing his best to untangle himself from the McCarthy twins' long limbs. They've glommed onto him like redhaired koalas or some shit. I smile, even though I'm crying again. Ugh, that'll get old fast. I should go back to my bitchy Valley Girl self, huh? Or … maybe this is a good change? I was due for some change, I think. While the twins rub all over their friend, Church walks in slowly and silently, still frowning, and then pauses in the center of the room with Ranger right behind him. His eyes flick briefly to mine, and in them, I can see it: he knows. They'll all know. I'm sitting in a dorm room with a bunch of dudes, and they're all gonna know that I just lost it to Spencer. I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't overwhelmed with so many other feelings. Everyone goes quiet when Church goes still, wearing those pale blue and white satin-y pajamas that seem to suit his personality. The color is cute, but the shirt is buttoned all the way to the top, a very serious sort of statement. He stares at his friend with those striking amber eyes of his. “Church,” Spencer says carefully, sitting up as the twins scoot away to give him some room. Tobias meets my eyes, and raises his brows. I look at Church instead, refusing to acknowledge that questioning stare of his. “Spencer,” Church replies, and then his mouth breaks into one of those huge, over the top grins. “You cocksucking piece of shit.” “Dude, I had no—” Spencer starts when the door flings open a second time, cracking the drywall. Ross is standing there in a pink pajama set with little sheep all over it. His mouth is

downturned in an almost comical sort of way, and tears are just streaming from his usually narrowed and mean sort of eyes. “Uh, Ross, are you okay, man?” “You … you prick!” Ross wails, rushing into the room and throwing himself at Spencer. He's sobbing too, and the twins have to literally pry him off before he suffocates Spencer with his violent snuggling. As soon as Ross backs up a bit though, he slaps Spencer in the chest with the back of one hand and plants the other on his hip. “Are you stupid? Do you live in a cave? Or maybe you’re living in the nineties, like you’ve forgotten how to send a text message or check social media?” “I—” Spencer starts, and then pauses, looking around the room like he’s realizing how many people truly care about him for the first time. As I start to calm down, my anxiety and embarrassment start to climb up. When he looks at me, all I can think about is the feel of his body sliding in and out of mine, bringing me to new heights of pleasure. I didn’t even know it could feel that good. It’s not like I’ve never touched myself before, but … having Spencer’s hands on my body was a blessing from the gods. “I’m sorry.” His words are soft, definitely genuine, and at that, a sort of strange tension leaves the room, and I hear several of the others take in long, deep breaths. “It’s not your fault,” Church says, settling back into that careful neutral of his. “But you really did give us a pretty shitty week. I say … two weeks of Culinary Club cleanup duty, at least.” “I second the motion,” Ranger grumbles, trying to cover up a rare smile. “Third,” the twins murmur in unison, and then turn to glare at one another. “Motion denied,” Spencer sputters, but Ross is already pulling the stylus from his phone and making a note. “Minutes recorded, motion transcribed.” “This is total BS,” Spencer mumbles, but he smiles a little anyway. “Fine, but I'm still pissed at you guys.” He leans back on the bed, shirtless and glorious and most importantly: with a pulse. “You know I hate secrets, so why was I the last to know? You can't trust me, is that it?” “It was my fault. Ranger asked me to tell you sooner,” I say, standing up from the bed. Ross gives my mussed-up hair and swollen lips a look, like he can tell from that one, simple glance what went on in here. Or … or maybe it smells like sex?!

I choke a little as everyone turns to look at me. Act natural, Charlotte, act natural. Honestly, intimacy with Spencer felt like the most natural thing in the world, despite the fact that it was my first time. “I've been getting notes from someone who knows my identity. I was trying to keep it a secret as long as possible, from everyone. The twins guessed, and Church saw me naked. Ranger—” “Church saw you naked?” Spencer asks, this slight edge to his voice. “It's a long story, maybe best left for tomorrow,” Church says, tilting his head to one side and studying his friend with an awe that I feel inside my chest, like a glowing star or … something. I'm not the most poetic person in the world, but the feeling of seeing this boy alive is something I'll never forget. At any moment, Dad could've told me that the dead boy in the woods wasn't Spencer. He didn't even have to tell me the student's name, just that my friend was still alive. I am royally pissed off about that. “You should check in with the headmaster,” Church continues, leaning his shoulder against the wall. If I didn't think the guy was like, one of the undead or something, I might actually think he was tired. It's the little tells, you know, like the small crease between his brows or the slump of his shoulders. “We'll all walk back together.” Church stands up and grabs my jacket from the hook near the door, offering it up to me. I stand up and stumble a little, my legs still shaky, and end up falling against him. Damn, does he smell good. That signature lilac and rosemary scent of his makes my body tingle, but I blame it on the fact that Spencer and I just had sex. We had sex. Holy hell, we had sex … I glance back to find him watching me as Church helps me into my jacket. Spencer stands up, and we all turn to stare at him, like he's a ghost come back to life or something. “Would you all stop looking at me like that?” he asks, laughing slightly. Ranger looks him dead in the face. “No. We're all gonna be up your ass for the rest of the year. Get used to it.” He turns and leads the way from the room, Church and Ross right behind him. The twins are last, waiting while Spencer pulls on his hoodie.

“Let’s do this,” he says, exhaling sharply, gaze still firmly locked on mine. “Let’s tell the headmaster that this asshole is back from the dead.”

There's no reason for Dad to know that I snuck back to the dorms, so I switch into a pair of clean pajamas before I go in to wake him up. He comes to, bleary-eyed but unshakably calm, as usual. Spencer is leaning against the wall in the hallway, one foot propped up. He stands up straight when Dad comes out in his robe and slippers, squinting at him. “Spencer Hargrove,” he says with a small nod. “You had your friends worried sick about you.” Dad casts me a look, wearing a baggie hoodie and sweats, my hair all mussed-up, glasses askew. For whatever reason, I don't want him to know that Spencer knows, not yet. Please don't let him look at me and know that I slept with Spencer, I think, but of course I'm being a crazy person. There's no tattoo on my face that says non-virgin person. But then I remember how glaringly obvious it was that Monica and Cody were fucking behind my back. It's the little tells, right? “I'm sorry, sir,” Spencer says, lifting those gorgeous turquoise eyes of his to my dad's face. “My parents knew where I was, so I didn't—” “You're not in trouble,” my dad says, waving his hand dismissively. The anger in me rises a little higher as I realize that he wasn't at all worried about Spencer. He knew he was alive and okay. He knew it, and he didn't tell me. Church knows, too. I can tell by the way his amber eyes narrow slightly, and his mouth turns down at the corners.

“You should all get back to bed and get rested up for the week. Class starts promptly on Monday morning.” “No days of mourning for the dead student, huh?” I ask, knowing I'm getting an attitude here and not caring. I'm furious. “Someone was murdered on campus, and it's just back to your regularly scheduled programming,” I grumble, imitating my dad's voice. “Chuck, not right now. It's four in the morning. Go back to bed, and next time, please come ask me before you let a large group of students into the house in the middle of the night.” Dad turns back to the Student Council, but I can see from their expressions that … they're on my side? The way they look at him, with a varying mix of anger, frustration, and pity makes me feel good inside. It's like I have my own crew now, bullies turned besties or something like that. “I'll call Nathan and have him escort you boys back to the dormitory.” “Sir, if I may,” Church begins, smoothing his palms down his lapels, “but in times like this, solidarity amongst the students, as well as a show of strength from the administration might be necessary. Perhaps assigning Chuck as Spencer's roommate would solve both the issue of them being alone in the dorms, as well as putting forth a display of confidence in this academy?” “It's too early for this,” Dad grumbles, putting his fingers to his forehead. “Chuck's not going anywhere tonight. I'm sorry, boys.” He moves between them, dialing up Nathan on his phone as he heads down the stairs, more than likely expecting the Student Council to follow him. They don't. Not even asshole Ross. “Your dad's kind of a prick,” Spencer says, looking at me like he's searching my face for some hint of … something. I'm still in shock that he's alive, and I think I might be crushing so ridiculously hard on the guy that it's impossible to force my snarky mouth to make words. Words are hard. “He can be,” I choke out as Tobias swings has green gaze between me and Spencer. “But I've lived with the guy all my life, I'm used to it.” “Right.” An awkward sort of energy falls between us, and Ross clears his throat. “As fascinating as this all is, I have about a hundred people I need to text, social media posts to update, and an entire mess of shit to mop up that you,” he jabs his finger into Spencer's chest,

“just crapped all over my meticulously managed schedule. Do you know how much work goes into being the Student Council's assistant?” “About as much as goes into actually being in the Student Council, which is to say not a whole lot,” Spencer quips, and Ross stabs him with a finger again. “You have no idea the mountain of paperwork I'm going to have to fill out over your disappearance. You're in huge trouble, sir.” Ah, I'd almost forgotten that Ross has a huge crush on Spencer. Looking between the two of them, I'm almost … jealous? Eww, gross. Like I care what Spencer does or doesn't do with other people. Only … I do. Because I like him. A lot. And when I thought he was dead, I felt like someone had clipped off a piece of my heart and I'd be forever bleeding. “Did you know Chuck's secret?” Spencer asks, looking Ross dead in the face. The other boy stutters and flushes, and then clamps his lips shut tight. “Yeah, that's what I thought. I'm still reeling here.” “Better get over it quick,” Tobias says, giving his friend a look. “We were all devastated. Micah could barely eat or sleep, and Virgin Chuck spent most everyday sobbing.” My cheeks go beet red, and my eyes widen so much that I wouldn't be surprised if they fell right out of my face and went bouncing down the stairs. Gee, thanks Tobias, you dick, I think as Spencer turns slowly to look at me, some of the same horror from my expression reflected back in his. Two things I didn't want him to know, he's now privy to. Fantastic. “Virgin Chuck?” Spencer asks, but then we all hear the sound of the front door opening and Nathan's signature shuffle walk. “Where'd that nickname come from?” “Okay, I'm tired. As excited as I am that you're not six feet under, I want you out of my house.” I put both hands on Spencer's back, ignoring the tingle in my palms, and then push him toward the staircase. The boys go down in a group, seemingly at my command, but when I turn to head back up, Spencer grabs my wrist and pulls me close to him. “Your nickname,” he starts, but I'm not having this conversation two feet from my father's back.

“Get a new phone and then text me,” I grumble, pulling my arm from his grip. But halfway up, I pause to look back and find him still staring at me. Something inside of me lights up at that look, but I spin away before the stupid goofy smile on my lips ruins everything. Spencer Hargrove is alive. This is the greatest day of my life. But also, I need him to not know any of that or I'll die from embarrassment. Being seventeen sucks.

Sleep comes far easier than I thought. I assumed I'd be tossing and turning all night, dreaming of Spencer, but then my body must've realized that being in a continuous state of anxiety for seven days straight was just too much and I conk out. In the morning, I find Dad in his office, talking in hushed tones on his phone. He sees me and shoos me away with his hand which is fine by me. The last thing I feel like doing right now is hanging out with him. I don't have a lot of clothes that I feel would keep up my disguise, and I'm not interested in wearing my uniform on a day off, so I flip the top open on my laptop and send Tobias a message. I mean, I'd send one to Spencer, but apparently he doesn't check his goddamn messages. I'm dying here. Can we all go into town together? For several minutes, I just stare at the screen, tapping my fingers on the desk and waiting. But Tobias gets back to me quickly, those satisfying little dots popping up on the bottom of the screen to show that he's typing. Definitely. Meet you at your place in thirty? I hit the thumbs-up emoji, and then leap up to get dressed. If I'm going out, I may as well go full-glam. Well, as glammed up as I can get in a half an hour. Before I get started on my beauty routine, I pop my head back into my dad's office. “I'm going out with the Student Council. We'll be in Nutmeg, probably at the diner or something.” Dad stands up from his chair as I book it toward the stairs.

“You didn't think to ask if that was okay? You just tell me what you're going to do now, and that's that?” I pause halfway up the stairs with my hand on the banister, and turn back to look at him. “I'll be eighteen in less than a year. And yeah, that's what I suspect I'll be doing.” Dad purses his lips, and there's the slight flaring of nostrils, but that's it, the only spark of anger I see in him. “Well, I'm fine with you going into town with your friends, but I want you back before dark.” There's something too easy about this, about the way he's giving in. I don't like it. My intuition is buzzing with suspicion. “Why didn't you just tell me that Spencer was alive?” I ask, truly curious. I mean, you'd think if a father could alleviate his daughter's suffering that he'd do whatever it took. Even an obsessive rule-follower like Archibald Carson should've been able to figure out that an it's all going to be alright, Charlotte, your friend is not the dead boy doesn't break any of the police's rules. “It wasn't my place, Charlotte. I take my job very seriously, you know that. And I needed to respect the wishes of the investigators.” He turns away to go back into his office, and then pauses. “Take the emergency credit card with you and buy a new phone; I don't like it when I can't contact you.” He adjusts his glasses and gives my frowning face a look, like he can tell I'm seeing right through his bullshit. “I don't care if it's an Apple or a Samsonite, or whatever, but it has to be comparable to the one you just lost.” Too late, Dad, the Student Council already got me one. “It's not Samsonite, Dad, it's Samsung.” Archie ignores me and disappears into his office, leaving me with this dark swirling feeling of unease in my lower belly. He's clearly mad at me, but he's being so … lenient. I don't like this, not one bit. It feels like there's another mystery revealing itself at Adamson, one that's, you know, a little different from the murder but just as alarming. God only knows what my Dad is planning.

“I don't trust him,” I say over a strawberry sundae with real strawberry syrup. Apparently, it’s homemade right here, by hand, from organic strawberries grown behind the café and tended with love and care and a truckload of hard ass work—excuse my language. This is all straight from the horse's mouth, the horse being Merinda Smith, the owner of the Jaw Flapper Diner. Well, actually Church's family owns the place, but it's very clear who the heart and soul of this restaurant is. “Your dad?” the twins asks in unison, each of them with a completely different type of sundae in front of them. I noticed they both started to order the same—hot fudge, vanilla ice cream, topped with nuts, total classic—but then they turned and glared at each other and both went off in completely random directions. Micah is rocking a scoop of blueberry ice cream with blackberry syrup and sugared huckleberries on the top while Tobias has an orange-vanilla scoop with marmalade and candied walnuts. “Why?” “He told me to get a new phone—I didn’t bother to tell him you guys already did.” I wiggle the new iPhone around (it's a cheery yellow which, like, totally floats my boat) as an example. “And he didn't like that I just told him I was going out, instead of phrasing it as a question, yet he let me go out anyway.” “Shit, throw him in jail for child abuse,” Spencer says, and I jump. He's smiling though, sitting opposite me in the booth. I think he wanted to sit together, but Tobias slid in the seat, and then Micah hip bumped me in next to them. So now I'm a shield between the twins while Spencer

sits sandwiched between Church and Ranger. The former has a huge bowl of coffee ice cream, with a hot mug of black coffee on the side, and the latter is working on a slice of pie. “But I get it. You're used to him being a prick, and he's not, so …” Spencer trails off, his eyes drifting slightly downward, toward my breasts. I wore the prettiest blue dress in my closet, this short little cotton spring wrap with wedges and a cluster of pearlescent bracelets that Monica got me for my birthday last year. When I opened the front door this morning, I thought several of the boys might blow a gasket. Or maybe just a load in their pants. It was both strangely thrilling and a bit terrifying, all at the same time. “You look pretty as a girl,” is what Spencer told me. Nice, I suppose, considering he went on and on about how ugly he found me as a guy. “He's planning something,” I say, putting my spoon back in the bowl and smoothing my hands down my skirt. I'm wearing contacts today, and my hair's styled as best as I can get it. I've never had short hair before, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Subconsciously, I find myself raking my fingers through it. “You look good with short hair,” Ranger tells me, his grumbling voice making me jump a bit. He's staring at me from across the table, and I notice Spencer's gaze drift over to him. He frowns hard, but I can't hold back a smile. Cody and Monica went on and on about how crappy I looked with short hair, and here's my new friend telling me I look good with it. That's pretty damn validating. “Anyway,” Spencer continues, clearing his throat. The twins are scooping the ice cream up into their mouths like they're going for a world record, finishing up at the same time, and throwing their spoons down so that they clatter. “Do you think—” “Done,” they announce in unison, and then they're back to glaring at each other over my head. I sit up straight, but that doesn't exactly block their view since they're so much taller than me. “I win.” They both sneer. “No, I win.” Frustrated growling ensues, and I sigh. “Do you think, what?” I ask, trying not to choke on the big shiny ball of emotions jammed in my throat. I lost my virginity yesterday, and all I wanted to do was call Monica and describe it all in detail. Even if she did sleep with my boyfriend, I miss her. How messed-up is that? “Do you think we could walk and talk for a bit?” Spencer pauses, and his eyes narrow slightly. “Alone.”

“What the hell do you guys need to talk about alone?” Micah asks, crossing his arms together behind his head. Ranger is pursing his lips because he knows perfectly well what we need to discuss. It seems he's been a gentleman about it though because nobody else has said a thing. “Just … you know, the girl thing and all that. You did get the memo, right? Chuck and I have a thing, and that thing is all twisted-up and weird now that I know that he's a she. We have stuff to sort out.” “Don't be mean to Micah. He had a mental break when he thought you were dead.” Church sips his coffee, nice and calm, closing his eyes as he drinks. During his first sip of the day, he gave a huge shudder, like he was having an orgasm or something. Speaking of orgasms … “Didn't you get the memo? Tobias confessed his love for Charlotte when we thought you were dead.” Micah smirks, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's deflecting. He doesn't want Spencer to know just how much he loves him. Seriously, men are weird as hell. “Are you fucking serious? You thought I was dead, and you moved in on my boyfriend?” Spencer pauses. “Girlfriend, whatever.” “It wasn't like that,” Tobias growls, giving his brother a dark look. “Why are you purposely trying to piss him off? You should just be grateful he isn't lying cold in some morgue somewhere.” “I am grateful. I just want to know why he needs so much alone time with Chuck.” Micah raises one red brow, and Spencer frowns, giving me a questioning look. Pretty sure he's asking permission to tell the guys what happened between us. “Can we please just take a walk? We won't be long, just around the block and back.” Micah gives me a dark look, but scoots out of the booth anyway. Ranger does the same for Spencer, and we end up outside together in a brisk spring sunshine. It's much warmer today than it's been, and I appreciate the rare feeling of sunlight on my skin. “Thought we'd never get rid of them,” Spencer jokes, but then I bite my lip and glance away, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. This is so awkward, isn't it? Like unbelievably awkward. “Do you want to tell them? Do you want me to tell them?” “Do we have to tell them at all?” I ask, but then I cringe because I remember Spencer's rant about secrets. These are his best friends, why wouldn't he tell them? The question I should

probably be asking myself is why I don't want to tell them. Like, maybe I have a crush on the twins and I don't want them to know? Ugh. Life is hard. “We have to tell them,” Spencer says, and then just keeps walking when I pause at a corner. He most definitely missed that day in preschool when you learn to look both ways before crossing the street. “We're in Nutmeg, Connecticut, Chuck, not wherever-it-is-you're-from, California. Come on.” He turns around and starts walking backward across the street, and I follow. He has a point. “But can I please ask about the Virgin Chuck thing? What's that about?” “Spencer, come on,” I choke, flushing as I catch up to him and we walk past a quilt shop. One of the price tags in the corner catches my eye. Two-thousand dollars for a blanket?! The woman inside waves, and we wave back. “It's just a stupid nickname they decided to tease me with.” “Well, is it true?” he asks, his voice tentative. I give him this saucy look, like I've seen Monica pull on dudes a thousand times in the past. It says without words I am smarter and cooler and better than you, so don't expect an answer. Doesn't work on Spencer though, I can tell. “Obviously not, you were there,” I joke, running my fingers through my short blond hair again. “But before that,” Spencer continues, and then when I turn to look at him, he pens me in against the pretty lavender wall of a candle and soap shop, the sweet smell of lavender and rose drifting out the door to us. Those turquoise eyes of his lock onto my face, and I squirm. He's most definitely got me where he wants me, doesn't he? “Did you just lose your virginity to me?” “What does it matter? Why are guys so obsessed with virgins anyway? Don't you want a more experienced partner? Jesus. It's not a commodity to be traded and won like a prize.” “That's not why I'm asking. I'm not obsessed with virgins; I'm obsessed with you. And I know that the first time can be weird or uncomfortable or even painful. If you'd told me, I would've …” “Would've what?” I whisper, my voice husky and low. I'm embarrassed, but I'm also enjoying this far more than I expected. My eyes lift to meet Spencer's, and this surge of happiness flows through me. He's alive. I feel like I've won the lottery or something. Just … don't tell him that.

“I would've been more gentle,” he says, smiling slightly. “Or slowed down. What we did was sort of—” “Bestial?” The word blurts out before I can stop it, and my chest tightens. I'm not normally one to get embarrassed so easily. Usually, I go the snarky route. “Something like that,” Spencer murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he looks at me with this gentle possessiveness that I suddenly need so much more of. “I knew it!” A voice calls out, and I jump. Spencer just turns his head slightly to the side and raises one dark brow. Tobias is coming around the corner with Micah at his side. And they both look pissed. “You two fucked, didn't you?” Micah says, giving this weird sort of half-smirk. “Virgin Chuck isn't so virgin anymore, huh? That was quick.” “Shut up,” I snap, ducking out from under Spencer's arm and trying to flip what little hair I have left. Back home in California, I could do a hair flip like nobody's business. Before I left, I was working on being able to hit people in the face with my long, blond locks during said flip. Monica is the queen of that one, but I’m still in training. “We had a thing, what can I say? It was a welcome home present.” “Oh, please,” Tobias says, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning hard. “Don't play it off like that, like you two sleeping together was some sort of pity fuck. You're into each other.” “Like I was subtle about it,” Spencer says, lighting up a cigarette. I frown, but he can smoke if he wants. It's a free country, isn't it? “Why are you so surprised?” The twins exchange a look, and this time, it's Tobias who scowls and turns away, an expression that's more in Micah's wheelhouse. Is he jealous? I wonder, because I felt like the twins and I sort of bonded back in Santa Cruz. Crap. I'm the girl that joins the group of boys and drives them apart, aren't I? No, that's stupid. That's an old-fashioned misogynistic story line, and I won't be a part of it. “I'm not surprised that you went after Chuck like a dog in heat. We've all seen that before. Many times.” Tobias turns back around and then folds his arms together behind his head. His green eyes slide over to mine, almost apologetically. “You're aware of his reputation, right? He's a man-whore. A serial man-whore.”

“Oh, please.” Spencer waves his cigarette around as Ranger and Church approach from the direction of the diner. Neither of them looks amused to see the others embroiled in an argument. “I've slept with four girls. I'd hardly call myself a man-whore.” “Four?” Tobias chokes, and I notice Micah grab his twin's arm and give it a squeeze. “At least six that I know of. You told me about that girl from last summer—” “Five then. Jesus. There are most definitely not six.” Spencer pauses for a moment, like he's thinking, and I feel myself getting more and more uncomfortable. “Can we just move on, please? I don't care how many people he's slept with.” Lie. “Let's go to the bookstore or something.” “It's five, not six. Definitely.” Spencer looks up and meets Tobias' eyes, and then they both scowl at each other and look away. “What does this conversation have to do with anything?” Church asks, sipping his to-go iced coffee. The man has a problem. I'm not sure when his birthday is, but I'm buying him an IV bag full of espresso, and a drip line to plug that shit right into his bloodstream. “Chuck and Spencer are an item,” Micah says, tucking his hands into his pockets, this sort of far-away look on his face. I'm desperate to unpack that expression, but instead, I'm left tripping over his words. What did he just say? “An item?” I ask, and Spencer glances over at me in question. I'm not prepared to answer the question in his eyes, so I turn my attention to Ranger who doesn't seem unsympathetic to my plight. “Bookstore?” “We're not going to the bookstore,” the twins answer together, starting up their twin routine again. “We hate Jeffrey.” “Why?” I ask, and they both shrug. I'm starting to learn that at least part of the twin routine is a defense mechanism, a way to deflect questions they don't want to answer. “Jeff and Jenica went to school together; his sister bullied her mercilessly at Everly before she transferred,” Ranger supplies, frowning hard. He shrugs his shoulders. “Church is such an addict, he goes in there for his coffee, but the rest of us have boycotted the place.” “I'm just scouting it out, so that my parents can arrange some fun, legal gymnastics for the Rabots to hop through. One day, the Montague family will own the store, the way we own the rest of the town.”

“You sound like one of those awful villains in an app game,” I snort, pushing some strands of shiny, straight hair from my face. Since I wear it curly most of the time, I thought I'd switch things up. “Little does this cute small town know, my evil corporation will be taking over! Mwahaha!” I imitate Church, lifting my chin, crossing my arms over my chest, as I squint my eyes and purse my lips the way he does sometimes. Pretty sure he doesn't even know he does it. “I look nothing like that,” he says, but he almost smiles. Instead, he holds onto that dark neutral mood of his and glances over his shoulder. Jeffrey Rabot is putting a chalkboard sign out on the curb, advertising half-priced mochas. “But maybe we should do another scouting mission? Just to see if the good ol' boy Jeff might somehow be playing a part in this nonsense.” “Like he's going to crack and just admit his involvement,” Spencer says with a roll of his gorgeous turquoise eyes. “It's all about the little tells,” Church says, and my mouth drops open as he winks at me. Is the guy a mind reader? “Come along, Charlotte. I'll buy you a mocha.” He pauses and looks me over again. “Poor people do like mochas, don't they?” “Jesus,” I groan, grabbing his hand and taking off down the sidewalk. I wave at Jeff as we approach, and he frowns. “Charlotte,” he says warily, looking me over. His blue eyes immediately fall on the hand that's clasped over Church's. “I wasn't aware you two were close.” Church chucks his empty coffee into the nearby trash can, and then throws an arm around my shoulders, beaming happily. “Oh, we're besties, didn't you hear?” “Fuck off, Church,” Jeff says, but he steps back and lets us into the bookstore anyway. Spencer is right behind us, this determined set to his expression that I just know is going to come back and bite me in the ass later. Jeff starts to close the door when Ranger and the twins appear, like a general with his two best soldiers. There's this long, awkward moment where Jeff and Ranger stare at each other, and then the three of them walk in and the smell of fresh paper and ink settles over me. “I need a new reverse harem read,” I mumble, releasing Church's hand and then rubbing my palm on the front of my dress. Church notices and smirks.

“Find one, and I'll buy it for you. Might need to evaluate your options.” Church raises a honeyed brow, and tosses his head in the direction of Spencer and the twins. “You know we don't like to share with anyone but each other.” Right. I highly doubt a reverse harem ending is in the cards for me. “What's a reverse harem?” Spencer asks, picking up a hardcover book and turning it around to read the back. I still can't believe he's alive. Feels like a dream. I have to keep pinching myself to remember that life still hurts sometimes. “One girl, multiple guys,” the twins says in unison, and Micah holds up his phone with an image of Ouran High School Host Club on the screen. Come to think of it … Micah and Tobias remind me of the twins from the anime. “Like … an orgy?” Spencer asks, taking the phone and squinting at the screen. “Can be. Mostly not,” I say, tucking my hands into the pockets of my dress and trying to act all casual, just one of the guys and all that. “It's a romantic relationship with one girl and at least three guys. Sometimes the books have sex in them, sometimes not. Sometimes they have orgies.” “Is this a hint?” Spencer asks, looking at the McCarthy twins with a dark expression on his face. “We don't share,” the twins retort, crossing their arms over their chests. They're both wearing tight red shirts that make their moss green eyes seem so much brighter, and wearing matching frowns. “Except with each other.” “Didn't used to be the rule,” Spencer mumbles, and Tobias' eyes go wide while Micah clenches his jaw. “If I hadn't spent all week grieving your death, I'd send you to the grave myself.” Micah turns away and disappears into the manga—Japanese comic books—section of the store. I'm dying to know what, exactly, that comment meant, but it's probably best not to poke at it. Instead, I move over to sit next to Church on one of the stools at the counter, and pretend like I'm not a little bit sore. “I hear it gets easier over time,” Church says, tapping his fingers on the counter as Jeff moves around behind it and sighs, passing over two paper menus with cute, gold filigree near the top.

“What?” I ask, studying the page and trying not to drool at all the sweet-tooth options. I just had a sundae, and I want more sugar? Pretty sure I have an addiction. “Fucking,” he says, smiling so brightly that his eyes crinkle up. He tosses the paper back at Jeff. “We'll take two iced mochas, a cream puff, and whatever Charlotte wants.” I'm still choking over his previous comment as Jeff hands me a glass of water, and I suck it down. “Lemon tart, please,” I manage to get out as he nods and moves away without a word, a far cry from the talkative flirt he was the last time I came here. “Did you seriously just say what I think you said?” Church parks an elbow on the counter and then rests his chin in his hand. “Cream puff? Yes, I happen to like them.” “You know that's not what I meant,” I grind out, but he just slides his amber eyes my direction, and I squirm. But then the squirming makes my lady parts sore, and I go still, the only sign of my displeasure a dark frown. “Do you have a sister or something? You know a lot about periods, and apparently soreness after sex.” “I have five sisters,” Church says, his voice eloquent and crisp, despite the fact that his face is buried in his hand. “They like to share.” “I see.” I pause as Ranger comes over and sits beside me, watching as Jeff slides the lemon tart and cream puff our direction. “Do you think you could take care of your tab today?” he asks me, turning to retrieve the iced mochas next. “My parents weren't happy about me letting some random girl rack up such a high bill.” Huh. I see how it is. “I'll be taking care of her tab,” Church says, reaching into the pocket of his slacks and pulling out a wallet. He tosses his credit card onto the counter, still smiling that big, blinding smile of his. “Tell your parents I say hi.” “Go to hell, Montague,” Jeff says, producing an old-fashioned carbon paper tablet. The top sheet has my name on it, and the list of books I bought last time I was here. He tears it off and hands it over to Church before starting a new one, writing down the mochas, the cream puff, and the lemon tart.

“Add a French soda on there before you ring it up,” Ranger says, voice low and dark. If I were Jeff, I'd be terrified to have him looking at me that way. Jeff frowns hard, but keeps writing anyway. “You could really use a POS system in here. Remind me again why you don't have one?” I stifle a small chuckle. Usually when I use the term POS, I mean piece of shit. Pretty sure in this case it stands for point of sale. Still funny though. “I'm not here to discuss business with you. You're a customer, that's it.” Jeff rings up the purchases, and then hands Church a receipt to sign, his face hard. Once Church passes the receipt back, Jeff turns to look at me. “I like you, Charlotte. So I feel it's only fair to tell you to stay away from these guys. They might seem okay, but their families will eat you up and spit you out. Ask any business owner on this street that isn't a well-kept Montague pet like Merinda. Well, the few that are left anyway.” Jeff turns away to make Ranger's drink, and I frown. “My parents own most of Nutmeg,” Church explains, looking at me as he sips his coffee. I already heard that from the twins, but I’m interested anyway. I want to know more. “They want the whole town.” “Why?” I ask, and Church blinks at me like he doesn't quite understand the question. “I mean, isn't the local flavor part of the appeal? Like the diner for example, why not just let Merinda buy it from you? She clearly does all the work.” “It's complicated,” Church says, turning away suddenly and frowning. He looks out the rear windows, toward the patio area, as I poke at my tart with a fork. “May I?” Ranger asks, pilfering a clean fork from behind the counter. He lifts it up in question, and I nod, pushing my plate his direction so he can grab a bite. He chews thoughtfully, and then raises both brows. “Not bad. The flavors are there. The crust could use a little work though. It's a bit dry.” “This is my grandmother's recipe,” Jeff snarls, spinning around. He looks like a different person with that awful expression. “And there's nothing wrong with her goddamn crust. Now, I've told you once before, and I'll tell you again: I don't know what happened to your sister. I liked Jenica, and I was devastated when she passed. Leave me the fuck alone.” “Then what the hell is this?” Ranger asks, reaching down to pull the gold key out from inside his shirt. It takes me a moment to figure out why he’s showing the key to Jeff. Then it hits me. Of course! How did I miss that?

Jenica’s ‘suicide’ note was addressed to JR. Jeffrey Rabot. I doubt I’m the first person to make that connection, probably why they all hate Jeff so much. “Like I’m supposed to know what that is,” Jeff says, handing Ranger his soda. There are thunderclouds in his blue eyes, and he looks precariously close to kicking us all out of his store. “What does a key have to do with me?” “Well, we both know the last note my sister ever wrote was addressed to a 'JR'. There were only three students attending Adamson at the time with those initials, and the other two had little contact with Jenica. But not you. You were 'friends'.” Ranger releases the key, letting it swing back down against his chest as he makes little quotes with his fingers. “I'm sorry Jenica felt so alone, and so lost, that she did what she did, but I've told you this before—I've told the investigators this before—that I don't know anything about any note. We were casual friends, not nearly close enough that she'd dedicate her suicide note to me.” “It wasn't a suicide note,” Ranger growls, his voice this terrifying note that's very clearly directed at Jeff. “According to the detectives, it was.” Ranger stands up suddenly, and there's so much fury in him that it's scary. I wonder why they didn't mention that JR could be Jeff before? Spencer moves up on Ranger's other side while the twins appear on either side of me, putting huge stacks of books on the counter. “Ring us up, Rabot,” they say in unison. Jeff takes their books with a scowl and starts writing down prices on his carbon tablet. “If I find out you know more than you’re saying, I swear to fuck, I will come back here and beat your ass,” Ranger says, and Jeff scoffs. “I've heard that before, Woodruff.” He looks up and his pale blue eyes meet Ranger's sapphire ones. “I don't know anything about your sister. Now, please take your things and go before I call the police. At least the Montagues don't own them just yet.” “No, but we own everything else. If you hadn’t noticed, my parents have no problem getting what they want.” Church rises to his feet, taking his coffee with him. The tension in that room is thick enough to cut with a knife. On the surface, it seems obvious why that is. But it feels like there's something else, something hiding just beneath the ripples that I haven't figured out just yet.

“Why didn't you guys tell me that Jeff's last name was Rabot?” I ask as we sit in the back of a limo, and I try not to squirm. There's no way to get from the academy into town without a car, not unless you're prepared to walk, oh, like sixty miles of wilderness. And the school itself doesn't provide transportation of any sort. None of that matters though since every student there (except me) is richer than sin. I'm not sure whose limo this is, or where it came from, but when the boys call, a car shows up. It's like magic. Magic fueled by cold, hard cash. “There's a lot you don't know,” Ranger says, sitting kitty-corner from me on the posh seats, his eyes faraway and clouded with details from the past. He blinks to clear the cobwebs and looks up at me. “I've been looking into her death for years with no luck. It'll take time to fill you in on all my dead-end leads. I just thought …” Ranger exhales and closes his eyes. “I thought maybe if I showed Jeff that key …” “He is suspect as fuck,” Micah says, lifting up his red and white checkered Vans shoe and placing it on the dash across from us. The tart scent of cherries drifts around with his movement, and I inhale more deeply than I intended. Spencer notices; I’m sure he does. “I don't trust Jeff for shit.” “So it's Mark and Jeff, huh?” Ranger asks, giving Micah a raised brow. “They're ten years apart in age, and have zero relation to one another. The former is a rich jock asshole, and the latter is a relatively poor bookstore barista. Why would they kill Eugene? Why go after Charlotte?” “I don't fucking know. It's just a gut feeling I have.” Micah pushes some hair back from his face while I sit awkwardly between Tobias and Spencer. Frankly, I'd rather be over there between Church and Ranger. There's too much tension on this side of the limo. “Do you want to hang out when we get back to the academy?” Spencer asks me, voice pitched low enough that I have to strain to hear him. I turn my face slightly in his direction, and he reaches out, grabbing my chin and pressing his mouth to mine. A thrill goes through me, and I end up groaning and leaning in. Of course … I do not pitch my voice low enough that anyone needs to strain to hear.

Tobias bristles on my other side as I pull back, but he doesn't say anything. Almost losing Spencer gave us all a real bitter taste of reality. Fighting over the little things seems ridiculous right now. “Well?” Spence asks, but then we pull up the drive near my father's place, and I see him waiting there with Mr. Murphy. Shit. I duck low as Spencer chuckles at me. “The windows are tinted, Chuck. Chill out.” “I don't want anyone else to know.” I murmur, and Church makes a low sound of acknowledgement. “That's probably best until we know more about what's going on.” He presses a nearby button, and the window between us and the driver rolls down a crack. “Take us around to the back, please,” he says, and then rolls the window back up. The driver does as he asked, and the boys help shield me until I get inside the back door. “Do you want to change and meet me somewhere?” Spencer asks, but the twins take up on either side of him. “You are not getting out of spending time with us,” they say, putting their elbows on Spencer’s shoulders as he frowns at them, one dark brow twitching slightly. “You don’t get to play ‘possum for a week, come trotting back, and then spend all your time with Virgin Chuck over here.” Micah smirks at me and winks dramatically. “Non-Virgin Chuck, you mean,” Tobias corrects … just about the moment my dad comes around the corner. Archibald Carson pauses, staring at me in my sundress, the boys all fanned out in front of me. “Charlotte,” he says, his voice very low and very strained. My mouth twitches, and I have to resist the urge to grab the decorative iron swordfish off the wall so I can stab Tobias with it. “Crap,” he murmurs, face flushing. He knows he messed up. Spencer looks like he’s about to make a run for it. I wonder if this is something he’s done a lot of, run from angry fathers? Better not be, I think, but then I can’t seem to get that number out of my head. Five girls. He’s touched five other girls the way he touched me … Jealousy rears its big, ugly head, and I have to swallow hard to keep the emotion down. “I see we’re no longer interested in playing a male student?” Dad says, approaching through the grass in this slow, easy sort of walk that he’s perfected over the years. Drives teenagers

nuts, that menacingly calm approach. Trust me, I know best. Archie specializes in making my life a living hell. “Just … not with my friends,” I choke out, hating that the jig with Spencer is up. I was sort of hoping that Dad really would pair me up as his roommate, and then … Well, I don’t know. I guess maybe I fantasized about us having wild, illicit sex every night in the dorms? “Mm-hmm.” Dad scans the group, pushing his glasses up the wide bridge of his nose. “What does Non-Virgin Chuck mean?” Kill me now, Universe, please, just kill me now. “Charlotte was truly a cooking virgin when we first met her,” Church supplies, the lie rolling off his lips nice and smooth and easy. He has one arm across his chest, the elbow of the other resting in the palm of his hand, and his head resting on his knuckles. Very casual, very much the look of a Student Council President. “Excuse my fellow council members for being crude, but they find it hilarious to discuss her entry into the wonderful world of culinary arts in such a barbaric and immature manner.” Church splays his fingers on his chest and flashes an awardwinning smile. Fuck, he lies as easily as he breathes. That’s terrifying. I file that bit of information away for later. “I see.” Dad doesn’t look entirely convinced, but apparently he’s got some sort of strange affection for the academy’s golden boy. Still, I notice his attention move from Church to me, then Ranger, Micah, Tobias, Spencer … His eyes narrow slightly, and I flush from head to toe. “Remember boys: the words you present to the world tell a story. What you say is what society sees.” “Wise advice from the wisest headmaster we’ve had in years,” Church agrees, reaching up to flick blond hair from his face like some sort of fairytale prince. “Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time today, Headmaster Carson. If you don’t mind, we’ll be heading back to the dormitory to prepare for a fantastical day of learning tomorrow.” I roll my eyes and, of course, that’s all Dad sees. Me. Being an asshole. “I think that’s a good idea. Clearly, Charlotte’s had a long day already,” Dad quips, and I sigh. I’m not getting out of the house again tonight, am I? “Goodnight boys.” Archie moves forward, blocking my view of the Student Council, closes the back door, and locks it before he looks at me again. I’m prepared for some sort of lecture, some admonishment about half-truths or something. Instead, Dad just pats me on the head and moves down the hall.

My eyes narrow. Not a good sign, not a good sign at all. Like I said, I don’t trust the guy. Not one little bit.

The school is an uproar the next morning, news of the suicide spreading like wildfire. For the first time since I got to Connecticut, I actually feel like I belong here, like I'm not the loser outsider that everyone hates. I sit with the Student Council at lunch as the gossip train takes off. The police might not be releasing the name of the student, but it doesn't take a seasoned detective to see that Eugene Mathers is missing. “I was right about the silver hair,” I say, enjoying one of the academy's famous hot lunches. Their food really is good, but I'm not exactly looking forward to my required two weeks tending the chicken coops. Gross. “That douchebag copied me back in ninth grade,” Spencer says, narrowing his eyes and reaching up to toss his pretty hair like he's fully aware of how damn good it looks on him. “Claims it was just parallel thinking, but come on, let's be real. You can do it first, or you can do it best, and when someone else does it first and best, you'd best just stay in your own lane.” “God, do you hear yourself when you talk?” Micah asks, stretching his legs under the table and bumping one of mine with his foot. We exchange a look, but I can tell from his expression that he's just playing with Spencer. He clearly loves the hell out of that boy. “I just don't understand who would kill Eugene or why,” Ranger muses, staring at his food with that razored dark hair of his hanging in his face. The whole emo persona makes a lot more

sense now that I know him. Deep down, he's still the little boy who's missing his sister. “That’s what we need, to find a connection between Eugene and Jenica.” “Easier said than done,” Spencer says, slapping palms with a passing student. I watch the exchange, but even knowing what he’s doing, it’s hard to catch any real evidence of it. “Did you just sell that kid weed?” I ask, and Spence shrugs his shoulders before giving me one of those saucy little grins of his. Cocky asshole. “Yeah, so?” “But your family is richer than god. Why bother?” “Public service. Somebody’s gotta do it. Would you really deny the students of Adamson the healing powers of pot?” I raise an eyebrow. “It’s supposed to make you dumb if you smoke it too much before your brain fully develops. I won’t argue that it’s medicinal, and extremely valuable, but like, for adults.” “Okay, miss …” Spencer catches himself and trails off. “Mister goody two-shoes. Next time I pass around a blunt, you can decline and save those extra special brain cells of yours.” “You’re a total dick,” I grumble, but my cheeks are flushing anyway. Tobias watches us and sighs, ruffling up his hair. He’s been watching me and Spencer all morning, rolling his eyes at me when I got tongue-tied at the sight of the jerkwad in his navy blue Adamson Academy uniform. Of course, they’re all handsome as hell in their blazers, matching slacks, and cream colored ties. Everyone wears loafers except for Ranger, who somehow gets away with combat boots most days. “What’s the plan for today?” Ranger asks as Micah finishes his food, and then goes for his twin’s. Tobias stabs him in the hand with a fork. “I mean, besides kissing Spencer’s ass for still being alive.” “I accept French kisses only,” Spence says, standing up and offering up his ass to Church. Church then stabs him with a fork in the cheek. “Ow, that fucking hurt. Aren’t you supposed to be kissing up to me?” “Don’t forget you’re on cleanup duty during Culinary Club tomorrow. And today,” Church stands up from his seat, amber eyes dark and serious, “we have a Student Council meeting.” “Student Council?!” Spencer groans, sliding his hand down his face. “After everything that just happened?” Church turns to look at him, not unsympathetically.

“We’re getting an early announcement from the administration about the … deceased student.” A quiet settles around our table. Ross, who’s been sitting silently at the end and taking notes on his phone, looks up, brown eyes darkening with sympathy. “They want us to plan a memorial for Friday.” “Shit.” Spencer sits back down heavily, and we all take a moment. That could’ve been his memorial; we all know it. The bell rings and students stand up from their seats, leaving their trays behind. Blows my mind every time. Makes me think of Mom … I wonder how she’s doing anyway? “Can I walk you to class?” Spencer asks, and I nod, standing up. When he reaches down and takes my hand, I shiver all over. “Oh come on, Chuck, I don’t bite,” he whispers, leaning in close. “You know, unless you want me to.” “Stop it,” I whisper back as I notice people turning to stare. Nobody seems particularly surprised, but our intimacy is drawing plenty of attention. It hasn’t escaped the notice of the student body that the once-bullied scrawny dickhead son of the headmaster has made a bunch of new friends for seemingly no reason at all. “Why? You can’t run from me forever. We need to talk about what happened.” He looks down at me, his eyes the color of a Caribbean sea, his hair a shimmering silver-gray that makes my heart thump. And that woody, earthy scent of his? It makes my toes curl in my shiny academy loafers. “Maybe not today with the Student Council meeting, but tomorrow, before or after Culinary Club.” “Can’t we just text about it tonight?” I whisper back, my cheeks coloring with a warm flush. I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment, excitement or both. I’m just so goddamn glad to have Spencer back that I don’t really care which. He reaches out and straightens my tie for me, smoothing out some of the wrinkles. Can’t do much about the stain on the front of it though, now can he? I’m such a mess. I swear I wasn’t like this before. “No texting. In person, Micropenis Chuck.” Spencer ruffles my hair as he leaves me at the door to Mr. Murphy’s English class, sauntering off down the hall with his firm, taut ass taking up all my attention. Takes me, like, ten blinks to clear the stars away. “Oh, honey,” Ross begins, as the others disperse to their classes for the day. “You’ve got it bad.”

