Page 26 of Liar
But this morning, it’s the warm smiles beneath all these eyeballs that have me slowing my strides.
“Morning, Ember!” a freshman chirps as she scurries by, textbooks clutched to her chest.
Another boy raises his chin in an aloof salute as he passes. Still others lift their fingers in a half-wave or curve their lips in a … smile?
What the fuck?
I hurry to my locker, switching out my textbooks and giving the hallway my back. Really, I should be glad for the shift in mood after spending so long dodging pointy elbows and pretending to be deaf to all the slurs. But I’m not that stupid. I’m suspicious.
The friendliness continues throughout my morning classes, including by the professors. A dude who loved covering the tip of his pencil in his spit and poking it into my neck leans forward on his desk and pats me on the shoulder when I answer a tough question, whispering, “Nice job, Beckett.”
I whip my head around. “You still don’t have permission to touch me.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m all for the #MeToo movement. I’ll take it easy.”
It’s said without a hint of sarcasm. I narrow my vision into slits as I stare at him.
The bell rings, saving me from interrogating him further. Usually, I have to be wary of students crowded in the aisles of the classroom, deliberately standing in my way and forcing me to hop the desks to exit. Today, my pathway is clear, everyone ducking aside when I straighten with my bag on my shoulders.
“After you,” Pencil-Spit says behind me.
I expect a wash of jeers and garbage to hit me as I head down the first aisle. Nothing comes. I haven’t seen Thorne or Aurora yet to ask them what the hell is going on—since clearly they’ve sent a message down their royal line—so I’m forced to continue, pretending all this deference is normal.
“Did you see the TMZ post today?” someone on my left mutters.
“Holy shit, yes,” her friend says, pulling out her phone to relive the moment.
I slow my steps, oddly drawn to the conversation.
“Look, they just updated it. He’s in the hospital, resting comfortably. Thank god. They left season one on such a cliffy—I didn’t actually want Dorian to die.”
They’re talking about Golden Crest. I didn’t watch it, but my friend Kinsey from my old school in Boston was obsessed with it. Dorian is Zeke Aiden’s character.
“A car accident.” The first girl shakes her head in dramatic mourning. “Speeding around one of Raven’s Bluff’s insane curves. He’s lucky he didn’t drive off a cliff.”
“What was he thinking?” The second girl raises her voice. “He grew up here. Even Thorne knows not to take those roads above forty-five. It’s a death sentence.”
“Broken ribs. Multiple contusions.” The first girl scrolls through her friend's phone. “Concussion. Oh yikes, they had to amputate his pinky on his right hand.”
The second girl gasps. “Oh my god, do you think he’ll still be hot?”
“Of course,” First Girl scoffs. “Just don’t look at it too long.”
Holy shit. My throat gets stuck on a hard swallow.
“Um, hey? You asked me not to touch you, so I’ll just gently inform you that you need to move. You’re kind of blocking the rest of us.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, sliding out from the front of the aisle. I send two more quick glances the girls’ way, but they’ve moved on to theories of Golden Crest’s Season 2.
The rest of the class filters past me, including the two girls, and I fold in behind, head down and thumbs digging into my bag’s straps. Zeke’s fate repeats in my mind, the girls’ revelations overlapping with the images of him screaming and sobbing while tied to a chair last night.
We did this. I did that.
My stomach curdles. I’d been forced to follow the Societies’ challenge, but if this is what they do to a boy who helped the king uncover my duplicitous plans, what the hell are they going to do to Malcolm if they discover he’s working for the FBI?
I can’t think about it. My steps pick up in the crowded halls, heading with everyone else to the cafeteria. All I can do is move forward and protect Malcolm as much as I can until I gain enough information to take to him and bring Damion down.
Even if it means hurting others.