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Not that I condone the way Linc treated me when Mom and I first arrived in Fox Hill and the Black household, but I understand it better now than I ever did before.
I kind of hate Bri, even though I have no reason to.
Keeping his gaze on the road, Lincoln reaches over to fiddle with the dials on the radio, flipping through several stations before finding one that seems to fit the mood we’re both in. He turns another knob to crank the volume up, and we let the blaring music provide our soundtrack for the rest of the drive.
I’m grateful for the distraction school provides. It keeps me from sliding into a full-on funk about my mom, the new housekeeper, and how little progress we’ve made in tracking down usable information about Iris’s killer.
The guys and I eat lunch together, and I can tell Lincoln’s still struggling to throw off his weird mood too. I grab his hand under the table, and he squeezes mine back, but we don’t talk ab
out it—I don’t think either of us want to.
My sixth period class, right after lunch, is Business and Economics. It’s not my favorite subject, and aside from the test Savannah tampered with to make it look like I cheated, I haven’t been pulling the best grades in this class. But Mr. Arndt likes me for some reason, and he definitely cut me a lot of slack after I missed several days of school.
We had a big quiz on Monday, but despite everything else going on, I studied my ass off for it—and I think I did reasonably well. As he passes back the graded quizzes at the beginning of class, I mentally brace myself, trying to temper my expectations of what kind of grade I pulled. I think at least a B-minus, maybe even a solid B.
But when Mr. Arndt reaches my desk, he glances down at me briefly, then passes right by me.
All the other kids get a graded test back, but I get… nothing.
Oh, fuck.
10
My stomach clenches with nerves through the entire rest of class, and I barely have the wherewithal to write down any notes on Mr. Arndt’s lecture.
I can’t focus.
My mind is racing, trying to figure out how the fuck this happened, what the fuck Savannah did this time. Did she somehow just steal my test entirely? Make it look like I never took it? But Mr. Arndt was in the room with us the whole time. He saw me take it, watched me turn it in at his desk.
Chill out, Harlow. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he just wants to ask you a question about it or something. Or maybe he lost it.
I can’t bring myself to believe any of that though.
As soon as class ends, I spring to my feet, yanking my backpack over one shoulder. Students file out around me, but I’m already marching toward Mr. Arndt’s desk when he says, “Miss Thomas, would you hang back for a—”
He breaks off when he looks up and realizes I’m already almost in front of him.
“I didn’t do it,” I say flatly, realizing only after the fact that starting with an adamant denial of guilt—before he even accuses me of anything—might just make me look more guilty.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before standing up behind his desk. “I believe that’s what you said last time as well.”
“Yeah. It is. Because I didn’t fu—I didn’t do it last time either.”
I stop myself from cursing in front of him, working hard to bring my internal tempo down. I’m so fucking pissed and frustrated right now that I’m practically vibrating with angry energy.
“We need to go see Mr. Osterhaut.” Mr. Arndt presses his lips together, like he really regrets having to do this. “I’ll have a hall monitor tell Ms. Watson you’ll be late.”
“Can you at least tell me what the problem was this time?” I demand, gripping my backpack straps hard. “What I’m supposed to have done?”
He looks tired and annoyed, and I wonder if maybe he doesn’t have that big of a soft spot for me after all. Maybe I’ve used up all of his goodwill already.
“Let’s just go see the principal. We can discuss all of this in his office.”
Dammit. I want to argue, to dig my heels in, but it won’t do anything but crack the already thin ice I’m skating on. So I grit my teeth and keep my voice calm.
“Yeah. Okay. Sure.”
Students are still hustling down the hallway to their next classes as we make our way to the admin offices on the first floor. I’ve been back at school for less than two weeks, and this is my second time visiting the principal. That’s not a great track record.