“I haven’t got anything; we used a condom,” I blurt, and Ross stares at me like I’ve grown horns. This time, when I turn pink, it’s most definitely from embarrassment. “Girl, you’re in love with that boy.” “I am not,” I growl as Ross turns and leads the way into the classroom, pausing to check out Mr. Murphy’s ass. Now that I’ve been with Spencer, I find that I’m not at all interested in it, despite its muscular perfection. Fancy that? “And stop calling me girl; people might get the wrong idea.” “Hey, girl,” Ross calls, giving one of his other friends a little hug. The guy’s huge, too, with a hell of a lot of facial hair. Ross glances back at me as he leads the way down the row of desks to our preferred spots. “Shut your face. You’re fine. Nobody expects it, so they don’t see it. I said it before.” He takes his seat, and I grab mine, watching him warily. The guy does everything with flair. I’d say he was total gay cliché, but I think it’s just part of his natural personality. “You’re not mad that Spencer and I …” Ross glances back at me with a brow raised. “Aren’t you in love with him?” He shrugs his shoulders as the last boy scrambles into class, and Mr. Murphy turns around to survey his students. It hasn’t escaped my attention that I confronted him about Jenica on the last day of school before spring break. He basically ran away from me and slammed a door in my face. Our eyes meet from across the room, but Mr. Murphy just forces one of his stupid smiles on me, and I frown as he gets into today’s lesson. “Spencer was just that sort of elusive bad boy type that I knew I could never have. He was safe to lust after because he could never happen.” Ross looks me over and sighs, shaking his head. “Now, with you … it could definitely happen.” “What could happen?” I whisper, clutching the sides of my desk, my heart thumping wildly away in my chest. Ross looks at me with this sly, cryptic sort of expression that turns into a knowing smirk. “Girl, don’t make me answer a question you already know. My question to you is: what are you going to do with those gorgeous twins of yours?” “The twins? Mine?” I choke out, but I already know I have a bit of a problem here. It’s not just Spencer that I like, but … Micah and Tobias, too. Either I’m just a greedy romance addict or else, there’s something here I need to explore.

Now how the hell do I talk to the guys about that?

The coursework at Adamson Academy is broken into semesters, but during the second half of the last semester, all juniors are required to take a three day health, safety, and home economics seminar. “This is ridiculous,” I murmur as the twins argue over who's going to help me into my apron. Yes, my apron. We're all wearing them, like a sea of glittering 1950s housewives or something. “Based on the number of wrinkled blazers and slacks I see here today,” Mr. Johansen begins, adjusting his coke-bottle glasses as he meanders through the class, “you all are in serious need of learning how to use an iron.” He pauses to give me a look, squinting dramatically. “Particularly you, Mr. Carson.” “Yeah, Mr. Carson,” the twins wheedle, each taking one half of the apron ties and pulling them tight. “Especially you.” “I know how to use an iron,” I grumble as Mark Grandam snorts at his station next to us. “How about a course on learning how to hire good help? My family pays people to do this stuff for us.” Several of the boys snicker, and Church frowns. He's the richest guy in school, too, and if he’s annoyed at the comment, well, that just tells you what a stupid douche-canoe Mark is. Makes me like Church just that much more though. “A man who cannot take care of himself is less than an infant,” Mr. Johansen says, and Spencer grins, flipping Mark off. The football player jock frowns, nostrils flaring, but he doesn't say anything. He knows he'd get his ass kicked by the Student Council if he did. “Prick,” Spencer mumbles, shaking his head and flipping silver hair off his forehead in a way that makes me want to give off this stupidly goofy smile. “Now, with you … it could definitely happen.” Like, what the hell does that mean, Ross?! He is seriously failing me in the gay bestie department. I mean, probably because he still hates me and all that. “Let's beat him up,” Spencer suggests, and the twins grunt in agreement. “I believe a more subtle approach to the situation would be prudent,” Church says, rolling up his sleeves, taking a sip of his coffee and then staring down at the ironing board for a moment like he’s trying to decipher ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

“Oh for crap's sake,” I murmur, pushing him aside and grabbing the iron. I check the tag on the garment we're supposed to be practicing on, fill the iron's reservoir with water, and then turn it to its lowest setting. With my left palm, I smooth out all the wrinkles, and then get to work. I'm finished before Mr. Johansen even starts giving out his idiot-proof instructions to the class. “There. All done. Can we talk about the murder mystery situation now?” “Holy crap, Chuck, that was impressive,” Spencer says, blinking at me. “Are all poor people good at stuff like this?” I just stare at him, one brow twitching. “I swear to god, I'm going to punch you in the balls.” I push my glasses up my nose, noticing the way Ranger's studying Mark. The dark-haired VP of the Student Council is looking at the guy with narrowed sapphire eyes, his mouth in a flat line. “What?” I ask, and he blinks like he's coming to, turning his attention back to me. “Don't you think if you knew about a suicide at school, and your best friend was missing, you'd be … I don't know, a little more despondent?” “Mark is guilty,” the twins say, picking up our list of tasks for the day. The first was to iron the garments on the rack behind us, the second is to bake a cake from scratch (hah, we got that one in the bag) … I grab the list from them because I can't remember what other useless things we're supposed to be doing today. Ah, okay, polishing silver (um, old-fashioned much?), using vinegar and baking soda to clean the dorm bathroom, and … I pause and swallow hard, the lump getting stuck in my throat. “Are you okay, Chuck?” Tobias asks, leaning down to look into my face. He glances from me to the paper in my hand and then points at the line in question. “Is it the practice putting a condom on part that's getting you? Or the STD board games part?” “Let me see that,” Spencer snaps, pulling the paper from my hand and looking down at it. “Oh, shit. There really is a whole sex segment, isn't there? Didn't we already go over this stuff in junior high? It's a little late to go over it now, isn't it?” “Please stop talking,” I whisper as Church whisks away the shirt I just ironed and hangs it up. He places the next garment down in front of me, and I attack it with zeal and vigor. Anything to not talk about condoms. “Just because someone's already had sex, it doesn't mean they can't learn something new about it,” Tobias retorts, and my cheeks flames. I try one last time to pray to the god of opening-

up-dark-holes-to-crawl-into, but my calls once again fall on deaf ears. Clearly, the universe hates me. “Like, maybe tips and tricks for a new partner.” “What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks, and I slam the iron down on the ironing board. All five boys turn to look at me. Ross is supposed to be part of our group, but instead he's sneaking texts with his new online Internet buddy in the corner. “This is exactly why I didn't want anyone to know,” I whisper, exhaling sharply and glancing up and over at the twins and Spencer. “Guys get weird around girls; you all know it. You're supposed to be friends.” I look at Micah and he frowns hard. “We thought Spencer was dead. And yeah, we slept together. I like him. I like you guys, too.” My cheeks flush, and I run my tongue over my lower lip. “But there are more important things than who's sleeping with who. Let's try to remember that.” “You're right,” Tobias says with a heavy sigh, leaning his hip up against the countertop. He and Micah exchange looks. “We're sorry,” they grumble together, crossing their arms over their chests. Spencer flicks his tie over one shoulder and gives me this sort of pouty look. Goddamn it, and I love it, too. “Sorry Chuck,” he says, and Ranger scowls, pushing off the side of the counter with his boot and standing up straight. He whips his blazer off and tosses it over Ross' head. “Let's get this over with, and then decide which creepy asshole we want to stalk today.” Ranger whips mixing bowls out on the counter like an experienced dealer handing out cards at a poker table. “Tobias, Micah, wet ingredients. I'll handle the dry.” “We prefer wet anyway,” they say together, and I blush, pushing the iron into the shirt even harder. “Take care with that,” Church says, reaching around me and putting his long, elegant fingers on the back of my hand. I pause, and my throat gets temporarily tight. Wait, wait, wait, what?! I inhale, and that lilac and rosemary scent fills my nostrils, making me bristle. I am so not crushing on Church, too, am I? That's ridiculous. Totally ridiculous. And then he talks again, and I realize I must've just been imagining it all. “You could use a good grade in this class more than any of us, Mr. Bottom Ten Percent.” “I'm only in the bottom twenty percent now!” I shout, and the whole class goes silent and then starts to snicker as I flush and press the steam button on the side of the iron.

“That's technically the top eighty percent, right?” Spencer asks, grinning at me, and leaning on the counter in front of me. Our eyes meet, but I pull my gaze away to focus on my work. Church is right: I really could use this grade. One mistake here, and Dad really might send me away for good. I’m not ready to say goodbye to Spencer, the twins, or even Ranger and Church just yet. No fucking way.

“Place the condom on the penis, leaving room in the tip for the collection of semen.” “Oh my god, I'm gonna die.” I slap a hand over my mouth and stare down at the cucumber in front of me. Everyone else got a banana, but nooooo, crusty old Mr. Cruschek ran out and took his lemon cucumber out of his lunch box to give me. His lemon cucumber. Those are round, by the way. “It's not even the right shape.” I mumble this from behind my hand because, to be quite frank, my embarrassment levels are off the fucking charts. I'm sitting in a class full of dudes, with a lubed condom in one hand, a tiny round lemon cucumber in front of me, and the gorgeous guys of the Adamson All-Boys Academy Student Council sitting around me. That, and I fucked their sergeant-at-arms just days prior. It's a little much. “Oh come on, Chuck, buck up,” Spencer says, sliding his condom on the fruit much easier than he got it on the other night. He was nervous, too, I think, but looking at the guy, with his tie flipped over one shoulder and his cocky slouch, it's hard to imagine him feeling nervous about anything. “Here.” Spencer unrolls the condom, ties the top, and then dangles it in front of my face. “Keeps the cum inside.” “Gee, thanks for that,” I choke out as he pushes his banana my way. “You can have mine,” he offers, smiling brightly. I glare at him like I'd enjoy stabbing him in the neck with the pair of scissors on Mr. Cruschek's desk. “What's with the look?” “Maybe sh—” Ranger starts and then pauses, face paling considerably. His nostrils flare and he narrows his sapphire eyes on Spencer. “Maybe he doesn't feel comfortable performing sexual acts with the three of you drooling on the opposite side of the table. Is it any wonder Chuck didn't mention … his idiosyncrasies sooner?” Ranger takes my banana, unrolls the

condom along its yellow length, and then hands it back to me. He raises his hand. “Mr. Cruschek, we're all done here.” Our ancient, shambling sex-ed teacher comes our way as Spencer takes a new condom and somehow manages to fit it over the lumpy lemon cucumber shape. “Excellent, excellent,” Mr. Cruschek says, squinting at us. I'm not sure if he could see a condom-wrapped skyscraper if it were two feet in front of his face. “All perfect scores.” He scribbles something down on his iPad, and then looks up sharply when Ross' phone bings from under the table. “Mr. James, are you posting Insta-Chat photos of this online? Sex education is not just a game for social media.” “Huh?” Ross asks, as I swallow down a snort of laughter, folding my hands nicely on the tabletop and then finding my eyes drawn to the side. Church looks bored as hell, one elbow on the table, the fingers of his other hand tracing delicately down the length of his condomwrapped fruit. He smiles and winks when he sees me looking, and I flick my eyes ahead of me to where Micah is eating the damn thing. “You mean Instagram and Snapchat, right?” Ross asks, and Mr. Cruschek snorts, dropping a stack of papers on the table in front of us. “I’m writing you up for insubordination,” he grumbles, shuffling off as Ross gapes and flips him off behind his back. “That old fart probably hasn't been laid in years,” he grumbles, sliding his condom on expertly, and then wrinkling his nose as he wipes his fingers off on a paper towel. “I bet his dick looks less like that lemon cucumber and more like a shriveled pickle.” “Goddamn, Ross, the imagery,” Spencer groans, putting his hands over his ears. “Keep that shit to yourself.” “Sad, but true,” Ross quips, shimmying his shoulders and then standing up and tossing his shiny blond hair. “I'm off to the little gay boy's room to ‘shit rainbows’.” He sneers this last part at Spencer who returns the gesture by flipping him off. “If you'll excuse me a moment.” Ross takes off, sashaying down the aisle. Mark Grandam scowls as he passes and Ross blows him a kiss. “I'm sensing serious homophobia vibes from that guy,” I grumble, and Tobias snorts, ruffling up his red-orange hair with his fingers. The way it falls across his forehead makes me feels sort

of … melt-y inside. Yeah, melt-y, sorry I'm not more poetic, okay? You’re not seriously doing this are you, crushing on the twins when you’ve got a thing with Spencer? But yeah, I am. I’m doing it. Ugh. “I'm sensing serious murder vibes,” Micah grumbles around his banana, turning around to look at Mark. He raises a hand in greeting and then lifts his eyebrows when Mark sneers and turns away. “Huh. He's certainly copping a much bigger attitude than he used to.” Micah turns back to the group. “Let's kick the shit out of him.” “No, no more bullying,” I mumble as I push the lubed up banana way from me. “Subtlety is the name of our game.” We all pause as the door opens and Mr. Murphy walks in, his usual smile in place. I swear to god his eyes flick over to mine before he turns away. I expected some weirdness between us after the Jenica thing, but he's been his usual chipper self. It's suspicious as hell. “Let's stalk him after class,” I murmur, and Church makes a tsk-tsk sound under his breath. “After Culinary Club,” he corrects, and I roll my eyes. “How could I possibly forget. What are we making today: funeral brownies? Murder cookies? Noose pretzels with mustard dipping sauce?” “That's not a terrible idea,” Church agrees, still smiling, and then he reaches out to grab one of the papers. “Now, what should we make our board game about: herpes or chlamydia?” “Spencer has both: ask him,” the twins point at their friend, and my eyes widen. “I do not,” he snaps, slapping their hands away. I notice Mr. Murphy watching us. As soon as he sees me looking his way, he turns back to Mr. Cruschek, but there it was, a glint of fear in his eyes. Maybe he knows we're onto him? “If you do, I'll cut your balls off,” I murmur, licking my lower lip and watching as Mr. Murphy exits the classroom. Oh yeah, that guy is suspicious as fuck. Nobody's that nice in real life. No fucking way. We start on our project, creating this stupidly simple board game that highlights the dangers of herpes. It's real, um, enlightening. It takes the rest of the day to finish, breaking for lunch in the middle.

Afterward, on our way out of the classroom, I feel Spencer step up close behind me. He slides his fingers in my back pocket and leans in, his breath stirring my hair. “For later,” he whispers, and when I reach back to see what he's done, I find several condoms in my pants. My cheeks heat up, and I swallow hard. But we're not the only ones stealing condoms. “Now where on earth did I put the rest of these?” Mr. Cruschek is murmuring, shaking out an empty Trojan box. Oops? “For later, my ass,” I grumble, and Spencer grins at me. “If that's where you want it …” he says, and I smack him. Hard. But he's muscular, and sexy, and it feels too good to be a punishment. Damn it. I really do like the guy, don't I?

After class, we gather in the kitchen for Culinary Club, and I actually have to hide my head in the pantry for a brief moment to hide a few happy tears. I never thought I'd get to see another day like this ever again, with Spencer sitting on the edge of one of the countertops and sticking his finger in Ranger's frosting (sounds dirtier than it is), and hearing Spencer's sweet bloodcurdling scream as Ranger stabs him with a fork and he bleeds all over said frosting. Pure bliss. Afterward, as we file out of the room, Spencer pens me in next to the door. “What are you doing?” I ask, turning and catching his beautiful turquoise gaze. My heart thunders, but I manage to hold my composure. “Remember what I said yesterday? We're talking, Chuck. Whether you like it or not.” He pauses, licks his lips, and glances away. I turn and find the twins in the window, watching us. Great. A captive audience. A captive audience made up of super-hot identical twins, the gorgeous golden boy president, and his tatted up VP. “Even if you just want to be friends,” Spencer continues, turning back to look at me again. The intensity in his eyes is staggering, like a tropical storm, one that I want to strip naked for and dance in the rain. Shit. “That's okay. Just … tell me.”

“What are the alternatives?” I ask, because I hadn't really let myself get that far. Frankly, I'm still recovering from his near-death experience. “Be my … boyfriend,” Spencer says, flashing that fox grin of his. He leans in toward me, like he did that day when he pinned me against the tree and kissed the shit out of me. His lips trace along the side of my neck, and I shiver. My eyes close of their own accord. “I know I'm a bit of a dick, but give me a chance, Chuck.” “You tried to beat me up,” I murmur, and Spencer grins. “Don't lie: I saw that bully romance book in your room. Who doesn't love a good enemies-tolovers romance? Besides, you had it coming, you dickhead.” “Screw you,” I murmur back, flushing from head to toe. A new boyfriend, huh? Dad would hate that. I honestly don't care. “Spencer,” I start, and then the door swings inward. “Guys, you need to see this,” Ranger whispers, and Spencer and I exchange a look before following them out into the hallway. There's another note from Adam, taped to my locker (my original locker that I just recently got back because, you know, student council connections and all). It's written in purple ink, just like all the others.

Dear Eve, That death was no suicide. We both know that should've been you hanging in that tree. Run, run, as fast as you can. Love, Adam

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” I choke out as Ranger snatches the note from me and reads it, his teeth clenched, his hand tightening into a fist and wrinkling the edge of the paper. “This is such bullshit.” He looks up and over at Church. “Can't we pay some independent forensic lab to test this shit? There must be fingerprints or fibers or something they could use to figure out who wrote this.”

“That's not a terrible idea,” Church says as Spencer gapes at the note. “These are the sort of notes you've been getting?” he asks, raking his fingers through his silver hair. “Who the hell is this sick fuck?” A dark look flashes over his face, and I imagine that if he knew, the whole 'let's beat him up' mantra that the boys are always calling out would ring very, very true. “This is the fourth one,” I admit, gritting my teeth. “But they're getting worse, more violent. Do you think I should show it to my dad?” “That's up to you,” Ranger says, frowning hard. This little crease appears between his dark brows, and I have to resist the urge to reach out with my thumb and smooth it away. “But this scares me. I'm worried about you, Char—lie.” I smile. He almost called me Charlotte again. “I've got you guys; I'm not afraid.” I stuff my fingers in the pockets and brush the condoms, lips twitching. “But maybe you should be?” Ranger begins, his eyes far away again. The twins exchange a look as Church plucks the paper from his best friend's fingers. “I'll send this to my parents' head of security. Surely he can do something with it.” “Are you sure this is what you want?” Ranger asks, giving his president a hard look. “Positive.” Church pockets the note just as Eddie the janitor and Nathan the night watchman come around the corner. Neither of them look particularly happy to see us. “The school board wants the halls clear after seven. You’re gonna have to take your powwow elsewhere.” Nathan sniffs and reaches up to rub at his nose. His beard has what looks suspiciously like Cheeto crumbs in it, and he smells like a vat of Mountain Dew. My eyes narrow. The guy really isn’t all that old, is he? How did he even get this job? He’s useless. “Do you enjoy shuffling around campus, stealing the students’ food, and generally being an inept, inadequate fool?” Church asks, straightening the lapels on his navy academy blazer. “Instead of harassing the Culinary Club—we have a late-night permit for this building, by the way—perhaps you could do better ensuring students don’t die on your watch.” Nathan frowns heavily and his nostrils flare with anger, but I doubt he’s got the backbone to stand up to Church Montague. The guy is terrifying, although I’m convinced now that he’s much deeper and more nuanced than he first appears. His emotions in the woods proved as much. You can’t fake that level of feeling; it was gut-wrenching to even watch.

My eyes shift over to Eddie, this lanky middle-aged guy with a crisp, clean uniform and perfectly combed hair, gelled over, has hands rough and spattered in white paint. He's as plain as they come, but everybody's a suspect in my mind. “Now, if you'll excuse us,” Church continues, and then he takes off down the hall and the rest of us follow. “Has he always been like this?” I whisper to Ranger, leaning in and smelling that sugar and leather scent of his. My skin ripples with goose bumps, but I ignore the feeling, tucking my hands into my pockets to hide my reaction. “Since we were six years old,” he says with a sigh, but I notice his mouth twitches slightly, like he's fighting off a smile. Church takes us down the hall and just happens to pass by Mr. Murphy's office, slowing slightly. He peers into the window for a moment, and then glances down the long, stone hallways. I'm still not quite used to the history and grandeur of the place. The west coast is like, baby America. The oldest shit we have is a hundred years old. But over here, a lot of the buildings are older than the country itself. It's nothing, maybe, when compared to Europe or Africa, but it's impressive as hell to this Cali girl. “Micah, Tobias, do you have a key to this office?” “Not this one, Mr. President,” they say in unison, and then exchange a look. “But we could get one,” Tobias says. “Maybe,” Micah adds. “Teacher's lounge would be a good place to skim keys,” Spencer muses, glancing over at me. “Like, say, if someone were to have a father who was in the lounge …” “Wait, you want me to steal the keys?!” I choke out, and then Ranger's hand slides over to cover my mouth. His skin is warm, his palm dry, and even though I quickly slap his hand away, I liked the feeling of it. Not covering my mouth, exactly, but just … his touch, I guess. “Mr. Murphy,” Church greets as the teacher in question comes around the corner and gives our group a bit of a skeptical look, his smile slipping just a tad. “How are you this evening?” “Trying to maintain positivity in the face of our academy's loss,” he says, and I can't tell if he's like, secretly evil and full of shit, or genuine as fuck. “Understandable. Actually, that's what we're here about. Ranger here,” Church gestures over his shoulder and Ranger narrows those dark eyes of his. “Has been having trouble coping. He,

well,” Church splays his fingers on his chest and gives Mr. Murphy this fresh-faced, dewy-eyed look that makes me narrow my own eyes in suspicion, “has been too shy to ask: do you mind if he came in your office to talk for a little while?” “I …” Mr. Murphy begins, and then exhales sharply. “I understand you might be hurting, Mr. Woodruff, but I'd like to direct your concerns to the school counselor—” “I want to talk to you,” Ranger says, giving Church a sidelong look that says I'm going to fucking kill you later. “You knew Jenica. You were friends.” “Well, I can't—” Mr. Murphy begins again, a bit of sweat beading on his brow. “I can't talk about your sister, but I suppose if you wanted to just sit and chat for a moment …” “I do.” Ranger steps up next to Mr. Murphy, and we all watch as they head inside, and he carefully draws the shades and locks the door behind them. “We didn't just send him in there to get killed, did we?” Micah asks, leaning back against the lockers. “Not so blatantly, no,” Church says, and then pauses as Nathan makes his way back down the hall. This time, the night watchman simply moves past us without a word, Church's amber eyes tracking his movements. The rest of us wait quietly while Spencer digs around in his bookbag and pulls out a box with a new phone inside, powering it on and setting it up while we stand there. It doesn't occur to me to be concerned about anything until I feel his eyes boring into me. “What?” I ask, and he grins at me like a shark that's just smelled blood in the water. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “Oh, Chucklet,” Spencer says, and then he moves over, captures my chin in his fingers and kisses the ever-living hell out of me. There's something different about this kiss, less vicious, more … tender. There's some of that same tenderness in it that I saw in his face that day in the hall. I shove him back and he laughs, flashing me his phone screen and all those embarrassing messages I sent when I thought he was dead. I think we could've fallen in love is just one example. My face goes white, and I sputter as he chuckles and reads down the list, but then the door opens and Ranger steps out. His jaw is tight, his eyes like flint. “Let's go,” he barks, taking off down the hall in his combat boots. He doesn't stop until we're standing in front of the boys' dormitory.

“What's wrong?” Church asks as Ranger turns around, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a purple Sharpie. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“A purple Sharpie doesn't exactly pinpoint Mr. Murphy as the killer,” Tobias says the next morning, sitting on the J. Woodruff memorial bench outside the girls' dorm. I haven't been here in a while, and I miss it. This is, like, my place. But right now, with all this shit going on? I'd have to be fucking crazy to come here by myself. “No, but it's something,” Ranger says, playing with the pen. “It was just sitting there on the edge of his desk, like he'd used it recently.” “This is far-reaching as fuck,” Spencer says, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Mr. Murphy isn't a killer. Do you remember freshman year when he rescued a baby deer and nursed it back to health? That's like fucking Mother Theresa type shit.” “The ink on the notes is purple; the pen is purple. There's a picture of Jenica snuggling up to this asshole, and when Chuck confronted him, he lost his fucking shit.” Ranger pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. “We need to get into his office. I think Chuck should try the teacher's lounge thing, nab us some keys.” “If he did write the notes, do you think he'd really leave the pen just sitting there on his desk when you waltzed in?” Spencer asks, but I notice that Church is unbelievably quiet, buried deep in thought. He's staring up at the girls' dorm with a contemplative expression. “How stupid would he have to be?” “I still think we should keep an eye on him,” Micah grumbles, putting his chin in his hand. His eyes find mine, and I feel this shiver go through me. When he kissed me on the hood of his car, I felt something. It's confusing as hell. I like Spencer. I … really like Spencer. But I also like the twins. “Add him to the list,” Tobias says with a sigh, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Mr. Johansen, Mr. Cruschek, Jeff Rabot, Nathan, Eddie, Mr. Murphy. Fuck, why don't we just get surveillance on the whole school?”

“I tried, but the school board blocked my request for a private security team,” Church says finally, glancing over at us. “We'll have to work this ourselves for a while. I'm still leaning toward the boys' club angle.” “And yet that doesn't explain Eugene's death,” Ranger retorts, spiking up his inky hair with his hand. His fingernails are painted black, and even though back home, I probably would've made fun of him for that … I sort of like it now. I bite my lower lip. “Unless Eugene was just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Like maybe he saw something he shouldn't have?” Church glances my way. “Why not just bribe him some other way?” he asks, and I shrug my shoulders. “How? With money, which he already has? Quarterback of the football team? Check. Eugene wasn't bad looking, and he was fit as hell. Add in the money aspect, and I'm sure he had no problem getting girls. What could possibly get him to stay quiet?” “Not bad looking?” Spencer asks, but I ignore him, rolling with this idea and feeling super clever about it, too. “And,” I stand up from the bench and spin, my feet stirring the gravel. The wind blows, tousling the messy mat of blond on my head. I push my glasses up with a single finger. “If they left him alive, there'd always be this loose thread, this possibility of seeing everything fall apart. The killers would never be able to rest easy.” “Yeah, but what could he have possibly seen out there in the woods? Some assholes in hoodies putting a rope in a tree? One good lie could explain that all away. Until Eugene's death, they hadn't exactly gone so far they couldn't come back from what they'd done. A knife chase, some notes, so what?” Tobias shrugs his shoulders. “I think something else is going on, something we're not getting.” “Whatever it is, we have to start somewhere,” Micah says, nodding his head briskly. “One lead at a time. If you want to start with Mr. Murphy, fine. Let's do it.” “Great. Now all I need to do is come up with a plausible reason to visit Dad in the teacher's lounge. That'll be fun.” I roll my eyes, but Spencer's grinning broadly and snapping his fingers, like he's already figured it out. “Tell him about us, you know, dating and all that.”

“I never agreed to date,” I murmur, flushing bright. But … why not? What's stopping me here? I glance briefly at the twins and find them both staring at me. Their words ring in my head: we only share with each other. Yeah. No reverse harem ending for me. “But okay.” I exhale, and Spencer grins wide. “Yeah?” he asks, and I shrug my shoulders. “Why not?” He makes a whooping sound and a fist pump as the twins exchange a look. When he leaps off the bench and wraps his arms around me, I put my own around his neck, close my eyes, and remember that sweet, sweet moment when I woke up to find him climbing into bed with me. For the rest of my life, I'll never forget that joy. So … Spencer Hargrove is my new boyfriend. And I just have to say, what a huge improvement over the old one. Fuck you, Cody.

God, this is never going to work, I think as I stand outside the teachers' lounge. The door is locked, so I have to wait for one of the staff to come by and open it. Just so happens it's Mr. Murphy. Great. He stares at me, and I stare right back. “Is my dad in there perchance?” I ask, pointing at the door. Mr. Murphy glances that way, and then back at me. “Let's find out,” he says, pulling out his keys. The keys I came here to steal. He unlocks the door and then opens it, standing to one side with his back against it, so I can look in and see my dad sitting at a table with a bunch of stuffy old academy professors. Deep breath, Charlotte, try to be cool. I am so not good at this.

Instead of calling out to my dad, I step into the room and head straight for him. Mr. Murphy makes a small sound, but I ignore him, laser-focused on my father. Right, and how am I supposed to get Mr. Murphy's keys from him when they're in his fucking pocket? “Charlotte,” Dad says, standing up from his seat. “You're not supposed to be in here.” “Yeah, but … we need to talk,” I say, hating every second of this. Am I seriously just going to blurt out that I'm dating Spencer? Dad's going to look at me like I'm nuts. He's going to wonder why I felt the need to come here and spit that out. My mind scrambles for another plan, but instead, Dad puts a heavy hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze, his face taking on this dark quality that scares the crap out of me. “Come with me,” he says, leading me toward the door and right past the coffee station where Mr. Murphy's making himself a cup. Great. We end up in the hallway, this heavy awkwardness hanging between us in a shroud. “I agree that we need to have a chat. Have dinner with me tonight at seven?” “I … okay,” I start, blinking to clear my head. “Is Mom okay?” “Mom is fine,” he says, looking at me with this weird mix of sadness and tenderness. It's odd, that expression, one I've never seen before. “Don't be late, okay?” he pats me on the head— totally out of character move for him, by the way—and then turns, only to realize the lounge door has shut and locked itself in the meantime. Then Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a huge, bulky skeleton key. Oh. Well, duh. I almost facepalm, but then I realize I'm standing in a hall full of students who already think I'm a weirdo and dislike me immensely. Right. “See you at seven, Chuck,” Dad says, and then disappears into the room. Well, then. I guess I have an alternate plan, don't I?

Dad calls me down for dinner that night, and I find myself greeted with a spread worthy of Thanksgiving. We don't eat this nice on my birthday. My brows raise in suspicion, but I take a seat at the table, wondering what the announcement's going to be this time. The time before last that Dad surprised me with a dinner of all my favorite foods, he told me that he and Mom were getting a divorce. The next time, it was to tell me that Mom was going into rehab. This time … I can't even imagine. “What's going on?” I ask as he sits down, his face and mannerisms somber. Archibald Carson unfolds a cloth napkin on his lap (who the hell uses cloth napkins in their own home anyway?), and then pushes his glasses up the long, wide bridge of his nose. “I've been thinking hard on some things lately.” He sighs dramatically and lifts his blue eyes from his plate to my face. “Namely, that what's best for you is not necessarily what's best for me.” “O…kay,” I start, narrowing my eyes as I serve myself a piece of tri-tip. Seriously my favorite cut of meat; apparently it used to be called the Santa Maria steak as it was so popular in central California. Guess I’m a California girl through and through, huh? “What the hell does that mean?”

“I want you to understand that none of this your fault,” Dad continues, and I sigh, setting my fork down. This is almost word for word what he said to me the day he told me Mom was leaving. “But I don't feel it's safe for you here.” “Why?” I ask dryly, leaning back in my chair. “Because of the 'suicide'?” I make little quotes with my fingers as Dad stares me down, slipping from dad-mode to headmaster-mode, just like that. “Among other things. I've decided to send you back to California.” My jaw drops open, and my heart cracks in half. Okay, so maybe I’m not quite as attached to the state as I thought. “No!” The words explodes from me as I stand up, knocking my fork to the floor, bits of food scattering everywhere. “Why? I already told you that I don't want to go back there. Didn't you hear what I said about Monica and Cody—” “Please, Charlotte, stop for a moment and listen to me.” “I don't want to listen. I told you that I want to stay here. Are you doing this on purpose to torture me?” The thought of going back to California now, after getting Spencer back. After … you know, with Spencer. It's too much. And then there are the keys, and Mr. Murphy’s pen, and Eugene, and the mystery Adam sending me notes … “I'm doing this because I love you,” Dad says, and my cheeks flame. We're not very open with each other, and we rarely hug or use the L-word. I think I'm developing serious intimacy issues. “But, believe it or not, I do also understand what it's like to be a teenager, and I don't want to pressure you into a situation where you'll be miserable.” “No matter what options you give me, if it involves me leaving Adamson, I will be miserable.” My hands curl into fists on the surface of the table as I stare Dad down. Now it all makes sense, him being nice all week. Figures. “Your mother is out of rehab and doing well. She even managed to get a job, and an apartment.” “She's out, and she didn't call me?” I ask, frowning hard. A shard of ice stabs through my heart, but I push the feeling aside. Why should I be surprised about that? My mom and I haven't been close in … well, ever. “She's been working on getting a life together, so she had something to call you about,” Dad continues, always taking her side. It's beyond frustrating, but at this point, I'm used to it. “I've

already spoken with her, and she wants you to move in. You can tour a few schools we’ve picked out, and select the one that seems the best fit.” My mouth is pursed so tight it hurts, and I'm shaking. “Or?” I ask, because I can see that I'm being given 'options' here. “You can move in with your Aunt Elisa, and go back to Santa Cruz High.” “Great.” I slump back into my chair, closing my eyes against the overwhelming fury and frustration. How ironic is this, getting what I asked for all along, but only when I no longer want it? Life’s a bitch. “Los Angeles with a Mom that doesn't care enough to call, or Santa Cruz with my cheating ex, and the best friend that was sleeping with him. Wonderful options.” “Charlotte, sarcasm isn't going to help your situation. I'm giving you another week to say your goodbyes, and make your choice. Try to act like an adult, and really think this over.” “I don't need time to think; I'm staying here.” “Unfortunately, no, you're not.” Dad levels his gaze on me, mouth in a flat line, glasses catching the light of the flickering flames of the candelabra. “Now, please sit down and eat the nice meal I made you.” “Sorry, but I have adult choices to make,” I spit, storming over to the front door and grabbing my jacket. Dad follows after me, but even his commands to come back don't stop me from taking off down the path by myself. Fortunately, the astronomy club happens to be outside in the field, gazing up at the stars. If I screamed, they'd hear me. So, luckily for me, I make it back to the boys' dormitory alive this time—and without being chased by a guy with a knife. Lucky. I text Dad a pic of the sign depicting the dormitory rules with the words alive, no worries. And then I head up the stairs to Spencer's room, lifting my fist to knock. Nobody answers, and I frown, moving over to the twins' room instead. Nothing. “They're not here,” Church says, appearing in the doorway to what's supposed to be Spencer's room. He smiles at me and then moves back inside, clearly waiting for me to follow. I do, and find myself in a room much like the others, but with more homey touches than I would've guessed. He has ridiculous signs everywhere, the kind that housewives and authors are obsessed with that say shit like It’s Coffee O’clock and But First … Coffee. The dude seriously has a problem.

“Where are they?” I ask as Church gestures to the extra bed, and I take a seat on it. Everything is meticulous in here, crisp and clean, and well-organized. There's an entire shelf of fantasy novels and manga, and a whole wall covered in pictures of faraway places. Church sits down on his own bed and crosses his long legs. It's easy to see why they put his face on all the brochures. He really is quite pretty to look at, with that shiny honey hair paired with bright, amber eyes, and a smile that turns serious wattage. He’s using it on me now, and it’s working. My mouth twitches. “Dinner.” Just that one word, said with a flash of cocksure smirk. He’s got the prince of the school act down pat. “And you didn't want to go with them?” “I had an inkling you might stop by,” he says, studying me carefully. “Your father approached me today to see if the Culinary Club might be interested in throwing you a going away party.” My face pales, and I slump back against the wall with a sigh. “Have you told anyone else yet?” I ask, and Church very gently shakes his head no. “Why not?” “Isn't that why you're here in the first place?” he asks me, reaching over to grab a blended coffee drink off the nightstand. He sips it while staring at me. “Yeah, pretty much.” My voice sounds soggy and low. It's depressing to hear. “I don't want to go back to California.” “You want to stay with Spencer,” Church guesses, but there's no question mark at the end of his sentence. He knows that I do. “And the twins, more than likely.” For a second there, I wonder if he’s going to add something else. He doesn’t. It’s like he’s searching for information and holding back at the same time, I don’t get it. “Have you ever had a crush on more than one person at a time?” I ask, and Church just smiles at me. “No.” There's a long pause before he stands up and moves over to a red mini-fridge that's plugged in at the end of the bed I'm sitting on. It's got a nice, glossy finish, and this vintage look that makes it seem so charming. Church opens it and folds his long body in half to peer inside.

“What would you like to drink? I have coffee, coffee, or coffee.” He lifts his head up to look at me, and flashes a huge, blinding sort of smile. “Mocha? Vanilla latte? A caramel chocolate thing that looks absolutely heart-stopping.” “What you have is more than an interest, it’s an addiction,” I tell him, but then I smile a little, too. I'll never forget the way he looked in the woods that day, when he thought he'd first lost one friend then the other. There was a depth to the Student Council president that surprised me. He feels emotion on a whole other level. Makes me want to be a better person, to be honest. If I were, would I understand him better? “But I'll take the caramel-chocolate thing.” “That'd be my choice, too,” Church says, standing up and reaching out to hand me the can. He drops it into my palm, making sure our fingers don't touch. I take note of that. He sits back down on his own bed as I crack the top on my drink and take a sip. “Holy shit, that goes down smooth,” I murmur, and Church smirks. “Is that what you told Spencer?” he asks, and I roll my eyes. “I didn't suck his dick.” “Not yet.” I narrow my eyes on Church Montague, but he just sits there, all casual and sprawled, like he owns the place. Hell, maybe he does? I have no idea. But I'm pretty sure the Montagues are the richest family to have a student at this school. “Tell me about your parents,” I start, and he shakes his head. “Tell me what you're going to say to Spencer. He won't be happy about this.” “He won't be happy?” I ask, leaning forward. “I'm not happy about it. Did you try to argue with Archie?” I'm not sure why I even ask that. It just seems that Church has been arguing on my behalf with my dad for a while. Maybe that's his thing, just what he does as the leader of this little crew? “I asked the headmaster if he couldn't be persuaded otherwise.” Church takes a noisy sip from his straw, eyes leveled on me. The intensity of his stare is unnerving; it makes me squirm. “Even a bribe didn't work. He threatened me with detention. Me. A Montague. Can you believe that?” “Oh, the audacity,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But really, you tried to bribe him?”

“Works with most people,” Church says, and then sighs. “But then, I'm sure the school board picked your father as headmaster for a reason. It isn't easy to find someone who can control an entire population of rich, spoiled brats without succumbing to a little bribery in the process.” “So at least you can admit it, that you're a rich, spoiled brat?” “I didn't mean me,” Church continues, cocking a honeyed brow and setting his drink aside. “I meant everyone else.” He smiles again, like he really expects me to find his joke funny. I stand up and put my hands on my hips. “You don't think you're a spoiled brat?” I ask, sipping my coffee. It really is heart-stoppingly good. I turn the can around and study the label, discovering that it's a locally produced product from two towns over. Nice. “Do you?” Church retorts, and I pause. He has a point there. “If I were a spoiled brat, don't you think I'd be able to convince my father not to ship me across the country? He basically tricked me to get me here, and now that I finally want to stay, he's forcing me to leave again?” “He cares about you,” Church says, with this little hint of understanding in his voice. My brows go up, and I step forward to put my can on the nightstand, tripping on a pair of slippers that are tucked halfway under the bed. I go sprawling, but Church reaches up and catches the can of coffee in one hand, managing to keep it from spilling as I tumble into him. We end up front to front on his bed, the can held out to one side, our lips precariously close. Not a split-second later, the door opens and there's Spencer with a key in his hand, and wide, wide eyes. “What in the ever-loving fuck?!” he shouts, storming into the room and snatching the can of coffee from Church's outstretched hand. He sets it aside and tosses the keys on the opposite bed. “Alright, get up, Montague. I'm kicking your ass.” “Spencer,” I groan, pushing up to my feet and turning to face him. He steps forward suddenly and cups my face in his hands, leaning in and kissing me so deeply that my toes curl and my mind goes completely blank but for him. Where am I? What am I doing? The only thing that seems to matter in that moment is that this boy is touching me, kissing me, making me dream of things I never allowed myself before.

Remember how I said I didn't believe in true love? I mean, we're not there yet, but I could easily see how it could happen. Spencer makes me feel … different, like I’m made of bubbles, fragile but free. I could float anywhere. He steps back and exhales, giving Church a dark look, one that reminds me of the way he stared at me that first night in the forest, when he pinned me to a tree by my neck. Glad we're way past that now. “Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Church sits up and grabs his mocha frap-whatever, taking a sip before he bothers to answer. “Why don't you ask Charlotte? She's the one that tripped and fell.” “Right.” Spencer rolls his eyes. “She just happened to trip and fall on top of you?” “You think we'd be doing anything else?” I ask, and that mollifies him a bit. Spencer takes a sip from my coffee and sighs. “Sorry, it's been a week.” He studies me with his turquoise eyes, and I flush. Looking at him like this, all I can think about is the way he moved above me, inside of me. I bite my lip and glance away. I'm going to miss him. I'm sure he'll move on from me. “What are you doing over here anyway?” Spencer asks, tucking one hand into the pocket of his navy blue slacks. He looks good in the Adamson All-Boys Academy uniform; they all do. “My dad is sending me back to California at the end of the week,” I whisper, and Spencer's eyes go wide. “I've got until Friday to decide where I want to go: Los Angeles with my mom or Santa Cruz with my aunt.” “No.” Spencer turns on his heel and storms off. Church and I exchange a quick glance before I take off after him. “Where do you think you're going?” I ask, grabbing onto the sleeve of his blue blazer, the blue and red stripes on his arm denoting his position in the Student Council, as well as his job as the sergeant-of-arms. How ironic, isn't it, that the student who's supposed to be in charge of policing the academy is actually the one selling weed on campus? “To talk to the headmaster,” he says, but I keep my grip on his arm and stop him from going down the stairs. The twins and Ranger are on their way up, and they pause beside us, taking in Spencer's angry expression.

“What's going on now?” Ranger asks, studying us both with those sapphire eyes of his, the matching blue streak in his ebon hair catching the light. “Chuck is going back to California,” Spencer snaps, frowning hard. His breath is coming in, harsh, angry pants. He's clearly upset, and so am I. I'm not stupid; I know how high school relationships work. If I leave, Spencer will move on. I'll never get to see how far this goes or where we might take it. I just lost my virginity to the guy. Don't I deserve a chance to explore things with him? “What? Why?” the twins asks in unison, exchanging a look before turning back to me. “You can't go back now.” “That's what I told the headmaster,” I snap, because my dad's always been just a little bit more teacher than he is father. “But he doesn't seem inclined to listen to me.” “Maybe it's best,” Ranger says, pausing with his right hand on the newel post. He looks up to see Spencer gaping at him. “What? Don't look at me like that. I mean, we knew things were dangerous when all that shit happened at the Valentine's Day party, but come on. Someone died. Eugene is dead. Whoever it is that's fucking with us is playing for keeps, and Charlotte is clearly a target. Don't you want her to be safe?” “You want my dad to send me away?” I choke. I mean, I knew that Ranger and I weren't the closest of friends, but come on! I thought we'd bonded more than that. “So you don't end up hanging from a tree limb in the woods? Sure.” Ranger takes the last step and pauses next to us on the landing. “Do you want Charlotte to get hurt, Spence?” “It's Chuck,” I murmur, looking around to make sure none of the other students are on their way out of their rooms. “Sorry.” Ranger grimaces, looking at me with that dark, scary expression of his. Hard to take him seriously though after seeing him baking shit naked, dressed only in his grandmother's apron. “Chuck.” “Or Charlie. My grandfather's name was Charlie.” I pause and chew on my lower lip, glancing over to find Micah and Tobias staring at me. “I don't want to go back. I'm not afraid of whoever these assholes are.” “No, but maybe you should be?” Ranger suggests, moving past us and storming toward his room like he’s pissed all the way off. Church watches him go, leaning in the doorway to his own room.

“Do you want us to talk to the headmaster?” the twins ask as I glance back at them. Tobias is clearly upset; Micah looks resigned but furious. Even though I'm still upset about the whole situation, it's nice to see that they care. “We can be quite persuasive, when we want to be.” They both lift their arms up to the sides in a well-coordinated gesture. “As much as I appreciate the offer—” I start, and Spencer cuts me off. “We'll all go talk to him together, plead your case,” he announces, straightening out his blazer and pulling his tie from over his shoulder so that it hangs straight. I've noticed he often tucks it back like that, as if it gets in his way. “I mean, the police ruled Eugene's death a suicide, right? So why still send you away?” “Unless the headmaster knows something we don't,” Church suggests, still lounging in the doorway to his room. He lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug, and then smiles. It's enigmatic, that expression, and it makes me wonder if my dad isn't the only one who knows more than he's letting on.

“I've written a letter explaining all the reasons why I shouldn't have to leave Adamson,” I say later that night, presenting the carefully handwritten note to my father. To his credit, he does take it, pull his glasses out of his front pocket, and start reading. Thank fuck I managed to convince the Student Council—Spencer in particular—to stay out of this. If Dad’s already threatened Church with detention for haggling on my behalf, bringing the whole crew in here won’t do me any good. Archibald Carson is a stubborn son of a bitch. My heart soars when he looks up and smiles at me. But then I realize that there's a sort of patronizing air to the expression, and I frown. “I'm really proud of you, Charlotte,” he says, and I cock a brow. There's a 'but' coming, I just know it. There's always a 'but' with my father. I wet my lips and shift my feet. Please don't be an ass widget, I plead with the universe, inventing another new insult. Ass widget. Heh. I should make t-shirts. “In the past, you would've thrown a temper tantrum, or insulted me to try to get your way.” “Um, thanks?” I ask, thinking that really his compliment is one of those insults-dressed-ascompliments sort of situations. “So, are you going to at least consider letting me stay?”

Dad keeps smiling, but the expression is tight. Crap. “As much as I appreciate you taking the time to come up with a cohesive argument, I'm afraid my answer is still the same. You can go back to Santa Cruz and finish the year out with your old friends, or you can start fresh in Los Angeles with your mother.” “I already started fresh,” I grind out, trying to keep my temper. Maintaining a calm and even keel has never really been my forte. But I'm trying here, I'm really trying. “Because you got your dream job. You gave me no say in the matter. In fact, you lied to me to get me out here. And now I'm here, and I want to stay, and you're hellbent on sending me away?” “It's not safe here, Charlotte,” Dad finally says, and I cock an eyebrow. “I thought that Eugene and Jenica died by suicide,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. Dad ignores that comment, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the table. “It's not that,” he says with a sigh, but I can't tell if he's lying to me again or if he's just really fucking tired. I guess having a kid commit suicide on your watch doesn't a good headmaster make, huh? I almost feel sorry for him. “Then what is it?” I plead, putting my palms on the table and leaning down. “Do you not want me here? Is that it?” My voice cracks a little, and I realize that even though I haven't admitted it to myself, I'm upset about this part of the equation, too. It's been me and Dad against the world for so long, and now he's just done with me? I just get shipped across the country like an unwanted package? “Of course I want you here,” he says, but he's already standing up and stacking his cutlery on top of his plate. “But circumstances have changed.” “What circumstances?” I demand, following after him into the kitchen. One of the windows is open, letting in a cool spring breeze. It tousles my hair as I make a stand behind my father, waiting until he's done rinsing his plate and sticking it in the dishwasher so that he'll turn around and face me. “You were right all along: you shouldn't have to be the academy's guinea pig. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to the other students. I've gotten numerous complaints about you lashing out.” My mouth drops open. Pretty sure my jaw is just hanging loosely on the bottom of my face. “That, and many students see my treatment of you as blatant favoritism.”

