Page 5 of They're Watching You
Contact number two is Jordan Park, the girl who got paired with me for an English assignment when Polly did the unthinkable and paired up with Annabelle Westerly right in front of me. Jordan’s been my friend ever since. She’s a little uptight, but sweet, and she’s kept me from having to eat alone in the dining hall this year.
Currently, she’s behind me in the salad bar line at dinner. “A secret society?” she whispers, casting a paranoid look at the security camera in the corner of the room. “What kind of secret society?” Her salad tongs halt in midair, and the girl behind her grumbles about moving things along.
I sigh audibly and then feel a little bad about it. My poor detective skills aren’t Jordan’s fault. “I don’t know,” I say, scooping up sunflower seeds and sprinkling them over my ranch-doused lettuce. “The kind that possibly buries kids underground as part of some initiation ritual.”
Jordan’s eyes widen as she tucks a shiny black strand of hair behind her ear. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Why does anyone join a secret society? There must be perks.” Polly certainly climbed to a higher social ranking, at least. The only other perk seemed to be vanishing.
Unless Polly never made it past the initiation. I shiver, imagining her trapped inside a dark casket, grains of dirt sifting through the cracks as she struggled for air. What if Annabelle was wooing Polly, trying to get her to join the society? But something happened during the ritual?
Jordan opens her mouth to say something, but my third and final contact passes us on the way to the soft-serve ice cream.
“I gotta go,” I say, lifting my tray. “Talk to you later.”
“But I thought we were—”
Jordan’s words are drowned beneath dining hall chatter as I chase after Gavin Holt.
Sure, Gavin knows as much about a secret society as my grandma knows about Kanye West. But he’s the only other person at Torrey-Wells I can ask.
“Hey, Gavin,” I say, sounding overly cheery.
Gavin looks over his shoulder, lowering his empty cone. “Hey, Maren. What did I do now?”
“Nothing,” I say, eyes brushing over his lean frame, clothed now in black slacks and a clean button-down shirt the same sea green as his eyes. “In fact, I’m very impressed by the way you managed to put on real pants.”
Gavin starts loading his cone with chocolate and vanilla swirl. “I did have to trek all the way back to my dorm to change, so thank you for the words of affirmation.”
“Can we sit for a sec?” I motion to a nearby table.
Gavin’s brow arches as he licks his ice cream. We’re not exactly friends outside of chemistry lab. Still, he assents.
I set my tray down across from him and lower onto the bench. Inadvertently, my gaze wanders to the table in the corner where Polly and I always sat during Form I and II, now occupied by some field hockey players. “I think Polly might’ve joined a secret society before she left.”
Gavin keeps licking his ice cream as if my conspiratorial accusation never happened. A strand of golden-brown hair flops over his frames.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Mmhmm,” he says, still focused on that stupid cone.
“Well, do you know anything about this society?”
Gavin finally pauses, placing both elbows on the table. He lowers his chin onto a fist, the ice cream clutched in his free hand like Lady Liberty’s torch. “You’re not supposed to talk about the society,” he says matter-of-factly.
At first, I think he’s going to add some sarcastic remark like Valeria did, but he doesn’t. “Or what?” I ask, lowering my voice as a gangly boy maneuvers past our table. “What happens if you talk about it?”
Gavin shrugs and crunches on the sugar cone. “That’s just what they told me.”
“They?Youknowthese people?” I practically plant my palm in my salad as I lean in. “How?” This absentminded goof might actually know something useful.
“I tried to get an invitation,” he says through the munching. “But I was denied.”
I might snatch the remainder of his cone and chuck it across the dining hall. “How? How did you even know who to ask for an invitation?”
“I found the Gamemaster,” he says, like it’s obvious. And it should’ve been.The Gamemaster’s Society. Even the invitation was signedThe Gamemaster. “That’s how it works. You have to find the Gamemaster and challenge him to a game. If you win, you get an invitation. If you lose, it’s tough luck. The Gamemaster swears you to secrecy on pain of death or some mumbo jumbo and sends you on your way.”
“If you were sworn to secrecy on pain of death, then why are you telling me?”