Private 03 - Untouchable (4 page)

THE RIGHT THING TO DO

It wasn't until we were walking up the steps to Hell Hall that I realized what I was doing. The second I did, I tripped on the top stair and had to grab Josh's arm to prevent my knee from cracking on the slate.

"Careful!" Josh said, helping me up.

Our faces almost touched as I fought for balance. Our skin was so close that his body heat warmed my cheek. My heart was already pounding from nervousness. Now it pounded twice as fast. Josh looked at me and his grip on my arm tightened for a split second before he released me.

"I can't do this," I told him, stepping back. As if that might slow my pulse. I didn't need this. Not on top of everything else. What, exactly, was my capacity for confusing emotions? How much could I handle before a vital organ actually imploded?

"What do you mean?" Josh asked, his brow creasing. "I thought we decided--"

"I know what we decided," I said through my teeth. I could 
smell the burning nylon as Thomas's note tried to sear its way out of my backpack.

Mr. Cross ascended the steps. He was the Ketlar House monitor and had been Thomas's advanced biology professor. Like all the other faculty members, he had an office in Hull Hall. ("Hell Hall" was the students' nickname for the ancient brick building in which most of the adults on campus spent the bulk of their time.) I pulled Josh aside, averting my gaze with a blush, to let the man pass. Still, my pulse raced at Josh's nearness.

I will not be attracted to Josh. I will not be attracted to Josh. Josh's dead roommate is my dead boyfriend. I will not go there.

Cross shot us a disapproving look under his clipped white eyebrows but kept moving. I didn't speak again until the heavy door had slammed behind him.

"But isn't this, like, withholding evidence?" I asked Josh under my breath. My earlier righteous bravado was gone, replaced, miraculously, by logic. "I could get in serious trouble here. I mean, before I was just protecting my boyfriend who was alive and rehabbing. Now it's like ... what? Aiding and abetting or something?"

Obviously, I had spent too much time watching those bad cop shows. Damn you, Dick Wolf.

Josh stood up straight as this sank in. A cold breeze tousled his hair, and a thick gray cloud moved in front of the sun. I pulled my coat closer to me. Dozens of dry brown leaves chased one another 
across the stone path down below. Suddenly I really didn't want to be here. I turned to go.

"Wait. Reed, wait," Josh said, grabbing my arm lightly.

My foot hovered in the air over the next step and my stomach went weightless, like I was on a roller coaster that had just taken a dip.

"What?" I said over my shoulder.

"We have to show it to them. This is about finding out what happened to Thomas," Josh said earnestly. "It's about telling the truth. Finally."

I recalled a conversation Josh and I had with Walt Whittaker last week in the cafeteria. One in which Whit had accused Josh of being a hypocrite for not turning Thomas into the board of trustees for his illegal activities ages ago. Something in Josh's eyes told me that conversation had really affected him. Maybe even more so, now that Thomas was gone. Now that Noelle, too, had suggested it was the right thing to do.

The girl really did have power.

"Besides, what can they do to you?" Josh said. "You're a minor and you were just scared and confused and all that. It's not like they're gonna throw you in jail for keeping a love note or whatever."

His certainty somehow took the edge off my fear. "Fine," I said. I strode past him and opened the door before I could lose my newfound resolve. "But if I do end up behind bars, it's your job to get me out."

"Done and done," Josh said. Firmly. Like he really did intend to be my rescuer one day.

I walked ahead of him down the long, echoing hallway. Unbelievable. I was potentially walking to my doom, and definitely going to turn in my lying, deceased boyfriend . . . and then I did the most inappropriate, appalling thing possible.

I smiled.

* * *

"Is that all you two have to say?" Dean Marcus asked, glaring at us from across his wide desk.

Isn't that enough?

The dean was definitely old, but since Thomas had gone missing, the police had invaded our campus, and parents had started yanking their kids and their tuition, he seemed to have aged ten years. His wrinkles were deeper, the gray at his temples had spread, and his brown eyes seemed to swim sourly in their sockets. The note from Thomas was laid out flat on his leather blotter, the only piece of paper on his otherwise impeccably organized desk. In the corner, the tall, imposing Chief Sheridan whispered intently with his shorter, kinder counterpart, Detective Hauer. After muttering a few expletives toward the beginning of our stories, they had been conferencing on and off throughout the rest of the meeting.

"We're very sorry we didn't come in sooner, sir," Josh said, sounding much more composed than I felt. "We just always hoped Thomas would be coming back--"

"And when he did, you were going to allow him to continue with his illegal activities," the dean said, his voice rising as the redness of his face deepened to near burgundy. "You were going to allow him to continue disgracing this institution."

I sank lower in my leather chair. I was going to get thrown out of Easton. I could feel it. I was never going to touch the ivy around the entrance to Billings again. Never find out if I could actually pass Mr. Barber's history class. Never sit with Noelle and Ariana and Kiran and Taylor and sip wine and eat expensive chocolates and laugh. Never see New York from windows high above Park Avenue again. What had I been thinking, coming here? How could I have forgotten how much there was to lose?

Croton, Pennsylvania, here I come! I wondered if that handwritten Help Wanted sign was still hanging in the window of the Rite Aid.

"But that's not even the worst of it, Mr. Hollis," Dean Marcus continued, his indignation so strong he was starting to tremble. "If you had come to us with this information earlier we might have found Mr. Pearson weeks ago. You don't--"

My heart completely stopped beating.

"Dean," the chief said in a warning tone.

The dean went white under his age spots as he realized his slipup. He looked at the chief uncertainly.

Weeks ago? Weeks?