“How so?! You're harder on me than anyone else.” The words just burst from my lips unbidden, but once they're out there, I can't take them back. I wouldn't anyway, considering they're true. That's always been one of my problems with my dad: he's twice as hard on me as any student he’s ever taught. I'm sick of it. “The private room,” he begins, and I step forward. “I'll share with Spencer Hargrove,” I blurt, and Dad sighs. “He doesn't have a roommate anymore.” I lick my lips again, doing my best to control my usually unruly temperature. In all of this, Dad’s never once asked me what I wanted to chat about. He literally doesn’t care. Well, fuck him then, I’m not telling him anything. “Problem solved.” “Not just that. There's the PE situation—” “I'll do PE. I'll just dress down in a stall, and double up on the sports bras. Okay, keep going. Let's figure this out.” I exhale, but Dad isn't smiling. He's clearly not buying what I'm selling. “Charlotte, that's enough.” His tone brooks no argument, but I can't help myself. I follow him into his office. “Keep being honest with me about the problems, and we'll figure out the solutions.” “I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I'm sorry, but my decision is final.” He sits down at his desk, and I feel the urge to scream welling up inside of me. Instead, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and turn around, taking off and slamming his office door behind me. I'm not done just yet, but I know my dad, and he's put up a wall for the night. Tomorrow, I'll try again. As I pass by the kitchen window, I notice that the screen is missing and there's a small stone sitting on the sill. I might not have noticed it if I hadn't stopped to get a glass of water. I reach out and take hold of it, examining the smooth, matte black surface. There's a symbol carved into it, and painted over with red. “What the hell?” I ask, looking up and staring out at the darkness. One of those damn owls hoots again, and I shiver. For a second there, I consider going in and telling my dad about it, but he already wants me to leave. I'm not going to convince him otherwise if I add fuel to the fire. But the stone, and the missing screen, are creepy as hell. It could just be some random prank, but I feel like drawing a penis on the lawn in spray paint or something would be more high school dude appropriate. Putting a creepy stone with a weird symbol on somebody's windowsill?

That's next level fucked-up. I shut the window, lock it, and then text the guys. This is too weird to be a coincidence. Something strange is happening at Adamson, and I get the awful feeling that as much as I want to stay … maybe Ranger’s right about me leaving? I’m being hunted here. I can feel it.

“This isn't paint, it's wax,” Micah remarks, rubbing his thumb over the symbol carved in the stone. He picks at it with his fingernail and it comes up in little curls. “Yep, definitely wax.” He hands it over to Tobias, so he can take his own turn examining it. “Wax?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair. It's so curly and knotted and gross right now. I meant to get up early and shower, but I slept in and ended up waking up to Dad throwing my covers on the floor and barking orders. So unpleasant. Spencer is staring at me like I'm something out of a horror movie. I narrow my eyes on him and push my glasses up my nose. “What?” I snap, as Tobias passes the stone to Ranger next. “You've been staring at me all morning.” “Can you even see out of those glasses?” he asks, leaning forward and snatching them from my face. “They're literally coated in fingerprints and spatters of god-knows-what.” He starts cleaning them off on his shirt as I frown. “And have you ever heard of a hairbrush? They were invented in 1602, you know.” “First off, you totally made up that number. That's not at all accurate. And also, fuck you.” I let Spencer clean my glasses and then snatch them back, shoving them on my face and trying not to marvel at how much better it actually is to have them clean.

“Even in that oversized uniform with the rat's nest hair, and the dirty glasses, you've given him a hard-on.” Church points at Spencer matter-of-factly before taking the stone in his hand. “He literally got a boner the first second he saw you.” “I did not,” Spencer scoffs, looking around for any lurking staff members before he lights up a joint. “Blatant lie.” “Then stand up and let me see,” I retort, taking the joint from him and inhaling. I end up coughing like crazy, and Spencer laughs at me. “Noob,” he murmurs, and I narrow my eyes. “Boner wizard,” I retort, and Spencer howls with laughter. Even the twins chuckle. Ranger seems a little freaked-out by the stone, and Church is too busy turning it over in his longfingered hands. “Boner wizard sounds pretty cool, actually. I'll take it. Sounds like a compliment to me. Thanks, toilet brush.” I lunge over at him and end up in his lap, shoving his book bag onto the floor and then pointing at the bulge in his academy-issued slacks. “The truth comes out,” I say, my face a scant three inches from his. It's too much, that scent of his, this woody cedar and lotus blend that makes my mouth water. I might have to ask what cologne he wears because I'm totally buying some and spraying my pillow with it. I mean, not because Spencer wears it or anything … I just like the smell. Yep, that's all there is to it. “You really want the truth to come out?” he teases, raising a dark brow. The seductive curve of his mouth does all sorts of horrible things to me, and I shiver. When I go to beat a hasty retreat however, he grabs on and holds me there, pressing his mouth hard against mine. Heat races through me, and I shiver. There's something about the taste of this boy's mouth … “Aww, look, Spencer's gone gay,” a passing student says, and his friends snicker. “But seriously man, there are way hotter guys here if you want a taste.” The dude grabs his junk and Spencer flips him off, grabbing onto the back of my head to stop me from ending our kiss. Part of me is embarrassed to be seen smacking lips with Spencer Hargrove, and the other half … loves it.

“Come on, man,” Tobias grumbles, and we pull apart. Our eyes meet, and a shiver travels through me that has nothing to do with the weather. I glance over and find the twins watching us. Micah smirks, like he's scented a challenge, while Tobias frowns. “This symbol looks so familiar,” Ranger grumbles as Church takes a picture with his phone and does a reverse image search. He narrows his eyes as he scrolls through photos. “I swear I've seen it somewhere before.” Ranger reaches up and puts his fingers to his forehead, sapphire eyes watching the woods just beyond the path. We're sitting outside on a cluster of large, decorative rocks near the sign that directs students to the academy's main building. You'd think they were just, you know, rocks, but dad said he had to approve a landscaping bill for several thousand dollars to have them delivered. We figured we may as well enjoy them. “Nothing's coming up for me,” Church says, backing out of the page he's on and typing in a description of the symbol into a search engine. W-shaped rune is what he taps out. Not bad. It looks a bit like a trident to me. “It’s a little like the Greek letter psi, or maybe even the old Norse rune algiz.” I back up off of Spencer's lap, and leave his, uh, boner to deal with later. He watches me go and then takes a bite of a green apple, eyes taking me in as I sit back down on my own rock. I can still hardly believe he's back, that he's alive. That we’re dating, all official like. I wonder how long it'll take to really sink in. “Okay, but if it is either of those things, what's the point?” Spencer asks, pausing to take another bite of his apple. “A Greek letter? A Norse rune? What the hell does any of that have to do with Jenica or Chuck or Eugene, for that matter?” “Maybe it doesn't mean anything?” Micah says, taking the rock back and studying it. “Maybe we're reading too much into this? Obviously some old money assholes didn't want Jenica attending their precious boys' school, and it's the same with Charlotte.” He goes to toss the rock and Ranger stops him, snatching his wrist and taking the stone back. “I've seen this before. I don't remember where, but give me some time and I'll figure it out.” He stands up, this big, dark figure with razored black hair and the most intense blue eyes I've ever seen, and then he spins around with an expression so serious I almost recoil. “Now get up. We're making a Baked Alaska for Eugene's memorial tomorrow.” Ranger turns and takes off toward the academy, and the rest of us exchange looks.

“He's not going to strip down and wear one of his fluffy aprons, is he?” I ask, and Micah smirks. “He just might. Why? Did you want to see?' Spencer makes a scoffing sound under his breath as I stand up and stretch my arms over my head, yawning. When he rises to his feet, towering over me with a smile, I feel my heart start to thump. His turquoise eyes sparkle as he leans in close and puts his cheek near mine, lips brushing up against my ear. “Let's hang out together, just you and me. You know, after Culinary Club.” “Spencer,” I start, but then the twins are grabbing him by the arms and dragging him down the path. I bite my lower lip as I think about what Tobias said to me in the closet the other night. “I wasn't going to say anything out of respect for Spencer, but I kind of have a crush on Charlotte. When he comes back, he might have to fight me for her affections.” Wow. I twist my hands together and follow after the boys, heading up the stone steps in the academy building to the kitchen where we always have our club meetings. Hard to believe these asswads dressed in robes and threw spiders on me just a few months ago, huh? “What the fuck is this?” Ranger's demanding, pointing at a pound cake that's sitting in a plastic container on the counter. He looks furious. “Who brought this here?” The twins exchange a look, and then shrug. “Dude, it's just a pound cake,” Spencer says, but Ranger's already grabbing it and tossing the whole thing into the trash. “Store bought garbage,” he murmurs, opening one of the drawers and withdrawing a whole host of utensils. “We'll make the pound cake from scratch.” Church exchanges a look with the twins as Spencer raises his eyebrow. After about a minute of slamming things around and cursing, Ranger plants his palms on the countertop and closes his eyes tight. “Are you okay?” Church asks softly, in just such a way that I can hear his true affection for his friend in his voice.

“I want to make this dessert the right way,” Ranger says, his voice low and grumbling, but thick with emotion. The sound of it makes my chest feel tight, and I squeeze my hand into a fist on the edge of my blazer. “This was Eugene's favorite food, and I'm not going to fuck it up.” “A Baked Alaska was his favorite food?” Spencer asks, and Ranger's blue eyes snap open, glaring in his direction. I swear he growls a little. “Show some respect. We thought that was you in that tree; we were devastated. Imagine how his friends and family feel.” Ranger stands up straight and then runs the fingers of both hands through his razored hair. “There's some part of me that feels responsible for his death. I just want to do this one thing right.” There's a long stretch of silence before Church whips off his blazer and tosses it onto the chair in the corner, pushing up his shirtsleeves and removing his tie. “Alright, let's do this then, Culinary Club style.” The door opens and Ross slips in, face flushed, straightening his own tie out. “Sorry, I'm late,” he says, and Church smiles. “Let's make some coffee, and bake a pound cake, shall we?” “Thank you,” Ranger says, and I don't think any of us misses the way his shoulders relax. I hate that he feels responsible for Eugene's death. None of us should. But somehow we're involved in a mess we didn't start, and now have to clean up. Ranger's right though: Eugene might've been a douche to us, but I'm sure he wasn't to everyone. He has people that care, too. “Well, damn, let's make a Baked Alaska then,” Spencer murmurs, and then Ranger whips out the frilly aprons. This shit is on.

“You seriously fucked that Baked Alaska up, Chuck.” Spencer rolls onto his side to look at me. I’m sitting on the edge of his bed, breathing hard, and desperately wishing I’d caked on the deodorant this morning; I’m sweating like crazy. “I’ve never seen anyone fail to follow directions quite the way you do.” “I was nervous!” I snap, spinning to look at him. He’s lounging on the bed like a boneless prince. Shit, he’s hot. I bite my lower lip and instantly forgive him for being a total jerk. I’m terrible like that. Never believed in true love, no, but had a crush on every boy? Yep, that’s pretty much me. “Ranger’s terrifying when he cooks.”

“I cook with pure love,” he growls, drawing my attention back to that side of the room. Ranger’s dressed in black sweats, a tight white shirt that shows off the hardened points of his nipples, and … socks with pink cats on them. I decide not to comment. “Pure fucking love.” “You put a scoop of ice cream down the back of my shirt,” I grumble, and Ranger’s mouth twitches with a smile that he forces back down again. “That was the twins, not me,” he admits, looking up at Spencer and me. His eyes narrow slightly, and he sighs. “I'm totally cramping your style, aren't I?” “Pretty much. The boner wizard can't operate when the cock blocker's in the room. That's a well-known fucking fact,” Spencer says, smirking, and my cheeks heat. The sudden rush of embarrassment makes me want to stay obstinate. “I'm personally glad that Ranger's in here,” I retort, pushing my glasses up my nose and crossing my arms over the chest of the t-shirt I borrowed from Spencer (my white academyissued button-down is now dyed pink with strawberry ice cream). “It's safer with three of us, and all that.” “Uh-huh, sure,” Spencer purrs, tickling his fingers up my spine and sending little shivers through me. I whip an angry look over my shoulder, and he smirks. “What? Don't tell me you don't feel it.” “Feel what?” I retort, even though I'm basically taking the reins of embarrassment and leading it straight toward me. “The sexual tension between us,” Spencer blurts, and I grab the book from his nightstand and smack him with it. He steals it from my hand, grabs me by the wrists and drags me toward him, pinning me underneath him. His silver hair hangs down around the sides of his face, and his grin is truly feral. “Come on, don't lie to me. You guys already spent that token at the arcade of bullshit.” “Wow, lovely metaphor,” Ranger murmurs, leaning back into his pillows and crossing his kitty-cat covered socks at the ankles. He looks so bad-ass with the big, black plugs in his ears, his shiny raven hair with the sapphire streak … and his pussycat footwear. Right. “Like you've ever been to an arcade. Spencer's obsessed with the nineties, by the way, like wishes he was a nineties' kid.”

I look back at the boy above me, and his grin softens slightly. I pretend to frown, but really, my heart is pounding and I'm sort of wishing that Ranger would find something to do in Church's room. A long, tense moment passes, and my heartbeat picks up, the blood rushing in my head drowning out the sounds around me. Spencer groans, and sits back on his heels, giving Ranger a look. “You're seriously going to just sit there and watch?” Ranger glances up at him, pulling his gaze from the screen of his phone. “Watch what? You're not fucking with me in here again. Taking a hard pass on that one, my friend.” “Then get out! Go see Church,” Spencer mumbles, swinging his hand toward the door for emphasis. “You two can get gay together, and everybody wins.” “If I weren't straight, that'd be lovely, I'm sure.” Ranger keeps scrolling on his phone. “Have you seen the way Church sucks on straws? I'm sure he's brilliant with dick, too.” “Is Church gay?” I ask, sitting up and trying not to wiggle. My body feels hot and rebellious, my fingers itching to touch Spencer. We've had a handful of kisses this week, but it's now Thursday night, and I can't stop daydreaming about him holding me in his arms. And, you know, doing other things … “Bi, maybe?” Spencer muses, and then shrugs his shoulders. “No idea. He definitely dates girls though.” He pulls his own phone from his blazer pocket, taps out a message with his thumbs, and checks it before glancing up with a sideways smirk. “Come on, Micropenis Chuck, I have an idea.” He stands up and grabs my hand, dragging me along behind him as Ranger growls and curses from behind us. We head into the hallway, and I'm pleased to say the lightbulbs are all in working order again. Looks like Eddie's good for something. The twins are waiting, arms crossed over their chests. “What are we doing out here?” they ask as Spencer drags me down the hall. “Chuck wants to shower, and I figure he needs guards.” Spencer shrugs his shoulders and pushes me in the bathroom door. “I'll be the interior guard. You two do your twin thing right here.”

“Seriously?” Tobias asks as Spencer slams the door in his face before checking out the bathroom to make sure nobody else is in there. Then he looks at me with this bestial little grin, and I take a step back. “What are you doing?” I ask him as he strips off his tie and shoves it in the pocket of his blazer. “Stripping.” Spencer moves toward me, his face this dark mask of desire that has me humming. Cody never looked at me like that, like some sort of wily fox intent on his mate. Nah, he was just the groping teenage asshole. This is so much better. Spencer turns in a half circle around me, until he's walking backward, and then disappears into the door of one of the shower stalls. I hesitate for a moment, and then curse under my breath, following after him and locking the door behind me. “Are you serious right now? The twins are right outside the door.” “So?” Spencer chucks his shirt to the floor, standing near the tiled area in all his muscular glory. “We're dating; they won't mind.” I twist my hands in front of me. My body feels hot and needy, like if I fight this any longer, I'll go up in flames. But … “They might though,” I whisper, and Spencer frowns at me. “Why?” He takes a few steps toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders, sliding one of them up the side of my neck and cupping the back of my head. “They like you; I'm their best fucking friend. Why wouldn't they want us to be together?” The sound of the bathroom door opening gives us both pause. “Hurry up in there. Mark is pitching a fit about having to take a piss.” It's Micah. I don't know how I can tell; I just can. Even their voices are different. “Tell him to go outside!” Spencer shouts back, and Micah's sigh echoes around the whole room. “Ranger's on the warpath, too. He doesn't think you guys are safe enough in there. I told him you just need to bang it out, so chop-chop, hurry it up.” He slams the door, and Spencer flashes a grin. “Told ya,” he says, and I feel my heart drop a little. The twins are encouraging this? I mean … that's good, right? That's what I want. I want them to be happy I'm dating Spencer. After all, I

can't date more than one guy at a time, right? Unless it were the twins. I guess then it'd be two, but that's a special exception. “I'm not … super sex savvy,” I whisper, and Spencer laughs, putting his forehead up against mine for a moment, his hyssop and cedar scent mixing with the bleach and soap smell of the bathroom. “I'll teach you,” he whispers back, and then he's pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it aside. His eyes darken as he takes me in, the bindings covering my breasts. “Oh, Chuck-let,” he murmurs. Without a word, I turn and he takes the end of the wrap, tucked in behind the strap of my bra, and pulls it out. “Spin for me.” “It's too much like Shakespeare In Love,” I groan, putting my hands over my face. “I can't do it; I hate that movie too much.” Spencer pauses, and then he snorts with laughter, yanking on the bandage so hard that I stumble back into his arms. “You are too much, Chuck Carson,” he says, carefully unwinding this morning's work. The white strand drifts to the floor, and my heart begins to pound again. The back of my bra comes undone, and the hot pink fabric falls forward, exposing my breasts. I can't fucking breathe, I think as Spencer puts the palm of his hand on my belly. His mouth is way too close to my ear. Every time he breathes, I feel my hair flutter, and my knees get weak. “I hate that you guys lied to me, but I'm pretty excited about this little secret of yours.” Spencer's warm palm slides down my stomach and his fingers deftly flick the fly open on my slacks. He dives in, cupping me through the fabric of my underwear. “I cannot wait to see these sexy little panties …” And then he pushes my slacks to the floor with his other hand, revealing, not the cute lacy pink panties that match the bra I was wearing, but instead a pair of men's tighty-whities with a pair of rolled up socks stuffed in the loose crotch. “What the hell?” My whole body goes up in flames, and I struggle to free myself from his grip. “Just in case I got pantsed!” I grumble, elbowing him and getting nothing but a wall of hard muscles for the effort. “You guys can be dicks, you know. Not to mention the rest of the school. I never knew when someone might go for a classic bullying move.” Spencer squeezes my rolled up socks and groans, sagging against me. “For the second time, Chuck, I'm feeling up your dick, and I am so turned-on.” He pauses for a moment. “Like, this totally feels fake, but last time … what was I grabbing exactly?”

“Okay, enough of that,” I mumble, trying to pull away. Instead, Spencer slides his hand inside the underwear to retrieve the socks, tossing them aside before he goes back in, cupping my bare body and making my head spin. “You're beautiful, Charlotte Carson,” he murmurs, slicking a single finger along the wet heat between my thighs. “Old man underwear and all.” Spencer slips inside of me with two fingers, and I see colors, rainbows bursting in my vision as the pleasure races through me like a summer storm. He holds me up with his right arm around my waist, his bare chest pressed to my back, his teeth nibbling along the edge of my ear. My entire body breaks out in goose bumps, and a soft sound slips past my lips. My lids feel suddenly heavy, like I've been drugged with pheromones. I can feel Spencer's heart beating behind me, hear the wild panting of his breath as he dips those two fingers into my core and brings stars dancing across the colorful splotches in my vision. It's like a symphony of light inside of me, all these shooting stars twinkling from head to toe. Our breathing echoes in the quiet bathroom, and I just hope to hell that nobody breaks in here and climbs the wall again. Doubt I'd hear them; Ranger has a right to worry. Spencer's right hand slides up and cups the heavy mound of my breast, teasing the sore flesh with a gentle kneading motion, his thumb tracing the edge of my nipple. It feels so good, I get lost in the sensations, so much so that I forget exactly where I am. If you think about it, it's a pretty risky place to do this, in an all-boys' school, in an all boys' dorm, in the all-boy's bathroom. And with a murderer or two or three on the loose? We must be idiots. And yet I can't stop. Spencer lets go of me and steps back. When I turn to look at him, his turquoise eyes are dark with need, and he's slowly and meticulously stripping the last of his clothing off. I follow suit. We end up under the hot burn of the shower, my back pressed to the white marble walls, one of Spencer's hands on my ass as he kisses me with a vicious desire that turns my inhibitions to ash. The thing is, he's kissing me with the same level of passion and want that he did when he thought I was a boy. Damn it, this guy is really winning me over.

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?” he murmurs, putting his face in the crook between my neck and shoulder. “I would've understood; I could've helped.” “I'm afraid.” The words slip out before I mean them to. Once I say them, I can't decide if I mean the whole murder-mystery thing, or my attraction to Spencer, my flirtation with the twins. All of it. Everything. “We'll find these pieces of shit, I promise you that,” he tells me, lifting his head up to look at me. Our gazes connect with a spark that brings me to life, and it's like my body's moving of its own accord. Spencer turns me around and positions my hands on the wall, fingers splayed. He curls the fingers of his right hand through mine, and I shiver as his lips kiss hot droplets of water from my bare shoulders. “Condom?” I manage to remember that little piece of the equation, even as Spencer grinds his hips against me, teasing me in places nobody else has ever touched. “Fuck, yeah, I almost forgot.” He lets go of me briefly, and I lean my forehead against the wall, struggling to control my breathing. I lost my virginity last week; this week, I'm standing in a hot shower waiting for a boy I thought was dead to romance me. Fuck sand, sun, and surf. This is so much better. Spencer comes back and pushes the showerhead away slightly, so that it's just a warm mist settling over our skin. He traces my body with his hands as I stand there trembling. “You okay, Virgin Chuck?” he asks with a bit of laughter in his voice. I nod, but I'm both scared and excited at the same time. It's a lot, to go from someone who's barely hit second base, to someone who's now naked in a hot shower with their crush. “Just nervous,” I whisper, and Spencer wraps his arms around me from behind, our slick skin rubbing together, the heat from our bodies mixing with the shower. “But I want this, I do.” “Are you sure? We can go back out there and play Candy Land with the twins instead.” “You're such a dick,” I grumble, but then he's sliding his hand back down between my legs and touching me in ways I've only ever touched myself. It feels a hundred times better when he does it though, his fingers dancing a rhythm that loosens up the tension in my muscles. Spencer kisses the side of my neck, using his left hand to position himself at the aching heat of my core. He eases forward, filling me up with a single, hard thrust. And that's it, we're joined together.

My fingers curl against the wet tiles on the wall as Spencer begins to move, working his body between my thighs, his lips teasing the side of my neck. When he reaches up and turns my chin with his fingers, we share this hot, messy kiss over the shoulder that does all sorts of things to my stomach, turning it into a knot of feelings and emotions that I can't even begin to go through. My back arches when Spencer's left hand cups my breast. He's touching every part of me, and I love it. I want more; I feel like I can't get close enough. We work our bodies together until I'm panting and shaking, until my knees promise to knock my ass to the floor if I don't sit down. That's when Spencer scoops me up in his arms and lays me out on a towel on the bathroom floor, covering my body with his steaming hot form, his muscles taut and covered in warm droplets, his pelvis fitting perfectly between my hips. I love the feel of him on top of me, the weight of him, the pressure of his body driving into mine. There's no give in this floor either, so it's a totally different experience from the bedroom last week, when we were both dipped in confusion and heartbreak and frenzy. Spencer comes first, his body tightening above mine, hands locking on my hips as he spills himself into the condom. He pulls out quickly, sweating and panting, and ties it off. “See?” he teases with a grin, and then wraps it with toilet paper before tossing it into the trash. Before I can think up a smart retort, he's curling up beside me, his hand curving between my legs, his lips claiming my own. He's patient with me, and even though it takes a while, Spencer coaxes an orgasm from me, using his thumb and two fingers to work all my most sensitive spots. His hot slash of a tongue switches from my mouth to my breasts, making me thrash, white splotches flickering behind my lids. It hits me in a rush, this warm wave of pleasure that uncoils from my center and takes over my entire body. A scream starts to break from my throat, and Spencer clamps his hand over my mouth. Too late. The door to the bathroom opens as I scramble up and grab a towel, just in time for the twins to double kick the door to the shower stall open. They gape at us with those big green eyes of theirs.

“What's happening?” Tobias asks, whipping his attention from Spencer, sitting naked on the floor, to me, standing next to the bathtub in nothing but a towel. I can barely see him as I've somehow lost my glasses along the way, but I can sense this hot bite of jealousy. It stings my skin and makes me want to squirm. “We heard Chuck scr—” He cuts himself off as Micah waltzes in, bends down, and picks up my foggy glasses, cleaning them off on his shirt before handing them over. I slip them on my face in time to see Tobias' tight, guarded expression as he puts the whole scene together. He looks me over then glances down at Spencer. “You're such a dick face,” he says, and Spencer frowns at him. “Sorry we made you guys worry.” His frown twitches up slightly into a smile. “I didn't know Charlotte here was a screamer.” “I'm … I'm … a not!” I yell back, still shaky and boneless from the orgasm. “You’re ‘a not’? That's a new one.” Micah gives me this sharp once-over, and then meets my eyes with a challenge burning in his. “Real creative, Chuck. Now, get your ass dressed and Tobias and I will walk you back to the headmaster's. Ranger wants to bitch Spencer out.” “Seriously?” Spencer asks as Tobias bends down and hands me my clothes. Then the twins drag a naked Spencer out of the room and kick the door closed. But the way they looked at me … This isn't over yet, is it?

The memorial for Eugene is held in the rear gardens on Friday, a place I most definitely never go. Now that I'm like, friends with the Student Council or whatever, it feels like the campus has tripled in size. All the places I avoided before seem open. I'm not as worried about the other students discovering my secret with these guys at my back. There are candles and tears, flowers and photos. That, and an entire table laden with food. Our Baked Alaska—which, by the way, is a pound cake topped with ice cream and meringue and then, well, baked—sits pretty in the center. “This is majorly depressing,” Spencer says, smoking a cigarette in the shadows of the trees while my father's back is turned. I’ve been having trouble looking at him all day. Same with the twins. It’s much easier if I just wedge myself between Church and Ranger and pretend like nothing happened last night. “Imagine if it'd been you,” I say, and he turns to look at me, face covered in shadows but for the orange burn of his lit cigarette. My stomach is in knots, and all I can think about is how I'd be feeling if he were gone, if I never got to see him again. I've never experienced that sick sense of loss before. I feel like it seriously knocked the shit out of me and my emotions. And then having to worry about this supposed move to Cali? It’s too much.

“This is so goddamn depressing,” Micah whispers, leaning back against a tree, a glass soda bottle in one hand. He lifts it to his lips and I see the distinctive cherry label on the front. The McCarthy twins seem to have a thing for cherries. “Can we bail?” they ask in unison, turning to look at Ranger instead of Church like they usually do. Probably because it seemed important to him, honoring Eugene and all that. “There's a college party in the city,” Church suggests, and the guys exchange a look. My dad steps up to the table and lifts a knife, cutting the baked Alaska and passing out slices to Eugene's melancholy friends. “We can go,” Ranger says, nodding and exhaling. He has a look of grim satisfaction, like we've done what we needed to do here. “You should go as a girl,” the twins suggest, hooking their arms together and pointing at me. They both grin. “College party, city kids, no worries about your secret getting out.” “Yeah, okay,” I say, feeling this small light of excitement in all the darkness. I've just pushed aside the issue of California for now; I'm not going back. Dad has to see that I'm better off here. “Let's go back to the house and I'll get changed.” We sneak through the woods and move down the path, heading toward the curve where one of the benches sits. There's a ring of red candles set up in front of it, and I raise an eyebrow. “Little far from the memorial, huh?” I ask, and then Ranger pauses, putting out a hand to grab my arm. He holds on with a firm but surprisingly gentle grip, pulling me back a step. “What the fuck is that?” he whispers, and we all squint in the growing dusk at the small bird body in the center of the circle. “Is that … blood?” I whisper, eyes widening. “That bird is missing its head,” Church says, crossing his arms over his chest. Ranger kneels down next to the circle of candles and blows the wick out, using the long thick red length of it to poke the bird's body. “It's not missing its head per se,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “It's just not attached.” He points at a small, feathered lump nearby, and my stomach turns over. “Why would someone leave a dead bird here during Eugene's memorial?” I ask, and then it hits me as I'm saying it. “Because they're the ones that killed him.” The words come out in a whisper, and I swear, it's like nature's conspiring against us. The wind ruffles the trees, the cool

breeze bringing goose bumps up on my arms as I cross them over my chest. And then one of those goddamn fucking owls starts hooting. “This is so beyond creepy,” the twins murmur, and then they snap a photo with their phones, blinding us all with the flash. “Shit, this is getting weird,” Ranger murmurs, standing up and tossing the candle onto the heap. “We should report this to the headmaster.” “Yeah, and then he'll ban me from going to the party tonight. Let's just get out of here for now, and we'll tell him in the morning. Either that, or someone else is bound to stumble on this and report it for us.” I pause, and frown. Actually … I can't decide if Dad would blow this off as nothing, or if he'd take it too seriously. It's impossible to tell with him. Honestly, it feels like whatever reaction would be least beneficial to me is the one he always takes. “What I don't get is what killing a bird has to do with, well, like, anything?” Spencer says, but I don't have any answers. Doesn't seem like anybody else does either. “You know, that same night you guys surprised me with the spiders, I went to the girls' dorm and found red wax all over the coffee table. I figured you guys had set up in their first, but then moved to the kitchen …” “We were never in there,” the twins say, and then Tobias sighs. “The only person who goes to the girls' dorm regularly besides you is Ranger. And we didn't tell anyone else that that was your place.” “So the red wax … could feasibly be from these same psychos?” I continue, pointing at the ring of candles with the dead bird. I feel physically sick to my stomach. Whoever it is that's plaguing this school, they're clearly insane. I mean, not that that wasn't obvious before with the whole 'murdering people thing', but really, animal sacrifice? It's so nineties crime scene cliché. Instead of scaring me, all the morbid display does is piss me off. “I wouldn't say could be,” Church continues, his voice low and even. “I'd go so far as to say probably is.” “Well, fuck these assholes,” I say, feeling my body heat up with anger. “I mean, really? Does killing a small, helpless bird make you feel tough?” I hold my arms up and turn toward the woods. “Does it? Well screw you! I'm not afraid of your notes, or your candles, or anything else. Let's go.” I turn and take off down the path, the Student Council following after me. I hope the bastards heard me. Because I was serious. I'm not afraid of them.

And I refuse to run.

When I come down the stairs, dressed in a short, navy blue cocktail dress, the boys turn as one unit, and I swear, they all gawk at me. Well, maybe except for Church. He just doesn't seem like the type to gawk. “Looking good, Chuck,” the twins say together, flashing matching grins. “Holy shit, you're hot,” Spencer chokes out as Ranger flushes slightly. He's seen me dressed up before, but I guess there was a little too much going on that night to properly process things. I blush and do a little twirl on the landing, so they can take it all in. I've got on sexy red heels that Monica insisted I blow every cent of my sweet sixteen birthday money on, as well as more makeup than I've worn since I moved here. I even put the falsies on, and threw a super quick coat of red on my nails that I know I'll probably take off before school on Monday. Not that boys can't wear nail polish—Ranger does sometimes—but I just don't want to draw that sort of attention just yet. I'm happy keeping my secret to this group right here. “You look beautiful,” Church says, smiling at me and tapping a single finger against his lips. He closes his eyes briefly, like he's taking in the moment, before slowly opening that amber gaze again. “Didn't you say you were going to fight Spencer over Charlotte? Now's the time, bro.” Micah dances out of his brother's way when Tobias whips a green glare his direction. “Oh, really?” Spencer asks, leaning back against the wall in that cocky way of his, quirking one dark brow up and ruffling his silver hair. “You want to fight me, Tobias?” “Not really,” Tobias replies, crossing his own arms over his chest. “I mean, shouldn't whatever happens be Charlotte's decision anyway? Are you guys really dating? Seems like it’s just a sex thing.” “Oh my god,” I groan, putting my hands over my face. “It isn't just sex, you condom-faced ass pig,” Spencer growls, cocking a small smirk at the end to show he's only half serious. “We have a thing.” “I'd argue,” Tobias continues, tucking his hands into his pockets and giving Spencer a long, studying look. “That we had a thing, too. You know, I let her stay in Amber's room.” Spencer's eyes go wide and he glances from me to Tobias, and then over to Micah.

“And what about you?” he challenges as I try to figure out how to dig a hole and crawl into it. “You want to fight me, too?” Micah just throws this cocksure little smile out, and Ranger grumbles low under his breath, clearly just done with the whole situation. “You know Tobias and I share everything,” he says, swinging a dark gaze my direction. The way he drinks me in, from heels to hair, I can feel it, a certain tension in the air between us that was there that night on the hood of his car, this burning need that makes me squirm. “Since Amber, you mean,” Spencer corrects, and both twins give him withering looks that he meets dead-on. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ranger snarls, stepping between the three of them. “We've got murderers, sacrificial animals, and a cross-country move to deal with, and you guys are fighting over Charlotte like bucks in heat? Jesus Christ, grow up.” “You know,” I say, coming down the rest of the stairs and pausing in front of them. “This is exactly why I didn't want to be the only girl at an all-boys school.” “If you think we like you because you're the only girl,” the twins start, pulling off a fairly long and complicated sentence with surprising precision, “then you're sorely mistaken.” “I liked you when I thought you were a boy,” Spencer asserts, his smirk fading slightly. “And I would like to get out of here before the headmaster shows up and finds out what we're up to,” Church insists, and then we all pause at the sound of footsteps. “Fuck.” I scramble around the corner and head to the back door, letting myself out and closing it softly behind me. I can hear the murmur of voices from inside as I sneak around to the front and wait for the guys to come out. “What'd you say to him?” I whisper as we meet up just outside the pool of yellow cast by the porch light. “That we were taking you to the releasing of the paper lanterns.” Church tucks his hands into the pockets of his navy blue slacks and smiles brightly. “He didn't seem to find it hard to believe that you were so angry at him you bailed out the back door.” “I am angry with him,” I say, glancing over the dark patch of the woods to where dozens of paper lanterns are floating into the night sky. Damn. A lot of people really did care about

Eugene Mathers, huh? I feel like a total asshole. “Is it wrong for us to go to a party when everyone else is, you know, in mourning …” “We spent a whole week in mourning. I've spent most of my life in mourning. Let's go.” Ranger leads us down the road to where a car's waiting at the edge of academy property. It's another limo, and my brows go up, but I don't argue. When the guys told me we were going to 'the city' for a college party, I sort of assumed like Bridgeport or something (it's the only city in Connecticut that I'm even aware of). But instead, the limo takes us an hour and a half away, right into the heart of New York City. “Holy shit,” I blurt when our ride stops at the curb in front of a massive skyscraper. Right away, I can tell it's a fancy ass sort of place, with a doorman and a lobby with marble floors and velvet chaise lounges. Yep, Toto, we're definitely not in Nutmeg anymore. “Mr. Montague,” the doorman greets as he lets us in, and my brows go up. “You come here often?” I ask, and Church loosely shrugs a single shoulder, still dressed in his Adamson uniform. None of the guys seemed to care if they changed or not. Hell, maybe it's a status symbol sort of thing? They all have little black rose enamel pins on their breast pockets, right next to the Adamson crest. Maybe they're wearing their uniforms out of respect for the deceased? My breath escapes in a rush, and I try really, really hard not to think about that ring of red candles, and the decapitated bird inside of them. Or the dead boy hanging in the tree. A shiver travels through me, and I reach out to clasp Spencer's hand. He takes mine and squeezes back, our fingers entwined. My gaze swings over to him, and I flush. “My parents own the building. I have an open invitation.” Church doesn't even look at me as he tosses that juicy bit of arrogance over his shoulder, and I narrow my eyes. “He's the richest person in school, huh?” I ask, and Spencer grins. “Most definitely. By, like, leaps and bounds. Why? Think you picked the wrong guy?” “Leaps and bounds, huh?” I start, but then the elevator is swooshing open and there's a sea of glittering girls with hair like silk, dresses like jewels, and faces painted like magazine models. My stomach clenches, and I feel that same old, self-conscious monster of envy inside of me. I've never been the prettiest or the most popular, but it's been something I've always wanted.

Except, then I look over at Spencer, and I remember that gaping, emptiness inside my heart when I thought he was dead. But he's not. He's here now, and there are paper lanterns floating in a dark sky to celebrate some other boy I didn't know. I exhale, and some of that insecurity goes out with the breath. Maybe … it’s just something I used to want? “Ladies,” Church purrs as they giggle and bite their lips in his direction. “He's a seventeen year old junior in high school,” I blurt, narrowing my eyes at the coeds. “So? We're only a year apart,” the one in front says, turning to look at me, surrounded by dudes. “Besides, you have a few extra boys. You could spare one or two, right?” The women laugh, and then stream around us, letting us into the elevator which, by the way, also has its own attendant. “Were you defending me against the pervy college girls?” Church asks, smiling brightly and tossing golden hair from his forehead. If this were a Japanese anime, there'd be sparkles. I frown at him. “What would you say if a bunch of college dudes were hitting on me? Gross, right? Like, I'm in high school.” “A lot of girls like college guys,” Church retorts, lifting his amber eyes up to the ceiling as if in thought. “My sisters always did. They found them mature, experienced, just slightly in the realm of the forbidden.” He drops his attention back to my face, and throws a royal smirk my direction. “Would it bother you if I went home with one of those girls tonight?” “They only want to fuck you if they get your money, too,” the twins supply together, lifting their hands up on either side in a gesture of faux innocence. “Right.” Church reaches up and loosens his tie as the doors swing open and the sound of blaring music thrums down the hallway. Ranger sighs, and then pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, offering one up to Spencer. “I hate these parties,” Ranger mumbles, but then he and Spencer are lighting up, and the twins are leading the way toward the open doors. Isis by Joyner Lucas and Logic is playing, and the first thing I notice when we walk in are the drugs. “Holy sweet baby Jesus, is that cocaine?!” I choke out, and Ranger gives me a look with his dark sapphire eyes. “Weed, coke, alcohol. Pretty standard fare. You don't party in California?”

“I …” I start, but I guess I have seen Monica and some of our other friends oohing and aahing over Heather's cousin's connection to some small-time drug dealer. One time she brought cocaine to a party and everyone tried it, but me. “I guess.” But like here? There are people doing lines on the coffee table. Or like, off of each other. I feel so out of my league. “This is insane.” “Don't worry about any of these people,” Spencer says, waving one hand while he holds his cigarette with the other. “They're just background noise.” The twins come back with drinks in their hands, both of them holding onto the same cup. They offer it out to me, and then glare at each other. “We got you a drink,” they say as I reach out to take it, my fingers brushing theirs and sending a hot thrill through me. Spencer watches us carefully, and then stabs his cigarette out in an ash tray. “Are you aware those cause cancer?” I joke, and he swings his turquoise eyes over to me with a grin, hooking his arm around my shoulders. “We all have our vices,” he admits, guiding me through the grinding, sweaty bodies of the crowd toward the balcony. There are other high school students here, too, dressed in uniforms similar to ours. North York Prep is the one that stands out the most. They're all wearing starkwhite, girls and boys in pristine slacks. They glare at us as we pass by, and I cock a brow. “What's all that about?” I ask as Spencer takes me to the edge of the glass railing, and my stomach flip-flops dangerously. Oh god. We're on the top floor, aren't we? After a brief moment of nausea, I step forward and curl my hands around the metal railing that tops the glass panels. All around us, the city lives and breathes and glitters. I've only been to NYC once, and I definitely didn't get to see it at night from the roof of a penthouse suite. “North York Prep is douche-canoe central,” Tobias supplies, stepping up on my other side. “Just ignore them. They just want to banish us back to Bridgeport.” He shudders as I sip my drink, and then notices my perplexed expression. “It's like, uh, Huntington Park is to Los Angeles.” “Right.” I stand there for a moment, and then turn back to the city. “We're in Manhattan, aren't we?”

“Of course,” Church supplies, leaning in the corner, his long body pressed against the glass in just such a way that I think if someone wanted to, they could push him right over the edge. He doesn't seem concerned. “Where else would we go?” I roll my eyes, and then take another sip of my drink, staring down at the cocktail with its fancy little mint sprig and big, round ice cube. No way in hell the twins made this. “Bartender,” Micah whispers, appearing on my other side. He pushes between me and Spencer, and I see Spencer frown hard. He's not happy about it. “Bartender who doesn't care about serving underage kids, huh?” I ask, and then I down the whole drink and grin. “Fun.” “Let's get a round and toast Eugene. He died for a good cause.” “Did he?” Spencer asks Micah, and they exchange a look. “He died, so you didn't have to,” Micah says with a shrug, and then he takes off with Tobias, returning with a fresh round of drinks. We all lift them up in salute. “To Eugene,” Micah says. “To Eugene,” we all repeat, and then pour just a bit over the edge before knocking them back. Spencer breaks out his stash of weed, and lights up a small glass pipe. “Aren't you supposed to smoke first and then drink?” I ask, remembering the Valentine's Day party, where Spencer and I danced and he didn't know it was me, like some fucked-up Cinderella moment. “Only if you don't want the alcohol to boost the THC in—” Spencer stops to look at me, really look at me. His turquoise eyes widen, and some of that hurt I saw in the hallway that day comes out. “You. You're … you're your cousin.” “What the crap are you going on about?” Ranger asks, looking between the two of us, the flashing lights from inside catching on the blue streaks in his hair. He has this alternative sort of look, with the black plugs in his ears, and the eyeliner, the tattoo that I can see on his chest now that his shirt's been partially unbuttoned. But to be honest, he looks the least happy to be here. “The cousin I danced with at the Everly party. You … Charlotte, duh, fuck.” Spencer rakes his fingers through his hair, and then passes the pipe over to Tobias, like he's seriously reconsidering smoking it. “You were right in front of my fucking face, and I missed it.” “That's why I was asking if you really wanted to smoke that after drinking so much,” I hedge, and Spencer glances over at me like he's both pissed and ashamed. “My grandfather's name really is Charlie, by the way. Some of my aunts call me Charlie …”

“This is insane,” Spencer whispers, running his palms down his face and then pausing. He drops his hands to his sides and then exhales sharply. “I feel like I never got to be properly mad at you guys because you were all so upset. But I am still, angry I mean. And I've been over that bit of conversation we had again and again.” He purses that hot mouth of his and narrows his eyes. “Explain the fake packer penis to me.” The twins snicker, and Micah flashes a huge grin. “We gifted Charlotte a packer penis, like the kind gay dudes put in their pants to seem bigger.” “Or that transgender dudes use sometimes.” “Right,” Spencer says, grabbing another drink off a passing tray. Did I mention there are waiters with trays of food and drinks walking around? Like this is some legit shit, not like any party I've ever been to before. Guess the upper crust in New York do things a little different. I'm used to coolers full of soda and beer, the best weed in the country for dirt cheap, and sandy beaches lit by moonlight and bonfires. “So that's what I grabbed onto, huh?” “You grabbed it?” the twins ask together, exchanging a look, and then turning back to us. Micah speaks next while Tobias purses his lips. “And it passed then? You believed it was real? See, I told you that one had good reviews.” “Were you two, like, involved before you even knew her secret?” Tobias asks as he frowns hard in our direction, green eyes dark with frustration. “Were you?” Spencer retorts, lifting his chin up. “Well, you know, I mean after you found out her secret, since you knew for months.” “Stop!” I shout, and luckily the music's too loud for anyone but the closet partygoers to hear us. “I hate that you guys were close, and now you're fighting because of me.” “We're fighting because they lied to me,” Spencer growls out, the hurt thick in his voice. “We're fighting because we're both into Charlotte,” Tobias whispers back, and I swear, the mood shifts. Hole, please hear my call and open up beneath me, so I can die in peace. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. “And by both, I mean Micah and me.” Micah exhales as I open my eyes, and then shrugs his shoulders, almost apologetically, as he looks at me.

