The Lie (Kings of Linwood Academy 2)

I step into his embrace immediately, and he wraps his arms around me, his grip almost bruising. When he pulls back, his gaze darts from me to River. The gray-eyed boy nods slightly, and I hav

e a feeling they just pulled a Dax and Chase and communicated some message without words. I also have a very strong feeling that message is about me.

Linc’s amber eyes focus on me again, and when he speaks, his voice is low, meant only for me.

“Did you go swimming, Harlow?”

I want to laugh at the fact that somehow that’s become our code word for whatever this thing developing between us all is, but I’m too nervous to even crack a smile. I know what he said, and I know what River said. But it’s still hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that they could all really be okay with this. That it could really be possible.

“Yeah. Just… in the shallow end.”

He does smile at that, and some of the strain and exhaustion leaves his face for a moment. Then his grip tightens on me a little. “We still good, baby?”

“Yeah. Always.”

He nods in satisfaction, and we all turn to head through the front doors of the school.

In the afternoon, Mr. Arndt gives the class a pop quiz in Business and Economics, and—as he promised Mr. Osterhaut he would—he takes steps to ensure I can’t cheat. I have to leave my backpack and cellphone at my desk and go sit right up front where he can watch me. He even makes the two kids on either side of me move so there’ll be no chance I can cheat off of them.

The quiz isn’t actually all that hard, but I deliberately get a couple questions wrong. The last thing I want is to be accused of cheating when I just happened to know all the answers for once.

As soon as I finish filling out the last section, I drop my pencil and hold up both hands, fingers splayed like I’m being held up at gun-point. I keep them there until Mr. Arndt calls time at the end of class, and when he comes by to personally collect my quiz sheet, I think I see him fighting an amused smile.

Good. He used to like me pretty well, and I want him to like me again. I need all the allies I can get around this place.

I pass Savannah in the hallway as I head to my next class. Trent is leaning against a bank of lockers, and she’s leaning against him, her back to his front and his arms around her waist. His gaze lands on me and slides away immediately, but her blue-green eyes narrow as they track my movement.

“Don’t you just hate pop quizzes?” she asks loudly, turning her head to direct the question toward Trent, even though I’m sure it’s meant for me. He chuckles but looks a little uncomfortable.

My footsteps freeze, and I turn toward her, my hands already curling into fists. We haven’t spoken since our altercation in the girls’ bathroom, and I really thought she knew better than to keep fucking with me.

She snorts a laugh, although I notice she sinks deeper into Trent’s embrace, probably hoping to use him as a shield if it comes to that. “Don’t worry, Pool Girl. Nobody messed with your quiz. You can fail that class all on your own.”

Her falsely sweet smile makes me want to knock her fucking teeth out.

But I don’t.

I force my fists to unclench, then turn and walk away, pressing my lips together as her lilting laugh follows me down the corridor.

Focus on what’s important, Low. Focus.

What’s important is finding something real to tie Mr. Black to Iris’s murder.

What’s important is keeping out of trouble at school so Mom has one less thing to worry about.

Punching Savannah in the face would be satisfying as fuck… but it’s not important.

Calculus goes by in a blur, and by the time I make it to my eighth period History class, I’m so ready for this day to be done. I barely got to talk to the guys at lunch, and I want to find out if Linc has any ideas of where to dig for clues about his dad. I’ve snooped around the house a bit, but he’s got to have access to stuff I don’t.

I take notes as best I can with half my brain already focused elsewhere, and as soon as class ends, I gather up my bag and head for the door.

“Ms. Thomas. Hold on a minute, please.”

Our teacher, Mr. Heller, is an older man who always looks like he’s counting down the days until retirement, and when he says those words, there’s a flatness to his voice that makes my stomach drop.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Praying fervently that this is about something stupid and mundane, I hesitate by the doorway, turning to look back at him. When he grabs a small packet of papers from a stack on his desk, I blink at it like he just picked up a live snake. I know exactly what that is. It’s the test we took a week ago.