All I know is that her dad, Mateo, has been in the hospital for a few weeks now in an intense coma, meaning he’s been hooked up to machines to keep him alive. It’s worrying for both of our businesses since he is the head ofVossand right before he fell ill, there were a few dodgy articles about the business and a new drug called Tinzin that had been linked to the Voss’ clothing and accessories.
It alarmed both of our companies because even though we sometimes play dirty, drugs and smuggling are something we don't mess around with.Ever. It’s too much of a coincidence that he suddenly can’t speak on the matter the second that it starts to gain more popularity in the press.
Scarlett and I are sitting in the school library in one of the collaborative study sections on a long brown bench. There are not many people in this section as people prefer the silent study zones. She’s sitting across from me, her posture scarily straight, her deep brown hair slicked straight down her back, with one of those black ribbons in her hair tying half of it back. She always has one of those and I can’t figure out why. Is she secretly a ballerina or some shit? Because considering her basic outfit choices, the ribbon that she sports and her posture, I would not have pegged her for a business student. Obviously, thePradaloafers say otherwise.
We’ve been sitting in this uncomfortable silence for almost half an hour. I’ve tried to concentrate on the homework I’ve needed to finish up for most of that time, but I’ve been spending my free seconds glancing up at her instead. I don’t think she’s looked at me once since we’ve sat down.
“Are you going to read the textbooks or just stare?” she asks, not looking up from her laptop.
“As much as you think I'm annoying, I think the same about you,” I say, because two can play that game.
“Awh thanks,” she says, finally looking up at me.
Maybe it was better when she was looking down because now she’s got one of those fake smiles plastered across her face, those hazel eyes staring straight at me.
“Wasn’t a compliment.”
“Sure, it wasn’t, big guy,” she replies, looking back down at the laptop. She huffs, typing angrily. “How long is it going to take you to do your homework? You always hand it in early.”
“Didn’t know you paid such close attention to me,” I say back, tilting my head.
“I don’t,” she retorts, looking up again and holding my stare. “I only know because Anderson doesn’t let me hear the end of it when you hand in your work before me.”
I always hand my work in early. It takes off the stress of trying to rush it before the deadline. I’m a mess as it is, I don’t need unnecessary anxiety about deadlines and grades on top of that.
“I’ve just got a lot going on right now. So, excuse me if it takes me a little longer to finish my work before starting on the project. I was being serious when I said my grades have slipped,” I admit, finally finishing the sheet I’ve been staring at for nearly a week. I shove it away into one of my textbooks, glad that I don’t have to look at it anymore.
“Oh,” she says, closing her laptop. Unlike the aggressive texting, she gently closes it, looking up at me. “Is the last assignment why you’re stressed? Everyone was raging about it, but I finished it last week and it wasn’t too much trouble. Maybe you’re losing your touch.” She shrugs innocently, glancing around the room. If I knew any better, I’d think that was her trying to be nice.She has an annoying tendency to talk too much to anyone.
But I don’t know any better, so I smile.
Big mistake. Because our eyes connect and when she sees the grin on my face the faint, barely-even-there sort of smile on her lips fades and she presses her mouth into a thin line, rolling in her pink lips.
“Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine. It’s just family stuff. You can understand that, can’t you?” I say and I know I hit a nerve when her body goes rigid. Her hands freeze for a few seconds before she clears her throat and continues to write something down. “Oh, come on, Angel. You can drop the act and stop pretending you don’t know.”
We’ve never openly discussed what has happened with her dad. Not many people were supposed to know about Tinzingate and if you do, you clearly have a bias.
My family thinks it was Mateo, using the coma to cover up the smuggling, while others in the company continue supplying it, hoping that when he wakes up everyone has forgotten about it. I’m sure her family don’t think it was him. Especially with the big Papa-Bear energy he gives off, you wouldn’t suspect him. I’ve seen him squeal like a little kid before, but if it’s not him, then who could it be?
Scarlett keeps her gaze on her paper, not looking up at me. I almost miss the way she mutters, “So what if I know? It doesn’t mean anything.”
Good. At least she’s talking. I lean further in, ensuring that there is no one else nearby. Most of the people in here are zoned out with headphones on and wouldn’t be disturbed even if the fire alarm went off. “I’m not going to tell anyone. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
She drops her pencil, folding her arms across her chest against the thin black top she’s wearing. “I’m not worried about that.” But from the shift in her body language, there’s something else that she’s not sharing.
“Then what’s your problem?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, sighing as she drops her arms from her chest, fiddling with the sheet of paper. I know we’ve spent the better half of two years verbally attacking each other, but I can tell that talking about her family is a vulnerable thing and I almost feel bad.Almost. “You’re just going to think I’m crazy.”
I snort. “I already think you're crazy, Angel.”
“Gee, thanks,” she mutters, adding, “Why am I even talking to you about this?”
“Scarlett,” I press. The use of her full makes her freeze up. I hardly ever say it, but from the way that she is about to deflect, I need to draw her back to the conversation.
Just keep her talking, Evan.
“Listen, I’m only telling you this because none of my friends would understand and it’s all hypothetical anyway. Just a hunch,” she begins, pinning me with a defiant stare and I nod. “I don’t think my dad getting ‘sick’ was an accident. I don’t know how I’m going to prove it since I have no evidence, but I need to find out what happened. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t let it go.”
