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He didn’t comment on that last part but reached for the tv remote instead. “Take a nap, then we can eat. I’ll watch something and keep you company if you want.”
Not waiting for me to say yes or no, he searched through the apps and pulled up an entirely different reality show. I hadn’t seen this one before. He pressed play and then put his feet on the coffee table while he opened one of his books.
Curled up, I rested my head against the sofa cushion, aware of Jonas reading while the show lulled me. It was ridiculously sweet of him.
“Jonas?” I flicked a look over to find him watching me. “If I asked you to go to the Fire and Ice Party?”
“You already did,” he said. “I said yes.”
“Cool,” I said, hiding a smile as I snuggled into the blanket. “Wake me up in an hour if I fall asleep?” I did have some homework to do.
Thirty-Seven
RAMSEY
KC and Jonas were both in the testing center. I’d finished two of my own tests and had moved to a research station when they came in. While she seemed—better wasn’t the right word—steadier, she was still too pale.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t like how she moved gingerly, every step careful and deliberate. The natural grace and elemental energy that populated her steps absent, to be replaced by marked hesitation and uneasiness.
What I would have once labeled a brash, larger-than-life personality that served as the core of her fierce approach to life seemed to have been hollowed out following the attack. It concerned me almost as much as the fact she’d been assaulted in the first place.
Nothing that happened the previous year seemed to slow her down. The fire had been a blow, but she’d rallied. This? I hated this. I hated even more the rampant climb in Jonas’ watchfulness. He wasn’t sleeping. Not as much as he should be, and he’d become a fixture at her side.
I couldn’t say I blamed him. Keeping my distance was killing me. There had been another report to the administration. This time, the complaint about harassment included both Lachlan and Jonas. This is on the heels of Lachlan being questioned by campus securityandthe local police.
The angle I had to seeing through the wide glass window of the testing room let me see her as she dipped her head to work on the test. Jonas was seated behind her next to the wall, but with one desk between them. The position was smart; he could see the whole room in front of them.
I could monitor anyone coming or going. Since Jonas needed to focus on his own tests, I told him I’d be here. The school hadn’t said anything aboutwhofiled the complaint, but they had to investigate it.
A second offense for me. One more and I would automatically lose my TA status for the rest of the semester. I’d still be a student, but I would also have to surrender my RA post as well.
The threat had rung in my ears, but it wasn’t preoccupying me. I pulled up a secure browser and put it in anonymous mode so it wouldn’t track my searches or record them in the history.
Something the girls said the night KC came back from the hospital preyed on the back of my mind.
Stalker emails and notes.
Stalker.
Couple that little revelation with Aubrey Miller’s assertion about the constant media attention and photo sales, and I couldn’t put it aside. Any of it. The photos sold to the gossip sites about me kissing KC, about Lachlan, the others with her and Jonas.
Mostof them had been taken on campus.
Administration had not been happy with the first viral video from the campus. They could only crack down so much. The more privileged the student, the less likely they were going to face real consequences. Stern advice, firm requests, and even some genuine pleading were policy.
Until it came down to one student’s power and prestige versus another’s. Then the lawyers came out. KC’s family attorney, alongside one from the label, had begun to exert pressure. It was the primary reason I insisted that Lachlan call his father.
Gibs paid for our schooling, but it was Sean Nash who was the Blue Ivy Prep legacy. He had smoothed the way when Mom wanted to send us to private school. Making sure all of us could attend the same academy kept us together while she was on the road.
Pulling off my glasses, I pinched the bridge of my nose. The search window had populated with dozens of news stories about Torched. Over the top of the computer, I stared at where she focused on her test.
She twirled a pencil with her fingers like a drummer, caught in stop motion, getting ready to play. The faint blur around the edges softened everything about her and the soft gasp of sound she made when our lips collided echoed in my head.
Not helpful.
Turning my attention back to the screen, I started skimming each story. Headlines likeProblem Child or Party Girl?I just scrolled right past.
Intruder Arrested on Crosse Estate, Beverly Hills
