Vengeance (Private 14)

Then he took my arm and dragged me out of there as fast as possible, barreling over whoever he needed to flatten on the way. I was grateful to him for sparing me, but even so, I knew he had another agenda in mind too—to keep me from blurting anything too tarnishing to the press. Apparently it would be a little while before Easton started to benefit from all that positive publicity I’d promised him.

CRAZY

“What did your crew chief say about the accident?” Ivy asked, pushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she leaned forward over the wide library table that afternoon. “How long is it going to set you back?”

We were trying to squeeze in some studying before tonight’s cocktail party at Mitchell Hall, where I was sure to be answering tons of similar questions. The very idea made me feel exhausted.

“Yeah. How serious was it?” Kiki asked, popping a green Tic Tac into her mouth.

“They’re going to work all night to try to clean up the mess and keep things on track,” I said, trying not to let my stress come through. “Workers are already bailing out excess cement and smoothing out what they can, and they’re bringing in some kind of huge crane to remove the truck.”

“Thank God the driver wasn’t hurt,” Constance whispered, biting her lip. “That was so scary.”

“I know,” I replied, the heavy rocks in my gut rearranging themselves hastily. If someone had been seriously hurt today, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

“So how did it happen?” Tiffany asked. She’d been scrolling through her photos on her camera, but placed it down in the center of the table now. “Did something go wrong with the truck?”

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“That’s the thing,” I said, my throat dry. “Both Larry and the driver said they checked everything out half an hour before the pouring. The truck was practically brand new and everything was in working order.”

Ivy eyed me in a discerning way, then sat back in her chair. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

“Aren’t we all?” Astrid asked from the far end of the table, her dark eyes serious.

“What?” Constance asked blankly. “What are we all thinking?”

“That this wasn’t an accident,” Astrid, Ivy, and I said in unison.

“Oh, come on,” Constance said. She dropped her forehead down onto her folded arms and whimpered. “Someone else is out to get us?”

“No, not us. Just the building,” I assured her, though I wasn’t completely certain. “Someone doesn’t want Billings to be rebuilt. Today’s ‘accident’ could have been their way of telling us to stop.”

“Normally I’d say you’re being paranoid, but around here . . .” Ivy trailed off and raised her eyebrows.

“Who?” Constance asked, raising her face only slightly, so that her nose rested on her hand and her mouth was still hidden. “Who would do this?”

“Yes, can you please just tell us who so we can have Portia sic the Armenian mafia on their asses?” Tiffany joked.

Everyone laughed uncomfortably. Missy and Paige, I wanted to say. But I knew they’d balk. Tiffany had been friendly with Paige back when she’d been a student here, and some of the other girls would still be friends with Missy if she’d let them. With no real proof, I didn’t want to call them out. At least not yet.

“I would if I could, but I have no idea,” I semi-lied.

A loud slam sounded on the other side of the library, and a couple of chairs scraped against marble.

“Get out of my face!” a familiar voice shouted.

“Was that Josh?” Ivy asked me, her dark eyes wide.

I jumped out of my chair as everyone else in the library turned to look. Josh was in the far corner at his favorite study carrel and Graham was standing next to him, his fists clenched. Josh turned and stormed away from Graham, striding right past our table with his canvas messenger bag bouncing against his hip. I opened my mouth to say something, but he was so focused and furious he didn’t even see me. He got to the front door and shoved it open with the heel of his hand, disappearing out into the dark.

“What. The hell. Was that?” Kiki asked.

And then everyone in our immediate vicinity looked at me. I watched, my pulse thrumming in my ears, as Graham disappeared up the stairs to the English literature section.

“I don’t know,” I said, dropping my pencil on the table. “But I’m going to find out.”

I hurried away from our table, half speed-walking, half jogging for the stairs. As I neared the middle step, I got the eerie, spine-tingling feeling that someone was watching me and I slowed my pace, glancing quickly over my shoulder. At least ten people looked away. Who was I kidding? Everyone was watching me this time.