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After Mr. Baldree dismissed us all, I practically ran back to the Wastelands. I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder before sliding the key card I’d stolen from the maintenance man into the slot on the main entrance door. A mechanical whir and click sounded, and when I pushed on the door, it opened.
So far, so good.
My side ached as I took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor, but I barely registered the pain from the bruises. I hurried to my dorm and shoved the same key card into the lock with shaking hands.
Whir.
Click.
I turned the handle and pushed, and the door swung open.
Staring into my room, I felt a broad smile spread over my face. Just like I’d hoped—the handyman’s key card was universal, programmed to open any lock on campus. If it worked in my dorm, there was no reason to think it wouldn’t work in Clarendon Hall too.
I stepped inside the room quickly, kicking the door shut and shedding my backpack. As I changed back into my street clothes and threw a baseball cap on, tugging my ponytail through the back slot, I kept my gaze locked on the swath of green grass outside the window.
The Princes headed across campus as a group toward their dorms, and I watched them until they disappeared out of sight around the corner of Clarendon Hall.
Good. I knew where they were. Now I just needed to wait for them to leave.
I moved to the living room and dragged a chair around to face the large windows on the north wall. I cracked open my Trigonometry book and tried to do a little homework while I waited, but I didn’t get much done—every few seconds, my gaze lifted to the windows again. I didn’t want to miss my chance, and I had to be sure they were all gone before I tried anything.
At six, I darted into the kitchen quickly and grabbed some cold leftovers I’d taken home from the cafeteria the other night. I ate as I kept watch, and just before seven p.m., my patience was rewarded.
All four of the Princes strode across campus toward the student lot, walking in a straight row like they often did, like a multi-headed bulldozer.
I gave it another twenty minutes before I moved, making sure they didn’t double back for any reason. Then I grabbed my little black notebook, my phone, and the universal key card, and slipped out of my building.
Campus was quiet, the sun just starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows on the ground. I kept my pace measured and even, not wanting to draw attention or look suspicious. Lots of students would recognize me because of my clash with the Princes, but I hoped the ball cap would help a little with that. When I neared the entrance of Clarendon Hall, I hung back as three boys emerged from the building, laughing and shoving at each other. As soon as they were several yards away, I stepped forward, slipped the key into the lock, and slid inside.
Ducking my head, I let the bill of the ball cap partially obscure my view as I crossed the common room area. A boy who was sprawled on the couch glanced up at me, but I turned my head away and kept moving. I took the elevator up to the third floor to avoid passing anyone on the stairs and walked quickly down the hall.
I’d been in this dorm more times than I liked to think about. By the end of last semester, I’d been a regular fixture here, usually headed to Finn or Elijah’s room. My entire body seemed to vibrate as I approached, nervous energy making me feel like I’d chugged a dozen cups of coffee.
The first door I reached was Elijah’s, and it took two tries to get the key card in the slot. I pushed the door open, anxiety filling me—half expecting to see all four of them standing on the other side waiting for me, like they’d known my plan all along.
But the apartment was empty, dimly lit by the fading sunlight outside. Posters of rock bands decorated the walls, and clothes were draped haphazardly over the couch and chairs. It’d always struck me as strange how messy Elijah was, when everything about his appearance screamed of elegance and poise. I’d never met anyone in my life who seemed so made for a life of luxury than the brown-haired boy.
But looking at his room, you’d never know it.
This was the room of an artist, someone who didn’t give a fuck about “order” or “refineme
nt”.
I let the door close with a soft click behind me and moved into the bedroom, darting glances out the window every few seconds. Across the quad, I could just make out part of the student lot and the admin buildings that fronted it. So if the Princes returned soon, I should have time to make a run for it before they reached the dorms.
Elijah’s bedroom was messy like the living room, and I poked through the stacks of books and loose papers on his desk. I cracked open his laptop, but it was password protected—and my spy skills didn’t include hacking into computer software. So I put it back where I’d found it and went through his drawers instead.
I didn’t find anything at first, but in his bottom desk drawer, I caught sight of a piece of paper with a fancy-looking letterhead.
Tugging it out, I scanned the writing on the page. It was from a place called Clear Haven… a rehab facility.
The date in the corner was from early September, and it was a four year follow-up on his release from rehab.
Holy shit.
He was in rehab before high school?
I scanned the letter again, but couldn’t find out what he’d been in for—what substance he’d been addicted to.
