Pretty When She Cries - Black Mountain Academy

Courtney unscrews the cap of her iced tea and takes a drink. “That’s probably for the best, considering you still don’t know who ransacked the place.”

“I know.” A shiver moves through me as I imagine someone rifling through my things for the hundredth time. It’s so creepy.

“So you’re coming back to school next week?” she asks hopefully.

“Yep.” I try to hide the nerves in my voice. It’s been a little over six weeks now, and my doctor gave me the green light to resume my normal school schedule, sans any dancing. My mom is still reluctant to let me go, but Mr. Dawson worked out a system to have a staff member escort me between classes in the interim.

“Thank God.” Court sighs. “That place is insufferable without you.”

“Any news I should know about?” I fiddle with the string of Landon’s hoodie. I never gave it back after I left his house that night, and I’m only wearing it because it’s warm and comfy. Not because it still smells like him.

“Well, Audrey never shuts up about her role as captain.” Court rolls her eyes. “Half the dance team has quit under her tyranny, and the other half is so stressed out, I keep finding clumps of their hair in the bathroom.”

“Really?” I frown. “It isn’t like Coach Lopez to let that sort of stuff slide.”

Courtney hesitates for a moment, chewing on her thumbnail. “Um, yeah, about that…”

“What?”

“Coach Lopez quit.”

I frown. “Why would she do that?”

“I heard some of the girls talking about it. Apparently, Audrey’s mother has been hell on wheels since their last showdown. She got Coach banned from the committee meetings, and I guess Coach’s house and car have been getting vandalized regularly. Then her dog went missing for a week. When it turned up again, he had a note attached to his collar warning that next time, he’d come back in a body bag. Total sociopathic stuff. And meanwhile, Audrey is all smiles, bragging all over school that she’s gone. It sounds like Coach just couldn’t take it anymore.”

My jaw clamps down in frustration. I haven’t talked to Coach since she stopped by to see me a few weeks ago. She looked tired and apologized about a hundred times for not being there to protect me, but it never occurred to me she might be going through hell too. Audrey and her mother are terrorists, plain and simple. And it’s just not right that they keep getting away with this shit.

“I’ll call her later and check in,” I say. “Hopefully, she’ll be okay.”

Court nods and drums her fingers against the mosaic table edge. “Let’s see, what else… Oh! I almost forgot. This one is pretty shocking, actually!”

“What is it?” My heart skips, and immediately, I think she’s going to say something about Landon.

“There’s a rumor that Carson’s in rehab,” she whispers like it’s a dirty word. “I didn’t even notice he was gone, but apparently, he disappeared a couple of weeks ago after showing up totally out of it every day.”

“Rehab? I didn’t realize he was struggling that badly. I mean, I knew he was drinking and stuff, but not enough for extreme measures.”

“It’s weird, don’t you think?” Court eyes me like she’s trying to say something without quite saying it.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” She fidgets with the hem of her skirt. “I just think it’s strange how he’s been a hot mess ever since that night shit went down at the party. I keep wondering if he feels guilty about something. Or maybe he regrets something. Why else would he be so off the rails?”

I shake my head in denial. “I told you what the doctor said. I think Carson’s just trying to deal with it like we all are. He found his way of coping, and I found mine.”

“And Landon,” she reminds me. “His way of dealing with it is to blame you for everything.”

Her observation stings. And I don’t want to see it that way, but how can I not? He has always been so cryptic about everything. Calling me a liar. A schemer. Telling me I’m just like everyone else. It’s his default defense.

“Carson mentioned he wanted to tell me something.” I steer the subject away from Landon.

“When?” Court’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“In the parking lot after school one day. He was waiting for me by my car, and he was drunk. I didn’t hear him out.”

She considers it for a moment. “You don’t think… it could have been him with the bat?”

“What?” My voice squeaks out. “No, definitely not.”

“How can you be sure?” she argues. “There’s no way to know for sure it wasn’t him or Landon.”

I drag the edge of my fingernail along my palm. I don’t know how to make her understand the way I feel. But sometimes, you just know what you know. Call it intuition, call it whatever, but that guy who hit me wasn’t either of them.