“You painted a pretty picture on the hood of my Lambo,” he says, and Spencer frowns hard. “But my best friend almost died. I'm sorry, but I can't fight with him over a girl, not even one as pretty as you, Chuck.” “You're really into Charlotte?” Spencer asks, looking like he, too, would gladly accept a hole to dive into. He leans his head back and runs his hands over his face. “Damn it.” “Was it less than three hours ago that I chastised you guys for this crap?” Ranger snaps, nostrils flaring. He shoves a drink into both Spencer's and Tobias' hands. “Let it go. It's not your goddamn choice.” “I just want Charlotte to know that I like her,” Tobias says, rubbing his hand over the back of his spiky orange-red hair. He looks almost … sheepish. “We should hold a competition,” Church says, appearing with a … well, something that looks vaguely coffee-like in his hands. Probable an Irish coffee or something with alcohol in it. “Like we always do when we have disagreements among Student Council members.” “A competition?” I ask, cocking a brow. “Um, like for my hand in marriage? We’re just dating.” “Just?” Spencer starts, looking at me. “There is no just. You were there in that bed with me, in that bathroom last night. We have mad chemistry. You know the tension between us isn’t normal, right? I’ve never felt this intensely for anyone else in my life.” My mouth twitches, but the twins are exchanging a look and then shrugging. “If it’s paintball, we’re in. Let’s do paintball.” “You want to play paintball … to compete for my affections?” I ask, and Spencer grits his teeth. “This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. No.” “I’ll do it,” Spencer says, lifting his chin in defiance. “I’ll fight you for Charlotte.” “Only, hello, newsflash: this is my choice,” I grumble, and Ranger gives me a sympathetic look. We exchange a long, silent these guys are idiots sort of expression before I turn back to Spencer. “Admit it: you’re interested in these penis-holes,” he says, but his gaze is on his friends and not on me. “What about this? If I win, it’s just me and Charlotte. If you guys win, she can … like, I don’t know, do her reverse harem thing for a while until she decides who she likes best.” My mouth drops open. Even Ranger and Church look a bit shocked.

“Seriously?” Ranger asks, like he couldn’t imagine even offering up a proposition like that. “You’re as jealous as they come. Tobias and Micah are as jealous as they come. This’ll never work.” But then I look between Spencer and the twins, and I can see something happened between them in the last few weeks. They really are best friends, and the McCarthy brothers thought they’d lost their bestie forever. That changes people, that sort of trauma. Hell, it changed me. They care about Spencer, and he cares about them. This is almost less about me than it is about their relationships with each other. “A paintball competition?” I ask, and then sigh. It’s about as dumb as all the usual Culinary Club/Student Council activities. I’m not surprised. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” “Prepare to get your ass kicked,” Micah says, smirking at his friend. “We’ve never dueled over a girl before. This should be fun.” “As is usual with Student Council activities such as this, we’ll all be participating,” Church adds, touching his chin as he muses. I feel my cheeks turning red as I look between him and Ranger. Neither is acting like they’re particularly interested in me, but they’re going to join the duel, too, huh? “Ross can be the ref.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Spencer says, throwing up his hands. “Now I have to win against all four of you?!” He gives me a look, and I smile, giving him a kiss on the edge of his mouth. His hands go to my hips, and I can feel him glaring at his friends over my shoulder. “Ranger and Church are just there to even out the playing field,” I say, because I can’t fathom them playing for any other reason. Imagine that, the whole Adamson Academy Student Council fighting over me. It’s ridiculous. “But how does it work, with both twins and all that?” “One of us will sit out,” they say together, exchanging one of those secret twin looks. “Tomorrow at twelve sharp, we’ll meet at the headmaster’s house and head to the paintball park.” Church finishes his coffee and then sets it aside on a passing tray, smiling a truly wicked smile as he does. “Now I’m off to go find those college girls,” he says, and Ranger grunts, following after him. The two of them disappear into the crowd, and I feel my stomach knot with anxiety. It’s stupid. The council doesn’t belong to me.

But it sort of feels like it does. Some dark, quiet part of me likes being the only girl in their world. I feel protected at school, like I have a crew of my own. And I don’t want my crew sleeping with coeds. “They’re not going to pick up girls while you’re here,” Tobias says, watching his friends weave their way through the crowd. He turns his green eyes back to me, and smiles. “Trust me.” “Why not?” I ask, genuinely curious, still wrapped in Spencer’s arms. I’m not sure how I feel about this duel thing. When I think about it, I get butterflies. I’m more than happy with just Spencer, but what would it be like to have it all? I don’t dare let myself think about that. You’re just being a selfish brat, I tell myself, and really, that’s the last thing I want to be. That’s the old Charlotte. The new one … I’m still figuring out who, exactly, she is. “I don’t know,” Tobias continues, looking at Micah who shrugs. “It just doesn’t feel right. They’re probably off picking on North York Prep brats. Come on.” He gestures with his chin toward the dance floor and then holds out his hand for mine. Spencer gives him a look, and then drops his own hands from my hips. “Go,” he says, giving me that wily grin of his. “I’m not threatened by these idiots. Two days ‘dating’ these dopes, and you’d be so done with the twin trope.” I let Tobias lead me off toward the dance floor, but as we move, I catch the others watching me. And not just Micah and Spencer either. Church and Ranger. I never even dared to consider …

On Saturday, Dad wakes me up like it's a school day, ripping my covers off after the fifth or sixth time of trying to snap me out of my admittedly embarrassing orgy dream featuring all five Student Council boys. I groan and shuffle downstairs in a pink robe, slumping into the chair at the table. I’ve got a terrible hangover, and I’m cranky as hell, although last night was fun. Interesting, but fun. There's a box of cereal, a bowl and spoon, and some skim milk. Usually when Dad dumps bad news on me, he tries to butter me up with good food. Not so much today. My nose wrinkles as I pick up the cereal box and study the front. It's some healthy granola crap. I set it back down and push the bowl away. “Why am I up at the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday?” I ask, my heart beating frantically as I think about the whole California thing. I'm still trying to figure out a new angle on this, but I'm struggling. Every argument I come up with, Dad seems to refute. “I want to hear your decision,” he says, sitting down at the head of the table, where he always sits. I just stare back at him. “Seriously?” I ask, feeling my heart start to pound. “I told you: I don't want to leave Adamson. I like it here.” “And sometimes, as adults, we have to make decisions, whether we like the choices put before us or not. Santa Cruz or Los Angeles, Charlotte.” I gape at him, sitting there with his hands folded on the tabletop.

Evil, hateful ogre dictator headmaster dick, I think, trying to keep the worst of my thoughts to myself. “Are you, like, trying to ship me out tomorrow or something?” “That would be ideal,” he says, and my heart breaks in half. “What?!” I have to resist the urge to pick up my fork and throw it at him. “That's total bullshit.” “So is your language. Speak like a mature adult, and I'll continue to treat you like one.” Dad leans back in his chair, watching me through his glasses, blue eyes stern, mouth set in a thin line. “If you don't make the choice, I'll have to make it for you, and I don't want to have to do that.” “Why are you so determined to destroy any chance I have at being happy?” I ask, feeling the tears start. “I was happy in Santa Cruz; I'm happier here now. And yet you only seem to want to move me around when it's convenient to you. Dad, please. If you send me away this time, I'll never forgive you.” “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. “This constitutes an official meeting of the Student Council,” Ross continues, tapping something out on his phone. “Minutes and results will be recorded. Have at it boys.” He sets his phone down on the table in front of him and claps his hands. The guys take off down the hill toward the field while we relax in the little café area with the big, glass windows. There’s a perfect view of all the action from up here, and I settle in to watch. “Can I get you a drink?” Micah asks, tapping his fingers on the tabletop and smirking at me. “I know the girl who works the counter. She’ll give us whatever we want.” “It’s cold out today—which is not how I like to spend my April days—so I suppose a hot cocoa’s in order.” He nods and takes off, leaving me alone with Ross for a brief moment. “You’re really leaving, huh?” he asks me, keeping his eyes on the field. He’s supposed to be the ref or judge or whatever, but yet he’s sitting up here in the warm building, out of harm’s way. Figures. “I don’t know what to do. If Dad says I can’t stay, what can I do? Physically refuse to move? He’ll have Nathan drag me away kicking and screaming, probably call the police and tell them

I’m a truant or something.” I park my head in my hand, watching as the four boys split up to the four corners of the field. A buzzer goes off, and they all start slinking around like they’re at war. A smile curves my lips, quickly replaced by a frown. “I heard your dad talking to Mr. Murphy and Mr. Dave about it, you know.” My ears perk up at that, and I turn to stare at Ross. He’s too busy looking out the window to notice, so he keeps talking casually, like it’s no big deal. “In the library yesterday. They thought everyone was gone for the night, but as the assistant to the Student Council, I have a key that gets me in afterhours. Pretty sure they’d forgotten about that.” He chuckles, and then glances my way, finally noticing my wide-eyed expression. “What’s your problem?” “What, exactly, were they talking about?” I ask, leaning forward, the stool creaking beneath me. This could be important. Huge. A game-changer. “Mr. Dave and Mr. Murphy were encouraging and congratulating the headmaster on his decision to send you away. The thing is, they all messed up at some point and said she or even Charlotte. Both teachers know your secret. Does the whole staff know?” My mouth drops open. Only the heads of the departments are supposed to know. I guess … Mr. Murphy would then. But Mr. Dave? He’s the librarian. He shouldn’t know anything about it. I get the chills, and my breath escapes me in a rush. All his glaring and grumbling, his anger at me for looking into the yearbooks … What if he’s the one writing the notes? “Got your hot cocoa,” Micah says, putting a mug down on the table. There’s a huge mountain of whipped cream, topped with rainbow sprinkles. I smile. “Thank you,” I say as he hands Ross a water with a lemon wedge, and relaxes with a beer for himself. Guess he was right about having connections. I glance back and see the girl behind the counter checking him out. I bristle, even though I tell myself how ridiculous that is. “Ross just told me something interesting.” “Oh, yeah?” Micah asks, doing that bad boy lounge thing where he takes up like ten times as much space as a person rightfully should, legs outstretched, arms folded behind his head, just sprawled across the scenery of the café like he owns it. Who am I kidding? The Montagues probably do. I gesture at Ross, and the council’s assistant sighs, giving a brief summary of his observations.

“Could you give us a second?” Micah asks after Ross is finished. He gives us both a raised eyebrow, but takes his drink to the table at the end of the row to keep watching the epic battle below. I’m watching, too, my stomach a twist of nerves that I can’t seem to untangle. Who do I want to win? Spencer? He could easily be the love of my life (I know, I know, I’m seventeen, and I sound stupid as hell, don’t I?). Anyway, he could be. But the twins … they’re intriguing. I felt a spark with them; I still do. Ugh. Cody was so … I don’t want to say dumb, but dumb is what comes to mind. A relationship with him was easy. Now I know it’s because I didn’t care nearly as much about him as I do basically any of my new friends, but damn, all of this romantic shit is complicated. “Do you think Mr. Dave could be Adam?” I ask, and Micah leans in toward me, putting his elbows on the table, green eyes sparkling. Much as I hate to admit it, there’s something about his cruel streak that calls to me. It shouldn’t. No, it should send me running in the other direction, but who doesn’t like a bit of bad boy every now and again? “He could be, but he’s such a dick, it just seems too obvious, right?” “But he knows my secret, and he shouldn’t,” I add, gaping as Spencer gets nailed in the back by Church, pink paint spattering everywhere. I’m sitting there in total shock as he tears his helmet off and chucks it hard at a giant stack of hay bales. The way he storms off, it’s quite clear that he’s fucking pissed. “Ah, damn, figured that would happen,” Micah drawls, his head in his hand, long fingers tapping against the side of his face as he smirks. “He’s going to be on a total rampage. Better watch out. Do you like anger fucking? I bet you could get some good stuff if you approached him now.” “You’re such a … urinal cake,” I grumble, and Micah grins. “Mr. Dave, huh? We can keep an eye on him, too. Can’t hurt, right? At least with you out of Adamson, we won’t have to worry as much.” “How do you know the killers won’t come after you next? If we don’t know their motivations, we don’t know who they’re going after or why.” I keep my gaze on the competition as Spencer hops on the edge of the fence to watch. Now that he’s lost … this is all going to be on me, whether or not I want to date the twins. So much pressure.

Then I realize that I’m not going to be here at all, so dating anyone is pretty much out of the question. I’ll move away; they’ll forget all about me. Life sucks. “I guess we don’t, but we do know that they’re interested in you.” Micah turns to look at me with an almost perplexed sort of expression on his face, his red-orange hair catching the light. “Everyone seems to be. I wonder why that is? Frankly, you’re a bit of a shithead.” “Like you aren’t?” I retort back, nibbling at my lower lip. At least if I choose Santa Cruz, I’ll get to see the twins during breaks and stuff, right? Like maybe even for the whole summer? “Did you or Tobias ever date that Emily girl?” I’m not sure why I ask the question, or why I even care, but there it is, hanging in the air between us like smoke. Micah doesn’t look bothered by it. “Who?” he asks, and I almost smile. “The girl who was in the kitchen with you that morning, the one that kept calling you Toby.” He blinks his green eyes for a moment, and then drags his attention from the field to my face. “Hell no. I barely know who that is. People drop in for our parties all the time, but I can’t be bothered memorizing a sea of ass kissers and gold diggers. Too much work.” “Did you sleep with her?” And yet another question I shouldn’t have asked. Really, it’s none of my business. I avert my eyes from Micah’s face and focus briefly on the brick floor under my stool. “Nope. Why? Are you a jelly doughnut?” I snort. “I could care less.” I push my glasses up my nose, and Micah smirks, reaching out and plucking them from my face. I try to grab them back, but he holds them out of my reach. “If you don’t give those back, I will punch you in the balls.” “At least you’ll be touching them,” he purrs, smelling like tart cherries and bullshit. I’m eating it up, too. “Why do you care so much about Emma if you’re not jealous?” “Emily,” I correct, and Micah stands up, too tall for his own good. I’m going to have to climb him like a tree to get my glasses back. Not an idea I’m totally and completely opposed to … “I was just curious. It’s none of my business, really. I shouldn’t have even asked.” “Except that you did,” he says, popping the glasses back on my face, grabbing my shoulders, and turning me to face the window. Micah leans down and breathes against my ear. “Well,

would you look at that.” I gape as I realize that in the ten seconds I wasn’t looking, Tobias has managed to shoot both Church and Ranger. He’s won. He’s fucking won. “Now you can kiss me and not feel guilty about it,” Micah says as Ross cheers and whistles, waving at the boys through the window. Crap. Rock, hard place. Why are you tormenting me so? Micah leans in, but I dance away from him, waiting for the others to make the trudge up the hill. “Did you see that shit?!” Tobias calls out, storming into the room and scooping me up before I can even think about how I should react. He kisses me on the lips—hard—and I feel this fire burst through me that’s half guilt, half unadulterated lust. Spencer scowls as his friend sets me on the floor, grinning triumphantly. Church looks satisfied, like the cat who’s got the cream, and Ranger just appears to be annoyed at the whole situation. “Now that that’s over, we just have to figure out how to keep Chuck here,” Tobias continues, but clearly, Spencer isn’t in the same mindset. He looks at me with his beautiful eyes, and I can’t resist, I go to him and let him put his arms around me. I can feel the others watching me, but I don’t move. “I’m not a cheater,” I tell him, and he laughs, stirring my hair. “Never thought you were. I’m also not a liar. I said what I meant. If you want to … I don’t know, explore shit with those cinnamon stick assholes, then fine.” He pushes me back a step and looks so deeply into my eyes, I feel like I’m falling. “I’m not afraid. We have something here, Chuck-let. Once you spend time with them, you’ll realize it.” “Cinnamon stick assholes?” I ask, because come on, that’s a weird one, even for me. “They’re redheads, so they have red pubes on their dicks, thus, you know, they look like cinnamon sticks.” I snort and slap a hand over my mouth, but it’s hard to keep it in. “Fuck you, Spencer,” Tobias says as Ranger moves up to the counter to order something. “Have you told her about Amber yet?” Spencer retorts, and Tobias’ already narrowed eyes turn to slits. “You can’t date Chuck if you don’t tell her about Amber.”

“What is there to tell?” Tobias spits back, and Micah scowls. They’ve never looked less in sync than they do right now. It’s disconcerting. “You know, I let her stay in Amber's room.” It must be a big deal, if they throw this girl’s name around like she’s the be-all, end-all. Tobias looks me straight in the face, and a shiver goes through me. “I was dating a girl I really liked. She …” He shrugs and rubs his hands over his face. “Micah and Amber were screwing behind my back.” My eyes widen, and Micah curses, throwing back the rest of his beer and storming out of the room before I can even think of how to respond. Several random comments and arguments I’ve encountered make so much more sense, like when Tobias was talking about how Ranger wanted to protect his sister’s legacy, no matter what she’d done, and Micah got angry and … well, stormed off like he did just now. Then there was Spencer’s comment about the twins saying they shared girls—since Amber, you mean. I feel like I’ve just opened up a can of worms. “Can we please talk about something else?” Tobias groans, ruffling up his hair. His eyes meet mine. “We have just over a day to figure out what to do about your dad.” “Maybe if I tell him I’m dating the Student Council, he’ll give in and let me stay?” I joke, and Ross makes a scoffing sound under his breath. “Not the whole Student Council, honey,” he says, giving me a look and then taking his drink outside. As soon as the door closes, he answers a phone call and leans up against the side of the building. “Any ideas?” Spencer asks, giving Tobias a skeptical look. “I mean, we couldn't possibly let our girlfriend fly across the country, right?” He props himself up on the wall, accepting the soda that Ranger brings his way. Church joins us and we stand in a small circle in the quiet café. The only other patrons are in the back corner, giggling and playing footsie. Gross. “I've already tried to bribe the headmaster,” Church adds, eyes lifted to the ceiling as he muses, stirring his iced coffee and making the cubes clink against the glass. “Didn't work. A threat, perhaps from your mother, Tobias?” “No, if I ask that, she'll ship me off to some military school,” he says, frowning, and I raise a brow. I'd had that same thought recently, only about myself. I wonder what he did prior to

coming here to earn that level of distrust from his mom? “Are you sure you don't want us to all traipse over there?” “The headmaster knows something,” Church repeats, and I frown. I don't want to believe that Dad's somehow involved in all of this shit. So I relay what Ross said about Mr. Murphy and Mr. Dave. Ranger and Church exchange a look, but I can't even begin to decipher what they're thinking. “Maybe we start there? Question the two of them?” Spencer asks, but it all feels so hopeless. I can feel it in my gut: I'm going back to California. “I'll talk to him again,” I say, but I don't have a lot of hope. Archie Carson is as stubborn as I am.

Dialing Mom's number gets me nowhere. She's changed it again. And when I go downstairs to ask Dad to give me her new one, he gives me this look. “Pleading with your mother behind my back won't change anything.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Why?” “Charlotte, I've explained this numerous times.” He stands up from the table, getting ready to run away again. Yep, he's most definitely lying. My father doesn't like to back down from fights, especially ones he already knows he's won. “Now, I'm going in there to book your flight, so if you have a preference, I need to know.” He starts walking, and I trail after, pulling the stone from my pocket. “Do you know what this is?” I ask, and he takes it briefly, studying it for a moment before handing it back to me. “No, I don't. And frankly, I don't see what this has to do with anything.” I frown, but pocket the stone again anyway. “I'm dating Spencer,” I say, just for the shock value. Dad doesn't react at all, continuing into his office and sitting down at his desk. “Even more reason for you to leave,” he murmurs under his breath, pulling up the airline and typing in the date for my one-way flight. “We both know how much of your time and attention these relationships take up.”

“That's such a cop-out response, and you know it,” I say, wondering if I should throw in the twin thing, too, really give him a run for his money. “I have better grades here than I ever did back home.” “And yet you ran off to New York City the other night while feeding me a lie about the lantern ceremony.” My mouth drops open, and I gape at him as he starts to put in LAX as my destination city. “San Jose,” I murmur, feeling my heart drop, and all the energy drain out of me. “I'm going to be heartbroken and lonely either way, better to be somewhere I'm familiar with. And why you'd think Los Angeles of all places is any better or safer than here is laughable.” He ignores me, selecting a flight and continuing onto the next page as I slump into the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Actually, I'm in a four-way polyamorous sort of thing with the McCarthy twins, too,” I add, just to see if that'll draw some energy out of the old man. His nostrils flare, but he gets his credit card out and types in the information anyway. “Instead of embarrassing yourself further, why don't you start packing? Whatever you can't fit in your suitcases, we'll ship.” “You're hiding something from me,” I say, but still, he refuses to look at me. “The more you ignore me, the more obvious it becomes.” “Go start packing,” he tells me, and I force myself to my feet with a huff, giving him a dark look. “Sending me away is going to be the biggest mistake you've ever made,” I say before heading out the door and upstairs to my room. I don't stay there for long. Why should I? Archie’s already inflicting me with the worst punishment he’s got up his sleeve: banishment.

“I sent you Jenica's whole journal,” Ranger tells me as we sit inside the girls' dorm, and he stares up at the spot on the wall where her picture used to hang. There's a slight discoloration where it should be; I wonder if we'll ever figure out who took it? “And her suicide note. Pictures of it all, anyway.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, because I know it's hard for him to reveal his sister's secrets like this. When I was younger, I used to be glad I didn't have any siblings because it meant I didn't have to share anything. Now, I'm sort of glad because it just means I don't have to worry. And yet, there's a little green streak of envy in you that wishes you had someone you could confide in, someone to care about as much as Tobias and Micah care about each other. “We should go cook something,” he says finally, as everyone else sits in silence around the room. I'm on the couch between Spencer and Tobias, trying not to squirm, but so unsure as to what, exactly, we've got going on here that I'm afraid to bring it up. “One last hurrah for the Culinary Club, huh?” Micah says, frowning. “This fucking blows. Are you seriously leaving in the morning?” “Seriously,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach as I slump back into the cushions. “At seven o'clock sharp.” I swing my fist and imitate the gruffness of my father's voice. “And just after I won the right to date the entire Student Council. Can you only imagine?” “Not the entire Student Council,” Spencer grumbles, looking across at Tobias. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment as Ranger snorts. “I don't date,” he says, and that's that. Church doesn't say anything, and Micah grins. “Just because you're leaving doesn't mean we can't date.” “Come on,” I tell him, reaching out to grab one of the cold sodas from the cooler on the table, “I've tried the long-distance high school relationship thing before. It didn't exactly work out.” “Don't compare us to that useless urinal cake,” Micah snorts, shaking his head, and then exchanging a look with his brother. “You've never dated guys with private jets. We can be in Santa Cruz during every break. Besides, we're only two months out from summer vacation.” “Are you guys going to come visit me?” I tease, because I can't imagine what the hell I'll be doing all summer by myself. Surfing? I guess at least I'll be ripped the next time they see me. “Of course we are,” Spencer scoffs, pushing his silver hair back. He looks devastated, which in a weird way makes me happy. He really does care that I'm leaving. “This isn't permanent. Next year, you'll be back at Adamson, I swear it.” “Are you all really going to try this dating thing?” Ranger asks, sinking back into his chair and studying the three of us. “Definitely,” the twins say in unison.

“Pretty much,” Spencer replies with a sigh, reaching down to take my hand. He squeezes it hard, and I feel my heart drop. Being separated from my new friends is going to hurt. I just hope it doesn't kill me.

I've never been so miserable on a plane in my life. Spencer gave me the money to upgrade to first-class (don't tell Archie; we did it on the app) so the service is good, and the seats are comfy, but holy hell … I feel like crying. The flight has Wi-Fi, but I don't bother to connect my phone. If I do, I'll end up chatting with the guys, and I'll feel even more sick to my stomach than I already do. Once we've landed, and I've collected my bags, I find my Aunt Elisa idling at the curb, and flirting with the on-duty security officer whose job it is to make sure people don't spend too much time idling at the curb. I sigh. Some things never change. “Auntie,” I say, trying to make myself smile. There's no point in starting off on a bad foot with my aunt, the only person standing between me and LA. Speaking of … “Charlie!” my mom shouts, surprising me from the backseat of my aunt's tiny '97 Honda Accord. Elisa had the windows tinted for her as a birthday present from her ex-boyfriend, years ago, because she says better things happen in the backseat than the front. Gross. “Mom,” I blurt, standing there with my bags in either hand and gaping at the woman I haven't seen in what feels like forever. She looks … better than when I last saw her, but nothing like the way my memory shaped her, as a beautiful, young woman with an inner vibrancy that was unmatched. How she ended up with Archie is beyond me, but maybe it was an opposites

attract sort of a thing? Their age difference has always sort of bothered me, although I know my dad isn't the pervy type. He loves my mother, probably more than he loves me. I've always thought that. “What are you doing here?” “I’m here to see you, silly,” she says, her blond hair tied back in a loose ponytail, the new lines on her face a sign of how hard these last few years have been. Clearly, she has demons that I know nothing about. For four years, I’ve tried to understand what those are, but I’ve come to the realization recently that I don’t know my mother as well as I thought. Maybe I never did? “I took the bus up here, and your aunt is going to drive us back.” My eyes narrow in suspicion. I made my choice. I'm not going to Los Angeles. I'd rather stay in Santa Cruz, where at least I know I can hang out with the twins during school breaks. That, and I do know people here. Starting fresh all over again sounds like hell. “Okay. But why? I've decided to go back to SCHS.” “You can at least come see my new apartment, and tour the schools your father and I picked out for you.” “I'm not going to LA,” I repeat, and Mom frowns. What makes her think she can order me around after disappearing without a word? “The last thing I want to do is sit in a hot car for five hours. Can I please just go back to Elisa's place and get settled?” My aunt stays frozen in the front seat, hands on the wheel, as she looks between the two of us with curious brown eyes. She's pretty, but her makeup isn't my favorite, very harsh and dark. It makes her look older than she should. I’m pretty sure I got my obsessive need to fit in from this side of the family; Archie clearly has no problem being hated by everyone around him. “Charlotte, are you trying to hurt my feelings?” she asks, frowning, a few loose strands of hair hanging in big ringlets around her face. It's a bit thinner and duller than I remember it being, but I suppose it's part of the price she paid for hitting the drugs so hard? There are wrinkles around her mouth that were never there before either, lines that a thirty-six year old woman shouldn't have. “Were you, when you refused to see me before going back to rehab?” I ask, and then I climb in and close the door. I'm not going to get from San Jose to Santa Cruz on my own, much as I wish there was a way.

“We're going to LA,” Mom says, getting that no-nonsense tone in her voice. I sit there for a minute while Aunt Elisa puts on her turn signal, and then I climb out and start walking down the sidewalk with my bags. “Charlotte!” Mom calls, but I don't stop. I keep moving, losing her in the crowd, and then I lock myself in a bathroom stall inside the airport. There's only one person who might be willing to give me a ride. I call Monica's number. “Hello?” she asks tentatively, her voice threaded with nerves. “Charlotte?” “I'm back in town. Can you pick me up at the airport?” There's a long pause. I'm sure she's shocked to hear from me. “Give me an hour,” she says, and then hangs up. My phone blows up with messages from Elisa, Mom, and then finally Dad. He is pissed, too. But I ignore him, finally working up the courage to check my messages from the Student Council. How was the flight? Short and brusque from Ranger. Spencer locked himself in his room all morning. Just thought you'd like to know. That from Church. You forgot this. There's a picture of the floppy fake dick the twins bought me. I made sure to leave it on their doorstep, so they'd find it when they woke up. Glad to see they enjoyed it. That message is from Micah's phone, and I've got another from Tobias. We're going to miss you, nonVirgin Chuck. Hah. Just two and half months, and we can hang out all summer. Spencer. My heart clenches tight, and I fire off a few quick replies, including a group message to my parents. Monica's driving me back to SC. I'll stop by Elisa's tomorrow. As promised, about sixty minutes later, Monica pulls up to the curb in her shiny silver Beemer, mirrored sunglasses on her face, her dark hair billowing in the warm breeze. “Hey,” she says, her voice tentative in a way I've never heard before. I slide into the white leather passenger seat after tossing my bags in the back, and then buckle up. Monica drives like a crazy person. I'll be lucky to survive the stretch of Highway 17 with her behind the wheel. “Hey.” More silence as she puts on her blinker, and pulls out into traffic. “How have you been?” she asks finally, and I turn to look at her.

“How's Cody?” I reply, which really isn't fair. Seriously, I'm trying to work on my issues. I know I'm half-snark, half-sarcasm, with just a dash of asshole thrown in. It's no wonder all the guys at Adamson hated me. “We haven't talked since you left. He's dating Andrea now.” Monica shrugs like she doesn't care, but there's a heaviness to her frown that says otherwise. We've known each other too long for her to lie to me like that. Maybe she's even lying to herself? “How are your sexy twins?” “They rode a carousel with me, took me racing in their matching yellow Lamborghinis, and then set me up in their palace by the sea for my birthday.” I study her face, wishing she wasn’t wearing sunglasses, so I could get a read on her eyes. “They're great. They turned an awful day into an amazing one.” “I'm sorry about what happened,” Monica says, dropping her voice. “I'm not sure if this helps or hurts the situation, but I didn't forget it was your birthday. I was jealous because Cody kept promising to break up with you, and then he'd flake … He forgot your birthday though, and I decided that if he forgot then …” Silence falls between us. It's just the sound of the wind as Monica whips us through the city and onto the tight curves of one of the most dangerous roads in California. I've seen so many wrecks on this stretch, it's not even funny. “Was it worth it? Losing your best friend for a guy?” I ask, and Monica cringes. “No.” She looks over at me, and then lifts her shades so I can see her brown eyes. She's seriously one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. I used to be intimidated by her, but right now, I feel brazen, like nothing could bother me. I'm here when I want to be in Connecticut. What else could go wrong? “I miss you, Charlotte. I've been meaning to text you, but I could never figure out what to say. I'm sorry didn't seem like enough.” “It's not, but driving up here to get me is a start.” Another pause. There are so many things we need to talk about, so many things I need to say to her. But instead, all I want to do is talk about Adamson, and the guys, and all the shit that went down. Some people would probably write Monica off forever for what she did, but that's not what I want. People make mistakes. I still believe in redemption. “I lost my v-card finally.” “Seriously?” Monica asks, grinning. “To which twin? Or both? Please say both.”

“To Spencer Hargrove,” I admit, holding up my phone, so she can see a picture of him. I only have this one that I took at the last Culinary Club meeting, of me and him. It makes my heart hurt to look at it. “Isn't he cute?” “Cute? No way. Handsome. Feisty. Looks like trouble. What happened with the twins then? I thought you guys were dating?” I almost choke on my own spit. “It's complicated.” “Did you break up?” she asks, and then pauses. “And when they said you were dating both of them …” “I'm sort of trying the polyamorous angle, you know?” I lean back against the door, waiting to see her reaction. “Like, dating Spencer and both twins.” “Yeah? I'm sort of into that, too. Dating two guys right now, but like, with their full knowledge. It's been interesting.” Another pause. “What are you doing back here anyway? I mean, not that I'm not glad to see you …” “My dad forced me to move back,” I admit, sighing. “I didn't want to. I mean, at first, when we moved, all I wanted was to come home and be with you and Cody. But then you guys kept blowing me off, reading my messages and not responding, and then I got here and found out about …” I trail off. There's no point in saying it aloud; we both know what happened. “Anyway, I like what I have going on back at Adamson.” “Girl, I like what you have going on back at Adamson.” She glances over and then cringes a little. “Sorry, too soon? It's awkward, isn't it?” “If you sleep with one of these guys, I'll never forgive you,” I say, but also, I'm not worried. Not because of Monica, but because I don't think Spencer or the twins, or even Church or Ranger, would do that to me. “Understood,” Monica says, and then we both get quiet and stay that way until we pull into her driveway. Her parents on their way out, but they give me a quick pair of hugs before leaving. That's when I remember what Micah said about the Peters being behind on their mortgage payments. “Is everything okay?” I ask as Monica waves them off, and then glances over at me, frowning.

“Not really. But my grandpa's stepped in, so we don't lose the house. Other than that, I don't know what's going to happen. My parents' business is in the toilet. Eventually everyone in town will know, and I won't have any reputation left to stand on.” “There are worse things,” I say, thinking of Jenica. Of Eugene. Of the crazy stalker who's been calling himself Adam. “You'll figure it out.” “I hope so.” Monica pauses awkwardly for a minute. “Do you want to get your suit on and just chill in the pool for a while? I can make us drinks.” “Sounds good,” I tell her, and then I head upstairs to dump my bags. Maybe I'll stay a while? It's gotta be better than letting my mom drag me to LA, right?

Hanging out with Monica is both nice and weird, all at the same time. I missed her like crazy, but despite our familiarity with one another, it’s like we’re starting all over again. The trust and the friendship we had before is broken, shattered really, and I’m still bleeding from those wounds. In a way though, it’s sort of a good thing. I broke up with Cody, realized I never actually liked him all that much to begin with, and now here I am with a dozen messages from my, uh, three new boyfriends? It’s fucking weird, man. I reply to everyone, trying to hold back a rush of irrational tears. This isn’t the end of the world. Sure, it fucking feels like it, but it’s just a blip. I keep telling myself that, keep trying to look on the bright side. At least I won’t get hung from a tree, right? But the nooses, the notes, the stone, the dead bird … it’s a lot. And leaving that mystery unsolved is leaving me unsettled. On top of that, I’m worried about my crew. That one week of thinking Spencer was dead was almost too much for me. How would I survive if I had to go through it again? With a groan, I roll onto my side and pull up Jenica’s journal instead. Ranger’s sent me screenshots of every page, including the one that has the stone’s symbol drawn on it. That, and he’s also sent me her suicide note. Church was able to quote it word for word, but seeing it written out in Jenica’s loopy, whimsical handwriting makes it seem more tragic somehow. I flip to the beginning of the journal and start reading.

It begins with her first day of high school at Adamson, as the only female student. Unlike me, however, Jenica Woodruff was a hell of a lot braver. She walked in wearing a skirt, her long hair thrown over one shoulder, and she marched right into the cafeteria. According to her words, she announced: I’m not here for dick; I’m here for academics. I snort and roll onto my back, scrolling to the next page.

I’m not sure why I said that. Really, it was stupid as hell. And it made no sense. But everyone laughed, and patted me on the back, and I felt more welcome there than I’d ever felt at Everly. The bullying will stop, I’m sure of it. The things I went through the last three years, they won’t happen here; I won’t let them happen here.

I read until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, but none of the ‘fucked-up’ stuff that Ranger spoke about is in here yet. What is in here are mentions of Rick, her childhood friend that she was dating, and even Lionel aka Mr. Murphy who was nice to her from day one. I am suspicious as fuck about that guy. “What can I do from here?” I grumble, turning on my side and setting my phone on the wireless charging pad that’s built into the nightstand (yeah, it’s pretty swanky in here, I know). My eyes close, and before I know it, I’m out.

On Monday, I'm back at school, dressed in a short skirt, tank top, and sandals. I've got my contacts in, makeup on, and my hair as straight and shiny as I can get it. It's a little weird, going to class and not wearing my uniform. I thought I hated Adamson, but now that I'm standing in the front hall of Santa Cruz High with its brightly colored walls and beach-ready populace, I miss the stone walls and rough-hewn wood beams. I miss the stupid Student Council, and the Culinary Club. With a sigh, I head down the hall, find my old locker and stuff the jacket that I most definitely don't need inside of it. What was I thinking? The stupid northeast weather is messing with my head.

The school day is pretty boring, pretty much what I expected. My old friends and teachers greet me warmly, but I still end the day feeling like a fish out of water. Monica takes me back into the fold, and by the end of the week, everything is starting to feel like … well, like it's sophomore year all over again. Minus Cody, that is. I spot him once in the hallway and his eyes go wide, but I end up just flipping him off and sauntering down the hall after Monica. I don't have time for scumbags. Instead, every day after school, I head back to Monica's place and video chat with the guys. They always answer my calls. Every single one. My texts, too. “Nothing new to report,” Spencer says, lying on his back on his bed, totally shirtless and drool-worthy. I shift uncomfortably and then lie back into the pillows of the guest room bed, mimicking his pose. “I mean, since we last talked a few hours ago.” He smirks at me. “I like this, having you call me every day.” “You call me every day,” I retort, and it's true. He does. We still haven't exactly ironed out what it is we both expect from our relationship, or what it means that the twins are now somehow a part of that. It just seems like a conversation that’d be better had in person. “Yeah, because I like you.” He pauses and bites his lower lip, holding the phone straight above his body so that I can see his entire top half, from his silver-ash hair down to the deep 'V' muscles near his hips. I swallow hard. “Yeah?” “Dude, Chuck,” Spencer says, grinning and reaching up to ruffle his silver hair. He looks like a fox when he smiles like that. “I was into you when I thought you had a dick. Dicks gross me out, and I was getting hard at the thought of sucking yours.” “Please stop,” I choke out, but I'm laughing and blushing at the same time. “You were not.” “Yeah, I was. That day I came to your room to fix the door, I was prepared to do it. I wanted to do it. Like, I'm really glad you have a vagina instead, but that's just a bonus.” He shrugs his muscular shoulders, and I feel this tingle that travels from my chest down to the ends of my fingers and toes. My hand sneaks between my thighs and just brushes up against the thin cotton of my shorts. Paired with the sight of Spencer, and the sound of his voice, it's enough to make me shiver. “So,” he starts, and I withdraw my hand, swallowing hard and hoping he didn’t notice I was up to anything untoward. “How are your parents handling you staying with Monica?”

“They’re pissed,” I say, thinking of my last conversation with my dad. He called me on a video chat, but I didn’t answer. There was no way in hell I wanted to see him glaring at me with those daggers he calls eyes. I called him back, and we had a short, terse conversation that didn’t end well. He wants me to go back to Aunt Elisa’s, but I don’t trust Mom. She tried to drag me to Los Angeles against my will, and I know she’s still staying with her sister. I had Monica drive me by the day after the airport incident, and then again yesterday. Elisa and Mom were standing out front of the apartment building, smoking cigarettes. “I mean, my aunt doesn’t give a shit what I do. Actually, I’m sure she’s thrilled I’m staying at Monica’s. But both parents are furious. Archie threatened to call the cops, but the Peters ended up giving him a call and talking him out of it.” A heavy frown sits on my mouth, and I nibble my lower lip. “So you get to stay there the rest of the school year?” Spencer asks, absently trailing his fingers down his taut belly. My eyes follow the motion, and my brain short circuits a little bit. It takes me a moment to reorient myself. “Apparently. I mean, I don’t think they’re going to stop pressuring me to head to Elisa’s, but for right now, we’re at a stalemate. They basically took away the one thing I wanted most, which was to stay at Adamson. I’m not scared of anything else they might throw at me. I did agree to spend at least two weeks at my mom’s place during the summer though.” A sigh escapes me, and I swipe a hand down my face. I do want to spend time with Mom, that’s not the issue. It’s just, I don’t trust her and dad not to pull some coup and force me to spend my senior year in LA. It’s my worst nightmare. “Well, shit, we’ll join you then,” he says, and I force my eyes from his firm lower abs to his face. “Ranger’s mom has this killer estate in LA that she never uses. We can hang out there for a bit, and be your backup.” A smile takes over my lips, and I exhale, noticing the way Spencer’s running a finger along the waistband of his shorts. “What are we doing?” I ask him after a minute, my senses hyper-aware as he sets his palm down on his lower belly. There’s a tension between us that I can feel, even though he’s on the opposite side of the country. “I was honestly hoping you'd tell me that. But since you asked … do you want to uh, make this a thing?” His hand slides a little lower, fingers teasing the waistband of his sweats. “Like a sexting thing?”

That's not exactly what I meant, but … I'll take it. “Is it still sexting if, you know, there's no texting involved?” I raise an eyebrow, but Spencer's already running his tongue along his lower lip in a seductive little come-on. “Does it matter?” he asks, mouth curving to one side as his lids droop into a seductive, heavy bedroom look. “Do you really want to talk semantics, or do you want to do this thing?” Spencer makes this low, groaning sound in his throat, the movement beneath his gray boxers indicative of, um, well jacking-off. “I'm already imagining you touching me, your hand curving around my cock …” “I've never actually touched it with my hand,” I add, squirming in the sumptuous satin sheets and hating this perfect bed, and this perfect room, and this perfect house. I just want to be back in Connecticut with the Student Council. The stupid, stupid Student Council. Spencer pauses, and then curses under his breath. “We can rectify that when we see each other next,” he purrs, stroking himself. Or at least, I think he's stroking himself. I swallow hard. I want to ask when that might be, but I don't want to ruin the moment. “Come on, Chuck, don't leave me hanging.” “Take your boxers off,” I command, wanting to see him naked and vulnerable before I dare to go there. If I close my eyes, I can just imagine his woody smell, like cedar and hyssop. Ugh. “Also … what fragrance do you use?” “Fragrance?” Spencer asks, his eyes opening wider, the turquoise color shocking even when it's only pixels on a screen. After a moment, he flashes a cocksure grin. “Ahh, okay, I gotcha. You want to buy the cologne I use and spray it all over your shit, huh?” “What?! No!” I shout, far too enthusiastically. I pretend to yawn, hoping Spencer won't be able to see the pinkness in my cheeks with the low light from the bedside lamp. “I just … I need a gift for my new beau here. And your scent wasn't all that bad.” “Your new beau, huh?” Spencer asks, and then he pushes his boxers down his hips, revealing the path those gorgeous 'V' muscles take downward, toward the hard length of his cock. My throat gets tight again, and words fail me. “I guess maybe your new beau wouldn't appreciate you sneaking around with me behind his back? We should probably stop.” Spencer wraps his hand around himself, and teases the head with his thumb. Crap, crap, crap.

“Okay, fine, I want to buy your scent. So what? That doesn't mean anything. I just like it, and I recently ran out of my usual lemon meringue stuff.” “It's Kenneth Cole Black, and I think even a poor, little peasant like you could afford it.” Spencer strokes his hand along the length of himself, and then rolls over, digging around in his nightstand for some lube. This is getting seriously real, I think as he adjusts his phone, holding it up high over himself, so I can see everything. Like, everything. Slowly, I set my own phone aside, and then strip my shirt and pajama pants, picking it back up to flash Spencer my newly nude self. “Oh, come on,” he growls out, curling his lip up in a vulpine grin. “You're covering your chest with your arm, and … what the hell sort of panties are those? And why are you always wearing weird panties, Chuck-let?” My cheeks go from pink to neon red. “They're … you’ve seen these panties before,” I choke out, wondering why I still don't have that magic power to open up a hole beneath myself and fall into it. Death would be preferable to the level of embarrassment I'm experiencing right now. Yeah, okay, fine I’m wearing the crotchless panties that Micah found in my stuff when the boys helped me move. How coy must I be, to think everything is covered up when in reality, I’m flashing him the best bits? “The rest were … I had to wash them, and these …” “Did you wear those just for me, Chuck?” he drawls, voice thick with lust. Oh, yeah, he’s definitely turned-on. And he most definitely doesn’t hate these crotchless panties as much as I do. “Tell me: did you fantasize about me pulling them off of you when you put them on this morning?” “First off, you’re totally grasping at straws right now. Second, I'm only wearing them because I don't have any other clean ones,” I grumble, looking down at the big hole in my crotch —the hole in the fabric, I mean, not the … well, you know what I meant. I should've maybe thought about changing into something else before I stripped down to my skivvies. “You still didn't answer my question,” Spencer urges, and I decide to distract him by slowly sliding my arm down my breasts to reveal, well, everything. His eyes sparkle, and he grins. “I still can't believe you were hiding them for all those months.”

“It sucked; it hurt,” I whisper, but I'm not really all that concerned with my breasts being bound. No, I'm all too focused on Spencer's reaction to them. He strokes his hand down the length of himself, eyelids heavy and half-lidded. He’s watching me, his breathing coming in harsh, ragged bursts. I’d give anything to be there with him right now, lying with my head on his chest, my own hand taking the place of his. As my thoughts run away with me, I slid my own hand under the panties, teasing some wetness up to rub myself. Spencer gets a nice view through the crotchless portion, but I don’t care. I want him to see. I’ve only got one free hand, but if I could, I’d touch my breasts, too. My nipples are aching, and all I can think about is Spencer’s hot mouth on them, his tonguing tracing circles around the stiff pink point. Spencer groans and bucks his hips, thrusting into his hand, clearly imagining it’s me there instead. “I want you so bad,” he whispers, his voice ragged and harsh. “I can practically feel you, here.” My fingers dive in and Spencer makes this horrible, agonized sound, sweat beading on his forehead. He works himself faster and harder, and I match his pace. Our eyes both seem to drift up at the same moment, from our hands to our faces. Gazes locked, I work myself until he comes for me, spilling himself all over his own hand and stomach. The sight is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and within a few minutes, I’m climaxing, too, forgetting for a brief moment to be embarrassed that Spencer’s just lying there, panting and watching me touch myself. A small scream tears from me at the last moment, and relaxation floods my body. I swear, I melt into those pillows. For several minutes after, we just sit there in silence, staring at each other. “You have no idea how much I miss you,” he says, and I shake my head. “You have no idea how much we missed you when you went missing. Don’t ever do that to us again, okay?” “I promise,” he says, but can someone really make that promise, to stay safe? Sometimes that’s not entirely in our control, now is it?

