Dial Em for Murder (14 page)

“Thanks, Mr. Bangsley,” I said pointedly. “It's been
educational
.”

As far as dramatic exit lines go, I thought that one wasn't half bad. I paused in the hallway, resting my forehead against the cool brick wall, as I continued internally freaking out.

I'd just gotten thrown out of class.

That had
never
happened to me before. I turned in my assignments, I contributed to class discussions only when I was dangerously low on participation points, but otherwise, I kept my mouth shut.

Now I was causing trouble and the weirdest part was that it felt kind of
good
.

Better than good. There'd been an intense rush of power when I stared past Peyton's perfectly mascaraed lashes to the nastiness lurking in her hazel eyes and refused to keep quiet.

And here I thought I was a writer, not a fighter.

Maybe I had been able to snap at Peyton because I wasn't worried that Emptor Academy might contact my mom. I never wanted her to be stuck cleaning up my mess, not when I owed her for everything. For loving me. A psychiatrist would probably have a field day with that admission, but despite all the assurances given in parenting books, love isn't guaranteed. For every person who cares enough about you to stick around during the rough times, a dozen people will run straight to the nearest subway station. Every single one of my mom's boyfriends had treated me as either a nuisance, a pet, or a plaything that they could discard with a handful of promises to stay in touch. I'd never confronted anyone over it. Each time my mom's latest boyfriend walked out the door, they were gone for good. There was no point getting mad at the inevitable, so I hadn't. Instead I buried the anger and resentment so deep I could almost convince myself they didn't exist. Almost.

I had always assumed it would take something
huge
for me to come out swinging. Something life threatening. Something drastic. Apparently my inner fighter preferred the spectacularly inconsequential. Accuse me of being involved in a homicide? No problem. Let a snotty stranger mock me in class? Now
that
I wouldn't tolerate.

Go figure.

The classroom door behind me opened and Sebastian joined me in the otherwise deserted hallway. “So I take it making friends isn't part of your grand plan.”

“Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold,” I recited in my most childish sing-song voice. “I'm sure you of all people will understand why I prefer the gold.” I turned toward what I hoped was the nearest exit and began walking away.

“Are you ready to tell me what you're doing here, Emmy?”

The question pulled me up short.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian continued, “if you fill me in on the plan, I'll buy you a first-class ticket to wherever you want to go. Paris. Rome. Istanbul. Free of charge.”

If I hadn't already stopped dead in my tracks, that last comment would've done the trick.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I said incredulously. “I
can't
leave! I don't know how to outrun your grandfather's creepy obsession with me, something that appears to run in the family, by the way!”

Sebastian smiled tightly. “Give me a name and I'll make sure nobody follows you. That's all I need, Emmy. We can even turn it into a game of charades. You can act it out. Ready, set—”

“
Go
,” I snarled. “Leave me alone.”

“We've covered this already, Emmy. You say something pithy, I say something smarter. You look like an idiot. Let's skip over that part of our routine this time.”

“I'm. Not. Planning. Anything.” I enunciated each word as if that might help him understand the simple concept. I was so sick of hearing the same questions. Why
you
? What happened? What will you do now? Sick of being dismissed as a liar every time I told the truth. “Go play with your money, Sebastard.”

Sebastian laughed. “Well, at least the name-calling is original.”

The longer he smirked at me the higher I could feel my blood pressure rise. “Don't you have a third world nation to bankrupt?”

He sighed. “And we're back in our rut.”

“Whose fault is that?” I exploded. “Isn't the definition of insanity asking the same question over and over and expecting different results?”

Sebastian wasn't smiling anymore. His expression was so intense that he didn't look capable of laughter. He stalked closer. “No, Emmy. The definition of insanity is angering
me
.”

He had a point. Sebastian St. James was not the kind of guy a sane person would alienate. He was too damn rich for his own good. And yet, I wasn't sure what was crazier: that seeing his eyes flash fire didn't make me want to run for the hills, or that the whole thing was kinda hot. His disheveled dark hair and arrogant blue eyes created a response that felt coded into my DNA. That I could hold his stony gaze without feeling repulsed left no doubt that I was indeed my mother's daughter, predestined to be attracted to jerks.

Except my pulse also picked up speed around Ben, so maybe this was a temporary glitch in my system. Something I should chalk up to raging hormones or whatever the new pamphlet they were handing out in health class said it might be.

“I, uh—”

I never got a chance to finish the sentence, which was probably for the best considering that I was at a total loss for words.

“Sebastian, you're missing all the fun!” Peyton stepped out into the hallway and wasted no time whatsoever in draping an arm around his waist.

“Oh look,” I said dryly. “Saved by the
bell
.”

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that I'd had a different “b” word in mind, but saying it aloud would've been tacky. So I gave them both a coolly distant smile before I turned and walked away.

Maybe I'd inherited more of a flair for the dramatic from my mom than I'd thought.

My cell phone battery was completely dead.

The Slate with the password protection and the life-threatening messages,
that
I had remembered to charge. But my actual phone—the one I used to stay in touch with my friends—yeah, I had forgotten all about it.

So I was stuck grabbing the charger from my bag, plugging it into an outlet in a deserted hallway, and then waiting impatiently for my phone to come to life. The short length of the charger made me feel like a tiger prowling around the limits of its cage. Actually, that analogy gave me way too much credit. I was more like a worried labradoodle puppy.

I winced when my phone informed me it was at zero percent battery life, then became too distracted by unread text messages to feel guilty.

Wow, real subtle, Audrey. You might as well just ask if I've seen Nasir. We both know that's what you really want to hear.

I checked my watch and decided to call Ben, on the off-chance that he could duck away from P.E. to talk. It was
possible
that he'd have left his phone in his locker, but I doubted it. After only the briefest of hesitations, I began pacing a crescent moon around the outlet while I waited for him to answer.

