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Daneca rushes past me out of the room at the end of Physics. She heads for Sam’s class and stands near the door, waiting for him. The expression she’s wearing makes it clear that Sam hasn’t started talking to her yet.
“Please,” she says to him, hugging her books to her chest, but he walks past her without even hesitating. The skin around her eyes is red and swollen with recent tears.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I say, although I’m not sure I believe it. It’s just something people say.
“I guess I should have expected it,” she says, pushing back a lock of purple-tipped hair and sighing. “My mom said lots of people want to know workers but would never date one. I thought Sam was different.”
My stomach growls, and I remember that I skipped lunch. “No, you didn’t,” I say. “That’s why you lied to him.”
“Well, I was right, wasn’t I?” she asks plaintively. She wants to be contradicted.
“I don’t know,” I say.
My next class—ceramics—is held across the quad at the Rawlings Fine Arts Center. I’m surprised when Daneca follows me onto the green; I really doubt her next class is there too.
“What do you mean?” she asks. “Why do you think he’s like this?”
“Maybe he’s mad you didn’t trust him. Maybe he’s mad you didn’t tell him the real reason you didn’t want to be tested. Maybe he’s just happy to be in the right for once— you know, enjoying having the upper hand.”
“He’s not like that,” she says.
“You mean he’s not like me?” I ask. In the nearby parking lot a tow truck is starting to pull out with a car attached.
She blinks, as if startled. I have no idea why; it’s not like she doesn’t keep assuming terrible things about me. “I didn’t say that.”
“Well, you’re right. I would like it, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Everyone likes a little power, especially people who feel powerless.” I think of Sam at the start of the semester, feeling like he could never measure up to Daneca, but I doubt she has any idea about that.
“Is that how you are with Lila?” If she wasn’t judging me before, she’s judging me now.
I shake my head, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “You know it’s not the same—not real. Haven’t you ever worked—”
I stop speaking as I realize the car being towed is mine. “What the hell?” I say, and take off running.
“Hey!” I shout as I see the bumper of my car smack against the last speed bump before the road. All I can see of the guy driving is that he’s got a cap on, pulled low enough to shade his eyes. I can’t even see the license on the tow truck, since my own car is obscuring it. I can see the name airbrushed on the side of the truck, though. Tallington Towing.
“What just happened?” Daneca asks. She’s standing in the empty parking spot where my Benz used to be.
“He stole my car!” I say, utterly baffled. I turn and sweep my hand to indicate all the other vehicles in the parking lot. “Why not one of these? These are nice cars! Why my crappy broken down piece of—”
“Cassel,” Daneca says sternly, interrupting me. She points to the ground in front of her. “You better take a look at this.”
I walk over and spot a small black jewelry box with a black bow sitting in the middle of the empty space. I squat down and touch the small tag, flip it over. There on the black paper, in even blacker ink, is a crude drawing of the crenellations of a castle. Frowning at it, I feel the familiar pull of the shadow world of crime and cons. This is a gift from that world.
Castle.
Cassel.
I pull the ribbon, and it comes free easily. Before I lift the lid, I briefly consider that there’s going to be something unpleasant—a bomb or a finger—but if there’s really a body part inside, waiting’s only going to make everything worse. I open the box. Inside, nestled in cut black foam, is a square Benz key. Shiny. Silver edged and so newfangled that it looks more like a flash drive than anything to do with a car.
I lift it up and click the unlock button. Headlights flicker in a car across from where I’m standing. A black Roadster with chrome trim.
“Are you kidding me?” I say.
Daneca walks over and presses her face against the window. Her breath fogs the glass. “There’s a letter inside.”
I hear the bell ring faintly from inside the academic center. We’re officially late for class.
Daneca seems not to hear it. She opens the door and takes out the envelope. Her gloved fingers make quick work of it, ripping open the flap before I can stop her.