"Is that true?" I heard myself say, my voice sounding very meek. "Has Thomas been dead for that long?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Brennan, but we're not at liberty to divulge that information while our investigation continues," Chief Sheridan said firmly, stepping up to the desk.

Dean Marcus sat back in his chair, deflated. The chief's tone was reprimanding. Clearly, the dean had been relishing his position as man in charge of this meeting, and by speaking a few words too many he had just lost it. It seemed there was an authority higher than our school's number-one authority figure.

"But Dean Marcus is right. You should have told us these things during our first meetings," the chief continued, staring us down. "I know you thought you were protecting your friend, but by impeding our investigation you've done the exact opposite."

What little breakfast I'd managed to choke down was slowly rising up from my stomach. Was he right? Could I actually have prevented Thomas's death by coming forward? How could this be happening?

Tears came to my eyes, and I stared straight ahead at the green glass lamp on the dean's desk, watching it blur. I couldn't take this. I couldn't. I felt like my chest was filling up with something I couldn't define. Something that would surely drown me.

"You didn't know," Josh said, quietly.

I looked at him. He was staring right at me. Somehow, I felt calmer, and I willed him not to look away. If he looked away, I would sink.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hollis?" the chief snapped.

"I said she didn't know," Josh said a bit louder. "There was no
way she could have known that Thomas was going to get hurt. As far as she knew, that was just a breakup note. How was she supposed to know?"

He glared at the chief. Glared at this man who could potentially end our lives as we knew them. Was he brave or just incredibly stupid? The moment he broke eye contact with me, tears slid silently down my cheeks.

Control yourself Reed. You can do at least that. Don't let these people see you crumble. I wiped at my face, but the tears still came.

"Calm down, Mr. Hollis," Chief Sheridan said.

"I just don't see what you're accomplishing by making a girl cry. Sir," Josh said.

"Josh. It's okay," I croaked.

He was going to get us expelled if he kept it up. Or arrested. Or both.

Chief Sheridan held Josh's gaze for a long moment, then turned his back to us and whispered to the dean. I strained to hear, but all I could pick up were a few stray words.

"... punishment..."

". . . naive . . ."

". . . useful. . ."

Finally, the chief turned to us again. "You may go to class," he said, exhaling through his nose. The dean, meanwhile, turned his chair to the side, away from us. He looked like a deflated blowup toy version of himself.

Neither Josh nor I moved. It couldn't be that simple.

"I appreciate that you tried to do the right thing by coming in here today," the chief said. "It was a little late, but nevertheless, I see no point in charging you with anything. As minors you would get a slap on the wrist, and from the looks on your faces, I believe you've already gotten that."

Not just on the wrist. Across the face and in the stomach. With brass knuckles.

"But if you think of anything else--anything at all--you are to come to us immediately. Understood?" he asked, pressing one finger into the desktop.

"Yes, sir," Josh said, standing.

"Yes, sir," I echoed, my voice watery.

"Good," the chief said. "Now get out of here before I change my mind."

* * *

Weeks ago. Could have found him weeks ago. Thomas had been lying dead somewhere for at least a couple of weeks. But where? Where had they found him? The rumors were conflicting. I'd heard he was found in a field behind the public school. Near a stream in the hills. In some random abandoned building. And-- the one that made me shudder the most--in the trunk of a beat-up old car.

Was I ever going to know the truth?

"Reed, you should really eat something," Ariana said in her mothering tone.

I blinked. The cafeteria was so hushed I had zoned out and forgotten where I was. My turkey sandwich on wheat toast stared up at me, untouched. Kiran and Natasha had just settled in across the table. I hadn't even heard them arrive.

"At least eat the bread," Ariana prodded gently.

"Eat the meat. You need the protein, not the carbs," Kiran said as she lifted a thick issue of Vogue out of her bag.

Natasha looked at me and smiled. Was Kiran ever not thinking about calorie counts? Ariana stared Kiran down while Kiran flipped past the pages and pages of ads at the front of her magazine as if she didn't notice.

"What? Carbs will just weigh her down. We're trying to get her energy up, right?" Kiran said finally, her green eyes wide. "Thus, protein."

No one could ever ignore a serious stare from Ariana. I flicked the bread off the top of my sandwich and ate a piece of turkey with my fingers. "Happy?"

Kiran wrinkled her dainty nose. "I would have preferred a fork, but that's fine."

Noelle walked over and sat in her usual chair across from Ariana at the end of the table. She let out a frustrated sigh and glared at Taylor as she slipped in behind me and dropped down in the next chair. Taylor's nose was red and her curls were matted and dark. As if they hadn't seen suds in days. She looked tired. Like someone who had spent the entire night staring at her alarm clock, calculating how many hours of sleep she could get if she just passed out right now.

Wait. That was me.

"What's up?" Kiran asked, looking from Taylor to Noelle.

"What's up is I'm sick of the morgue vibe already," Noelle said, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder. "Wallowing is good for nothing," she said pointedly, looking at me and Taylor. "Unless you enjoy getting your frown lines Botoxed."

"Noelle, they just buried Thomas last weekend," I said, the back of my throat tight.

"I know, okay? I was there," Noelle said. "But look at everyone. This is not healthy. If this keeps up, we're talking terminal downward spiral."

Just then the doors to the cafeteria slammed open and every single person in the room jumped. Dash McCafferty walked in, his blond hair flopping and eyes bright with what looked like excitement. Behind him were Josh and Gage Coolidge, who strolled along with a cocky expression on, as always, like he was working some invisible runway. Walt Whittaker brought up the rear, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, wearing a thick wool coat that came down past his knees.

Dash paused at the end of the table. All eyes in the room were on him. Freshmen, sophomores, professors stared. It was as if the king had finally arrived after we had all traveled miles to see him speak.