“I heard you up late last night,” Monica teases when I appear in the kitchen, groggy and blearyeyed but smiling like an idiot. “Your new guy seems pretty awesome.” “How much did you hear exactly?” I ask, pouring milk into a bowl and trying not to think about the Monica/Cody thing. She betrayed me, and things will never be the same. But also, I missed her. It's a weird conundrum, playing out inside my chest. Better to be here than with my aunt or mother though. Seriously, like way better. I'm mostly left alone at the Peters’ place. Dad isn't happy about it, but I'm attending school, and my grades are so much better than they used to be. The curriculum at Adamson is so far beyond anything we do at SCHS that for once, I'm actually at the head of the class. Church's tutoring sessions certainly didn't hurt. “Um, mostly a lot of moaning, but a bit of a scream, too,” Monica laughs, and then squeals when I flick cereal at her. “But seriously, for you to let yourself go like that, he must be really special.” My cheeks flush, but I lick my lower lip. “He is, but I’m not,” I mumble, and she gives me a look, her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Seriously? Does he know that?” she tosses her glossy espresso hair over her shoulder and then surreptitiously sneaks a peek at her phone. Monica's dating some rich douche bag from Burberry Prep Academy. Guess I can't really judge though, considering that all my new friends in the Student Council are also rich douche bags. Except ... maybe they're just rich, and not so much douches? “And what about your hottie twins? Charlotte, do not even start getting down on yourself right now. Clearly, they all see something in you.” “I guess.” I scoop a bite of cereal into my mouth as Monica puts a hand on her hip and gives me a look. “For real?” she asks, and then her face softens slightly. “I mean, look at you. You’re seriously fucking cool, dating three dudes like that. It's our time, you know? Like after centuries of patriarchal bullshit, a little polyamory is the least men can do.” She hits the button on the blender, and churns up this green gunk that I wouldn't eat unless I were a literal cow whose favorite foods were cud and clover. It even smells like dirt. “Are we okay?” she asks after she turns it off and transfers it to a stainless steel thermos, glancing over at me with as much indecision and shame as I've ever seen in her face. Anger

rides hard in me, but I push away the pain of that single day, and try to remember all the good times we had together. It works, at least a little. “We could get there,” I say, “as long as you let me stay here the rest of the school year.” “Oh, for sure,” she gushes, trying to keep her cool. I can tell she's excited though. I think, despite the amount of people she surrounds herself with, that Monica is secretly lonely. I think before I met the Student Council, that I was, too. “Once trust is broken, it takes even more to heal that wound than it does to start fresh, but let's try, okay? I miss you.” Monica's cheeks flush and she nods, but there's a determination in her gaze that I appreciate. “Should we go surfing after school? I haven't been in forever. We'll be lucky if I can manage to stand up on the board.” “Oh hell yes. I'll gather the girls ... but only if you want?” I nod. When I moved to Connecticut, I put my life on pause, just waiting around for it to start up again. I won't make that same mistake again. Besides, the busier I keep myself here, the faster the days will go by, and I'll get to see my friends again. And my … boyfriends. Like, plural. How weird is that?

When the first of May rolls around, I start counting down the days until school is out. Nothing's happened at Adamson since I left, and I start to get this sick, guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Is Eugene dead because of me? I know that's a strange thought, but clearly the people responsible for his murder are the same ones after me, the ones who left the notes telling me to leave. If I'd gone sooner, would that have stopped the violence? Would that have saved Ranger from almost drowning? There's no way to answer that, so I don't try. Instead, I finish up the day and then sit waiting for Monica until I get a text telling me she's stuck making up a math test. She promises she'll only be a half an hour, so I decide to wait in the back courtyard area, lovingly referred to as Dandelion Court since, you know, our gardening club sucks, and the place is filled with big white dandelion puffs. Sunning myself on one of the brick walls, I pull up Jenica’s journal and start reading. I’ve been trying to get at least a page or two in every night, but it wasn’t until last night that I really started to get to the good stuff. And by good stuff, I mean bad stuff. A few months into the school year, Jenica was close to having a nervous breakdown. Between schoolwork, her new relationship with Rick, and trying to decide on a college, she ended up making some fairly questionable decisions. Spencer’s brother, Jack, sold her some coke, and some pills, and the entries after that are much different.

I think she may have been a bit of an addict.

Today, I was walking back to the dorm when I realized I just needed a minute to myself. I took off through the trees, and I started running with no idea as to where I was going. That’s when I ran into them. They didn’t want me there; they were pissed. Things got bad, like really, really bad. So I ran home, and I locked the door, and I put my hands over my ears. This is going to come back to bite me in the ass, I just know it is.

My mouth drops open, and I flip back and forth between the previous pages to see if I missed something. But no, Jenica was just purposely vague. I mean, it was her journal after all. Guess she didn’t expect anyone else to read it. Either that, or she was high when she wrote that section. Who knows? With a frustrated sigh, I continue on, but the next few pages are fairly boring. Her boyfriend Rick seems like a chauvinistic prick, but there’s nothing about whatever happened to her in the woods. I flip through a few weeks’ worth of entries, and then pause on the page with the symbol. Jenica’s sketch doesn’t look hurried or unsure; it’s like she was drawing from something in real life. I slip the stone from my pocket and examine it. The boys and I have tried to research it, but there’s no information on this symbol. It looks like a lot of other well-known symbols, but it isn’t a match to any. With a sigh, I tuck the stone away again, and turn the page. Right here, it looks like a whole section was torn away. I zoom in on the image, and there it is, clear as day, the edges of ripped paper next to an entry about Lionel Murphy. He’s such a good, kind-hearted friend, the only sort of person I could share so much with. Huh. Yep, they were dating behind Rick’s back, no doubt in my mind.

I'm halfway through the next page when I hear a noise. I lift my head up, expecting to see another student, the janitor, a faculty member. But instead, there's nobody there. Whatever. I start reading again when I hear the sound of boots on gravel. This time, when I look up, I see a guy standing just down the path from me. Wearing a hoodie that's cinched tight over his face. What. the. fuck? “Uh, can I help you?” I choke out, and then the guy's racing down the pathway toward me. I drop my phone as I roll to the side, and a baseball bat slams into the brick wall where I was just sitting. This so isn't happening! I think as I scramble to my feet and take off, finding the double doors to the hallway locked. I yank on them, and then out of some deeply buried instinct, I duck. The baseball bat hits the bullet-proof glass of the windows and bounces back, making my attacker curse. I'm already scrabbling away, using the wall to stand up as I head for the open window behind a wooden garden box filled with vegetables (and dandelions). I vault over the box, crushing a cucumber in the process, and then shove the screen out of my way, crawling into the classroom and landing on the floor in a panting heap. Unfortunately, there's nobody in there, so I'm still on my own. I race toward the door and fling it open, letting myself into the empty hallway. The second of my two attackers is standing there, a knife in hand. Jesus. “This is insane!” I scream, my voice echoing in the empty hallway. Where the hell is everyone? I take off for the cafeteria, slipping on the floors as I pound past the picnic tables in the direction of the fire exit. There are footsteps behind me, closing in fast. And even though I’ve been surfing lately, I’m still a bit out of shape; I'm panting like crazy. My third attacker, much smaller in build, leaps out from behind a trash can, wearing yet another nondescript black hoodie and wielding a Taser. A freaking Taser. And where’s mine when I need it? That’s right, back at Monica’s because I’m not allowed to bring freaking weapons to school. Fuck my life.

Trying to stop on those waxy floors is a recipe for disaster, and I end up skidding, slamming into the legs of douche bag number three. She—this is most definitely a she—gives a feminine grunt, and collapses on top of me. She can’t use the Taser in such close proximity, but she sure as hell can hold me as long as she needs for the other two guys to get here. “Let go of me!” I scream, and the sound of a door slamming in the kitchen area echoes around the room. “What on earth is going on out here?” one of the lunch ladies asks, storming out the gate that leads to the kitchen with a knife in her hand. The girl I’m all tangled up with kicks at me, and curses, rising to her feet. I’m not fully convinced one angry lunch lady is enough to stop these freaks, so I scramble forward toward the exit, using the handle to pull myself to my feet. The door swings open in front of me, letting in a wave of sunshine as I spin and slam my palms against it to force it shut. The last thing I see before it closes is the trio of hoodie-wearing assholes staring at me. Turning, I find myself looking at a group of goth kids smoking cigarettes. I smile; they don't smile back. And I make myself walk as slowly as I can past them. Nobody follows me out of the cafeteria, but whatever these psychos are trying for: it's working. I'm scared shitless. Intimidating me while I was at Adamson, sleeping in Jenica's room, exploring the girls' dormitory, that made sense. This … doesn't. What in the ever-loving fuck is going on?!

“You have got to be fucking kidding me?” Tobias murmurs as Spencer paces behind him. Micah's sitting on his brother's left, while Church lounges in the background. Ranger gets up close and personal with the screen. “Do you think your attackers were male or female?” he asks, mouth in a tight, thin line. He looks ready to kill somebody. “Two males, one female, just like we thought,” I say, exhaling and rubbing my hands over my face. I reported the attack to the security office, but after searching the campus, there was no

evidence of any wrongdoing. The security cameras just so happened to malfunction during the incident. Although they took my report, I could tell the two male police officers were skeptical of my story. Dickheads. “Do you think I should call my dad and talk to him about it?” “Hell yeah I do,” Ranger snaps, closing his eyes and covering his mouth with his hand. He opens them again, those dark sapphire irises cutting straight through me. He's all the way across the country and yet, he could kill with that glare of his. “This is fucking serious.” “He's not going to believe me,” I murmur, but Ranger gives me this searing look. I wonder if he really does think of me like a replacement for Jenica? I hope not, I think, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa in Monica's guestroom. That's how big this place is, the bedroom has its own fireplace and seating area. I hope they don't end up losing it to foreclosure like Micah implied. “He will. He sent you away for a reason. He knows more than he's letting on.” Ranger exhales. “Have you had a chance to finish the journal yet?” “I'm working my way through it,” I say, my mind drifting to Jenica. She really did write about some fucked-up things, but she also wrote down her fears, her hopes and dreams. Knowing she's gone, it's a tough thing to get through. When I read it, I always feel like crying. “We've been digging into things here, but it's been quiet since you left. What I don't understand is why you'd get notes telling you to leave, only to have your attacker chase you down?” “Could be a prank?” Spencer suggests, putting his hands on the back of Tobias' chair and leaning in. I inhale and breathe in the scent of the Kenneth Cole Black fragrance I purchased, specifically for these sorts of moments. His turquoise eyes catch and hold my attention. “Have you told anyone else about the notes or the attacks? Monica? That douche, Cody?” “Nobody,” I say firmly. And really, that's not exactly their style. Monica is too mean girl, and Cody is … well, he's not all that smart. Subtlety isn't exactly in his wheelhouse. “So the notes aren't necessarily tied to the attacks,” Church muses, leaning back in his chair and crossing his long legs at the knee. “We're looking for two different factions.” “Someone was trying to protect you,” Tobias says, exchanging a look with his brother. Micah's brows go up. My eyes slide to Church, whose half-lidded stare and overly calm demeanor make me wonder. He locked me in the trunk that night; someone let me out.

Someone who had keys, but didn't have to go into the house to wake Dad up. And that same someone was waiting to chase me with a knife, and yet … “The first attacker, with the knife,” I blurt, the pieces coming together. My gaze flicks over to Church, but he returns my look with a cool stare of his own. “That's the note writer.” I snap my fingers, feeling all proud of myself. “I mean, if you were there with a knife, and you wanted to kill me, why not just do it as soon as you opened the trunk?” “And there was only one person that time. The other incidents involved at least two people each time,” Ranger continues, taking out a notebook and writing this all down. I notice it's a pink notebook with gold edges, and a unicorn on the front. For a guy who tromps around in combat boots yelling at people all the time, smoking cigarettes, and sporting a chest tat, he sure likes cute things. “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. “Karma will get those thieving assholes eventually,” I say, waving my hand to indicate the ballsy students and their ridiculous lawyers. “But I'm really scared here, Dad. These people followed me from Adamson. I've got a target on my back.” “Do you want to stay with your mother?” he asks finally, lifting his head. “You broke her heart by running away at the airport. You do understand that, right?” I look away, but I don't want to talk about it. My relationship with Mom is complicated. “Fine. I'll call the school back and let them know my concerns, does that help?” I nod, and Dad pauses. There's this weird awkward moment of silence where I almost feel like he might say the L-word. But then that's gone and he's sighing again. “Goodnight, Charlotte. Call me tomorrow.” He hangs up, and I slump down on the bed. It's hard to get others to believe you when there's not a shred of evidence one way or the other. But I refuse to end up like Eugene or Jenica, swinging from the limbs of a tree, the only sound the creak of the rope and the whisper of the wind. No fucking way.

The next morning, I've got an escort to school: a man and a woman in a black SUV. The first thing I do is text the guys to see if they know anything about it. Private security. The Adamson school board has no sway over what happens in Santa Cruz.

It's Tobias that responds first. I tuck my phone back in my pocket and go about my day, trying to pretend like everything's normal. The security people stay in their car for the most part, but when I leave after school with Monica and head to the beach, there they are. “Who the hell are they?” she asks as I get my board out of her car and carry it down to the sand. “Just … some security detail my new boyfriends hired.” I strip off my shirt and shorts—we often rock bathing suits under our clothes here—and hit the waves. Monica is definitely weirded-out, but some part of me wants to keep what happened to myself. Makes it easier to figure out who's telling the truth, and who's full of shit. Don't even go there, my mind whispers, but now that I've had the thought, I can't stop wondering if Church isn't the one writing me notes. He didn't want me digging into Jenica's death, he's the one who locked me in the trunk, and it always feels like he's one step ahead of the rest of us. I don't think he's actually out to kill me, but maybe he really was trying to scare me away? When I first got back, I was so out of shape it wasn't even funny, but these past few weeks have been good for me. I'm not quite the color of a Victorian ghost anymore, my hair is bleached white from the sun, and I've got that flat tummy back. Dorky Chuck with the oversized uniform, floppy hair, and nerdy glasses seems like a million miles away. I guess … she’s about three thousand miles away, quite literally, isn’t she? I ride the waves until the sun starts to set, and then collapse onto my towel beside Monica, half-naked and soaking up the sun. She lifts her giant shades to glance over at me, panting and dripping, my blonde hair finally growing out and hanging in curly tendrils around my face. “Why do you need private security detail? Your new boyfriends aren't, like, those weird rich controlling types are they? Trust me: I've dated plenty of those before and you don't want that.” “Nah, nothing like that,” I say, poking my finger in the sand. A pair of guys walk by, grinning at Monica and me, I think. She gives them a coquettish little smile in return while I just stare. I'm so used to playing the introverted headmaster's son, I'd almost forgotten what life used to be like here. And yet, I still want to go back. When it comes to real estate, it might be location, location, location, but when it comes to home, it's company, company, company.

I exhale and lean back on my towel, my pink surfboard snuggled up beside me like an old friend. At least I don't have to be worried about dying right now. I'm surprised at how relieved I feel, like maybe I've been living with more fear and tension than I realized. Monica settles back down, and we lay in companionable silence for a while before I pull my phone back out and continue with my reading of Jenica's journal. It's a bit of a pain in the ass, having to zoom in on the pictures of those old pages, her very distinctive handwriting a challenge to make out at times. It's pretty, just super stylized and hard to read.

Rick is pressuring me into sleeping together, but I'm not ready. He brings it up to me every day, and I don't know how to say no anymore. I almost want to do it just so I can get it over with.

I pause and frown hard. Jenica's old boyfriend, Rick, lives in Singapore and is married to a local. He's got two kids, and some big shot job at an international company. It's highly unlikely he's involved in any of this, but if I ever meet the guy, I'm going to punch him in the balls. No girl or woman should be made to feel like Jenica did. No really does mean fucking no. As I lift my eyes back up to the page, I notice something. Jenica writes her R's in a capital shape, even when they're in the middle of a word. Sitting up suddenly, I shove my shades into my salt-soaked hair and flip back through the pages. Yep. It's always a capital, albeit a slightly smaller capital, but a capital nonetheless. Next, I flip to the image of her supposed suicide note. It must've taken Ranger a hell of a lot of courage to show this to us. Just looking at it now feels me with this warmth; he trusts me. He has no real reason to, but he does. I bite my lip. Dear JR, is written at the beginning of the note, like a pair of initials, like Jeff Rabot. But what if it was Jr., like Junior instead? I text Ranger my findings, my heart beating like crazy. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it's the clue we've been looking for?

Fuck, is the message he sends back. And then. Did you know Mr. Murphy's dad used to teach at Adamson? They had one year of overlap, and we used to call the older Mr. Murphy, Murph Senior. I bite my lip and try to hold back a squeal. Might not be right to get so excited about a murder investigation, but hey, it is what it is. We'll look into it, and get back to you, Ranger sends, and I tuck my phone back in my bag, turning my attention back to the cool, blue waters of the Pacific Ocean. If Mr. Murphy is involved, then he's gotta be the note writer, not the killer, right? I mean, he was encouraging my dad to send me away, wasn't he? Then again, maybe that was just a front to avoid any suspicion being cast on him? As excited as I am about this new discovery, I have a feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better.

On Friday, when everyone else is busy dressing up for some big bonfire thing on the beach, I'm sitting at my favorite oceanside eatery and scribbling things down in a pink and white notebook that I bought because Ranger inspired me. I could take notes on my phone, but this is so much more fun with a feather pen and actual paper.

List of Suspects

Mr. Murphy (purple pen, weird about Jenica, could be Junior) Mr. Dave (gone during the week of the attack, had access to the missing yearbook, total dick) Eddie the Janitor (never locks shit he’s supposed to lock, introverted, has access to all parts of Adamson) Nathan the Night Watchman (drags his feet—ARGH!, carries weapons, also has access to all parts of Adamson) Mark Grandam (royal piece of shit, friends with Eugene, hole in ceiling that magically disappeared)

Mark's crappy football friends (especially that meathead roommate of his, see above about magically disappearing hole) Rick, Jenica's ex (misogynist, jerk-off, dickhead) Jeff Rabot (name matches the JR on the note, hates the guys, knew Jenica) Mr. Johansen (he forced me to make that stupid cake, I don’t know, everyone’s a suspect) Mr. Cruschek (he can barely move, so probably not, but whatever) that PE teacher who shoved me in the locker room and made me see all that dick (this is a longshot, but I’m writing it down) the guy that texted me pics of the yearbook (I cannot remember his name for the life of me, also a longshot, still counts)

I pause and tap my pen on the edge of my lip for a moment before continuing.

Jack Hargrove (sold drugs to Jenica, convinced Spencer to stay with him that whole week) Kesha (slept with Ranger, was passed out on the ground during the attack, maybe as bait?) Selena (she lent me her dress, but also, there IS a female attacker, so I gotta start somewhere) Aster (she forced me and Ross to dance with her, I have no idea why I’m writing her down)

Another pause. I take a bite of my fish and chips, going heavy on the tartar sauce, and adding just a splash of barbeque sauce to it. Some people find that even more disgusting than ketchup on eggs or hot sauce on French toast. Their loss. I study my list and try to decide if I should add Church to it. Well, him, or any of the other Student Council members. No. No fucking way. I’ve never felt more welcomed in a group of friends before. When I’m with the Student Council, they feel like family. If I start suspecting them, I’m just going to go belly-up from worry. I have to trust someone in all this, right?

But … just because he’s a dick …

Ross (I kind of like him, but also he’s an ass pig, used to be in love with Spencer)

I toss the pen down on the notebook, take a photo, and send it to my group chat with the guys, just to see if they have something else to add. The brief excitement at having actually made a list is fleeting because as I look at it, I realize how little we actually know. On the bottom I add, weird stone, red wax, dead bird, two keys. Yeah, that’s helpful. To really get to the bottom of this, I need to go back to Adamson. I’m just not sure that that’s ever going to be a possibility. I finish my food, pack my stuff, and head back to Monica’s with the black SUV trailing behind me.

The last day of school is, fortunately, a half-day. I'm so excited to get out of there that I'm practically buzzing. When I head outside with Monica and a few of the other girls, I come to a sudden stop, my mouth dropping open. There are several sportscars parked along the curb, all of them a hell of a lot nicer than even the rich kids at SCHS have. Two of them are matching Lamborghinis, and the other is a shiny black … well, something. I’m not exactly a car girl. But it looks expensive as shit. “Chuck!” the twins call, waving in unison, and then they're rushing up the brick steps toward me. Tobias sweeps me up first in his arms, spinning me around in a circle and squeezing me so tight that I feel these warm little tingles move through me. I'm so excited to see him, touch him, smell him, that I can hardly breathe. I'm excited to smell my boyfriend? That is so not normal. “Missed you, dickhead,” Tobias murmurs near my ear, making me shiver. He sets me down and his brother picks me up next, giving me a hug that's just as warm and all-encompassing as his twin's. He might be the 'meaner' of the two, but there's a lot of heart in his jerk-wad yet. “Miss us?” he whispers, and then he plants this little surreptitious kiss near my ear that has me shivering. When he sets me down, I find Spencer waiting. “Chuck,” he says, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He's so much prettier in person than on the phone that I lose my breath for a minute, and I have to swallow three times before I can talk.

“Hey,” I respond, all casual and shit. I tuck some hair behind my ear and pretend to be all cool and aloof. Doesn't work. Spencer just gives that fox grin of his. “Seriously, Chuck? You really are an ass pig—slacks or a skirt, doesn't seem to matter.” He curls his fingers behind my neck, pulling me in close and giving me a kiss that sears through me, this ardent burst of fireworks that light up my entire soul. Holy hell. His tongue sweeps mine, and I groan, leaning my body into his, putting my palms on the white cotton of his t-shirt, and digging my pink-painted nails in. “Get a room,” Micah snorts, and I grin, pulling back to find Ranger and Church waiting at the bottom of the steps. I throw my arms around Ranger's neck without thinking. He seems surprised for a minute, but then he's hugging me back. Shit, he could give classes on this whole hugging thing. “What are you guys doing here?” I ask as I pull back and then look over at Church. He doesn't seem like the most huggable person in the world, but then I remember him bringing me chocolate and a hot water bottle for my period. His eyes crinkle a bit at the edges, and he gives me this cocksure little smile. “Come here, Chuck,” he says, and then he gives me a surprisingly decent hug. “What the fuck is all this?” a voice asks from behind me, and I turn to find Cody standing just a few feet from Monica. He’s left me alone for the past two and a half months, and now he wants to start something? Told ya he was an idiot. “Do you have your own harem or some shit now?” I turn around, still in Church's arms and find Cody glaring down at us. The twins exchange a look as Spencer grits his teeth. We're on a fast track to violence here, and I don't like it. The Student Council mantra for people that piss them off: beat ‘em up. Not that I’m against seeing Cody’s face scraped across the concrete. It’s just not how I feel like starting my reunion with the guys. “Is this the cheating boyfriend?” Church asks, taking a sip of the coffee in his right hand. I nod, and he smiles. “I see. He's not worth our time then.” “It's worth my time to kick his cheating ass,” Spencer says, but Ranger reaches out and grabs his arm. “We have other plans, man. Let it go.” “Yeah, take your whore and have fun plugging each other in the ass while you wait for your turn,” Cody snarls, and several of his friends snicker.

Spencer's jaw clenches, and the twins exchange a look, like they're all about to go in for the kill. Instead, Ranger moves in without warning, locking his arm around Cody's neck and putting him in a headlock. “What the he—” Cody's voice cuts off as Ranger squeezes him a little tighter, the muscles in his arms bulging, his face a mask of darkness that would scare the crap out of me if I were one of Cody's weaselly little friends. Must work because they all back off a step. “Who taught you to treat women like that, you little creep?” Ranger asks as Cody thrashes around, his face turning pink. “Or anyone else for that matter? You don't know shit about Charlotte or her relationship with any of us.” He releases him, and my ex crumples to the ground, choking and coughing. Ranger cracks his knuckles, and I'll admit, this super primal part of me gets all squeal-y at the idea of him stepping in to protect me. But like, I can also protect myself. “You cheated on me with my best friend, Cody. And you know what? I just walked away from it. Hell, I even forgave Monica. But you clearly aren't sorry, and you don't see anything wrong in what you did. So … get fucked.” I move down the steps and over to the open window of his Jeep, grabbing the pink feather pen from my bag and stabbing it right into the center of his pretty leather seat. “What the hell?!” he rasps out, stumbling toward me, raking his fingers through the frosted tips of his sandy hair. I pull the pen out and stab it another spot, turning to him and lifting my chin in defiance. “You're supposed to get a Jeep for rough ‘n’ tumble outdoor shit, not for leather. It looks stupid as hell, and you should seriously reconsider getting a cloth interior.” I shoulder past him, and he grabs my arm, fingers digging into my skin so hard I'm sure they'll leave bruises. “Listen to me, you ugly bitch—” He doesn't get any further than that because Ranger hauls him back by his t-shirt, spins him around, and decks him in just such a way that Cody drops to the ground like a boneless sack. The rest of SCHS watches on in abject shock. Monica even pulls her shades off and drops them on the sidewalk next to her. “Let's go,” Ranger tells me as both twins and Spencer grin. Church raises a single brow, still leaning up against the side of some sleek black sedan … I think it's a Rolls-Royce? It suits his

personality. While the twins are driving flashy sports car, he's got something elegant and understated. “We've got a long drive ahead of us.” “We do?” I ask, as Ranger steers me away, and the twins face each other in an epic thumb war to see whose car I'll be riding in. “We do,” Ranger says, but he won't tell me anything else as Spencer slides into the passenger seat of one of the Lambos, and pulls me onto his lap. I'm always up for an adventure … especially if the deal's all the sweeter because I get to see my ex-boyfriend's comatose form as we pull away from the curb. Karma's a bitch, ain't it?

“What are you guys doing here?” I repeat once I'm safely seated on Spencer's lap with Micah behind the wheel of the Lambo. He drives like a goddamn speed-demon, and I realize we're in some sort of race with Tobias. Church is driving the other car, the Phantom or whatever it was Micah called it, but he most definitely isn't part of the race. We're leaving him in the dust. “It's summer break, isn't it?” Micah asks, glancing over at us as he passes several slowmoving cars on the shoulder. Oh Christ, he's a worse driver than Monica. We're all gonna die. “Why wouldn't we be here?” “Did you not want us here?” Spencer asks, lifting a dark brow. “You have no idea how excited I am that you're here,” I tell them, just before I realize where we're going. We're heading south, toward Los Angeles. “I'm just sort of surprised you guys came all this way to see me.” “Uh, we told you we would, didn’t we?” Micah rolls his green eyes, and then slams his foot down on the gas, shooting us forward into traffic. My body ends up plastered against Spencer's, but I don't mind. No, pretty sure I got the best seat in the house. “Where are we going?” I ask, as he takes the exit for I-5 south, Tobias not far behind us. But then we pull onto the freeway, and there's the Phantom driven by Church zooming ahead of us down the fast lane. “That son of a bitch!” Micah growls out, grinding the pedal to the floor. We fly down the road while I silently pray to whatever gods will listen that I don't end up dead today. Traffic accident is not my preferred way to go, thank you very much.

“We've got a surprise for you,” Spencer says, murmuring against the side of my neck and making me squirm. I'm sort of desperate to have some alone time with him, if you catch my drift. Or … with the twins. Although since we’ve never, um, had that sort of alone time before, I’m also nervous as shit. “What sort of surprise?” I ask, but Spencer and Micah just share a look and a grin. Several hours later, we're at a rest stop while Church refills his coffee and the other boys head for the restroom, leaving the two of us alone in the lobby area. “You really won't tell me where we're going?” I ask, but Church just smiles, sips his coffee, and then frowns. “God, this is gross. I might have to stop at a Starbucks or something. Not that that'll be much better.” He drinks the coffee anyway, and then refills his cup. “And no. Don't you know the meaning of surprise?” “I almost died last week. Don't you feel sorry for me? What if I don't make it to the surprise?” I grab a Styrofoam cup and fill it up, taking a sip and cringing. “Okay, I'm not even a coffee snob, but you're right: this is disgusting.” Church chuckles as I pour the brown sludge into the nearest trash can. “You're still drinking it?” I ask when I glance over and see he's finished half the cup. “It's part of my identity,” he says, and I blink in surprise, turning fully to face him and leaning up against the edge of the table. “How do you mean?” I ask, tilting my head to one side, blond hair sliding across my forehead. It's nearly a serviceable length now. That, and I straightened out all the curls this morning, so I could look good for the last day of school. I only wish I could've spent it at Adamson with mats in my hair, dirty glasses, and a baggy uniform. And that’s not even a joke. “I mean,” Church begins, extending the long length of his arm and letting his cup tumble into the garbage. He leans in close to me, tracing the line of my tank top strap, making me shiver. Is he … actually touching me? I haven’t forgotten how he avoided me that day he handed the coffee can over. This guy is seriously hard to read, and so much more nuanced than I first thought. “It's a nice little attribute that people can use to describe me. Who is Church Montague? Oh, he's the Student Council President, and he likes coffee.” “Let me get this straight: you chose a personality trait to give yourself?” I ask, and his face drops slightly. I expect that rip-roaring overly cheerful personality of his to come rushing back. Instead, his expression darkens even further.

“Why not? If it helps people understand me, where's the harm in that? It's not a total lie: I do like coffee.” He leans back again, his expression stuck in contemplative melancholy. Church looks lonely. That's what it is. He looks like me before I found the Student Council. “Tell me something real about yourself,” I say, my voice quiet. The only sound in the brick building is the whir from the vending machines. My heart is thumping, and I feel nervous about the other guys coming out and seeing me and Church … standing and quietly chatting? Really, we're not doing anything untoward, but somehow, it feels that way. It feels intimate, this exchange. “I have five sisters,” he says, but he doesn't smile. “Only none of them are blood-related to me.” He stares at me with those amber eyes of his, this golden boy with the whole world at his feet, and he looks miserable as hell about it. “Not blood-related?” I ask, and Church exhales, closing those beautiful eyes of his. “Do you know what imposter syndrome is?” he asks, opening them back up again. I shake my head, and he smiles at me, but it's not his usual blinding grin. Instead, it's a soft, sad sort of smile. “It's when you're lauded for something you don't feel you deserve, when you're a member of a club you don't belong to. And I don't belong. Everyone thinks I do, but I don't.” “Fucking gross,” Spencer calls out, shoving the bathroom door open with his palms as the twins come out behind him, grinning from ear to ear. “You got piss on me.” “We did not,” they argue, coming over to stand beside me and Church. The moment is gone as fast as it came, and I'm left watching as the Student Council president pulls himself together, putting on a wry look as he glances over his assorted council members. “We were crossing streams.” “Yeah, and some droplets got on my shoes,” Spencer argues as I lift a brow. Wow. Okay, there are some aspects about going to an all-boys school that I don't miss. Constant urinal battles being one of them. “Liar,” the twins croon, sticking their tongues out at him and crossing their arms over their chests. I stare at them, and I know technically that we're supposed to be dating, but all I feel is this arduous pull that's half guilt and half desperate, aching, want. My eyes shift to Spencer.

“What are you two up to out here?” he asks, just as Ranger exits the bathroom, and a girl with rose-gold hair walks in, a posse of five beautiful guys behind her. Wonder if her life is as complicated as mine? I think as she gives me a small smile, and disappears into the women's bathroom. Her entourage heads into the men's restroom, and all is quiet again. “Just chatting,” Church says, waving his hand dismissively. “Shall we continue? We're nearly there.” “Nearly where?” I groan, clasping my hands together in a pleading position. “You have to tell me. At some point, I have to tell my dad.” I frown, but push on. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?” “Give us a kiss, and we'll tell you,” the twins says, leaning down on either side of me. I give them each a peck on the cheek and then push them back. Spencer does not look amused, but he doesn't say anything. “Okay, so where are we going?” I repeat, looking between the two of them. They just grin and Tobias whips off his hoodie. “It's getting cold out there,” he says, stuffing it over my head as I thrash around and try to free myself. It's got that unique scent of theirs, that cedar and vetiver sharpness with a hint of cherry. “Also, we lied. Sorry, not sorry. Hurry up, Chuck.” “I'm glad I didn't kiss you on the lips!” I shout as I yank the hoodie down and free my head, glaring at their retreating backs as they saunter outside, cocky and tall and muscular and sexy and full of themselves. Dicks. “You can, you know,” Spencer says quietly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black jeans as Church and Ranger share a look, and then move away to give us a moment of privacy. “Kiss them, I mean.” He lifts that brilliant jewel-like gaze up to mine, and gives a half-smile that does all sorts of wonderful things to my insides. My heart starts a gymnastics routine while my stomach twirls like a ballerina. I feel both nauseous and elated, all at once. “A deal's a deal. Besides …” He steps toward me, and I tilt my head back automatically, expecting a kiss, wanting a kiss, desperate for one. “I think this thing we have could go on forever, and I don't want you wondering what could've been. I'm your first, and I want to be your last, so I need you to know you made the right choice.”

“You could never be considered a wrong choice,” I tell him, but he cuts me off with a kiss that burns so hot, I can't be bothered to resist when he pushes me back against the vending machine. Fire races through my veins, making my skin feel too tight, making me ache. Spencer bites my lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, teasing me with a chuckle that I can feel all the way down to my bones. “Give Tobias and Micah a shot; I'm not afraid.” He steps back from me and exhales, reaching out to touch the side of my face, his thumb tracing the trembling, aching wetness of my lower lip. “They only thing I'm afraid of is losing them, or losing you. And if they feel even a fraction of what I feel for you, then at least let's give this a try. I'd rather make some sloppy mistakes together than watch jealousy fracture us apart.” “You're surprisingly mature for a weed-dealing asshole,” I tell him, pausing as the girl with the rose-gold hair comes out of the bathroom, pretending not to look at us with our weird sexual tension shit going on. She politely excuses herself outside. “I'm full of surprises,” Spencer says, stepping forward again and putting his arms around me. He puts his lips to my ear. “Including one that you don't get to know until we get there.” He pulls away with a laugh, and I flush, huffing as I follow him outside. As a punishment, I climb in the shiny black Rolls-Royce with Ranger and Church instead. They seem surprised to see me, but they don't complain. “Any news on the Mr. Murphy front?” I ask, but Ranger shakes his head, ruffling up his black hair with his blue-painted fingernails. He smells like leather and sugar when I lean in close, and I take a deep, quiet breath to savor the smell. Maybe that's weird, but I can't help it. He's this perfect mix of sweetness and danger. “Nothing. It was like things died down after you left. I mean, other than the fact that he's been exceedingly nice. It sickens me.” “Ah, yes, the infernal problem of a teacher being far too kind to a student. That certainly proves his guilt.” Ranger turns to glare at Church as I chuckle. “Maybe it's nothing? Maybe he's just a super nice guy who happens to be a junior—like a lot of guys, I might add—and he owns a purple Sharpie and knew Jenica. It could literally be that simple.” I slump back in the cushy leather seats, and pretend like I'm not rubbing my palm all over them, molesting the shit out of that interior.

“I forgot: peasants do like leather, don't they? Is that why you stabbed your ex's seats? Some sort of French Revolution type rebellion?” “And I forgot how much I hate rich people.” I flick the back of Church's ear, but he just grins. “Back to the subject at hand: the murder. No clues about Eugene? Feuds going on behind the scenes? Maybe something to do with the ultra-rich and their politics? My mother's father used to go on rants about the global elite; he was convinced the super-rich had some sort of secret society they used to play the rest of us like pawns.” “They do: it's called the Infinity Club, but that's not important right now,” Church says, and my mouth gapes open like a fish. There's a super-secret rich people organization?! What in the actual fuck? “This is nothing to do with that.” “Someone—no, three someones—followed me all the way to Santa Cruz, and then came at me with weapons drawn. Seems like a huge conspiracy to me.” I cross my arms over my chest and sigh, bending down to dig into my backpack. It's all I have. The boys insisted they'd buy me anything I needed on this trip, including clothes, shoes, and a toothbrush. Oh, and the twins were very keen on letting me know they'd provide bras and panties aplenty. How generous of them. I pull my notebook out and tap the pen against the page. “What are you doing?” Ranger asks, turning to look at me with his signature scowl firmly in place. I hold up the pink notebook with the white kitten on the front, and I swear to god he gets this light pink color in his cheeks. “What the fuck is that for?” Or … maybe I just imagined it? Yeah, I bet I did. He's a world-class dickhead. “It's my super-secret spy notebook, you prick. If someone's going to try and kill me, I at least have the right to play detective, don't I? It's the only silver lining I've got.” “How much of Jenica's journal have you read?” he asks, his voice getting quiet and weird all of a sudden. I swallow hard, but I get it. She was going through a lot, dating Rick but possibly fooling around with Lionel aka Mr. Murphy, hanging out with Jeff and Jack. And then there's those hard bits about her and the drugs. Jenica wasn't perfect, but she didn't deserve to die. “All of it,” I tell him, because I just finished last night. The creepiest part about her journal is the fact that it ends mid-sentence, like she's still waiting around somewhere to finish that almost bizarrely benign thought of hers. Next week during Culinary Club, I'd like to see if I can't

dredge up a bit of competitive spirit by having the team— And that's it. Just that. Nothing else, the last words she ever wrote. Well, okay, not the last words. There is the strange fact that the torn piece of paper that makes up her suicide note matches the torn edge of the last page in the journal. Ranger didn't tell me that part; he let me figure it out on my own. Dear JR, I think they know about us. There's not much left I can do. If you want to meet me, you know where to find me. I'll be waiting with the angels. Love, J. She left that in her room in the girls' dorm, along with her journal. The silver key that opened her door was hanging around her neck, but the gold key that lead to the catacombs was in her old room in the boys' dorm, aka my room. I draw myself a little picture, but it doesn't make things easier. No clues pop out to hit me in the face like they did the other night. Ranger's hand reaches over the seat and he carefully shuts my notebook. When I lift my eyes up, I find his sapphire ones staring at me in the dark, backlit by the lights on the dash. “Take a break from that for a minute,” he says, his fingers brushing up against mine. “We're here; you're safe. We'll worry about this later. I think we could all use a mood lightener.” “How long?” I ask, and at least I think Ranger knows what I'm talking about. He curls his fingers over mine and gives them a squeeze. There's nothing here, I tell myself, swallowing hard. There's nothing happening between us but friendship. “This trip, just three nights. But after, you have us for the whole summer. Now that we know it's not safe here either, I want you back at Adamson.” “We want you back at Adamson,” Church says in an almost cryptic sort of way. “And I think I've figured out a plan to make that happen.” I perk up at that, and Ranger withdraws his hand. “Which is?” I ask, setting my notebook aside for the time being. “You'll see.” Church's cryptic answer infuriates me to no end, but then I see the sign up ahead, and my mouth pops open in surprise. “Disneyland?” I ask, and his smile gets wide. Ranger, too, actually flashes a small, rare grin of his own.

“Fucking Disneyland,” he says, and I swear, I squeal, throwing my arms around Ranger’s neck, and then Church's. Both boys stiffen up like I've slapped them, but I'm too excited to care. I've never been to Disneyland, despite my close proximity. It was never really in Dad's budget. That, and any of my friends who could've afforded to take me with them—like Monica for example—had no interest in going. “Really?” I ask as we make another turn and head straight for the Disneyland Hotel. “Are you guys messing with me?” “We've got something else for you,” Ranger says, grabbing a small velvet box from inside the dash and handing it back to me. My heart is thundering because it looks like he's trying to hand me a wedding ring. Of course, I know that's a bunch of bull, but there's still some weird part of me that likes the fantasy of it. “This is a Student Council pin,” I say, opening the box to find one of the little enamel pins featuring the Adamson Academy crest. It has a griffin inside a shield, and it's topped with a crown. “Why are you giving me this?” “Because Ross just graduated, and we need a new assistant.” Ranger throws a look my way, and I give him a narrow-eyed glare in return. “Wow, the privilege of being your assistant? How could I resist?” I take the pin out of the box anyway and hold it in the palm of my hand. “Besides, isn't the Student Council an elected position? Don't you have to get voted back in?” “We'll get voted back in,” Church says, turning into the parking lot. “And we get to choose our own assistant. Congratulations, Chuck the Micropenis.” He says this last part as he rolls the window down to greet the attendant. The man gives me a very curious sort of look over Church's shoulder, but I'm too excited to care. We pull up to the front of the hotel, and the first thing I do is give Tobias, Micah, and Spencer each a hug as a thank you. “Wait'll you see the room,” Micah says under his breath, giving me a grin. I swing my backpack onto my shoulder, and we wait as Church checks us in. “Are we even allowed to stay here by ourselves?” I ask, meandering over to the gift shop area. There's a sign announcing an early park closure tomorrow, an entire display of mouse ears in varying styles, and a sign discussing some of the history of the hotel.

“Why wouldn't we be?” Tobias asks, putting a pair of rainbow Pride ears on my head. He teases my hair with his fingers for a moment, his green eyes bright under the white lights of the gift shop. “Don't you have to be, like, twenty-one to rent a hotel room?” Tobias grins at me as I grab a pair of rose-gold ears with a bow, and lift up on my tiptoes to put them on his head. “Maybe some people do. Not us. We have our ways.” He lets me adjust his red-orange hair around the ears, and then captures my wrists in his hands when I go to pull away. “Remember how we talked about that kissing course I was going to give you?” “Kissing course?” Spencer asks, putting on a red baseball cap with rainbow ears of its own as he looks between the two of us. The hat pushes strands of silver hair into his face, adding to that cheeky look of his. “I gave Chuck a kissing tutorial in the girls' dorm and promised we'd amp up the lessons later,” he explains, pulling me toward him. Our bodies line up together as Tobias drops his hands to my hips. As I look up at him, all those feelings come rushing back. “We should practice, you know, since we're on vacation and all.” “I …” I start, but I'm not sure if I can kiss Tobias when Spencer's standing right there. Luckily, I don't have to make the choice as Church reappears with our room keys. There's a flash of hurt on Tobias' face as I pull away, but I don't know what to do. As much as I like reading reverse harem books, or watching Japanese anime, I'm not sure how to do this in real life. “Hey,” Micah says, grabbing my arm and pulling me back a bit, so we can walk and talk at the same time. The paths here are surrounded by well-manicured foliage, lush and tropical, creating all these little private nooks around the courtyard. “You're all caught up in your head. You don't like it here?” “I love it, I just …” A brief tightness takes over my chest as I glance at Micah, just as handsome as his brother but with a different edge. Tobias' has this strong but gentle energy while Micah's all hard angles and smirks. They're both beautiful, and oh so different. “Do you ever feel like things are going too well? Like you're getting more than you feel you deserve?” “This is about us, and Spencer?” he asks, and I nod. Micah gives me a tight smile, and then laces his hands together behind his head as we walk into the downstairs seating area of the

hotel. The way this place is set up, there's one main lobby in the first building, and then three separate hotels that surround a central swimming pool—complete with water slide and hot tubs. “I don't want to lose Spencer,” I admit, and Micah nods, his smile turning into a small smirk. “We wouldn't like you if you weren't concerned,” he says, but then he pulls me close and pushes me against a column, pinning me in with a hand on either side of my face. He's so tall that he has to lean forward to be on the same level as me. “But seriously, just trust us, Charlotte. You don't think you deserve all this. You know what though? You fucking do.” “You're ruthless,” I murmur, and he grins. “I can be. I will be, when I find out who's stalking you. Trust me. Now fucking kiss me before you hurt my feelings.” “Just kiss him, so he'll shut the hell up,” Spencer says, but my eyes go straight to Tobias. He notices me looking and then steps forward, pushing one of his brother's hands aside and putting his in its place, one twin on either side of me. “We never got a hello kiss,” they say in unison, leaning down with a pair of matching grins. “Let's correct that.” My heart is pounding, and there are a hell of a lot of families with little kids in here, gaping at the diorama of Big Thunder Mountain Railroad that I can see behind the McCarthy twins. The tension between us is absurd, hot and lewd, definitely lascivious, definitely not appropriate for the moment. And yet when Tobias leans in and breathes near my ear, a small sigh of longing escapes my lips. “Give it a try, Chuck,” he whispers, turning his head and capturing my mouth in this long, drawn-out sort of kiss. It feels so overdue, so forbidden yet so welcome. I lean in, and he kisses me deeper, harder, pushing my lips apart with his tongue. We're so going to get kicked out of the park, I think, but then Micah is kissing the edge of my mouth and turning my chin toward him. Before I even realize it, I'm kissing him instead of Tobias. The change is immediate, stark in the reality of its differences. Where Tobias kisses with a warm, hungry passion, his brother's kiss is as sharp as a knife. I pull back, putting my head against the column, panting like crazy. “Save the rest for the room,” Ranger growls, taking my arm and pulling me out from between the two of them. My head is spinning, and I feel a little dizzy. Not just from the kisses

(although that's a huge part of it) but from everything. The boys showing up at my school, the surprise, and the speeches. I didn't expect any of this. My chest gets tight as we head up in the elevator and down the hall to a set of double doors. “This looks fancy as hell,” I whisper, my fingers reaching out to touch the plaque beside the door that says Fairy Tale Suite. “Oh, it is,” Ranger promises, unlocking the door with the key card and pushing his back against it to hold it open. My mouth drops open as I step into a room decorated in white and purple, sparkling flourishes everywhere, Sleeping Beauty art on the walls. A cheerful Tinker Bell sound goes off, and three images light up on the wall to my left, including a glowing castle. And that’s just the foyer. In the actual bedroom, there's an entire row of windows overlooking downtown Disney, and a bathroom with a tub big enough for two … or three or four even. There’s a canopied bed, velvet chaise lounges, and sheets like silk. I collapse onto them, but only for a second. Then I make a second round of the place, gaping at the size and grandeur of the damn room. “How much does this fucking cost?” I whisper, and Ranger and Church exchange a look. Spencer, meanwhile, is popping a bottle of champagne he got from the mini-bar and filling up several glasses. “It doesn't matter, does it?” Church asks, opening the door at a light knock and letting the doorman in with the boys' bags. All I have is my backpack, but if they say they're going to buy me new outfits, that's fine by me. Won't catch this chick resisting free clothes. I watch surreptitiously as Church tips the doorman, expecting maybe a dollar or two per bag. Instead, he gives him a hundred bucks, and I bite my lip. Having a mother as a maid has made me hyper-aware of how poorly those in the service industry can be treated. If Church had been rude, I'm not sure I could've looked at him the same way again. “Let's have a toast,” Spencer says, passing out the glasses, his fingers brushing mine. I can't help but wonder what the sleeping arrangements are going to be here. As far as I can see, there's only one bed. “To Chuck, our new assistant.” “To Spencer, for not being dead,” Micah adds, lifting his own glass.