Ben didn't waste any time with a greeting. “You okay?”

It felt so good to hear his voice that I nearly sank to the floor in relief. It was ridiculous. I'd seen him only yesterday. I'd been able to keep it together then. No crying. No trembling bottom lip. If my knees had felt weaker than usual, well, I'd blamed it on the interrogation room grilling with Detective Dumbass. Somehow every shitty moment from the day before had been easier to withstand than Ben's simple,
you okay?

Because I wasn't okay. I was stuck at this stupid school without my best friends. An eternity spent facing-off with Peyton and her cronies again and again and again stretched before me. Nobody here—with the possible exception of Kayla—gave a shit about me.

I'd never felt so lost before. So utterly unmoored. The only ties keeping me in place were the cord attaching my phone to a power outlet and the fear that the outside world would be even crueler than Emptor Academy.

“I—” my voice cracked and I shut my eyes in embarrassment. I didn't want to be this girl. Needy. Weak. Desperate to hear the boy she liked insist that everything was going to be okay. “Sure. Fine. I, uh, miss you.”

The long pause on his end of the line sent me racing toward the worst conclusions.

I miss you?

After a total of what? Twelve hours apart? That was
way
too clingy. Ben would know that something was up for sure. He'd figure out that I had a crush on him and then everything would change. He'd start being too careful around me so that he didn't accidentally lead me on. Every time we saw each other he would arrange for there to be some kind of buffer. Ben would worry that without Audrey or Cameron around I'd squeeze him to death with my emotional tentacles.

“I miss you and Audrey,” I quickly amended, before he could launch into the I-think-we-work-best-as-friends talk. “The kids here are worse than you can imagine.”

“So they've all got forked tongues and breathe fire?”

I laughed as my shoulder muscles finally began to loosen. “Pretty much. There's this one girl named Peyton who wears thousands of dollars worth of diamonds in her ears while she slices people to ribbons with her eyes. If I wrote her into one of my books, I'd be accused of exaggerating. She's that kind of evil.”

I could hear the smile in Ben's voice when he said, “I'd still put my money on you in a fight, Em.”

I was oddly touched. “Really?”

“Absolutely. That imagination of yours doesn't work the same way everyone else's does, which makes it ten times more dangerous.”

The grin that spread across my face was pure mischief. “So does that mean I scare you, Ben?”

“Constantly,” he drawled. “And now look what's happened? You've been abducted by a preppy gang of rich kids. Any day now you'll be wearing argyle vests and playing lacrosse.”

I laughed. “You could come visit me here. Make sure that nobody comes too close with a pink sweater set and pearls.” I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice. “I'm sure I could get you a guest pass or something. There's this driver named Force who might have killed the president of Chile, but if you can overlook that, he's really not too scary.”

“Em.” There was a note of something in Ben's voice that made me catch my breath. It felt like a warning. As if he was trying really hard not to interfere—fighting the urge to say yes and race over here and take control—and my suggestion was only making everything harder for him. Making everything worse.

“You and Audrey, of course.” I felt like an idiot constantly making it an outing for two when what I craved was some alone time with him. “You could both visit. In fact, I bet you could both enroll here. My scholarship could include the two of you.”

Ben laughed, but not as if he saw much humor in the situation. “I seriously doubt your scholarship is a one-size-fits-all-of-Emmy-and-her-friends type deal.”

“Well, since I don't think the scholarship really exists, I don't see why I couldn't negotiate something with President Gilcrest,” I said, warming to the idea. “I'll just tell him that I need you and Audrey to help with the dead guy and—”

“You told the president of your new school about the dead guy?” Ben demanded.

“He brought it up. Apparently the two of them were friends. Sort of.” I tried to mentally replay the conversation, but it was hard to concentrate with Ben grumbling in my ear.

“You shouldn't be there, Emmy. Not if the president of the academy is somehow involved in this mess. You need to hand the Slate over to the cops!”

“I—”

“I'll go with you,” Ben said steamrolling over any objection. “It'll take ten minutes. We'll walk into the precinct, ask to see the cops you spoke to before, and say that you were still in shock during your first questioning.”

“Ben, I—”

“Then you can spend the night at my place. You don't even have to go back to your apartment, okay? My parents have missed you, and Cam wants to show you his new curveball. You can come home, Em.”

Home.

It was funny, I'd called Ben's place my home-away-from-home hundreds of times, without realizing that I had it all wrong. Home was sleeping on the spare mattress that he kept ready for me underneath his bed. Home was scrambling eggs in the kitchen with his parents while Cam waged war with his plastic Transformers against his unsuspecting dinosaurs. It was knowing that I didn't have to walk on tiptoe to avoid waking the asshole du jour.

Home was with Ben.

“I got a message last night, Ben,” I lowered my voice instinctively. “It said, ‘I won't stop until I find you.'”

“All the more reason for you to hand it over to the police and let them stop it for you!”

I rubbed my forehead as a wave of exhaustion hit hard. It was so tempting to walk right out the door, disconnecting the phone cord in the process so I wouldn't be tied down to anything—not even this conversation with Ben.

“It said ‘I won't stop until I find you,' Ben. Not ‘I won't stop until I find
it
.' Whatever is going on, it's personal. It's
me
. Handing the Slate over to the cops won't make that go away.”

The momentary silence that hung between us felt saturated with the weight of his exasperation. “You know that imagination of yours, Em?
This
is the kind of trouble it makes for you. You think there's something special about you, but there isn't. You're not the princess in a fairytale. You're just a girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and for some stupid reason has decided that she needs to stay in the
wrongness
instead of fixing it!”