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Cole sucks in a breath like he’s been hurt, and for a moment, with the pained expression, it does look like something is wrong. “Leave, Vee. Please. Just drop out of that university, get far away, and stay away. I know you think you’re helping, but this is more dangerous than hair dye pranks and whatever other bullying shit they’re doing to you.”
When he was fourteen and I was eleven, while my mom was getting her hair done, she let Cole take me to the ice cream parlor a few shops down in the same shopping mall. On our way back, a dog jumped out of nowhere and went for me. Without a moment’s hesitation, Cole pushed me out of the way, and the dog bit him instead. He had to get fourteen stitches and plastic surgery on his arm to make the scars almost invisible.
To this day, the only time I’ve ever seen my brother look scared is around dogs.
Until now.
There’s fear in his eyes.
“Cole, did you admit to murder because you felt you had to?”
Instead of answering, Cole diverts his gaze behind me. Before I can turn to see what he’s looking at, his attention is back on me. “Vee, I need you to let this crazy idea go, and go home. Not back to James Keyingham, but home.”
“And I need you to give me one good reason why.”
Cole hesitates and then the uncertainty is gone from his eyes. He doesn’t move an inch, but he lowers his voice so it’s barely above a whisper. “I can give you thirty-seven.”
“Go on then,” I say in a taunting tone, like he’s got no balls to follow through.
In the past, he’d do exactly that just to prove a point.
This time, he gives me a sad smile. “I just did.” And then he hangs up the phone and stands up.
“Cole!” He’s already got his back to me, waiting for the prison guard to descend on me.
“Miss, I think it’s time to leave.” He’s not the only one with a guard at his side.
Accepting defeat, I stand and turn, following the guard out of the room. In doing so, I glance at the area behind me that Cole had been looking at. The only thing there is the camera in the corner of the room.
The whole journey back to campus, I replay the conversation in my mind, trying to figure out if the visit had been a success or not.
Thirty-seven reasons?
Was that how many clues or answers I needed to find?
People?
“What the hell happened, Cole?” I mutter to myself as I look down at my laptop screen. I’m back in the library working on an assignment. Next week, I’ve got four to hand in, their grades included in midterms. The week after, the exams start.
Although I’ve read what I can from the textbooks, these assignments require additional reading, and I simply don’t have the cashflow to buy all the books for that as every other student in the school does. But I can at least read them in the library. I’m fairly certain half of these books have never even been opened.
This assignment is for Communication Studies, and it’s the last one I’ve got to finish.The Rise of Social Media During a Pandemic… The years when I was predominantly off social media because of Cole.
And I’m not allowed to have all my sources be websites.
I turn my attention back to the pile of books beside me, hoping at least one of them has something I can use.
The afternoon passes before I stop, my stomach grumbling. Leaving campus early meant I’d missed breakfast, but I did have a bagel and a coffee at the station as I waited for my train. I stopped at the same place on the way back, grabbing a large sub before I returned to campus.
But now it’s evening, and I’m starving.
Only after I’ve made sure all the useful references and quotes are in a Word document, and I’ve returned the books, do I pack up my things. The weather seems to have made the switch from summer to autumn while I’ve been in the library, because the evening has a chill to it that wasn’t there last night.
With a lot of students leaving the campus for the weekend, the dining hall is quieter than usual. I can smell something spicy, and I try to remember what was on the kitchen’s boards for the weekend meal options, but as I go to take a seat, one of the initiates seems to materialize in front of the table.
“That’s not your seat,” Harrison tells me.
Earlier in the week, I tried getting food at breakfast one day. An initiate appeared, took my food from me and refused to give me anything else until I moved to my special table in front of Syn. In the evening, when we had table service, none of the staff had come to me. People who I’d been working with for the past few weeks were ignoring me outside of the kitchen.