“And to Church for—” Tobias starts, and then pauses when Church levels him with a death glare, amber eyes cold. “Making the suggestion that we get two rooms: the Pirates of the Caribbean Suite, and this one, for Chuck.” “It's beautiful.” The words come out in a whisper, but I'm not sure what else to say. I'm living a literal dream right now, and all the bad stuff is just fading away. It's hard to remember that somebody wants to kill me when I'm twenty-nine floors up and surrounded by friends. “This is too much, you guys, thank you.” My cheeks heat as I clink my glass with theirs, and we all drink. Ranger drifts off to stare out at the view while Micah turns on the TV, pressing a button that starts an endless stream of Disney music. Go the Distance, from the movie Hercules is currently playing. “Not too childish?” Church asks me, elegantly cradling his glass in one hand and gesturing at the lavish room with his other. I give him a look. “A magical, free trip to Disneyland, in the princess suite, with champagne and good company? You're joking, right?” He smiles at me as I sit back down on the edge of the bed, pulling out my phone to text Monica. She is never going to believe this shit. Of course, there's also a message from Dad demanding that I call him back. I debate on that for a moment, and then send him a text, letting him know that I'm okay. If he wants to control my whole life, maybe he should have thought about keeping me at Adamson? I'll see my mom while I'm here; that'll placate him a bit. “What's the plan to get me back to Adamson next year?” I ask casually, but Church ignores me, gazing out the window at the crowds streaming down the main thoroughfare. “This is summer vacation—vacation. Relax, Chuck.” Micah drops onto the bed and kicks his shoes off, finishing his champagne, and setting the glass aside. “Alright, so how are we bunking up? I say me and Tobias in here for two nights, then Spencer for the last one. It’s only fair.” “You assume Charlotte even wants you in her room,” Ranger says, crossing his arms over his chest. He cuts a pretty intimidating picture, standing there with the skyline at his back, dressed all in black with his tattoo showing. “It's probably best you don't stay here alone, just in case,” Church muses, sitting down on the chaise and crossing his long legs. “Of course, you can always assign one of us to this couch. It's comfortable enough.”

“Why would you guys get two nights anyway?” Spencer inserts, slumping into one of the purple chairs and then grabbing a bag that's sitting on the table, wrapped in plastic and topped with a bow. I set my champagne down, and he tosses it over to me. Inside, there's an array of themed snacks. Fancy. “Because there are two of us,” the McCarthy boys say, sticking their tongues out in unison. Tobias sits on my right side and snags a snack-sized bag of popcorn. “How long are you guys going to do this twin thing?” I ask, genuinely curious. Tobias meets my look and raises an eyebrow. “I mean, like the talking in unison thing, or … the dating in unison thing.” “We want to marry the same girl,” they say, and it's my turn to raise my brows. “Isn't that, like, illegal?” I ask as Spencer retrieves the complimentary bottle of Ketel One vodka and some juice to mix with it. He then snatches the ice bucket up and heads for the hall. “Only if you both try to get marriage licenses.” Tobias shrugs, and then smiles, looking down at his lap. “We just work better when we're together. The way we did things in the past … ripped us apart.” “And besides,” Micah adds, yawning and then pulling his shirt over his head. He tosses it onto the floor like he's about to get cozy up in my room. I remember thinking that the twins were almost alarmingly comfortable at Dad's house, like they take over everything without even realizing it. This time, however, I can actually observe them, take it all in, without worrying about Spencer. “Monogamy is dead. Look what it did to our parents? No, thank you.” “Have you ever tried dating identical twins?” I ask, and I swear, both boys cringe. “We have,” they say, and then Tobias exchanges a look over his shoulder with his brother. “We hate twins, to be honest,” Micah says, turning to look at me, and shrugging one, sexy, perfect shoulder. His cherry tattoo draws my eye, and then it's a downhill slide from there as I check out the bulging shapes of his biceps, the flatness of his chest, the way his gray sweats are riding down and flashing those gorgeous lower abs. Good god, I'm a thirsty bitch, I think, turning back to the door as Spencer comes in with ice. “Why do you hate twins?” I ask, and he chuckles. “They're too much by themselves. You think they can handle another set of their own bullshit? Trust me: they're much better off this way.” Spencer plops some cubes into my cup

and then mixes me up a drink, handing it over with a smirking little smile on his beautiful face. His beautiful, definitely-not-dead face. “We've dated a pair of identical twins before. It’s just tiresome,” Tobias says, narrowing his green eyes slightly. “Have you seen that reality show where the two identical twin women marry the two identical twin men? It's a fucking train wreck. That's what it was like.” “So you'd rather share a girlfriend then?” I ask, downing my drink so quick that I end up with a nice little buzz. It makes me feel bolder, braver. I lean back on the bed, laying my head on Micah's flat stomach. His fingers dance in my hair, and I shiver. “Much rather,” he says, giving the sun-bleached locks a tug. “Dude, you look so different. I mean, I know we've been doing the video chat thing, but I swear, I barely recognized you when you walked outside.” I flash a grin as Ranger sits beside Church on the chaise and accepts a drink from Spencer. “I've been living in the sun,” I admit, sighing and closing my eyes. It's been a long day, and I'm happily sated, buzzing and wrapped in the safety of friends. I could fall asleep right now. Instead, I force my eyes open. No way am I letting this perfect moment slip away just yet. “I'll have to take you guys surfing sometime soon.” “Spencer will probably beef it hard, and end up dead,” Tobias says, letting his friend punch him playfully on the shoulder. It's nice to see them back to their usual selves. The last thing I'd ever want to do is break this group up. “Please.” Spencer snorts and rolls his eyes, taking a swig directly from the vodka bottle. “You'll be lucky if you can stand up on the board.” “Make a bet out of it?” Tobias goads as Ranger tosses a Minnie Mouse cookie across the room, nailing Micah perfectly in the center of his chest with it. He comes to with a snort, and I realize that I'm not the only one falling asleep. “Let's figure out the room arrangements, so we can get this luggage moved,” Ranger says, rising to his feet and stretching. “Tweedledum over there is already passed-out,” Spencer says, turning his attention from Micah to me. “If it's okay with Charlotte, the McCarthy dicks can stay tonight.” I open my mouth to protest, but then I remember the conversation we had at the rest stop, the hurt on Tobias' face when I refused to kiss him, the lecture I got from Micah.

“Do you have any condoms?” Tobias asks, and I swear to fuck, when I kick him in the back, it's pure reflex. “Assuming much?” I blurt, flushing as I sit up. “You can park your ass on the chaise.” Spencer leaves the room and comes back with a box, tossing it at me. “Like I said, I'm not afraid of them. I definitely have a bigger dick. Trust me, I've seen theirs more times than I care to admit.” “Nobody is having sex in this room tonight,” I mumble, shoving Tobias off the edge of the bed. He stumbles but catches himself, turning to grin at me as I crawl into the sumptuous sheets. “Now get the fuck out of my room.” “Yes, ma'am,” Spencer says, and I smile as Church pats my foot on his way past, Ranger following along behind him. I'm asleep before the door closes behind them.

The park is super crowded, and the lines are crazy long. Even with the fast pass app on Ranger's phone, we only manage to ride Big Thunder Mountain together before we have to head to the restaurant for dinner. To be fair, riding the old train cars through the faux western landscape was fun, especially with these guys in tow. Spencer and the twins scream at everything while Ranger holds on for dear life while hosting a scowl that scares children. Church, meanwhile, sits all pretty-like, as if he’s having afternoon tea. “It's disappointing that the park closes so early today,” I say as we sit down in this super fancy restaurant in the adjoining theme park, California Adventure. The waiters are all wearing suits, and the menu is like some 'prix fixe' thing where it's all pre-planned. The only choice we have is between beef, fish, or vegetarian options. “There's always tomorrow,” Ranger says as I stab a bite of lettuce and bring it to my mouth. I'm not complaining about a free trip, especially not when I'm staying in a princess room, and hanging out with these guys. After dinner, we head out of the park with the rest of the crowd, but when I try to turn toward the hotel, Spencer takes my elbow. “Hey,” he says, smiling down at me, turquoise eyes glimmering with mischief. “Do you want a hit a few more rides?” “The park is closed,” I say, gesturing in the direction of the gates and the rapidly dispersing crowd.

“Not for us,” Spencer says, grinning. The twins appear on either side of him and hold out their hands to indicate the park. “We reserved the park for the next five hours,” they say, and I swear, my heart stops beating for a second. “You … reserved … the entire park?” I don't mean to sound like a sarcastic, crazy person, but that's sort of how it comes out. “You can't do that, can you?” “You can; we did.” They link arms with me and Spencer scowls, but he follows along anyway as the McCarthy brothers drag me across the plaza. I pull from their grip and just stand there, my new dress fluttering in the breeze. “The whole park … just for us?” “The whole park,” Spencer repeats, flashing a bright grin. “Getting bullied by us was the best thing that ever happened to you, you shithead.” He ruffles up my hair and then starts forward, tucking his hands in his pockets as he strides confidently up to the entrance. “I seriously can't believe this is happening,” I whisper as we pass through the front gates into Disneyland. The park is freaking empty, but for some employees. Holy. Shit. My eyes water, but I sashay forward all nonchalant like. No way I'm letting these guys know how much I'm enjoying this. “I've always hated rich people, on principle, but I have to say: this is pretty freaking epic.” I hold my arms out to indicate the vastness of the park, the very empty Main Street, and Cinderella's castle in the distance. “I've decided to forgive you guys for being old money assholes.” “Ahh, we thank you for that,” Micah says, putting a hand to his heart. He grins as I put my arms out and spin in a circle, taking it all in. Holy. Freaking. Crap. I feel all lit up inside, sort of like I did that night Spencer showed up in the rainy dark. Well, maybe not quite that good, but close. “This is fucking awesome,” I groan, sliding my hands down my face. I'm having a bit of a hard time processing. Just yesterday, I was at SCHS trying to get by one day at a time. And now … I'm here. I drop my hands down and then shake them out, exhaling.

“First things first, let's get some ears. I was in too much of a hurry earlier.” “Ears?” Church asks as I grin and then gesture with my head in the direction of the shops. The guys let me lead the way, straight to a display of Mickey and Minnie ears in all sorts of different colors. “I'm not fucking wearing those,” Ranger says, but then I shove a pair of pink ones with a bow on his head. He narrows his eyes, but doesn't protest. The twins choose matching ones, the same rainbow pride ears that Tobias had on last night. Spencer goes for these creepy Haunted Mansion ears with a black top hat, while Church settles for ones with a crown. Of course he does. I grab a pair with a blue and white polka dotted bow, and a bouncing daisy. It's as ridiculous as it is fun. Monica would hate it. “We should probably pay for these,” I say as Church starts walking off. He pauses and glances back with a grin. “Don't worry too much about it,” he says, and then continues on. I glance back at the woman behind the register, but she just smiles at me. “Mr. Montague is a very special guest,” she tells me, and then the twins are dragging me down the street. “It's your call,” Spencer says, walking backward and watching me with that all-consuming gaze of his. “Where do we go first?” “Fucking pirates,” I say, and the twins grin. “Aargh, pirates!” They each snatch plastic swords from a basket outside a gift shop and hop on some benches surrounding a tree, brandishing the weapons at one another. “On-guard, my dear brother,” Micah shouts, and then the two of them start a fairly epic sword match with their makeshift weapons. “See what I mean?” Spencer says, giving me a look. “Like I said, one set of twins is more than enough.” The twins continue their fierce battle, leaping off the benches and using fences and trash cans as platforms and shields. None of the employees bother us, not until we walk down the curving stone pathway inside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride and approach the gently bobbing boat. “Welcome, Mr. Montague and friends,” she says, “climb on in.”

Tobias smacks Micah in the ass when he's not looking, declares a victory, and then takes the seat next to me. “There's plenty of room for three,” Micah argues, but then he just gets in the center row with Spencer, Ranger and Church in the back. “I'm so freaking excited,” I whisper as the boat takes off through the water, into a dark area with a makeshift swamp, complete with faux alligator, creepy hut, and a rocking chair with an old man in it. The ambiance is dead-on. Frankly, the trip to Disneyland is worth this ride alone. “It gets better,” Micah whispers, leaning over the seat and licking my ear. I shiver, and Tobias smacks him with his sword. But now we're heading for the first drop, and the ride is really getting started. I'm dumbstruck as we make our way through, the light from the faux cannon fire flickering across our faces as the infamous Yo Ho (a Pirate’s Life for Me) song plays. As soon as the ride’s over, I’m ready to do it again. The guys—who’ve all been to Disney World, apparently, as well as Disneyland—humor me, letting me drag them from ride to ride until the sky is dark, and the lights of Main Street, USA are shining. “One more ride on pirates, and we can take a break?” I say, and Micah stands up, offering a hand. “Let’s do this, milady.” Tobias joins him, and they each take my arm on either side. The other three boys look perfectly comfortable stretched out on the patio of the restaurant balcony; it even overlooks the water feature where the nightly shows usually play. Tonight, however, it’s just us, so there’s no performance, but I am more than okay with that. “You guys go,” Ranger says, and my eyes stray over to Spencer. “Go,” he says, nodding his head in the direction of the ride. “I’ll finish these fries, and then we can go back to the hotel.” His mouth curves into a seductive smile. “It’s my night, after all.” “Unless I decide I’d rather have Church as my guardsman,” I joke, flicking a ketchup soaked fry in his direction. Miraculously, he manages to catch it in his mouth before the twins lead me off toward the ride. “This whole day has been awesome,” I tell them, my voice low and soft. I don’t mean to sound emotional, but months away from them has made me appreciate their friendship even

more. True, we’ve only known each other, what, nine months? And several of those were spent with me being an asshole, and them being bullying jerks. Still, I missed them in ways I never missed Cody or Monica. “One of the best in my entire life.” “Really?” they ask together, looking down at me with matching expressions of surprise. “Really.” Micah climbs into the boat first with me following, and Tobias squeezes himself in next to us. We take off, bobbing gently through the waters of a make-believe swamp, a sea of faux stars above our heads that twinkle like the real thing. “If I get back into Adamson for senior year,” I whisper, “I want to lay a blanket out and look at the stars. They’re hard to see here. But I bet the view on campus is amazing … I never bothered to look before.” “We stole the key for the dormitory roof and made a copy once,” Tobias starts, curling his fingers through mine and giving me a little jolt of adrenaline. “We still have it. We could take you up there sometime.” A smile lights my face as we hit the first small drop and water splashes over us. The ride is over too quick, and I decide we’re going again when we circle around. It’s beyond luxurious, to just sit there in the seat and ride another round without having to wait in line. I doubt even presidents get this level of star treatment. “I can’t believe you guys set this all up.” The twins exchange a look over my head that has me immediately suspicious. “What?” “We all thought up the idea together,” Tobias offers, trailing off for a moment. “But Church paid for it all,” they say in unison. “All of it.” “Seriously?!” I choke out as we pass the pirate skeletons on the right, a make-believe storm swirling above our heads. “This had to cost …” “Millions,” the twins say, lifting their hands up in a well-coordinated shrug before Micah continues. “And it’s not just the money thing. He’s the only person with strong enough connections to set this up. They barely let royalty rent the park unless it’s after-hours. He pulled mad favors for this.” “But why?” I ask, trying to talk over the sound of the music, raucous pirate song and laughter that makes the adventurous side of me wish I could board a ship and set sail with a cutlass and an old, yellowing map.

“Dunno.” Tobias sounds a tad frustrated, and I narrow my eyes. “Maybe he likes you? I’m not sure. He’s been acting weird as hell lately.” “How so?” “Sneaking off, making weird phone calls, I don’t know. He’s just been … off since you left.” Micah shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “And then there was a whole week where he was missing. I didn’t want to say anything, but it was that same week you got attacked. I mean, he was there the day of, but not the few preceding it …” My brows go up. “You don’t suspect him, do you?” I ask, because there’s been a teeny-tiny part of me that’s wondered. Church himself explained to me how sociopaths and psychopaths worked. That, and he was always fiercely aggressive about the Jenica thing. I’d just assumed it was his love for Ranger that spurred his temper, but … “No, no.” Micah rears back like I’ve slapped him. “No fucking way. I’m just saying, he’s been weird. And he paid for all this crap. That, and he’s inviting you to a party with his parents? He’s probably in love with you.” “What?!” I stand up and the boat rocks a bit precariously. Tobias pulls me down into his lap and wraps his arms around me, making my heart flutter. There’s a musty smell in here from the water, but I can still smell his cedar and vetiver scent. “That’s ridiculous.” The words come out in a snort, but at the same time, I’m not fully convinced it’s as ridiculous as it sounds. “Maybe,” the twins say together, but they sound as unsure as I feel. The boat bobs through the shallow water, and we all stay quiet for a while. I can’t believe Church paid for all this … for me. He either really does like me—as a friend or otherwise—or else he’s somehow involved in whatever’s going on at Adamson. Clearly, he’s not the original killer, but maybe he’s connected in a different way? As we near the exit, Micah starts to stand up, and I reach out, putting my hand over his. “One more time?” I plead, because this is the only night we get the park to ourselves. Even Church doesn’t have enough pull to make this happen multiple days in a row; I don’t think anybody does. “You’re too cute, Chuck,” the twins say together, and then Micah flashes a naughty grin. “Maybe after this we can hit the pirates’ gift shop and buy you a cute little wench outfit to wear?”

“You better be joking,” I warn, giving him a look that’s cold hell. “If I buy an outfit from that shop, it’s going to be a captain’s hat, and then I’m going to run you through for insubordination.” “I’d like to see you try,” Micah challenges, whipping his own sword out (not a double entendre, I mean like, his literal plastic sword). I smack it away, and he leans in suddenly, pressing his lips to mine, tongue teasing along my bottom lip. It happens so quickly, and I’m caught so off-guard that I let him in. “Got ya, Captain,” he whispers, his mouth hot, just as much of a challenge as his words. There’s a suggestion there, too, one that I’ve been resisting since … maybe since the assholes pinned me against the door at the Jaw Flapper? “Are you two serious?” Tobias groans, and even though I can’t see him, I can tell he’s rolling his eyes. I’m sitting on his lap, too, so when I wiggle, moaning under my breath at his brother’s touch, I can feel him hardening underneath me. “How long is this ride anyway?” “Sixteen minutes,” I murmur, because I looked it up on my phone earlier. My right hand lifts to the back of Micah’s neck as he presses in closer, kissing me with this searing passion that has the fine hairs on my arm standing on end. It’s electrifying, the way he kisses, like there’s something beyond his firm but gentle touch that’s dangerous, that’ll destroy me if I get too close. And yet, I get too close anyway. Our tongues tangle, and I lean forward, still sitting sideways on Tobias’ lap, but with my hands now on Micah’s legs. If I were to inch up just a little … “We’ve been on the ride, what, two minutes?” he whispers, and I nod against his mouth. “How quick can you be?” “You’re not seriously suggesting we go further than kissing? In here? There must be cameras.” My words come out in a rush, but I can’t help but entertain the fantasy. I mean, I’m traveling on a boat through a pirate’s grotto, a bed covered in treasure behind me, the soft lap of water against the sides of the boat a gentle reassurance. When am I ever going to get another chance like this? “Church’s family has connections; don’t worry about the cameras.” Tobias reaches out and touches the side of my face, turning me back to look at him. We stare at each other in the darkness for a moment, and my lids feel suddenly heavy, like my body knows better than my mind how long I’ve been wanting this.

“There must be something in the water at Adamson,” I grumble, and Tobias laughs. His chuckle tapers off as our mouths meet, his kiss both startlingly familiar and distinctly foreign from his twin’s. Speaking of, Micah’s hands are running up the sides of my legs, underneath my skirt, and pulling down the stupid black lace panties that Ranger bought me. My breath escapes in a rush as I glance over and find him tucking them into his pocket. Heart racing, I watch as he unzips his pants and frees himself, right there on the ride. We are so going to hell for this, I think, but then Micah’s pulling me onto his lap to straddle him, his fingers tickling my chin. “Look how smart I am,” he says, pulling a condom from his pocket with two fingers. “A good pirate is always prepared.” “You brought a condom to Disneyland?” I choke out, and Tobias laughs from beside me, flashing a condom of his own. “You two are seriously perverted.” “We have the whole park to ourselves. This is a once in a lifetime thing,” he says, undoing his pants, a challenge in his green eyes. “And there’s only one girl here we want to share this with.” “Maybe.” I lick my lips. Maybe I shouldn’t be bringing this up, but I can’t help myself. “You said you didn’t share girls with anyone, but each other, and yet Spencer …” “We don’t,” Tobias says, and his voice is so hard and dark, he almost sounds like Micah there for a minute. “But until you figure out what you want to do, we’ll try this. Just this one time.” I watch him watching me, and I feel this pit in my stomach. Like, one day I’ll have to actively choose a guy? The thought makes me seasick in a way the rocking boat never could. But then, he's right: I’m on a trip of a lifetime, and I don’t want to waste it. In forty years, in fifty or sixty, I want to be able to look back on this moment and remember I grabbed it by the balls, so to speak. This time, yes, double entendre intended. I take the condom from Micah’s fingers, and try to remember the goddamn lemon cucumber and banana back in the classroom. Crap, I really should’ve practiced instead of letting Ranger do it for me … “Do you need help? Maybe another lesson with Mr. Cruschek?” “Micah, don’t take this the wrong way,” I start, tearing the condom open with shaking fingers, but pretending like I’ve done this a million times before. “But shut the fuck up.” He chuckles as I fumble the slick ring over him, rolling it down as he groans and lets his head fall back.

“I never thought you’d be touching me like that,” he whispers, pulling me forward. I rise up to my knees, fingers curled around his shoulders, and then slide my gaze Tobias’ direction. It feels like somehow he and I should do this first. And yet, I see him watching us with this heavylidded expression that does all sorts of things to me. This wild fire takes over, and I swear I’m burning up from the inside out, like if I don’t move forward with this, I’ll break. “Better hurry,” he says, smirking slightly, “sixteen minutes is not a lot of time for two guys.” I almost choke, turning my focus back to Micah. We’re on a boat, on a theme park ride, and there are two guys here with me. One of them is going to be watching?! It’s a big jump to make, based on my previous, uh, non-experience with the whole sex thing. The hormones take over then, right as Micah reaches between us and positions himself, so that all I have to do to make this happen is sit back. Our eyes meet, the flames from the pirate war raging around us flickering across his face. Faux cannonball splashes tickle my arms with cool water. Slowly, I tilt my body back until I feel Micah and me joining together, his body pushing inside of mine. A gasp escapes my lips that he quickly cuts off with a kiss, one that his brother interrupts by grabbing my face and turning me toward him. The three of us end up taking turns kissing as Micah’s hands cup my ass and encourages me to move in a way that makes us both groan. “Faster,” he whispers, biting my bottom lip. My heart is racing, the fear of getting caught mixing with the sheer pleasure his body’s bringing mine. And then Tobias drops his hand between us, and rubs my body until I feel my muscles starting to clench, working hard to bring Micah to climax. “Goddamn, Chuck, you’re so tight,” he growls out. I’m not used to being talked to like that, and it drives me up the wall. It feels so wrong and so right, all at the same time. Micah uses his right hand to slide up my side, cupping my breast through the fabric of my dress, and tweaking my nipple in just such a way that a small scream breaks from my throat, swallowed up by the sounds of the ride. Tobias grins. “You really are a screamer,” they say together, and I flush, my movements getting more frenzied, less practiced (not that I’ve had any practice at this at all), and soon Micah is throwing his head back, his hands tightening on my body as he comes hard. He shudders and shivers, going limp as Tobias pulls back and drags me onto his lap.

“How much time do we have left?” he whispers, and I shake my head. I don’t know. I also know that I’m not about to stop, not until we’re climbing up that last hill that leads to the exit. Maybe not even then. He’s already got the condom on, so it’s just a matter of getting myself into the right position. Our gazes lock, and a strange thrill goes through me. If you’d have told me on that first day of school, when the twins sat next to me in the cafeteria, that I’d end up here, doing this, I’d have laughed in your face. Yet, it feels like this is where I was meant to end up all along. Instead of letting me sit back and set the pace, Tobias pulls me down, and my cheeks flush as we join together, our eyes locked. He smiles at me just before leaning in and kissing me with that cherry-tart scent of his lingering in the air. My body is just a bundle of nerves at this point, the sheer ecstasy of the moment mixed with that little bite of fear that we might get caught, that someone might see us, that someone might even be watching on some security camera somewhere. It doesn’t stop me, though. No, the thrill of it is what keeps me going, and I work my hips just as fast and hard as I did for Micah, maybe harder. “Hurry up,” Micah whispers, leaning over and lifting my dress so he can slap my ass. His mouth kisses down the side of my neck and shoulder, and he gives me a gentle, little bite that has me shivering and clamping down twice as hard. “We’ve got three minutes left, at best.” Tobias grabs my face between his hands and kisses me like every feeling he’s ever had for me is in his lips, his tongue. The gesture is so expressive that it hits me like a ton of bricks, and I shudder, climaxing on top of him and clinging on for dear life. He holds me, grabbing my ass and encouraging my hips to keep moving until he’s coming, too, and we’re both left panting together, bodies still joined. I don’t want to move. I could sit here forever. The clicking sound of the boat being pulled up the track startles me into action, and I scramble off of Tobias, snatching my panties from Micah’s pocket and putting them on with hands that are shaking twice as badly as they did before. By the time we hit the top of the ride, and climb off toward the exit, I’m sure my face is crimson.

“Did you see the way that employee was smiling at us?!” I whisper, and Micah glances back to wave. I slap his hand down, and he laughs at me. “Nobody saw anything, Chuck, calm down.” “We were very discreet,” Tobias teases, pinching my ass through my dress. “Very discreet,” Micah repeats, and then does the same. I slap them both away, blinking into the warm darkness of an LA evening as we step outside and find the others waiting for us. One look at the twins’ faces, and Spencer’s mouth drops open in shock. “You didn’t?!” he chokes out, but the twins are grinning like maniacs, and I’m blushing like crazy. “Look,” Micah says, removing the condom from his pocket and pointing to the knot he’s tied at the end. “Keeps all the cum in. Isn’t that what you said, Spencer?” He tosses it into the trash before Spencer rushes him, and they end up in a tussle that’s not entirely real, but not entirely fake either. “Well, well,” Church says, pulling his phone from his pocket, the flickering lamps nearby turning that honeyed hair into a burnished gold. “I better make some calls, so we can be certain none of this leaks out.” “None of it will leak out,” Tobias says, removing his own condom from his pocket. “I tied the knot tight.” I groan and put my face in my hands, but I’m not entirely unhappy. Actually … I’m sure of it now. This really is the best day of my life, hands down. Too bad things that go up must come down …

My mother’s apartment is not in the best part of LA. In fact, it’s not even really in the okay part of it. No, it’s sort of in the worst of the worst. “Fuck, I knew being poor was hard, but this is … next level.” Spencer looks around at the squat, little houses with bars on their windows, and then redirects his attention to the two story apartment building in front of us. The air is hot and dry, and the sky is gray with smog. A frown curves my lips down as the twins gaze at me with sympathy. “Poor Chuck,” they coo, clasping hands and looking up at the second story where my mother’s door stands half open, her bubbling laughter drifting out and down to where we’re standing. The only decorations she has are a dirty welcome mat, and a dead cactus. Like, I get we’re in LA, but how much effort does it take to keep a cactus alive for fuck’s sake?! “This is the true face of poverty.” “Seriously, if you guys don’t stop making poor people jokes, I’m going to kick each one of you in the balls.” “Good for you,” Ranger says, but even he doesn’t look convinced, his sapphire eyes tracking the movement of a pedestrian with a shopping cart. True, my family didn’t have a lot of money growing up, but we did okay. Where my mother lives now is nothing like the apartments I grew up in. And even then, there’s nothing wrong with being poor. I need to educate these rich dickheads. “Shall we?” Church asks, indicating the staircase with his long fingers.

We just checked out of the Disneyland hotel this morning, and I almost cried at having to say goodbye to the fairy tale suite. It was truly magical, the whole thing was. Even the threesome with the twins. I get choked up, and force myself to move up the stairs, so I don’t spend too much time obsessing over it. That night, I crawled in that luxurious bathtub while Spencer relaxed on our bed, and I let a bath bomb fizz over my fingers while I obsessed. At first he seemed a little freaked-out. Like, he kept touching me and asking all these questions, and I decided it was best to just be honest. He got a play-by-play of the whole scenario, and then sat cross-legged on the bed, quietly fuming for a while. “Was it better with them than it was with me?” he’d asked, and I shook my head no. It wasn’t better. It wasn’t worse either. It was … the same, in the best way possible. Since I didn’t exactly know how to answer that question, I distracted him by curling up against his side in my towel, smelling like lemongrass from my bath, and we fell asleep together. The third night in the hotel, I had Ranger and Church stay over, so I could avoid dating politics. And well, now here we are, standing outside my mother’s apartment while my heart races, and I try to figure out how I’m supposed to survive two weeks here. “Let’s go,” I say as I put my hand on the sunbaked railing and walk up the pebble-coated steps to her front door, knocking briefly before letting myself in. Mom is sitting on a small balcony opposite the door, just around the corner where we couldn’t see her from outside. She has a cigarette in one hand, her cell in the other, and she’s smiling at me, gesturing me in. Her brows go up when she sees the entourage I’ve brought with me. “I’ve gotta go, I’ll talk to you later,” she says, hanging up the phone and pushing a blond curl from her face. “Charlotte!” My mother, Eloise Peters née Reitman, stands up and holds her arms out to give me a hug. I step up and put my arms around her waist as the boys set my luggage near the door, the bags they bought me filled with dresses, shirts, and shoes from Rodeo Drive. Yeah, Rodeo freaking Drive. We went all Pretty Woman and went shopping. “I’m so happy you’re here.” She holds me back at arm’s-length, and frowns. “Although I’m still upset that you didn’t come sooner.” “Mom,” I begin, turning back to indicate my friends … and boyfriends. I’m ignoring her statement on purpose, because there’s nothing I have to say. She’s abandoned me before, so I don’t feel she gets a lot of say in what I do now. “These are my friends from Adamson.” I swallow hard and exhale. “And also my boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends?” she asks, looking confused, and the twins exchange a look before stepping forward to introduce themselves, holding out their hands in unison. “Micah,” Tobias says, which makes me roll my eyes. “Tobias,” his brother adds. Mom shakes their hands, but looks perplexed as hell. I don’t blame her. “And this is Spencer,” I add as he moves forward and nods his chin in greeting. “These are the three I’m dating. And then this is Ranger Woodruff and Church Montague, the president and vice president of the illustrious Student Council.” “Nice to meet you,” she replies cautiously, her brown eyes darkening slightly in suspicion. “I thought it was just going to be me and you, baby. I’ll take you out for lunch, and then we can swim in the pool at the new hotel I just started working at.” “I was hoping we could all go out together,” I say, knowing this is only going to buy me so much time. Dad said two weeks here, and I’m determined to play along. If Church really does have an idea on how to get me back into Adamson, I’m going to need to foster as much goodwill as I can from the headmaster before then. “Do dinner, maybe?” “It’d be my treat,” Church supplies smoothly, but mom is already frowning again. “Actually,” she starts, exhaling and looking almost guiltily in my direction. “I’m having Charlotte meet someone tonight.” “Someone?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve started dating again,” she begins, and my mouth turns down in a severe frown. Dating? My mom’s never dated anyone but my father, at least as far as I know. I’m no idiot; I’m sure during some of her worst relapses, she may have slept with other men, but she’s never had a boyfriend. In fact, I’m about ninety percent sure that Archie is still in love with her. I guess some stupid, silly childish part of me thought that maybe after she got better, they’d get back together again. “He’s a great guy, I think you’ll really like him.” She looks up at the boys and gives another small, half-smile. “So tonight doesn’t really work for dinner, but maybe we could do Friday?” “Friday would be lovely,” Church supplies, even as the twins and Spencer exchange a look. Ranger narrows his eyes, but what can he do? This is my mom, my choice, and I do really miss her.

I turn back to look at them, and find myself tongue-tied yet again. I’m still not over the whole three boyfriends thing, or the sex … It’s a lot. My life is sort of crazy right now. “See you guys Friday then,” I say, realizing then that it’s only freaking Tuesday. It feels like an eternity, sitting here in this hot apartment with its shitty window AC unit, and the roach traps everywhere. “We’ll send the security detail back to check on you,” Church whispers as the twins give me a hug from either side, squeezing me so tight that it almost hurts. But then, it’s the best feeling in the world, so I don’t fight it. Spencer is next, hugging me and burying his face in my hair. “See ya around, Chuck-let,” he says, and then I wave to Ranger and Church as they usher the other guys out of the room. “You should get dressed,” Mom tells me as soon as the door closes, and I finally have a moment to look around. The carpet is brown and dingy, with only a square of seventies linoleum in the kitchen to break it up. There’s a bathroom on my left, a single bedroom on the right, and a depressed air to the place that makes me wish I could scoop my mother up and fly her away to somewhere else, anywhere else really. “Okay,” I say, exhaling and shaking my hands out. This is going to be a long-ass two weeks, isn’t it?

I change into an Alice in Wonderland dress that the twins bought me at Disney, because they liked the Tweedledee and Tweedledum decals on the hem. Paired with the kick-ass red heels I grabbed during our shopping trip, and the Student Council pin I put on the pocket, I feel ready to deal with this whole fiasco. Mom. Dating. I don’t like it, not one bit. Mom’s new boyfriend calls a taxi for us, and we end up at a nice restaurant with nightblooming jasmine and hibiscus outside. It smells heavenly, and I find myself relaxing a little. I mean, just because her new boyfriend can afford to take us here doesn’t mean he’s a nice guy, but at least the food should be good, right? The night won’t be a total wash.

“I thought you were still in love with Dad,” I say as we walk up the winding path, and Mom pauses, dressed in a cranberry colored dress and a fresh face of makeup that takes years off of her. She almost looks like the woman I used to know before the drugs started. “Honey,” she says, a slightly patronizing smile taking over her lips. “It’s not that I don’t love your dad. It’s just … we don’t work together anymore. And I got with him so young that it felt like I never got to experiment, or test my own boundaries.” She pauses and looks at me with a slightly perplexed expression on her face. “Although it looks like you’re not making the same mistakes I did.” A chuckle escapes her red painted lips, and I frown. “Three boyfriends. Does your Dad know?” “I told him, but I couldn’t decide if he believed me or not,” I say with a loose shrug of my shoulders. “Not that it matters. It didn’t change his decision to send me away, and it certainly won’t help him invite me back. Because that’s all I want, Mom, to go back to Adamson.” “Certainly not with that hanging and all that other nonsense,” she whispers, and then her eyes widen and she stands on her tiptoes to wave at someone over my shoulder. “Over here, Ian!” She waves frantically, and I sigh, turning to see who this asshole coming up the— “Holy shit, it’s Mr. Dave,” I choke out, looking around frantically for a hibiscus bush to jump into. But it’s too late. He’s seen me, and his own eyes go wide at the sight. We stand there staring at each other, mean librarian bully versus annoying male student turned daughter of the woman he’s banging. Dear God of Holes and Other Such Things, please open up and swallow me now. I know you’ve never listened to me before, and continue to allow horrible, embarrassing things to happen to me, but just this once, could you make an exception? No such luck. Mr. Dave grumbles his way up the path, his dark eyes like spears, his mouth etched into such a deep frown that I wouldn’t be surprised if it got stuck that way. “You’re my mother’s new boyfriend?” I ask, looking at him with an expression of sheer and utter disbelief. “How? You live in Connecticut.” “I know you’ve met Ian before,” Mom says, coming around behind me to snuggle up to her new beau’s tree trunk like arm. “But I wanted to surprise you.” “How did you two meet?” I ask, trying to puzzle my way through this whole thing. You don’t just accidently run into someone from across the continent like this. There’s no such thing as

coincidence. You know, except for like how you ran into the twins at the Boardwalk that one time … All of a sudden I’m sweating bullets, and my mind is going crazy. Everyone’s a suspect, aren’t they? Every single person I know. “I came out here to visit family during winter break, and ran into your mother,” Mr. Dave rumbles, this voice like rocks tumbling down a mountain. “We just happened to hit it off.” He glances over at her, and his face softens in an almost believable sort of way. “Psychopaths don't feel human emotion per se, but are extremely skilled in imitating it.” Church’s words hit me like a freight train, and I find myself taking a step back. No way Mr. Dave—if that’s even his real freaking name—accidentally runs into my mom in a metro area containing over thirteen million people. This is all connected back to the school, and to me, and to Jenica’s murder. I can feel it. “I know this is a little weird, honey,” Mom starts, but I’m already backing up another step. Mr. Dave’s dark eyes track my movements before flicking toward the street and back again. Is he looking for his accomplices? Is he checking out the security detail that followed me and Mom over here tonight? “It’s more than just a little weird,” I tell her, turning my attention back to Ian Dave. I mean, what kind of a name is that?! It’s as fake as press-on nails. “This is creepy. You know that someone attacked me at the school, right? And I don’t mean Adamson, I mean SCHS. And during a week when Mr. Dave was absent.” “Are you accusing Ian of something?” Mom asks, sounding delightfully befuddled. “That’s ridiculous.” “Charlotte,” Mr. Dave begins, and I’m shocked at his lack of surprise at my gender reveal until I remember that he knew. He knew all along, even when he wasn’t supposed to. “I promise you that this thing with your mother was unplanned. Honestly, it’s a bit inappropriate, but—” “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom,” I blurt, turning and heading into the restaurant. I’m in a slight daze as I search for, and find, the ladies’ restroom, slipping inside and bolting the door behind me. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” I grumble as I dial up Ranger’s phone. I’m not sure why, out of all the guys, he’s the one I pick to call first. It just happens. “Charlotte?” he asks, his voice edgy and dark. “Is everything okay?” “My mom is dating Mr. Dave. He is her new boyfriend. They tried to feed me some bullshit lie about how she met him when he came down here to visit family in December, but seriously?!

I’m not stupid. You don’t just accidentally find one of your student’s mothers in Los Angeles when you live in fucking Nutmeg, Connecticut.” “We’ll be right there,” Ranger says, but I don’t see what difference that would make. It’s not like Mr. Dave came here tonight as himself to kill me. “No, no, that’s not necessary,” I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “Let me just go to dinner with this asshole, and see if he gives anything away.” “Are you sure?” Ranger asks, the jingling of keys in the background a possible indication he’s already on his way. “I’ve got the security detail, we’re in a crowded restaurant, I’ll be fine.” I exhale and lean back against the wall. “Just … keep your phone on you in case anything happens, okay?” “Got it,” he says, and then there’s this long, awkward pause where it feels like Ranger might say something important. Instead, all I get is: “Stay safe, and text updates.” And then he hangs up. With a sigh, I tuck my phone in my pocket and head out the door to find Mr. Dave and Mom already waiting at a table nearby. “Are you okay?” Mom asks as I sit down and open my menu, returning Mr. Dave’s signature glare with one of my own. This guy is the meanest, orneriest librarian I’ve ever met, and trust me, I’ve met some real winners. One time, this librarian at a school book fair beat me with a fly swatter for wrinkling a page in a picture book. “Fine,” I say, forcing a smile as I bury my face in my menu. For the first half of dinner, Mom tries to get us to talk to each other, coaxing reluctant answers out of us both. The conversation goes nowhere, and eventually she just settles in to flirt and chat with Ian while I stab my fork into my admittedly delicious cheesecake and pretend not to be listening. Unfortunately, it’s Mom who does most of the talking, and by the time dinner is over, I’ve got no new information from Ian, no clues. He walks us outside and helps us into a cab before giving Mom the most passionate goodbye kiss I’ve ever seen. My mouth drops open, and I swear, Mr. Dave smirks at me before he closes the door and the taxi takes off down the street. “What’d you think?” Mom asks, turning to look at me, and taking my hands in hers. I give her my most skeptical look, one that I’ve been perfecting since I was five. It very clearly says are you fucking serious right now?

“Mom, the guy is a creep. He’s clearly a stalker.” I throw my arm out for emphasis. “How does a teacher from my school end up dating my mom? And after a student was murdered?” “Your father said it was a suicide,” is her only response, her lips pursed in a pouty sort of expression. “And sometimes fate takes a hand in a person’s life, Charlotte.” “I don’t believe in fate,” I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest and exhaling. “But I do believe in murderers and stalkers and psycho librarians following me across the country to hang me with a noose.” “Would you stop being so dramatic?” Mom groans, putting the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I like this guy—a lot. And I’m not going to stop seeing him without a valid reason. Just because you don’t like the way we met, that doesn’t mean he’s a killer.” I clamp my lips tight and turn toward the window. I’m done arguing with her tonight. Mr. Dave is involved in Jenica’s murder, in Eugene’s murder, and I’m going to fucking prove it.

Friday cannot come fast enough. I’m literally counting down the seconds. It’s not that I don’t like spending time with my mom, but I swear, every other day there’s some activity involving Ian Dave. But I can’t bail, not when Mom’s taken off the week to spend time with me. I know from an overheard conversation between her and Dad that he gave her extra money to help with the bills and our outings. So I tough it out, and we get our nails done, have a picnic at the park, and go to the La Brea Tar Pits together. It’s not a bad visit overall, but the apartment is small and stuffy, and doesn’t feel like home. For some reason, it just makes me miss Adamson all that much more. “That’s a lovely dress,” Mom says when I come out of the bathroom in a pink cocktail dress with nude pumps, and a sparkly little purse that Ranger picked out. I swear, the guy’s addicted to cute things. His cheeks turn pink when he sees something he likes, and then if you try to call him out on it, he gets pissy as hell. “Thank you,” I say, putting my hand over my belly to quiet down the butterflies. Dinner with the parents is never easy, especially not when you’ve got more than boyfriend to worry about. “Do I look okay?” “You’re my daughter, aren’t you?” she says, and I smile. There’s a knock on the door, and I find myself sucking in a sharp breath to calm the nerves before I go to open it.

The door swings wide, and there they are, standing in a group, all dressed in sharp suits and ties. My mouth drops open, and I’m left staring dumbstruck as Spencer puts a huge bouquet of roses in my arms. Well hello, Adamson Student Council. “Good to see you, too,” he says, flashing a grin. “Good evening, Chuck,” the twins say in unison. Ranger offers up a single pink tulip, while Church gives me an appreciative once-over. “I have to say, our last assistant was nowhere near as attractive.” My cheeks flush, and I sputter for a moment, but Church is just … well, flirty like that. Sometimes. I mean, when he’s not acting like a stone-cold sociopath or psychopath or whatever. “He’s probably in love with you.” Micah’s words flicker in my mind for a moment, but I brush them aside. “Thank you guys for coming,” I say as I glance over and find a limo waiting for us. Ah, yes, the perks of dating rich dudes. You won’t find me complaining. “Mom, you remember the boys?” I say, taking her arm as she comes to the door. “Right. Three of them are your boyfriends, and the other two are …” “Just friends,” Ranger supplies, answering my mother’s question before I get a chance to. He turns and heads down the stairs, and the rest of us follow. “He’s been cranky since the Mr. Dave thing,” Tobias whispers, taking my left hand and making Spencer scowl. “He’s so fucking worried about you. Told you he’d turn you into Jenica.” “Into his sister, right,” I say, as we all crowd inside the limo and Church presents my mother with a bottle of what must be very expensive champagne. Her eyes light up and her cheeks flush. “Thank you, I’d love a glass, but I can’t,” she says. “I’m still in recovery, and even though alcohol was never my vice, I’ll have to stick with lemon water tonight.” “Completely understandable,” Church says, and then he pours himself a glass, which Mom doesn’t particularly appreciate considering he’s underage. But I suppose you can’t tell a seventeen-nearly-eighteen year old that he can’t drink the expensive champagne in the back of his own limo. Or, well, I’m just assuming this car belongs to the Montagues. But in reality, it could be any of the guys’.

“Mrs. Carson, is it? Or do you prefer to be called Eloise?” Church ask, and I narrow my eyes on him. He’s putting the whole parent-schmoozing act on again which, to be quite honest, my mother is twice as likely to fall for as my father. And considering he bought it hook, line, and sinker, Mom is doomed. “Eloise is great, or even Ms. Reitman. I’m changing my name back. It’s about time, seeing as we’ve been divorced for four years and all.” Mom falls silent and glances over at me like she expects me to throw some sort of fit over that. I’ll admit, when my parents first got divorced, I was heartbroken, but I’ve come a long way since then. She’d know that, if she’d been around to see it. “Actually, I’ve got a new man in my life, so really, it’s only appropriate.” “You’re not thinking of marrying that guy, are you?” I ask, because it’s one thing for my mother to be dating, and a whole other for her to be into a guy who could very well be a serial killer. Or wait, do you have to kill more than two people to be a serial killer? And then there are at least three accomplices involved in all this … Ugh. I rub my hand over my face. “Not yet, Charlotte, but I like to keep an open mind.” Mom smiles and pushes some ringlets back from her face, her brown eyes scanning the boys fanned out across the seats. “Now, if you marry three boys, whose last name do you take?” she asks, and then laughs like she actually thinks it’s a funny joke. “It’s not medieval times anymore, Mom. You don’t take anyone’s name. You just cohabitate with your three lovers and share a checking account.” “Charlotte,” she reprimands, giving me a look. “Don’t be like that. I was just playing with you.” “What do you do for work?” Spencer asks, clearing his throat, and trying to participate in the conversation. It’s awkward as hell, but at least he looks good in the charcoal gray suit and turquoise tie that matches his eyes. “I’m a maid for a large chain hotel,” Mom says, and the twins exchange a look. My cheeks color, but I don’t look at them. Maybe they’re putting two and two together, like when I tried to wash my own dishes at their place, or how I hate leaving my tray in the cafeteria for someone else to clean … Or fuck.

It didn’t occur to me until just now, but … maybe they’re wondering other things about me? What if they think I’m a gold-digger? What if they think I’m not good enough for them because of my mom? It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and I’m beyond grateful when we get to the restaurant, and there’s a spare moment for me to slip away into the bathroom. For several minutes, I just lean my head back against the wall and try to calm my racing heart. When I step out into the hall, the twins are waiting. They put an arm up on either side of the door as it slams closed behind me. “What?” I ask, feeling my face burn as they scrutinize me. “What do you want? Can’t I take a piss in peace?” “You’re running from us,” Tobias says, and I open my mouth to protest. Micah puts a finger to my lips to quiet me, and shakes his head. “No, you ran away. Why?” He looks me dead in the face with those sharp green eyes of his, but I don’t know what to say. That I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious? That I’ve realized how ridiculous it is for a poor girl with a maid for a mom and a teacher for a father to have not one, not two, but three rich, hot guys interested in her? “This isn’t a reverse harem,” I blurt, and the twins exchange a look. “Huh?” they ask, glancing back at me. “I mean, it’s … there’s no happy ending for me in this, is there?” I don’t know where all of this is coming from, but I feel suddenly overwhelmed by it. I’m probably about to start my period or something. No, no, that’s bullshit, blaming my emotions on my cycle. I’m just having a moment. I think we all have them sometimes, don’t we? One of those moments where you just feel sick and sad and like the whole world is against you. “What are you talking about?” Tobias asks, reaching out to brush some hair from my face. “Is this about Mr. Dave and your mom?” “No, it’s about … me, and you, and you,” I look over at Micah, “and the fact that my mom’s a maid. My dad’s just the headmaster of your high school. You guys are all destined for big and better things, and I’m just a C student who hasn’t even applied to any colleges yet. You probably think I’m some sort of gold-digger.” “I think you cut yourself short, Chuck,” Micah says, studying me with a far more serious gaze than I’m used to. “What do your parents’ jobs have to do with you? And trust me, if you were a

gold-digger, you would’ve been a lot nicer to us right off the bat.” He smiles, and it’s got that edge to it that it always does, but there’s a deeper, softer quality to his expression that makes me feel weak at the knees. “We don’t need to date a girl with money; we have plenty of it. And you’re more than just a C student. You’re somebody with big enough balls,” he pauses, mulls that over for a moment, continues, “with big enough ovaries to come waltzing into a school full of old-money assholes and start throwing your weight around. You’re one tough chick, Charlotte Carson.” “And besides, Micah and I are just troublemaking spoiled brats who partied too hard and got shipped off to our father’s old school to keep us out of trouble. We don’t have any particular interests or skills, like Ranger with his baking, and we also haven’t applied to any colleges.” “You guys will just get in because of, like, money and shit though anyway, right?” I ask with a small laugh. There are tears in my eyes, but I’m not sure why. The twins shrug. “Probably. But we could get you in, too?” They both push up off the doorjamb and stand up straight. “We were thinking … Bornstead U.” “Bornstead?” I ask, cocking a brow. “Like in Colorado? Why?” “It’s a good school, and it’s neither here nor there,” Tobias says, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, like that somehow might indicate Connecticut. “I mean, why not? It’s a beautiful campus. My mother once taught a seminar there, and we stayed with her for a few days and had a blast.” “That’s assuming we even stay friends through senior year, considering the long-distance thing and all that …” I trail off, and the twins exchange another glance before turning back to me. “Have a little faith, Chuck,” Tobias says, forcing a smile and pushing his red hair off his forehead. The twins are dressed in matching navy suits with red ties. They look like they’re cosplaying—dressing up like a character from a movie, anime, book, video game, etc.—but I like it. I’m getting serious Ouran High School Host Club vibes again. “If Church says he has an idea, it’s a good one.” I nod, and then move to step forward, but the twins hook their arms with mine, while Micah opens the bathroom door. Then they’re dragging me back and into it before closing it behind us and flicking the lock.

“What are you doing?” I whisper as they both drop down and put a hand on my hip, pushing me against the wall. They each put a hand under my skirt and yank my panties down to the floor. “My mother is out there …” “So?” they ask, encouraging me to spread my legs slightly. And then they take turns leaning in and using their tongue in places I promise you, I have never had a tongue before. It feels so good that I end up biting down on my hand to keep quiet. When we finally make our way out of there, the rest of the table is waiting with drinks and appetizers. “We took the liberty of ordering for you, seeing as you were inevitably detained,” Church drawls, waving his hand dismissively. “Since I know Micah and Tobias are huge fans of escargot, I made sure to order them each a plate of their own for dinner.” “You piece of shit,” Tobias growls, sitting down on his right side, Micah beside him. Ranger is next, then Spencer, me, Mom, and back to Church again. Just one big, happy family. “We’re allergic to escargot.” “What’s escargot?” my mom asks cheerily, and I facepalm a little. “Snails,” Spencer answers for me, giving me and the twins a narrow-eyed look. “You’re allergic to snails?” I ask, lifting my head up and glancing over at the twins. They’re both buttering slices of bread in perfect unison which is pretty goddamn impressive. “We are,” they say, but somehow I feel they’re full of shit. “Nobody’s allergic to snails,” I retort, and they both shrug, grinning but not looking at me. All the better since I just had a double twin orgasm in the restroom. Hopefully nobody notices. Pretty sure everybody but Mom does, which at least is a small blessing in and of itself. “We’re allergic to squid, too,” they say. “And octopus.” “They just have unrefined palettes, and prefer to stick to hamburgers and fries,” Church supplies as Ranger casts me a sympathetic sort of look. “Just ignore them,” he says, and then redirects the conversation with that dark voice of his. “So, Eloise, tell us more about your new boyfriend.” Ranger’s sapphire eyes slide to mine. “We were just discussing their second date—to the shooting range. Apparently Ian is one hell of a shot.” My eyes widen, and I glance back at Mom as she begins to wax poetic about our school’s asshole librarian. At the same time, I lift my purse to the table, intending to dig around in it for my lip balm. Instead, I end up accidentally spilling it onto my bread plate.

The floppy packer penis falls right out, right onto the pure white china at the same moment our waiter approaches to take our order, and the bus boy drops by with another pitcher of water for the table. My eyes go wide, and Mom squeaks, cutting off midsentence to stare. I very distinctly left that penis back in Connecticut. My eyes flick to the twins, who happen to be sharing identical grimaces. “Charlotte Carson, masturbation is healthy and normal, but you don’t bring that sort of thing to a dinner reservation,” Mom whispers, and my entire body turns crimson. Spencer is trying his hardest not to laugh, while Ranger gapes at the offending member in all its floppy glory. It really does look like the real thing, doesn’t it? “Mom, it’s a flaccid dick, I couldn’t … you know, with this if I wanted to,” I choke out as Ranger grabs the dick and tucks it inside his black suit jacket. “So there’s where I left it,” he growls out, dark eyes flicking up to the waiter and the bus boy as if in challenge. “It’s my prosthetic, and I happened to misplace it.” “Of course sir,” the waiter coughs, folding his hands together behind his back. The bus boy moves away, and my mother just sits there, looking confused. “Shall we order?” Ranger asks, and even though you’d think in this situation, he’d blush, he doesn’t. Will he blush over a pair of unicorn socks? Sure. But not over a floppy winky in the bread bowl. Nope, not that. The rest of dinner goes off smoothly, although the boys keep making jokes about Ranger’s prosthetic and Mom, bless her heart, genuinely inquires as to his story. After we’re done, we head back to the apartment and Eloise goes in to give me a moment to talk to the guys. “You assholes,” I growl, punching the twins in the shoulders. “You snuck that in my purse while we were—” I pause and give Spencer a look. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and raises a brow. “We went in the bathroom to, um, hang out.” “Jesus Christ,” Ranger groans as Church sips his to-go coffee and watches the whole scene play out. “You two are class acts,” Spencer says with a roll of his eyes, and the twins shrug. “Your fault for dumping the dick in the bread. We just thought you might miss it is all. Or that maybe Spencer did.”

“Dude, I got so hard after squeezing that thing, you have no idea,” he retorts, lifting his chin in defiance and smirking. “It was so bad, that when I went in the bathroom after—” “That’s enough of that,” Ranger snaps, holding up his hands and exhaling. “Look, we need to make progress on this Mr. Dave thing. You said your mom works on Monday?” He glances over at me, and I nod, wondering where, exactly, he’s hidden the packer penis. My eyes drift down, and Ranger narrows his, stepping forward to redirect my attention. “We’ll pick you up, and we’ll go back to my place, see if we can’t get some more information on the guy. And then we’ll bake something. Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a Culinary Club meeting.” “Are you going to show her your room?” Spencer teases, and Ranger whips this dark glare over his shoulder. Spencer holds his hands up in surrender, but now I’m dying with curiosity to know what that’s about. “Church, when is your parents’ party?” Ranger continues, ignoring the twins as they get into some sort of brotherly scuffle. “End of July,” he says, tilting his head to one side, amber hair falling across his brow. “You’ll need a new dress.” “Didn’t you guys just get me like a dozen new dresses?” I ask, trying to tuck my hands into the pockets of my blazer before I realize I’m not wearing one. God, I miss Adamson. “Not a dress like this, for a party of this caliber.” He smiles at me, and I swear, I can’t decide if that bright cheeriness is more or less scary than that look of cold hell he passes out to his enemies. “But don’t worry, we’ll figure it out; we have time.” “After we’re done here, my dad is coming,” I say, feeling this pit of cold dread in my stomach. “We’ll be staying in Santa Cruz for a while, and then I don’t know what his plans are.” “I’ve got a stupid family trip in August with Jack and my parents,” Spencer says, running his fingers through his hair. “But other than that, wherever you go, I’ll go.” “We’ll all go,” Ranger says, pausing as he glances over at the security dudes. “And we will figure out who’s stalking you, I promise.” He puts a hand on my shoulder before leaning down and kissing me briefly on the cheek. I’m so stunned by the move that I forget to respond when he tells me goodnight, sauntering back off in the direction of the car. “What was that all about?” I whisper, but Church just shrugs and shakes his head. “I have no idea,” he says, but then I remember that he lies as easily as he breathes.

So what the hell is Church Montague hiding?

The boys send a car for me, and I end up riding in luxury in the back of some sleek silver sedan to this fabulous estate in the Hollywood Hills. My eyes widen as we curve up the long drive and head through a private gate. “This is somebody’s house?” I whisper, putting my fingers to the glass as we approach what —I’ll be honest here—looks like an industrial nightmare. I mean, it’s a big, expensive looking house, but it’s made of steel and glass, and all the lawns are freakishly perfect and unnaturally green. It’s very, um, upscale, but also pretty stupid. “God, I hate rich people,” I murmur as the driver parks and opens my door. For whatever reason, traffic was basically non-existent today (I mean, the LA version of nonexistent which is to say horrific, but not as horrific as usual), so we made it in record time. Pretty sure Ranger doesn’t know I’m walking into his mother’s glass palace by the sea until I step into the kitchen and snort. There, on perfect display, are those luscious butt cheeks I know and love. “Baking in grandma’s apron again, are we?” I ask, and he goes completely still. His reaction to my finding him naked in a gingham apron is quite a bit different now than it was last time. He turns around, presumably to hide his balls from view, and stares at me with an almost apologetic expression. “What? Now that you know I’m a girl, that somehow changes the game?” “How the hell did you get here so fast?” he murmurs, the rich scent of cocoa clinging to the warm winds curling in from outside. I’m not even really sure where the house ends, and the

outdoors begin. The whole thing is glass. I can see straight from one side to the other, save for a small area that I figure must be a downstairs bathroom. “Little to no traffic,” I reply, hopping up on a counter and gesturing with my chin in his direction. “Come on now, keep it up. I don’t want to ruin your German chocolate cake a second time.” Ranger hesitates for a moment, and then nods, going back to his passion while I sit and tap my heels against the side of a stupidly expensive cabinet. “How much did this place set your mom back?” “Do you always ask questions that some people might find to be super rude and invasive?” he queries back, piping pink frosting onto a small, white cake. “And also, around twenty-eight million. Why?” “Did Jenica ever live here?” I don’t mean to ask that particular question; it just comes tumbling out. It’s like … after all we’ve been through together, it feels like I know the girl personally. Ranger looks up at me, sapphire eyes burning, and then nods once, curt and businesslike. “You can stay in her room,” he says, and I lift a brow. I wasn’t aware I was invited for a sleepover, so I didn’t bring anything but my purse. “I left your fake dick on the bed in case you wanted it.” “Gee, thanks,” I say, scoping out the ridiculously cool swimming pool and hot tub that sit on the edge of the property. They’re practically hanging off the side; I can’t even discern how the water’s even being held up. It looks like it’s floating. “Also, I forgot a swimsuit …” Ranger’s mouth twitches. “I’ll send my mother’s personal shopper out to get a new one. She already has your measurements on file.” He finishes piping the frosting, and then goes for the fondant flowers with the crystallized sugar next. “Courtesy of Church, by the way.” “Where is everyone anyway?” I ask, realizing that it’s a tad weird to be sitting here with a naked dude that I’m not dating, just chilling while his balls take in the warm breeze, and he covers a cake with stupid efficiency, turning a pink circle into a garden of glitter. “They all had shit to do; they’ll be here soon.” Ranger stands up and spins the cake on its stand, piping in green vines and leaves with the skill and detail of a true artist. There’s this strong urge in me to tear my clothes off, don an apron, and get to work. My cheeks heat, and I tap my fingers on the stone countertop. Might be marble, quartz, something like that. “By the

way, I had a private investigator look into Ian Dave. He seems pretty legit. He has no records, all his references check out, and I had the guy follow him for a few days. He’s boring as hell, to be honest.” “Yeah, but come on. The librarian of our school is dating my mother? My mother? The recovering addict who lives in Los Angeles? No way. No way, I’m sorry, but I know Mr. Dave is involved in this somehow.” “Sure he is, but he’s damn good at not leaving a trail.” Ranger pushes the cake aside, removes another from the oven with a mitt that looks like a kitty paw, and then gets to work on a sea of sugar cookies. He turns them into suns, moons, and planets with little effort. His work is flawless. “I texted that guy back, the one who sent me Jenica’s yearbook, but I really don’t think he knows anything,” I add as Ranger puts a beautiful full moon cookie on a plate, and brings it over to me. There’s a very subtle face in the dark craters and shadows, and I can’t help but ogle it before I take a bite. The dude even brings me a glass of milk to go with it. “I had him checked out, too. Actually, I’ve gone over your list.” Ranger grabs his unicorn notebook and tosses it onto the counter next to me. He’s taken some names away, and added new information on others.

List of Suspects

Mr. Murphy (note writer? protecting us from something?) Mr. Dave (dating Charlotte’s mom, missing yearbook, rude AF) Eddie the Janitor (grew up in Nutmeg, attended public school, no record) Nathan the Night Watchman (no clue, had trouble finding much more info other than the fact that he used to teach karate) Mark Grandam (he’s fucking guilty, I don’t care how, I just know) Mark's crappy football friends (basically all pieces of shit, hard to say) Rick, Jenica's ex (much as I’d like to see him die, not a suspect)

Jeff Rabot (hate this asshole, pretty sure he’s up to something, hates the Montagues) Mr. Johansen (asthma, arthritis, was ancient even when Jenica attended Adamson) Mr. Cruschek (he can barely move, so probably not, but whatever) Mr. Tribble aka that PE teacher who shoved Charlotte in the locker room and made her see all that dick (didn’t start at Adamson until this year, has plenty of social media posts during the times of the attacks) Yale Hartlett aka the guy that texted us pics of the yearbook (lives in France now with his partner) Jack Hargrove (hope he isn’t guilty for Spence’s sake) Kesha (don’t worry about her, I didn’t like her anyway) Selena (who the fuck knows? probably? why not? her sister used to bully mine at Everly) Aster (I have no idea who this is, sorry Charlotte) Ross (definitely guilty, let’s hang the bastard)

A smile curves over my lips as I read down the list, pausing with a fingertip hovering over Kesha’s name. I’m not saying I was charmed by the way he wrote his list, only … I was totally charmed. “What happened between you and Kesha, exactly?” I ask, and Ranger pauses, lifting his head up from a cupcake to stare at me. “We hooked up at an Everly party last year. The sex was … whatever. I didn’t care for another round.” He turns back to his cupcake, transforming it into a lily pad complete with fondant frog. “Was she your first?” I ask, because apparently I have a hard time controlling myself around Ranger Woodruff. He doesn’t look up this time, just keeps at what he’s doing, metal music playing softly in the background. It’s turned down so low, I hadn’t noticed it until just now, but it’s pretty funny, seeing this guy with blue-streaked hair in combat boots, listening to metal, wearing gingham, baking frog cupcakes naked. I don’t even know what to say. “Nope, second.” He switches to a new cupcake. “I had another girl during sophomore year that I used to hook up with from time to time.”

“A girlfriend?” I query, taking a bite of the cookie and trying not to groan orgasmically over it. “I don’t date,” Ranger repeats, and I make a huffing sound, hopping down from the counter. “Why not?” I move over to stand beside him, and notice the firm muscles in his arms and shoulders tightening up. “Because of Jenica?” “Basically. I lost the girl I loved most. Sure, I was a kid, but I’m not putting myself through that crap again.” I stand there, breathing in the smell of sugar and butter, mixed with a light dusting of flour that tickles my nostrils. What he’s saying makes sense, but it’s also a little sad. “She loved to bake, too, just as much as our grandparents. Jenica was the only person who put as much care into her food as they did. I have to carry on the tradition.” I nod, and then sniffle a little, biting my lower lip. Ranger pauses to stare at me, sapphire eyes dark. “What?” “Do you think …” I start, and then I exhale. “Maybe I could naked bake, too?” He just glares at me. “Are you fucking serious? No. You shouldn’t even be in here, go swim in the pool or something. You can borrow my trunks, and a t-shirt.” “Why not? What’s wrong with us baking naked together?” “Because you’re my friends’ girlfriend, that’s what,” he growls at me, moving past to grab yet another cake from the second oven. This kitchen is commercial grade. As ugly as I find this sterile house, Ranger’s transformed this room into something magical. “So?” I repeat, pausing in between the island and the counter, and reaching down to take off my shirt. I chuck it on the floor, and stare at him defiantly, wearing nothing but a pink frilly bra. “Get me an apron, or you’re going to see a lot more of Chuck Carson than you bargained for. “Jesus H.,” Ranger snarls, grabbing a white apron with pink hearts, and chucking it at me. “You are so fucking stubborn, it drives me nuts. No wonder we all hated you from day one.” “And you say the word Jesus so much, you must like to pray, huh? I was starting to think he was a character in your novel.” I stick my tongue out, and Ranger rolls his eyes. He turns his back as I shed my clothes and slip into the apron, heart racing. “This is so unsanitary,” I murmur as I try to get the back tied. Doesn’t work. My fingers end up slipping, and I almost jump out of my skin when I hear a gruff sigh behind me.

“You are beyond helpless.” Ranger jerks me toward him, my back to his front, and goes about tying the waist and neck portions of my new outfit. It doesn’t escape me that he’s like, literal inches from my bare ass. “You remember how to make buttercream frosting, right?” “Yes.” That one word squeaks out of me, barely audible. “Good. Here.” Ranger slams a bowl down on the counter as I turn, and then storms off to do one of another million remaining tasks in the kitchen. For a while, we just bake together in silence, the wind rustling our hair, the riffing of guitars a backdrop for the sound of wooden spoons against ceramic mixing bowls. There’s this tension in the air, though, that seems to build and build. It’s making me almost physically ill, but I can’t put my finger on what it is, not until I step back and accidentally bump into Ranger. He drops a tray of cookies as my bare cheeks slide nicely up against his exposed side. “I’m sor—” I start, but I don’t get much further than that before he’s spinning me around with his hands on my shoulders, and shoving me back against the counter. He gets close, too close really, with his arms on either side of me, fingers squeezing the edge of the countertop. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s having trouble physically controlling himself. “You are too fucking much,” he growls out, and the sound of it seems to tug at some primal part of me in my lower belly. My heart is racing, and I’m having trouble finding my breath. Ranger lifts his head up, blue eyes blazing, and leans into me. “I’d screw you on this counter right now if you weren’t with them, I swear to fuck.” “I’d let you,” I whisper back, trembling so hard my teeth are chattering. But I’m not cold. Oh, I’m most definitely not cold. Instead, I feel like I’m burning up on the inside, the ruffles of my white and pink heart apron just barely touching the blue and white gingham of his. “Please move away from me before I do something I regret.” Ranger stares at me, his arms pinning me in, his body so close … And we’re just wearing aprons, so it wouldn’t take much. But I’m not a cheater. And neither is he. With a vicious snarl, he whips away from me and storms off toward the weird floating staircase in the corner. It has metal steps, no handrails, and is, like, hovering from the ceiling by a set of metal cords.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” he roars, and I take off after him. In this ridiculous glass house, it’s not hard to see where he goes, heading down a hallway and disappearing into one of the opaque, black boxes that must be bedrooms. I don’t think he expects me to follow because when I open the door, I see that he’s shed his apron, and that the full length of his hardened cock is pointing right at me. Our eyes meet. And then … my eyes stray to the rest of the room. What fresh hell is this? I wonder as I notice a sea of … like, cute things. There are unicorn figurines, stuffed bears, and enough pink to choke a horse. My gaze widens as I take in the giant bed with its frilly white coverlet and canopy. “Get the fuck out of my room before I decide you’re not too cute to kill,” Ranger says, his voice like a venomous snake, slithering right for me, fangs bared. But I can’t move. I can’t move because he’s naked, and his room is like, precious as hell, and I just want to go and hug the crap out of him. Even though I know I shouldn’t, even though I know it’s a bad idea, I step into the room and shut the door. Ranger’s eyes widen, and he yanks his phone off his bed, tapping out a rapid-fire text. “What did you just say? And to who?” I ask, carefully moving into the room. It’s tastefully done, not nearly as gaudy as it sounds. But it shows me a whole other side to this gruff asshole that I never would’ve believed existed if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. “I said get here now, or I’m going to fuck your girlfriend,” Ranger tells me, standing there naked and erect and sweating. We stare at each other as his phone pings about a dozen times, and he glances down at the messages. He looks back up. We keep staring. The tension almost hurts at this point. “Get. Out. Now.” I back up suddenly, turn toward the door, and then find that he’s slammed his palms on either side of me. Now I’m trapped in here, and his erection is hovering very near my bare ass. My heart races, and I can’t breathe.

“What did they say?” I ask as Ranger lowers his lips to the side of my neck. As soon as he touches me with them, I lose it. A groan escapes me, and I end up arching my back involuntarily. That move puts his dick right between my cheeks. “They said, it’s her choice.” “No they didn’t.” Ranger puts the phone in front of my face, and there it is. The message is from Micah, but I figure they’re all together somewhere. Ranger: Get here now, or I’m going to fuck your girlfriend. Micah: What? What the hell, man? Are you serious? I mean, we talked about this, and you said you didn’t want to date. Shit, Spencer is freaking. What’s Charlotte want? It’s her choice. Let us know that’s happening. I stare at the messages until I’m practically cross-eyed. “Shit.” My voice is ragged, barely human. Ranger kisses down the side of my neck, giving me goose bumps. His hand slides up my side and then underneath the front of the apron, kneading the bare flesh of my breast. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you put that apron on,” he whispers, grinding himself against me. I lean into it, my head spinning with the sudden rush of hormones. My body wants one thing, but my heart … I’m not sure I can do this to Spencer. To the twins. Micah may have said it’s my choice, but … that doesn’t mean he wants me to do this. And he did say Spencer was freaking out. Ranger’s other hand drops to my waist, and he leans his big body in close to mine, smelling like sugar and sweet things mixed with a little bit of leather. “You know my secret now. I like cute shit—including you. With your stupid, hideous glasses, and your mop of ridiculous hair, and that mouth …” “It was hardly a secret,” I choke out, closing my eyes. “You always blush when you see unicorns or kittens or—” A moan escapes me as he pinches my nipple and twists it just enough to make me see stars. “You.”

He presses himself to my opening, and I lean back, encouraging the move, wanting to take him right here and now. And then my brain snaps to, and I realize we can’t do this. Not like this. I have to see the others first, I just have to. “Wait.” Ranger pauses, and it’s a very questionable position we’re in. He’s almost … not quite … “We can’t do this.” He lets go of me like I’m on fire and steps back, turning away suddenly, breathing rapidly. “Please get out of my room.” This time, when he asks, I listen. And then I run.

Of course, I don’t run very far. Just until I find the guest room with the penis on the bed. Then I lock myself in, strip off the apron, and climb in an ice-cold shower. The shock of the water knocks the horny right out of me, and I’m shivering as I get out and dig around in the drawers and closet. There’s nothing of Jenica’s in here. If this really was her room once upon a time, she’s been completely erased. Unfortunately, I have no choice but to wrap a towel around myself and go off in search of my clothes. I only make it so far as the door, finding Spencer waiting there with my bra dangling from one of his fingers. He looks pissed. He steps into the room and kicks it closed behind him, flicking the lock and then tossing my clothes on the ground. “Are you okay?” I ask, and he just stares at me with his intense turquoise eyes. “If you mean is Ranger still alive, then yeah, for the moment he is. Maybe not for long. How was it?” “Huh?” “How was the sex?” Spencer stares at me blankly, and I blink back at him. “We … didn’t have any. I mean, we got close, but we didn’t. I couldn’t do that to you.”

More staring. He takes a few steps toward me and then pauses again, looking down into my eyes. When he reaches up and strips off the towel, I let him. “I meant it, you know. I’m not scared of them or anyone else, Chuck.” Spencer pushes me onto the bed and climbs on top of me. I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, digging my fingers into his silver hair. When he unzips his jeans, and thrusts into me, I forget to be reasonable. We do something quick and messy and totally wrong in that guest bedroom, and fortunately for both of us, Spencer remembers to pull out just before he comes. That poor fucking towel … We lay there panting for a minute before I get up and hit the shower again. This time, my clothes are waiting on the toilet when I come out, and I get dressed before I have to look at Spencer again. He glances over at me, and at least has the decency to look chagrined. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t … I was sure of it.” “You didn’t want me to sleep with him. You should just be honest,” I say, going to sit down beside him. We both fidget in the silence for a few moments. “I don’t want it. I don’t want you with the twins either, but …” He slides his hand over his face. “I’m serious. Just, do whatever and at least we’ll have matching numbers.” “Huh?” I ask, heart racing, trying not to think of our sex ed class that we just had, and how very clear Mr. Cruschek was about the pull-out method. Pre-ejaculate can have viable sperm, and we just did it without a condom, and I’m an idiot. Spencer’s an idiot. And my dad was so surprised that I didn’t want to attend an all-boys school as a girl. Of course, I didn’t expect to be sleeping with everybody at said school … Am I a whore? No, no, that’s outdated and misogynistic and dumb. Shaming women for having sex is the oldest trick of the patriarchy. I exhale. “I’ve slept with five people, so you sleep with five. Be with Ranger. Or Church. He’s clearly in love with you.” I snort, and Spencer turns to look at me with a brow raised. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. He goes out of his way to avoid touching me.”

“Right …” Spencer trails off and then tries to smooth his hair down with his palm. “Because he’s in love with you.” “He barely talks to me.” “He paid millions of dollars and used up dozens of favors to give you a private afternoon in Disneyland, something they don’t even do for world leaders. You get that, right? It’s a big fucking deal.” “He can’t be in love with me,” I continue, and Spencer sighs. “Why not?” “It’s not possible, not this quick.” Silence. And then … “Oh, really?” Spencer asks, just before the door bursts open and the twins come in. Tobias gives the towel a look, and then glances back at us. My cheeks flush. “We have snacks for tonight, plenty of weed. Are you staying?” Tobias asks as Micah gives me a somewhat sympathetic look. “I … is that a good idea?” I ask, and the twins exchange a glance. “Why wouldn’t it be?” they reply, turning back to me and Spencer. They help me up, and Spence takes care of the towel, carrying it downstairs and putting it in the wash. I’ve got a stomach full of butterflies, a mountain of anxiety, and I can’t decide if I should add another worry to my already lengthy list. A pregnancy scare would not be a fun thing to deal with. “Chip?” Church asks, holding out a bowl full of Doritos as I move into the living room and sit next to him on the couch. Ranger’s in the chair to my right, and surprisingly, he doesn’t avoid looking at me. We stare at each other. There’s been a lot of staring going on here this afternoon. “No, thank you,” I finally answer as Spencer, Micah, and Tobias file into the room and stand near the fireplace, like parents about to scold naughty children. “Guys, I’m really sorry …” “It was my fault,” Ranger says, his sapphire eyes still firmly affixed to my face. I wish he’d look away, at something else, someone else, anything else. “It won’t happen again.”

“Man, we brought this up,” Micah starts, “at that emergency Student Council meeting we had the other night.” “You guys have emergency Student Council meetings when school’s not even in session?” I ask, completely and utterly confused by the whole situation. “Why?” They ignore me. “We said if you liked Chuck, you should speak up, and then talk to her about it. And what did you do? Fed us that same bullshit about not dating. I get it, dude, but we need to have an honest discussion here. This crap is going to pull us apart.” Micah stares his friend down and finally— finally—Ranger adjusts his gaze. “Sorry, yeah, yes.” Ranger looks back at me, cutting my two second reprieve short by half. He frowns. “I should’ve said something.” “You’re into me?” I ask, pointing at him, and he sighs, sort of like Spencer did when he was lamenting being attracted to such an ugly, ornery boy. “I guess.” Ranger rubs his face. “Yes.” I blush again, curling my legs under me, and covering up with a blanket. Church is very careful not to touch me, even though we’re sitting inches apart. See what I mean? All I got was that one hug on the last day of school, and then whatever that was in the rest stop lobby. “Chuck-let?” Spencer asks, putting his hands in his pockets and tilting his head to one side, silver hair falling across his brow. “This is your last chance to speak up.” “I …” I glance from him to Tobias, then Micah, Ranger, Church. His amber eyes meet mine. He won’t look away. I want him to, but he won’t. See what I mean about all the fucking staring? “Let’s … okay. Fine. Yes. I like Ranger. It just sort of crept up on me. I’m not sure what’s happening. I’ve had plenty of crushes in my life, but nothing like this. You guys just make such a solid unit.” “I’ve got news I suppose I should share with you,” Church begins, and then sighs. “News?” “Not yet,” Spencer snaps, sitting down heavily in a wingback leather chair. “Let’s get through this first. Chuck can date … in this circle, I guess. Until we all sort of figure things out. Does that work?” “Does it work for you?” Tobias retorts, and Spencer shrugs.

“Fair is fair, I guess. And you guys are my real family, like my forever crew.” As soon as he says the words, I feel this warm spot in the center of my chest. I’ve had that thought, too, about a forever crew. I lick my lower lip. “I’m not thrilled about it. Ideally, Chuck and I would just be together, but I can’t lose you guys.” “You’d never lose me,” Micah tells him, sitting on the edge of Spencer’s chair. They give each other a weird sort of bro hug before separating. “But really, I appreciate you guys waiting to talk to us.” “Sure thing,” Ranger growls, glancing away. He’s clearly ashamed, maybe a bit confused. So am I. I think we all are? “Do you think we need a morning-after pill or something?” Spencer says, and everyone turns to stare at us. “We didn’t use a condom, but I pulled out …” “Fucking Christ.” Ranger puts his head in his hand for a minute before standing up. “I’m going to bake a cobbler to calm down. You can take your stupid ass to the store for a pill if you’re that goddamn stupid.” Only, he doesn’t mention that something similar almost happened between him and me just a short while prior. I sit there, praying to the God of Holes for Embarrassed People as I try to puzzle out what’s going on. Am I dating … four guys now? Five? I glance over at Church. “What news?” I ask him, and he smiles, reaching into the pocket of his blue jacket and pulling out a velvet box. I take it, expecting another Adamson All-Boys Academy Student Council pin. Instead what I get is … a wedding ring.

“I’ve been having so much sex lately,” I groan, putting my forehead on my knees, blond hair dripping saltwater across my towel. Monica pats me gently on the back, but we’re not quite back to the level of friendship where she’s allowed to hug me just yet. “That’s normal for a virgin,” she says, and I look askance at her, one brow raised. The last few weeks have been … interesting. With the Student Council boys, they recover as quickly as they get angry, and everything seems normal, but there’s an underlying tension. Ranger and Church haven’t expressed anything further in regards to the whole dating thing, but you know, maybe they didn’t feel the need to, considering I’m now engaged. I grit my teeth. “Yeah?” I ask, and she nods. “Perfectly normal. You’ll slow down eventually.” Monica pauses and lifts her shades up, dark eyes studying the guys as they practice with their surfboards. I’ve been giving lessons all day, and the only person who actually seems to have any skill at the sport is Church. Shocker, right? “Actually, no, I lied. I don’t think you slow down until you’re like thirty. Or maybe forty or fifty.” I put my forehead back on my knees. Dad’s here now, in Santa Cruz, but so are the guys. After my time with Mom in Los Angeles, I came up here to spend the Fourth with Archie, and the boys scattered to their various families across the US. To them, though, it’s no big deal to just hop on a plane and zip around, and so here they are.

Pretty sure Dad hates them now. Maybe because he found the packaging for that morning-after pill in my backpack? I almost—almost—quoted him this really great line from the TV show, the United States of Tara, where the teen girl snarkily asks her father if she should’ve let that fertilized egg implant itself in her uterus. But that would not have gone down well at all. “I’ve got this big party on Saturday,” I tell her, lifting my head up and sighing. I can’t very well tell her it’s sort of my engagement party, now can I? That the only way Church was able to get me back into Adamson was to go to his parents. They all keep mentioning the Montagues with this deep-seated fear in their voices, but I haven’t been able to figure out why just yet. Guess I’ll be learning soon enough? Church’s plan was to tell his parents we were engaged, and then let them put pressure on Dad. They clearly haven’t done that just yet because he hasn’t murdered me in my sleep, but they’re going to. After the party, apparently. I’m terrified out of my fucking mind. “A Montague party, I know.” Monica sighs and sets her phone down on her towel. “As far as high society shit goes, that’s the cream of the crop. If you want to get more prestigious, you only have a few choices. There are the Cabots—they’re richer than god—but they’re new money. Maybe a Vanderbilt soiree? Or something to do with the Blackwells?” She shrugs, and I sigh. I honestly couldn’t care less about a fancy dinner party, but if this is the only way to get me back into Adamson, I’ll take it. “Where’s the party being held? Maybe I could crash?” She grins at me, but I shake my head. “He just keeps saying he’ll send a car. That’s all I know. I guess it’s a secret or something.” I lean back in the sand to watch the guys surf, and I try not to think of all the ways this could go wrong. If Dad finds out too soon, he’ll definitely stop me from going. And then even if I do go, and we pull this fake engagement off, he might push back against the Montagues—no matter how rich they are. He’s just stubborn like that. I must’ve inherited his pigheadedness. “Well, take lots of pictures for me? I’d die to see a party like that. Do you know what you’re going to wear yet?” Besides my massive diamond engagement ring, you mean? “No clue,” I say, laying back on the towel and staring up at the afternoon sunset. This plan is so crazy, it might just work. Might being the key word, of course. Might also fuck up my whole life, so there is that.

But oh well. Nobody ever said Chuck Carson was a coward.

On Saturday, I get up early, pack a bag and carefully tiptoe out of the dorm room I’m sharing with my dad for the summer. He’s being paid to teach some summer school classes at UCSC, and they’ve offered us up free housing in the meantime. Archie left early this morning, but if he sees me sneaking out with a bag, it’ll be hard to casually play off the staying with Monica tonight, love ya, bye thing I’ve got planned. As promised, there’s a car waiting in the visitor lot. The driver helps me get my bags in, and then closes the door behind me. I don’t think about where we’re going as we drive, not until we pull up in front of the San Jose airport. “What the hell?” I murmur as the man opens the door, and my phone pings with a text message. Here’s your ticket, have a safe flight. SJC to JFK, nonstop. It’s from Church. My mouth twitches as I squeeze my phone in my hand. JFK, as in John F. Kennedy airport, as in fucking New York City. He didn’t think to tell me that the party wasn’t being held in California?! “Christ.” I sound like Ranger now, I think as I take my bags in, and check them at the counter. I’m flying first-class, so I at least get to enjoy the lounge until boarding. That, and my seat is big and comfy, and the one next to it is also booked under my name, so I don’t have to make smalltalk with strangers. Not quite five hours later, and I’m in New York with my bags, smiling as I spot Church’s honeyed hair in the crowd. “How was the flight?” he asks, directing his driver to collect my luggage. I’m still uncomfortable having other people do stuff for me, but I don’t pitch a fit about it. “I’d have sent you on our jet, but the timing on this worked out better. I hope you don’t mind?” “You’re joking right? I rode first freaking class. How could I possibly be upset about that?” “Well, once you see what our jet looks like, first class will appear to be a dump.” I roll my eyes as Church takes my arm and leads me to the car. What I don’t expect to see is an empty

limo. Somehow, I imagined the rest of the Student Council would be here waiting, too. “None of the others could make it,” Church explains, reading the thoughts on my face. See what I mean? It’s the little tells. “It’ll just be me and you for the evening. What say you, Charlotte Carson?” “You said I’d be wearing a dress,” I begin as we climb into the back of the car, and the driver closes the door behind us. “But I’ve been thinking. If there really are going to be students from Adamson there, then I need to stay incognito, don’t I? I have to dress like a boy.” “You wore a dress to the Valentine’s Day party, didn’t you? Nobody but Ranger seemed to put two and two together, that ugly Chuck the Micropenis was the same dashing beauty that makes up Charlotte Carson.” I narrow my eyes on him, his long form folded in the corner, legs crossed, hands resting on his knee. He studies me with that amber gaze, and I resist the urge to squirm. We went through something in the woods that day, between Ranger’s near-drowning and Spencer’s faux-death. It changed the dynamic between us, from bully and victim to … something else. Friends, I think. And who’d have ever thought we’d end up engaged. Lucky me! “Nobody was looking at me then. If you waltz in there and announce me as your fiancée, people will look. They’ll scrutinize and study me, and they’ll figure it out.” “Two things,” Church says, pulling the ring from his pocket and handing it out to me again. My heart flutters strangely in my chest the way it did when Ranger gave me the box with the pin. Only this time, it really is an engagement ring. I refused to take it before, mostly because it’s worth gobs of cash, and I was pretty damn certain I’d end up losing it. “First, we’ll announce you as Charlotte, the cousin to Chuck, the same way you did to Spencer at that party. And second, we don’t have to tell anyone about our engagement other than my parents. They know all about you and Adamson, and the secret they’re supposed to keep.” He pauses for a moment and rubs at his chin. “Though my sisters are fucking awful gossips …” I crack the top on the box and stare down at the ring. It’s simple, but elegant, an Asscher cut diamond in a vivid pink with a platinum setting. It suits me, that’s for sure. Like, if I were actually getting married, this is something I’d like. “May I?” Church asks after a moment, and my gaze snaps up to his, heart pounding. He scoots across the seat and takes the jewel from the little velvet box, setting it aside before his long, elegant fingers curve around mine. He never breaks eye contact as he slides the ring up

my finger. “When we get to the house, just make sure you play the part of enamored lover. My parents will notice if we slip up.” “Why does everyone talk about them like they’re so goddamn terrifying?” I ask, and Church turns away. I remember what he said, about his sisters not being blood-related, why that matters, and how that factored into his somber mood that day, I’d love to know. “You’ll find out,” Church whispers, grabbing my hand and pulling me into his lap. I’m so surprised by the move that I end up sitting there completely dumbfounded. “We should practice, just in case.” “Practice what?” I ask, and he smiles, a shadow taking over his expression. There’s a heat to that darkness, though, that I’ve never seen before. “This.” Church turns my face toward him with those elegant finger of his, and then he kisses me. The shock of it freezes me in place while the intensity of the action melts me into a puddle. His tongue sweeps my mouth, expertly capturing me in that web of his, drawing me in even when I try to resist. He’s controlled, but with a fire burning just behind that façade that feels liable to shatter that careful intensity at any moment. I pull away, turning my head and lifting a hand to cover my mouth. Every place he’s touching me tingles, and I suddenly just need distance. Scooting back into my own seat, I put space between us for the rest of the two hour drive. Church doesn’t talk much, just stares out the window with a sort of faraway expression on his face. I take the opportunity to check my phone, sending a message to Dad to let him know I’m staying at Monica’s—total fucking lie, obviously, but what else can I do? There are a few messages from the other boys, including one from Ranger that simply says I’m sorry. I huff, and Church glances my way. “Ranger’s apologizing to me; I just can’t figure out what, exactly, he’s apologizing for.” “He unleashed all of that passion he keeps coiled up inside on you. He thinks he’s scared you away.” Church pauses for a moment. “Did he?” “No, of course not.” I put my phone back in my lap and stare down at it, trying not to think too hard about the possibility of Church … you know, liking me. The twins said it; Spencer said it. It could be true. Then again, he’s also just as likely to be ‘Adam’ from the notes, right? The car pulls up to this understated, but elegant white beachside palace.

We landed in New York, but we’re definitely a whole world away now. The sun is shining in a clear blue sky, reflecting off the gentle crests of the ocean. The grounds are manicured, but not like the ones at Ranger’s mother’s place in LA. They’re more natural here, climbing plants woven into the framework of the porch, clusters of flowers just barely contained in their designated boxes. “We’re in the Hamptons now, by the way,” Church says, and then he opens the door. He’s just barely had the chance to stand up before an older blond woman is taking his face in her hands. “My baby,” she says, kissing both of his cheeks and leaving smears of nude lipstick. She steps back, holding his face still as she examines him. She’s quite pretty, like she looks way too young to be his mother, and yet, he’s the youngest of six, right? Or … he said his sisters weren’t blood-related, so what does that mean exactly? “Mother,” he says, and then holds out a hand for me to take. I curl my fingers around his, and let him help me from the backseat and into the sunshine. The woman’s blue eyes light up, and she gives me the warmest smile I may have ever received in my life. Her expression … it reminds me of Church’s, one of those big, cheery smiles that he imitates but doesn’t always feel. It makes so much sense now; he learned it from his mom. “You’re even more beautiful than you were in your pictures,” she says, and when I hold out a hand for her to shake, she grabs me and squeezes me close instead, crushing the life out of me. But it’s such a nice, genuine sort of hug that I can hardly complain. “It’s good to meet you,” I manage to get out as she pushes me back to examine me. While I’m sporting my old SCHS sweats and a plain gray tank from the plane ride, Mrs. Montague is decked out in a white pantsuit with a pink blouse underneath the jacket. “We’ve always expressed the importance of finding the one to Church, haven’t we, honey?” “We have,” a man says, coming down the path in jeans and a t-shirt. He wipes dirt from his palms, and I raise an eyebrow. This is Mr. Montague, dressed like a gardener and wearing dirt on his jeans? Well, shit, I like them already. And yet, I’m struggling to figure out why this pair is referred to so ominously by all of Church’s friends.

“We found each other young, so we try not to write off our kids’ feelings,” Mr. Montague continues, and then his wife turns to him, and the two get lost in each other’s eyes. Before I know it, they’re kissing and Church is scowling. “Here we go again,” he murmurs, glancing down at me, his amber eyes catching the sunshine and glimmering with a brilliance that takes my breath away. “They’re always like this. Everything they do is beyond intense, that’s why nobody likes to invite them to parties, so they always have to host their own.” “Oh, Church, knock that off,” his mom says, still clinging to his father’s shirt. While Church’s mom is blond, and fair-skinned like him, his father looks nothing at all like them. He’s got dark hair, stubble, and a wide nose. Not to say he isn’t handsome, he just doesn’t have Church’s fineboned features. “Take your fiancée inside, and show her your room.” “His room?” I ask, and Mrs. Montague laughs. I swear, the sound is like … like butterflies landing on daisies or some shit. It’s magical. “We’re not about to make you sleep in separate rooms. How silly is that?” She gestures toward the house. “We’re still preparing for tonight, but make yourself at home for now, and we’ll talk later about this Adamson business.” I nod, and Church reaches down to take my hand, pulling me down a pathway lined with flowers and into a light, airy space. The wall across from us is all windows, the doors open to welcome in the soft sound of the sea. “My sisters are around here somewhere,” he murmurs, his eyes darting back and forth. “Watch out for them. They’re truly awful.” “Church!” An ear-splitting squeal splits the air, and a dark-haired girl throws her arms around Church’s neck from behind, squeezing him so hard that her legs come up off the ground. She’s wearing a tennis outfit, and sweating like crazy, but her smile is as infectious as her mothers. “We’ve been missing you around here this summer. It’s just not the same without you.” “Not the same without me to pick on, you mean,” he says, carefully untangling her from his neck, so that her sneakers slap on the tiled floors when she lands. Church turns around with a sigh and holds out a hand. “Charlotte, this is my youngest sister, Giselle.” “And by youngest, he means still five years older than him.” She grins and ruffles his hair which he very clearly hates, but takes anyway. “Everyone else is outside, fighting over whose

new boyfriend is the cutest.” Giselle winks dramatically in my direction. “Not to sound biased or anything, but I think you’re likely to win that bet.” “Um, thanks?” I say, and then she gasps, reaching out to take my hand and examine the ring. “This is fantastic, Churchie, did you pick this out yourself?” “Churchie?” I ask, trying to stifle a laugh. The poor guy looks miserable as he helps extract my hand from his sister’s grip. “Do you mind if I get Charlotte settled? She’s had a long flight. You can molest her at the party tonight.” “You’re so uptight, Churchie,” Giselle says, swatting him on the ass with a tennis racket. “Hopefully this beautiful lady of yours loosens you up a bit.” She glances over at me, face turning serious for a moment. The sudden change in expression reminds me of her brother, how he flips moods. Maybe it’s … fuck, it can’t be genetic because he said they weren’t genetically-related. I’m so confused. “Does he treat you right, Charlotte? Because if he doesn’t, we’ll all kick his ass. We raised him better than that.” “He brought me chocolate and a hot water bottle when I was on my period,” I offer up, and Giselle nods, giving her little brother another pleased smile. “Good to hear. I am not in the mood for removing my brother’s balls with a tennis racquet for poor behavior. Good job, Churchie.” “We’ll be upstairs if you need us,” he says, grabbing me by the hand and guiding me up a curving staircase to a private little suite that overlooks the sea. It’s beautiful in here, decorated in white and blue like the rest of the house, but with enough coffee posters to let me know exactly where I’m at. I sit down on the edge of the bed as Church sighs and slumps back against the wall, smoothing out his hair with his hand. “I’m sorry abut my family. They’re beyond fucking intense.” “I liked them,” I say with a shrug, leaning back on his bed and letting the ocean breeze tease my hair. If I do end up going back to Adamson, I’ll have to cut it. The thought makes me sad, but really, I’d do anything to spend senior year there. Even … pretend to be engaged to the president of the Student Council.

Church studies me for a moment, and then sighs, moving over to sit next to me on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and our fingers brush together, making me shiver. It feels good when he touches me, but forbidden, like he’s denied it even to himself. “Are you going to tell me about your sisters, about how they’re not related to you?” I ask, and Church tenses up, glancing away sharply toward his bedroom door. The waves crash against the beach, gulls calling out to each other in the clouds. “I’ve never told anyone that before,” he admits, and my brows go up. “Not Ranger, or Spencer, not the twins … nobody.” There’s a long pause as Church takes in a deep breath and turns back to me. “Why I told you, I’m not sure.” “The others all think you … that you like me.” The words come out before I can stop them, and Church’s smile gets a little wider before falling away completely. He looks down at his lap. “Maybe I told you because I knew you wouldn’t judge?” he starts, but more like he’s talking to himself than he is to me. I curl my fingers around his, and he goes stiff for a brief moment before exhaling and calming himself back down again. Church turns back to look at me. “I’m adopted,” he says, and then he closes his eyes, like that’s the most painful statement in the world. I try not to laugh, but really, it’s cute that he thinks it’s such a big deal. “So?” I ask, smiling and giving his hand a squeeze. “You have an awesome family who clearly loves you. What does it matter?” “My mother was their maid,” Church grinds out, breathing hard. He has the most vulnerable sort of expression on his face. “She left me here after giving birth. Literally, dropped me on the doorstep and left.” “Wait … what?” I ask, blinking through my confusion. “Your birth mother abandoned you?” “She left me in a car seat on the porch. My parents took me in, legally adopted me, and then decided to wait until I turned sixteen to tell me the truth.” Oh. Oh, shit. No wonder he’s so upset. “That’s what I was talking about when I mentioned imposter syndrome. I play the Montague’s only son, this shining example of what it means to be a part of this family, and yet … I’m not. I’m not related to any of them.” He closes his eyes and runs his hand over his face,

fingers catching on his lower lip as he opens his eyes back up. It’s sexy as hell, but now’s not the time to be ogling, so I keep my hormones to myself. “Nobody else knows?” I ask, and Church shakes his head. “They lived in France with me for two years, told everyone Mom was several months pregnant at the time they left, and played me off as their own son. You’d think, if I had nothing to be ashamed about as they say, that they’d have no need to hide it. And yet, they did.” “Maybe they were just thinking of you?” I suggest, shrugging one shoulder. “Like, they wanted to make life easy for you. Clearly, you fit right in. As soon as I saw your mother and sister smile, I knew where you’d gotten yours from. Honestly, Church, our biological parents’ DNA might make the shape of our lips, but the way we grin, or laugh, or light up on the inside … that comes from the people that love us.” He just stares at me. “Who the hell are you? And what happened to that little brat that knocked my report into the water?” I grimace, but there’s no getting around the fact that I was a total jerk. “Look, I never really properly apologized for that. It was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry. I was afraid if I spent time working on the project with you, that you’d find out and well … I never expected anyone was going to try to kill me, but …” I trail off because I’m not sure what else to say. The atmosphere in that big, airy bedroom has suddenly become intimate and close, the way it did in the rest stop lobby. “I should get your dress,” Church murmurs, standing up and heading over to the closet. “I had it ordered and delivered here for today.” He pulls out a garment bag and hands it over to me. I stand up from the bed and take it, laying it out on top of his white comforter and unzipping it to reveal a beautiful three-tiered tulle ballgown in peach. It has silver floral designs embroidered on it, and I swear, it just floats when I lift it up from the bed. “This is … holy shit, Church.” “It’s a Carolina Herrera piece,” he says, studying it for a moment. “That’s, like, swanky as hell,” I whisper, wondering how I’m supposed to wear a dress this expensive without having a heart attack. What if I spill punch on it? There will be punch tonight, right? Or champagne? I’ll definitely spill something on it. “How much did it cost?”

“Does it matter?” he asks, and then thinks on it for a moment. “Twelve, I think.” “Twelve hundred dollars?!” I blurt, eyes widening. “Twelve thousand,” Church corrects, pulling out a navy suit similar to the white one he wore to dinner the other night. It has a gray tie, a pink dress shirt, and brown loafers. I can see it’s been perfectly coordinated to match my outfit. “The party isn’t for several hours, but my sisters have hair and makeup people coming if that’s your thing.” He glances my way and shrugs one, elegant shoulder. “Don’t feel pressured though, you don’t have to.” “I’d like to, you know, to keep up the ruse and all. If I have full makeup and hair, none of those Adamson dicks will recognize me.” Church nods, and lays his suit out next to mine. “So if we pull this engagement thing off, your parents will … do what?” “They have enough pull at that school to get what they want.” He looks down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “If they believe we’re in love, they’ll do anything. They practically worship romance, that’s what so impossible about them. They don’t offer up favors for nothing.” Church turns and leaves the room as I stand there and think about Disneyland, about how many favors he had to pull for that. For a fake engagement. Or … real feelings … maybe.

The Montague’s party is being held in the ballroom, this massive soaring dome of glass that looks over the dark expanse of the sea, the sun just dipping its head beneath the surface. The garden is lit with paper lanterns, and the guests are all dressed to the nines. No wonder Church bought me a twelve thousand dollar dress to wear; I would’ve stood out in anything less. “So, you’re Church’s fiancée, are you?” I swear to god, I’m not ten steps into that door before a sea of glittering debutantes appear beside me, all of them pretty, all of them frowning. Great. Just great. As if noose-wielding murderers weren’t scary enough, I now have socialites on my ass?! “Um, yep.” I wiggle my fingers to show off the ring, and the girls exchange looks.

“Interesting, considering we’ve never seen you before. Where do you go to school anyway?” “Santa Cruz High School,” I offer up, because really, that’s not a lie at all. “Why?” “Santa Cruz High?” the leader girl chokes out, like I’ve somehow personally offended her. “Where on earth is that?” “In, uh, Santa Cruz?” I offer helpfully, and then Church is there at my side, taking my arm and leading me away from the pack of slobbering gold-diggers. Or … well, they’re probably all rich, but whatever. Close enough. “Who the hell were they?” “Inconsequential,” Church says, and then he smiles down at me. “Did they berate you for stealing me away?” “Are they your exes?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Most definitely not.” Church escorts me to the opposite side of the room, handing me a glass of champagne as we scope out the crowd. Everyone seems to be drinking, regardless of age, so I don’t worry too much about it, taking a sip and letting the bubbles settle on my tongue. “Do you see Mark over there?” he asks, and I nod. There’s the douchebag himself, dancing with some pretty girl in a green dress. If it weren’t for the occasional phone I can see here and there, you might think we’d gone back in time by two hundred years. “Some of his friends are here, too, as well as that Selena girl who gave you her dress.” “Interesting,” I murmur, taking a sip of my drink. Church parades me around the room, introducing me to the rest of his sisters—all of whom are lovely, by the way—and then circling back to his parents. “Mom, Dad,” he greets, and they raise their glasses in a small toast. “I was wondering if we could talk to you about Charlotte’s attendance—” “Son, this is a party,” his mother pleads, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Go dance, and we’ll discuss this after. I want to see you two waltz.” “But I don’t know how to waltz,” I choke as Church sighs and takes my hands, pulling me onto the dance floor. The live orchestra in the corner starts up as he lays a hand on the curve of my waist, curling his fingers through mine.

“Follow my lead,” he whispers against my hair, and then we start to move, swirling around the room. My dress is such a fairy tale concoction of lace and tulle that I really do feel like I’m floating, breathless from the ease at which Church guides me across the dance floor. His amber eyes bore into mine, and I find that I can barely breathe. What is happening right now? I wonder as the floor clears, the rest of the guests stepping out of our way, watching from the sidelines as we spin and twirl. His hand feels hot on my waist, his grip firm but gentle where our fingers tangle together. My lips are gently parted, my hair fluttering in the breeze off the ocean. The room is nothing but a glittering blur of dresses and jewels, a world away from anything I’ve ever lived or experienced in my life. “You really are a natural-born leader,” I whisper, finding my body following the instructions of his without questioning it. The music rises to a crescendo, like frothing waves against a rocky shore, and the intensity between us heats up a notch. “You like following my orders, Charlotte Carson?” he asks, giving me one last spin as the song ends, and the crowd around us begins to clap. I have no idea how to respond to that question, so I don’t bother. Instead, when Church leads me outside to the garden, I follow. A new waltz starts up, and the other couples rejoin the dance floor. Me, I end up being pushed against the side of the house and kissed with a passion I didn’t expect. Church is so prim and proper all the time, sometimes to the point of being scary. But this? This is the kiss of a man who’s drowning and desperate to breathe again. My fingers tangle in his hair; his tangle in my dress. Our mouths dance a waltz of their own until the silver circlet the stylist so carefully placed in my bouncing curls falls out and clatters on the stone beneath our feet, reminding us both where we are and what we’re doing. “Charlotte,” Church whispers, putting his forehead to mine, his hands curled around my waist. “Church …” I start, but then we both pause at the sound of a door opening nearby. We exchange a look as he grabs my hand, and we make our way around the side of the house to find Mark and Selena laughing and feeling each other up.

They fall against the side of a fancy sportscar, kissing furiously, and within seconds, Selena’s skirt is pushed up and Mark is driving into her with a grunt. Um. The fuck? “Fascinating,” Church says, pulling his phone out to take a short video before tucking it away again. Seeing Mark and Selena together is weird, especially since they’re both on my list of suspects. But again, it could be coincidence. We make our way back inside to find Church’s parents dancing to a slow, sweet song as they gaze into one another’s eyes. We watch them for a while, and when they make their way off the dance floor, they’re both grinning at us. “You two are so cute,” his mother says, cupping my face in her hand and making me want to cry for some weird reason. “You’ll take good care of my son, won’t you, Charlotte?” “I’ll do my best,” I whisper back, and she nods, stroking my cheek. “That’s all we can ask of anyone, isn’t it?” she says, and then turns back to her son. “Okay, I’ll pull some strings and get your fiancée back into Adamson. I love you more than life, son.” “More than life,” his father agrees, giving him a kiss on the cheek as Church grimaces and then wipes it away like it’s disgusting. Deep down, I know he likes it. “Shall we keep dancing?” Church asks, glancing my way. “After all, we’re engaged now.” A smile teases my lips that I can’t fight. “I’d love to dance, future husband,” I joke, and we take the floor for the rest of the night. By the time Church and I head out to the patio, so I can sit in his lap and watch the sunrise, my feet hurt, and my heart is full. Uh-oh. Told you I had a crush on every boy.

“Of all the shenanigans you’ve pulled in the past,” Dad scoffs, unloading my bags onto the lawn in front of the headmaster’s house. I’ve been dealing with literal weeks of fighting with him. Whatever the Montagues did, it worked. But I definitely paid a price much higher than just a fake engagement to a cute boy. Archibald Carson knows how to work up my own personal hell, and trap me in it. “This has got to be the most outrageous.” “I’m …” I start, but I’m not sorry, not really. “You wouldn’t let me come back here. What else was I supposed to do?” This is maybe the hundredth or even thousandth time we’ve had this exact same argument; I’m so over it. “Fake an engagement to the Student Council president? I mean really, Chuck.” He pays the driver, and then turns to look at me with those blue eyes of his, the ones that are almost a perfect match to my own. “Does that sound like a reasonable course of action to you?” I swipe my palms down the front of my Adamson blazer, my glasses parked firmly on my face, my newly shorn hair a tousled mess. Chuck the Micropenis is back! Although … maybe I shouldn’t be calling myself Chuck the Micropenis, huh? Maybe something more interesting like, Chuck the Undefeated. No, no, that’s lame, too. “It does to someone who’s trapped in a place they no longer belong,” I hedge, and then sigh as Dad grabs one of my suitcases and storms toward the house. I suppose it’s too soon to ask if I can move back to the dorms. Yeah, definitely too soon. “And our engagement isn’t fake, we’re in

love.” I choke on the words as I say them, but that’s the ruse, so that’s what I have to stick with. Chuck and Church, together forever. “Sure you are,” Dad says, clomping up the steps and practically throwing my bag into the room. He whirls on me so quickly that I startle, backing up into the wall behind me. “Did it ever occur to you that, as your father, I have only your best interests in mind? That perhaps there was a reason I sent you away in the first place?” “If there was, you could’ve told me,” I snap back, getting flustered. I may have gotten my way overall, but Archie is going to make each day a living nightmare, a new fight to be won. That much I can promise. “You can still tell me, and if the reason’s valid enough, then maybe I’ll leave willingly?” Doubtful, but there’s a slim chance. “I hope you’re excited about the school trip,” is what he throws back at me, “considering its locale.” “What school trip?” I ask, vaguely remembering the guys saying something about a senior getaway for the first week of school. That’s about all I know. “The senior class at Adamson is off to a hot springs lodge for the week. I’ll see what I can do to make you comfortable, but you clearly won’t be swimming in the pools.” Dad gives me a look, like he’s so disgusted with me he can barely stand it. “I’d keep you home, but I don’t think that’s best for either of us right now. Besides, you’re the one that wanted to be here, so you’ll participate in all the school activities—including PE. I’m not making exceptions for you anymore, Charlotte.” Now that we’re inside, he uses my real name and somehow, it’s ten times scarier than hearing him say Chuck. “Gather your things. You have class tomorrow, and the buses leave on Tuesday.” He storms out of my room, breezing past me down the hall to slam his door. For a brief moment, I’m uncomfortable. But that’s about as far as the negatives go. Then I look up and realize that we did it, that I’m back where I’m supposed to be. A grin splits my face, and I step into the room, close the door, and turn on some music before I flop onto my bed and squeal. Hell. Freaking. Yes. If Dad thinks sending me on some hot springs trip with my friends is a punishment, he’s got another thing coming. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

And maybe, also, the worst. I just don’t know that yet.

The first day of senior year holds a certain magic to it, this final hurrah if you will. As I step into the halls in my crisp, new uniform, the Student Council pin on my blazer, I’m flying about as high as I did that day in Disneyland. “Hey Chuck the Micropenis,” Mark sneers as he walks by and hits me in the side with his elbow. If he at all recognizes me from Church’s parents’ party, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he just saunters past with his asshole friends while I frown after him. “Want us to beat him up?” the twins ask, appearing on either side of me. And since it’s been weeks since I last saw them, I give them each a huge hug. Also, can I just say that I’d forgotten how goddamn good they look in their academy uniforms? Navy blazer and slacks, white buttondown, champagne colored tie. Ugh. I can’t get enough. “Not presently,” I say, straightening my own tie out and grinning at them. “I’m more focused on the fact that we only have one day of class before we get a school-sanctioned trip.” “The seniors go every year,” Tobias says, nodding and then reaching up to ruffle his redorange hair. “It’s some hot springs place in North Carolina, but it’s run by a Japanese woman. I have to say, based on the pictures, it looks pretty authentic.” “You’ve been to Japan?” I ask, and the twins both shrug. “Plenty of times,” they say, just before Spencer appears in the doorway, stabbing out a cigarette on the edge of a trash can and chucking the butt before Mr. Johansen catches him smoking. As soon as he sees me, he grins, and I have to curl my hands in my blazer to keep calm. “Hey Chuck-let,” he says, leaning in and brushing his lips to mine. One of the passing students catcalls, and Spencer flips them off. His turquoise glare swings down the hall, softening slightly as Church and Ranger come around the corner. The former is smiling, but the latter has that thundercloud look in his eyes. We’re going to have to get past what happened in LA, and move on, one way or another. “Good morning, future Student Council members,” Church says, pulling a large tube out from underneath his arm. He unscrews the top and removes a rolled up bunch of posters, passing

them out to the rest of us. They’re campaign posters, and not just for him, for all the guys. “It’s never too early to start advertising. Elections are in three weeks.” “Why do we even bother campaigning?” Spencer asks as several other seniors walk by and give him knowing little waves. He nods his chin in response and turns back to his president. “We win every year. Hell, I’m the only person on this campus that sells weed. These idiots wouldn’t dare vote against us.” “Have a little pride in your work, why don’t you?” Church says, and then he takes off, attaching a poster of his face to one of the stone columns. I follow the boys around until we run out of posters, hit the cafeteria for breakfast, and then fumble my way through my new schedule. I’ll admit, I piled on the classes. And I picked some hard ones, too. The old Charlotte had always intended on going light in the academic arena during her senior year, but during the past few weeks, while I was waiting for school to start, I filled out my college applications. They scared me a little, I won’t lie. It’ll be a miracle if I get in at all, and keeping good grades and challenging classes during senior year can only help. After school, I report right back to Dad’s place, as per his request, and pack my things. I don’t expect anything weird to happen at the hot springs. And that mistake, that’s on me.

The hot springs place is so pretty it takes my breath away, this towering three story building with a blue-gray roof, shoji screen doors, and wrap-around wood porches that you only see in anime and manga. It’s totally worth the ten hour bus ride it took to get here. “This place is insane,” I murmur as the other Adamson students move around us, like we're rocks in a river. They don't jostle or bother us, no way, not their illustrious Student Council. I almost roll my eyes, but I'm too blown away by the scenery: there's a gorgeous Japanese garden with scattered ponds, bamboo, and stone statues. Even with the privacy fence that surrounds most of the property, I can see the steam from the hot springs rising up into the dusky sky, and I shiver. “It seriously feels like we crossed the ocean and ended up in Japan.” “Pretty spectacular, right?” Tobias asks, draping himself over one of my shoulders. Micah does the same on the other side, and even though I'm sagging a bit from the weight, I like them

touching me, so I don't complain. Spencer watches the three of us, but doesn't say anything, turning back to look at the Oiishi Onsen Lodge and Tearoom. “Since I have you boys here,” Mr. Murphy begins, licking his finger and sliding a piece of paper off the top of his stack. “I may as well give you your room assignments.” He passes the first page over to Tobias who takes it with a dull, uninterested sort of look on his face. “Oh, we're rooming together. How surprising,” the twins say in unison. “And for you, Mr. Carson.” I take the next sheet and stare down at a photocopied map of the place with an arrow drawn in red Sharpie, guiding me to my room. Room 2B, I read, and then my eyes scan over to my roommate. Church Montague. I cock a brow as Ranger takes the next page and then exchanges a look with Spencer. “Why am I not with Chuck?” Spencer snaps, and Mr. Murphy startles. Really, the nice guy teacher act is starting to get old. He blinks big, blue innocent eyes at us, and hikes his leather knapsack a little higher on his shoulder. I still have my list, and he’s still at the very top of it. Everyone’s a fucking suspect. “Mr. Hargrove, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to put you two together considering your relationship is fairly well-known in the school. I assure you, your rooms are close together, and you’ll have plenty of—” “Whatever.” Spencer grabs my hand and pulls me away, dismissing Mr. Murphy without even a backwards glance. “That guy is so guilty, I can smell it,” he murmurs, scowling as we approach the main building. All the students are staying in the main lodge, straight ahead, while the teachers have their own quarters on either side of the garden. Having Dad as far away from me as possible doesn’t sound like a bad idea for either us. Same with the other chaperones— like Mr. Dave for example. I seriously don’t even get why he’s here. Since when does the school librarian go on a trip for students and teachers? Something seems a little fishy here, and it’s not the giant, glittering koi I can see beneath the red bridge. We head inside and find our rooms, all of which are on the first floor, with exterior doors that face a beautiful central garden. There’s a huge wall made of tightly woven logs that surrounds it, but when I my put my palms up against it and try to peek between them, I can see a glimpse of the hot springs themselves.

“There are naked people in this one,” I comment as Church comes up to stand beside me. He leans forward and takes a look, too, although he doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by all the flopping dick on the other side of the fence. “One of the pools is clothing optional,” he says, and I raise a brow, glancing over at him with a skeptical expression on my face. “Uh-huh.” “Well, when I say optional, I mean, you’re not allowed to wear clothing of any kind into the pool. That’s the one we’ll be using.” “Like hell we will,” I snort, following after him as he heads back into our room. There are traditional tatami mats on the floor as well as folded futons with bedding in neat stacks atop them, as well as a pair of what I think are yukatas hanging on hooks beside the door. Church pulls one down and hands it over to me before taking the other for himself. His is an intriguing silver-blue color with a woven pattern and a turquoise tie that goes around the waist while I’ve been given a charcoal gray one with a white sash. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it. “Put it on,” Church encourages, smiling at me as he reaches up to undo his tie. I watch him pop each button on his shirt with slow, careful precision before I finally turn away, listening to the sound of fabric hitting the floor. “You’re not looking, right?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to make sure his back is turned. It is, but I’m ashamed to admit, I ogle the smooth muscular line of his back before I avert my own gaze. “I wouldn’t dare peep. Where’s the fun in that? We’re saving it for marriage, aren’t we?” I roll my eyes. “Wow, you’re hilarious, you know that? Seriously funny stuff.” I strip down, leaving the bindings on my breasts, and … yes, the packer penis in my tighty-whities. Until we know more about what’s going on at the Adamson campus, I’m keeping my secret for as long as I can. If it means having a fake, floppy dick rubbing against my crotch all day, then that’s the price I have to pay, isn’t it? “Ready?” Church asks. “Ready.” We both turn around, and I find myself fucking awestruck at the sight of him in that yukata which, if you didn’t know, is a traditional Japanese robe made of cotton and worn during

the summer months. Technically, we’re just about into fall here, but you won’t find me complaining. The garment’s a little large for him, so it slides off one shoulder, showing off the smooth, muscular lines of his body and stealing my breath away. He tosses that honeyed hair from his forehead with the heel of his hand, and smiles at me. “You’re a very handsome young man, Chuck,” he teases as I push my glasses up my nose with a single finger. They’re pretty fogged up at the moment which is embarrassing as hell. “And you know you cut an okay figure in that too, don’t you?” I ask, but Church doesn’t answer me. Instead, he opens the sliding screen door and leads me downstairs to the tearoom where the rest of the Student Council is already situated, kneeling on pillows around a low table that’s covered in steaming teapots and tiny handle-less cups in white, cherry blossoms painted onto the sides. “This looks crazy authentic,” I say, pouring myself a cup of steaming green tea and lifting it to my nose for a sniff. Dad’s in here, sitting at a table with Mr. Murphy, Mr. Dave, and several other teachers whose names I can’t remember. He glares at me, but only for a moment, redirecting his attention like I’m not worth his time. My hands tighten on my cup. “It’s not,” Church says, lounging in just such a way that one, long pale leg is exposed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was doing this on purpose, trying to tease me with all that skin. His shoulder is still exposed, his elbow resting on his knee, fingers digging into the gorgeous golden color of his hair. “It’s very Americanized, but that’s okay. We are Americans, and you’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” “This is as close to international travel as I’ve ever gotten,” I joke, noticing a small-dark haired woman chastising rowdy students just outside the tearoom doors. I’m guessing she must be the owner, and the scrawny white guy nodding at her side and rubbing her shoulder could very well be her husband. “We’ll correct that one day,” Church says, and the twins nod, sipping their tea in perfect unison, dressed as a matching pair in black and white yukatas with red ties. “Maybe in November, if your father will let you go?” “Doubtful, and also, you’re assuming we’ll even survive until November. We might not, if we don’t solve our little murder mystery issue.”

“Mr. Murphy’s been carrying that knapsack since we got here,” Ranger says, and I have to suppress an involuntary shiver at the sound of his voice. He’s been speaking so little to me that it’s like hearing his voice for the first time all over again. “Do you see anybody else with their luggage in here? He’s up to something.” “Let’s steal that shit tonight then,” Spencer says, glancing over at the teacher’s table. “It can’t be that hard. Have you noticed that none of the doors have locks? And even if they did, I could kick one of these screen doors down in my sleep.” “Not tonight,” Ranger suggests, his own yukata and tie a solid black. “We have a week here. Let’s give him a night or two to chill out, maybe forget his knapsack during a soak or something. In the meantime, we can always follow him, see if he’s up to anything suspicious.” “And Mr. Dave,” I add, cringing as Mark’s raucous laughter sounds from the opposite side of the room. I’d like to deal with him, too, but one suspect at a time. Or … in this case, two. But two suspects with strong evidence against them. Besides, Mark is basically just a dick who had a hole in his ceiling. Maybe once we figure out what’s going on with the two teachers, we’ll have a better idea of what students, if any, we should be looking into. “So Mr. Dave and Mr. Murphy, huh?” Spencer says, and we all glance surreptitiously in their direction. Everything looks fine, normal, good even. But that’s how bad people get away with what they do, right? They pretend. I’m just not expecting to find another pretender in our midst, someone I’d never have expected, that I didn’t want to expect.

That night, the guys and I dress in black and split into two groups: Church, Ranger, and Spencer in one, and me with the twins in the other. They trail Mr. Murphy while we go after Mr. Dave. Suffice it to say, both men are boring as fuck. Well, other than the fact that Mr. Murphy fell asleep with his knapsack as a pillow. That’s a little weird, right? “What a waste of a perfectly good soaking night,” Spencer says, head in his hand as he yawns at breakfast the next morning. The white yukata he’s wearing goes perfectly with his silver hair and turquoise eyes; he looks like a fucking anime character. If I hadn’t been so tired last night, I would’ve asked Church to swap rooms, so we could … well, you know, fuck. “We’ll use the hot springs tonight,” Church says, holding his teacup by the rim, swirling the green liquid around as he muses. “May as well, since we’re here.” “Um, you mean you guys can use the hot springs. Even if I wore a baggy shirt and shorts, my bindings aren’t that good. Get those things wet, and everyone will know I’ve got boobs.” “Only because they’re so big and luscious,” Spencer says, and I give him a narrow-eyed look. He’s lucky we’re the only idiots down in the breakfast room at the butt crack of dawn. I blame Church; he made us all get up and trudge down here, so he could enjoy a traditional Japanese breakfast.

I have to say, I don’t recognize a damn thing on this table. Church, Ranger, and Spencer seem to be enjoying it, but I just copy the twins and go for the yellow roll that looks a bit like an omelet. Tastes … like scrambled eggs. We finish that tray off in no time. “We’ll use the nude bathing pool,” Church supplies, and I give him a look that clearly says are you too stupid to live, bro? “Oh, yeah, if my bindings under a baggy t-shirt are too obvious, I’m sure going in completely nude with my vagina hanging out will set a totally different impression.” Spencer and the twins snicker, Ranger clenches his teeth, and Church looks back at me with a knowing smile. “Listen, future wife,” he says, and I roll my eyes, “we will take that side of the pool for ourselves, and nobody will see a thing.” “Two problems with that,” I say, using a pair of chopsticks to list my points. “First, how on earth are you going to get us the entire pool to ourselves? And second, somebody will see a thing. You. All of you will see.” “Nothing we haven’t seen before,” the twins say in unison, each of them picking up a bowl of what looks like porridge and sniffing it. With a pair of identical shrugs, they start to eat. “Besides the point,” I mumble as Church smirks and lifts his chin. “How we will secure the pool?” he repeats, as if I’ve clearly forgotten the most important fact of all. “We are the Student Council, that’s how. If I say that pool is ours, it is.” He takes a sip of his tea. “As for the other problem, well, I suppose we’ll just close our eyes until you’re fully submerged then, now won’t we?” “This is stupid,” I say, eying a bowl of rice with a yellow egg yolk sitting pretty on the top. “I’m not going.” The twins exchange a look, but they’re not tricking me into this one. No way in hell I’m going tonight. No way. Too risky. Not a goddamn chance.

Several hours later, after a day spent relaxing by the koi pond and playing in the Zen garden, I end up getting dragged out a side door by the McCarthy brothers. I’ve got a t-shirt and shorts clutched in my hand; it was the best I could do before they kidnapped me. “This is stupid; I’m going to get caught, and you guys will be sorry.” They shove me in the changing room, and close the door, standing guard until I come out dressed in my shorts and tshirt. I glare at them as I make my way toward the steaming waters where Church, Ranger, and Spencer are already situated, the steam hiding any important bits from view. My cheeks flush anyway, and I get ready to dip my toe in the water … “No suits!” I turn and find the twins wearing a pair of matching grimaces as the owner of the lodge comes out in her yukata and waves a broom at me. “No suits this side of the pool. You want a suit? Use the other side.” She glares at me, and then gives the twins’ matching cherry tattoos a look. She murmurs something about yakuza—Japanese mafia, I think—before disappearing back inside. “Great,” I grumble, standing there with one toe touching the deliciously warm waters. Now that I’ve touched it, now that I’m standing here, I want to get in so bad. It’s like being given a lick of frosting before the cake is taken away. “Thanks for dragging me all the way down here for no rea—” The twins shove me in the pool with a pair of palms on my back. I splash into the onsen waters and come up sputtering, only to see the owner poke her head back out the door. With a groan and a curse, I sink low and pull my shorts off first, tossing them aside. She waits until my shirt is off, and I’m buried up to my chin in the steaming hot springs, before she leaves again. The lodge door closes, and then quickly reopens, and there’s Mark fucking Grandam. The twins slam their forearms on either side of the door and then poke him in the chest with a pair of accusatory fingers. “Student Council only, asshole,” they say, and Mark scowls at them. I can barely see him through the steam, but his ugly expression is so severe, it translates across space and time. “What the fuck? You faggots sucking each other off out here or something?” “Does it fucking matter what we’re doing?” Micah snaps, breaking the twin routine to shove Mark back. “We said get the hell out. You come out here again, and we’ll kick your sorry ass to the curb.”

“You guys are fucking worthless. Seriously, what is your problem?” Mark sneers and turns away, storming off as the twins close the door behind him. Tobias turns around and leans his back against it, nodding at his brother. “I’ll take first watch,” he says, and Micah nods, stripping off his clothes. I can’t look at his naked body without thinking about our little threesome on the pirate ship, so I turn away until he’s safely ensconced in the water. “I can’t believe you guys dragged me out here,” I murmur, even as the heated water soothes my sore muscles. According to the brochure, these two pools were carved out of rock, and all the hot water is pumped up from some underground stream. It was even insinuated that the springs have, like healing properties or something. “But you’re glad to be here now, right?” Spencer asks, swimming over to me. My heart pounds, and my body aches at his nearness, very aware of the fact that it would take mere seconds for us to put ourselves into a compromising position … He grabs my arm and pulls me onto his lap, keeping me situated on his thighs, so that the situation doesn’t get too lewd, too fast. “I mean, it’s really nice,” I admit reluctantly, looking up toward the ‘upper pool’ with its fancy seating area, and partially submerged lounge chairs. That’s just a little too exposed for my liking, thank you very much. But it’s nice down here, too, with the wooden wall separating us from the other pool, the towering trees, and the garden that curves around the opposite side. Evenly spaced lanterns flicker on the log walls, and the moon and stars twinkle above us, obscured by the steam, but still plenty bright enough to see. “I can think of so many naughty things we could get up to out here,” Spencer purrs against my ear, tracing one of his fingers up my spine. I shiver, but push away from his chest, putting space between us. It was one thing to do it with both twins, but all five guys in a pool? No thank you, not yet. And I’m not even sure, what, exactly my relationship is with Church or Ranger. I’ve had moments with both; I’m technically engaged to one. A sigh escapes me, and I duck under the water to clear my head. When I lift back up, the first thing I see sweeping past is Micah’s dripping, wet cock as he trades places with his brother. Apparently, wearing clothes doesn’t occur to him, and he ends up just leaning against the door with it all hanging out, so to speak.

“Torture, pure torture,” I murmur, as I find a nice smooth stone to sit on, hugging my arms over my breasts. “So. I’m assuming this is our activity for the rest of the night. What about tomorrow? Are we tailing people again?” I don’t bother to keep my voice down; on the other side of the wall, the rest of the Adamson academy students are loud and raucous. Makes me doubly glad I’m over here in the peaceful quiet. “We need to get that knapsack,” Ranger says, nodding his agreement. “I’ve got a feeling that we’ll find what we’re looking for in there. And if I’m right, if Mr. Murphy is Adam, and he really is trying to scare Charlotte away, he’ll at least be able to tell us what he’s scaring her away from.” “Maybe we knock on his door and ask for something early on in the day?” Spencer muses, dipping his hair in the water, and then tossing the shiny silver strands back. “Like, help with a college essay or something. If he takes the knapsack with him, I say we just have the twins hold him back while we go through it. I mean, worst case scenario, but if you’re that sure that we’re going to find something incriminating in his bag, then why not? What could he do if we did find something? His hands will be tied.” “We’re down,” the twins say, their voices perfectly synced, even with the distance between them. “Maybe tomorrow evening, we could find somewhere private to talk?” Ranger says, looking right at me, and my mouth drops open. “Couldn’t we just talk now?” I choke out, but he shakes his head. “I don’t like surprises, Ranger.” “I need time to think about what I want to say.” Spencer gives his friend a look. “You could have thought of it first then invited her to talk? Why the torture, man? We all know what you want: you want to date my girlfriend.” Silence falls over the group, the only sounds coming from the other side of the pool. “I’m not sure if I was clear when we were in the Hamptons,” Church continues, exhaling and trailing his fingertips across the surface of the water. “Yes, the engagement’s fake, and it’s meant to keep you at Adamson, but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested.” “What exactly does this all mean?” I ask, wishing we could have this conversation when I wasn’t naked in a super sexy hot pool with them all at the same time.

“They both want to date you,” the twins drawl, and then they both sigh. “Fucking hell, you couldn’t let me just think it over for the night?” Ranger snaps, pushing his dark hair back with wet fingers. Church just smiles at me. “What do you think, Miss Carson, will you have us?” I glance at Spencer first, then Tobias, and finally over at Micah. They all just stare at me, waiting for me to make the choice. “This is … highly unorthodox,” I begin, and Church laughs. “Miss Carson, orthodox is highly overrated. Who cares what anyone else thinks? It only matters what you want.” “What I want,” I murmur, and then I dunk myself under the water again before holding a thumbs-up over my head. It’s a bit of a cop-out, but what can I say? My boobs are literally floating in the water, and my cheeks are probably about the same color as the pickled plums the boys ate for breakfast this morning. There is nothing orthodox about this situation. And yet, I like it. I really, truly do.

The next morning, Church gets up early, donning his yukata and opening our doors, so that the sunlight streams into the room. I groan and roll onto my side, but the twins managed to sneak a ton of saké into their room last night, and we all got a little drunk. The last thing I remember is Church tucking me into bed. “What time is it?” I grumble, and he smiles over his shoulder at me. “Time to get up,” he supplies which is totally unhelpful. Have I mentioned the phone service up here is shit? The Wi-fi is 1995 AOL dial-up slow, and the only clocks are downstairs in the main lodge. I don’t even know where my phone is, buried in my duffel somewhere. With a sigh, I stand up and stretch my arms over my head. I’m still wearing my yukata, so I force myself to my feet, heading down the hall to the bathroom. It’s quite literally around the corner, so Church can see me safely step inside and lock the door before he goes back to cleaning up our futons.

I wash my face, brush my teeth, and pee before heading back out. But as I open the door, I see something that I shouldn’t see and freeze, the thin crack in the door my only window into a seriously startling reveal. There’s Mr. Murphy, a note in hand, a piece of tape stuck to his thumb. He licks his lower lip, closes his eyes, and whispers something under his breath before sticking a note to my door. A note written in purple freaking pen. He takes off down the hall with his knapsack in tow as I gape at the scene and then slide the door open the rest of the way. It’s so fucking early, he probably thought everyone was asleep. But I saw. And even though we sort of suspected him, I’m still in shock. I can hardly believe it, sweet, cute Mr. Murphy writing out a note in purple pen and sticking it to my bedroom door. He really fucking is ‘Adam’, sending me all these horrible notes. For a brief moment, I entertain the idea that he’s one of the killers, but no. Ranger’s narrative of him trying to protect me by sending me away makes more sense. But is he really the guy with the knife? And what the hell is he trying to protect me from anyway? After I’m sure he’s gone, I head out of the bathroom and straight for our room where Church is waiting. It’s kind of weird though, that he closed the doors like that when he knew I was just down the hall in the bathroom. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t even look at the note as I rip it off the door, intending on showing it to Church first. But then I slide the door open, and the hot, sweet smell of copper hits me in the face. My eyes widen, and my hand tightens on the edge of the shoji screen, nails digging into the wooden frame. Church glances over at me, blond hair falling into his face, a smear of blood across his beautiful mouth. His expression is far-away, almost dream-like, and those long, elegant fingers of his are wrapped around the hilt of a blood-soaked knife. A knife that’s protruding from Mr. Dave’s stomach. No, no, not just any knife, but my knife, the hunting knife that Ranger gave me that I left in this very room. “Charlotte,” Church whispers, his yukata sliding down his perfect shoulder. I back up a step. The sound of movement to my right draws my attention, and there, standing in the simple but

beautiful hallways of the lodge is one of the killers, dressed in their usual uniform of black hoodie plus knife. Shit. Without thinking, I turn and take off down the hall, ignoring the shouts behind me. Church is one of the murderers?! I think, but it doesn’t make any sense. It can’t be. It just fucking can’t. Maybe … Mr. Dave is one of the murderers, and Church was just defending himself? Guilt surges over me at the thought that I may have left him behind to fight by himself, but I can’t stop running or I’ll be the one bleeding from a knife wound next. Footsteps pound behind me, chasing me away from the crowd and toward the side entrance that leads to the nude bathing pool. I scramble out, hoping to find other students outside, but the only person I see is another one of those hoodie-wearing creeps waiting for me near the gate. Instead of going that direction, I veer to the left and use the narrow patch of garden that surrounds the hot spring to head up toward the woods. Maybe not the best idea in the world, but where else can I go? I’m surrounded by a wall made of thick logs, and I’m panting too hard to scream. When I hit the upper pool, I slip and fall in, the warm water sucking me under before I thrust myself back to the surface, gasping for breath, my yukata heavy and wet, dragging me down as I scramble out the other side and into the trees. If I keep going, I should be able to circle around and find someone on the other side. Instead, I end up stumbling down a gravel path and under a massive red gate that gives me the fucking creeps. It’s dark out here, and quiet, and I have no idea where my attackers are. Pausing, I take a moment to catch my breath and look around, trying to orient myself. That’s when I hear the footsteps again, pounding after me, and I know I have to keep going. I’m leaving a dripping trail of water that’s going to lead these psychos right to me. So I keep running, down the path and toward what looks like a building of some sort. It’s a slim chance, but there could be someone in there, right? I head that way, only to come to a skidding stop, my feet going out from under me as gravel sprays out in an arc. My eyes refuse to believe what’s right there in front of me.

Lying atop some sort of shrine is a boy, dressed in a yukata, a knife protruding from his chest. One of his hands is flung out to the side, fingers slightly curled, blood dripping into a wet pool beside him. His eyes are open, staring up at the roof of the old building, and he is most definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt … dead. Murdered. Footsteps sound on the gravel behind me, and a hand clamps firmly down on my shoulder. I am so fucking screwed.

To Be Continued …

Adamson All-Boys Academy #3

Academy of Spirits and Shadows, Book #3

The Family Spells, Book #1

Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, Book #1 Flip the page for an excerpt of chapter one.

Prologue My uniform—and my dignity—are in tatters. My eyes scan the gathered crowd, but there are three faces in particular that catch my attention. Cold, cruel, beautiful. An ugly sort of beautiful, I think as I meet a narrowed silver gaze and catch the faintest edges of a smirk. Tristan Vanderbilt thinks he’s beaten me; they all do. But what they don’t understand is that I’m not the nervous, eager little charity case I was when I first started at Burberry Prep. Lifting an arm up, I swipe a bit of blood from my mouth. My bra is showing through the torn remnants of my white blouse, and it’s the pretty red one I wore just for Zayd. He made me believe he cared about me. Flicking my eyes in his direction, I can see quite clearly now that he doesn’t. He isn’t smiling, not like Tristan, but the message in his green eyes is clear: you don’t belong here. “Had enough yet?” Harper du Pont purrs from behind me. I don’t bother turning to look at her. Instead, I let my attention slide to the last of the three guys. My three biggest mistakes; my three greatest betrayals. Creed is frowning, like this whole confrontation is a necessary evil. Get rid of the lower-class trash, clean up the school. The wind picks up, the ragged red pleats of my academy uniform billowing in a salty breeze. In the distance, I can hear the sea. It crashes against the rocks in time to the frantic beating of my heart. A storm is coming. Tristan moves toward me with predatory grace, his expensive loafers picking up droplets of dew as he comes to stand toe-to-toe with me, as close as he was that first day when he insulted me and then laid out the challenge: how long do you think you’ll last? Well. It’s the final day of freshman year, and I’m still standing here, aren’t I? Tristan, though, he thinks that while I’ve won the battle, he’s going to win the war. I stay stone-still as he lifts his fingers and tangles strands of my paint-splattered hair through them, giving the short rose gold locks a light tug. Red paint smears across his perfect skin as I meet those gray eyes of his with a defiant glimmer in my own. “I take it you won’t be coming back next year, will you, Marnye?” he whispers, his voice like whiskey over ice. Tristan thinks he’s the master of this school, a veritable god. The other boys think of themselves like that, too. I’d like to be a fly on the wall when a confrontation finally comes. They think their money will buy them the world. Maybe, in a way, it will.

But it won’t buy them true friendship, and it won’t buy them love. It definitely won’t buy them me. I glance past Tristan to Zayd and Creed, and then I refocus my attention back on the asshole that started it all. From day one, he went out of his way to make my life a living hell. He succeeded. And Zayd and Creed, they loved every horrible, filthy second of it. “Just go home, Marnye, and it’ll all be over,” Tristan says, the softness in his voice edged with cruelty. He’s like a predator who’s too cute to be afraid of. I made the mistake of letting him get too close, and now I’m cut and bleeding—physically and emotionally. I’m fucking shattered. “You don’t belong here.” Zayd listens to the whole conversation, and then slides his tattooed arm around Becky Platter, putting the final nail in my coffin. He’s chosen her over me. He’s chosen her and her cruelty and her mocking laughter over me. My hands curl into fists so tight that my nails dig crescents into my palms. I meet Tristan’s haughty, self-assured stare. There are tears on my face, and when he removes his fingers from my hair, he touches one with his knuckles, bringing it to his lips for a lick. It’s a derisive, awful move, like a knife in the back. I can feel the blade beside my heart, but it’s just missed. I’m not broken yet. “I’ve already enrolled in my classes,” I state, and the entire courtyard goes silent. Nobody is expecting this, the poor girl, the lamb in a pack of wolves, standing up for herself. What they don’t know is that the hardest hearts are forged in fire. With their cruelty and their jokes and their laughter, they’ve forged me into something spectacular. “Come September, I’ll be the first in line for orientation.” “You wouldn’t dare,” Tristan says, still cold as ice, still full of wicked triumph for what he thinks he’s done. His dark hair flutters in the breeze, softening some of his hard lines. It’s all an illusion though. I know that now, and I won’t make that same mistake again. “I’ll make your life a living hell.” “You can try,” I retort, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my registration form. I’ll be back at Burberry Prep come hell or high water. This is my opportunity, and I won’t let three handsome faces, three pairs of hot hands, three sets of ardent lips destroy that. “Because what you don’t know …” I take a deep breath, and then bend down to grab the handle on my ratty, old duffle bag. Everybody else here has hired help to carry their luggage. Not me. Straightening

up, I lift my chin in defiance and Tristan scowls. “Is that my life outside of these walls was already a living hell. This is just another level of Dante’s inferno, and I’m not afraid.” My gaze flicks past Tristan and back to Zayd and Creed. “Not of any of you.” I move around Tristan, intent on the school gates and three months of freedom from these jerks, but he puts his hand around my arm and holds me back. Glancing down, I stare at his fingers pressed against my flesh, and then look back up at his face. He’s smiling, but it’s not a pretty smile. “Challenge accepted,” he purrs, and then he releases me. As I head down the path in my torn uniform, I keep my chin up and my fears pushed back. Challenge accepted is right. I won’t be driven away from the best opportunity in my life. Not by Tristan, not by anyone. As I walk, I can feel three sets of eyes on my back, watching, waiting, plotting. I’ll have to make sure I stay one step ahead.

KEEP UP WITH ALL THE FUN … AND EARN SOME FREE BOOKS!

JOIN THE C.M. STUNICH NEWSLETTER ⠀“ Get three free books just for signing uphttp://eepurl.com/DEsEf TWEET ME ON TWITTER, BABE ⠀“ Come sing the social media song with mehttps://twitter.com/CMStunich FRIEND ME ON FACEBOOK ⠀“ Okay, I'm actually at the 5,000 friend limit, but if you click the "follow" button on my profile page, you'll see way more of my killer postshttps://facebook.com/cmstunich CHECK OUT THE NEW SITE ⠀“ TBA (under construction) but it looks kick-a$$ so far, right? You'll be able to order signed books here very soon http://www.cmstunich.com SUBSCRIBE TO MY RSS FEED ⠀“ Press that little orange button in the corner and copy that RSS feed so you can get all the latest updates http://www.cmstunich.com/blog AMAZON, BABY ⠀“ If you click the follow button here, you'll get an email each time I put out a new book. Pretty sweet, huh?Â

http://amazon.com/author/cmstunich&http://amazon.com/author/violetblaze INSTAGRAM ⠀“ Cute cat pictures. And half-naked guys. Yep, that again.http://instagram.com/cmstunich GRAB A SMOKIN' HOT READ ⠀“ Check out my books, grab one or two or five. Fall in love over and over again. Satisfaction guaranteed, baby. ;)

P.S. I heart the f*ck out of you! Thanks for reading! I love your faces.