Chapter eight
The rest of the week was sort of normal. I went back to school, and I tried to fit back into this life that was so unfamiliar to me. I learned the hierarchy of my school pretty quickly and how it all worked. There were three groups, it seemed: those at the top, those who managed to become friends with the ones at the top, and then everyone who didn’t. My friends were clearly part of the first group. Each of our families had strong roots in Gettysburg or in the surrounding towns. All the sprawling estates we passed from our home to school were owned by one of them or their extended family.
And our families ruled the county.
Lauren’s father was involved in investment, like mine. Candy’s father owned the largest realty company in the state. Veronica’s father was a state supreme court judge. Trey’s father worked in New York City at the British Embassy. And we were just like our parents—we ruled the school.
I quickly realized that our actions were rarely questioned, mainly because of who our parents were. Old blood. Old money. I had a feeling it wasn’t like this in other places. Sure, there was always one group that ran the school, but everything was so stratified here. I thought maybe it had to do with how tight-knit the community was. Well, the rich portion of it. They—er, we— were tight-knit. Everyone else was an interloper or whatever.
Something didn’t fit in the equation, though, and that was Cassie. I don’t know how I knew that or if it was one of the weird feelings I got that I knew was linked to my life before, but I had this distinct impression that Cassie had been an interloper and I had been fiercely protective of that.
None of that made sense. Hell, my life didn’t make much sense.
At lunch, I ate with the girls. Twice they invited me to go dress shopping with them, but I refused. Planning for prom just seemed inappropriate given everything. And as much as I tried to make things normal, there was this huge gulf between my friends and me. I didn’t join in when they made fun of other people or laugh at their jokes. With each day, their looks became longer and darker, their comments more snide. I couldn’t help but feel as if I’d ended up on the wrong side of special with them.
I hung out with Del after baseball practice. Once I went to his home, which made my house look like one of the seedy motels alongside highways. Money was clearly one of the most important factors in his family’s life, much like in mine. He was patient with me and the whole getting-to-know-you-again thing, but I could tell he was waiting for me to snap out of it, to become this girl he’d fallen in love with, and so was I. Their expectations—my parents’, friends’, and Del’s—all weighed on me, and at the end of the day I always resurfaced feeling as if I was lacking ... something. The only part of the day I really, truly enjoyed was the ride to school in the morning and bio.
Both involved Carson.
I hadn’t had any more hallucinations or found notes.
And Cassie was still missing.
Hope that she’d suddenly reappear like I had dwindled a little more each day. There was no mistaking the looks I got in class or in the hallway. Suspicious, accusing looks. When I said something about it this morning on the way to school, Scott and Carson told me I was being paranoid.
I wasn’t so sure.
Chances were my reputation was scary enough that people believed I was capable of doing something heinous to Cassie. I didn’t want to think that, but there was a teeny, tiny part of me that was afraid.
Detective Ramirez showed up Thursday after school. He must’ve contacted Dad first, because he was home and he didn’t leave my side as Ramirez interrogated me. The detective asked the same questions over and over again. Unfortunately, my answers weren’t any different. After half an hour of going in circles, Ramirez gave up and left, empty-handed and disappointed.
Not as disappointed as I was.
Mom had stayed quiet through the whole event, drinking out of a coffee cup that I suspected wasn’t full of coffee. After the detective left, she headed out of the kitchen. Dad reached for her, but she sidestepped him with the agility of an alley cat. There was a flash of frustration in my father’s eyes, but it was gone when his gaze met mine.
“It’s okay.” Dad placed his hand over mine and squeezed. His lips twitched into a smile. “I know you’re trying to remember and help, princess.”
“Princess?” I whispered. “You haven’t called me that in...” I trailed off, frowning.
Dad became very still. “Since when?”
My mouth worked, and I swore the answer was right there, at the edge of my thoughts, but when I grasped for it, the knowledge simply evaporated like smoke in the wind. I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t say anything immediately. And then, “I haven’t called you that since you were eleven or so.”
“Why did you start again?”
“Lately, it’s like I have my little princess back. The way you were before...” He leaned back, slipping his hand off mine. He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze switching to the large windows looking out into the back patio. “You didn’t want me calling you that anymore, and I know you’re going to ask why.” A fleeting grin graced his lips, and it looked tired. “The last time I called you that was the day you brought Cassie over here for the first time. You made a point of asking me not to later that night.”
My brows knitted as I watched him blow out a low breath. “Why would she have anything to do with you calling me that?”
His gaze shifted to me. “I don’t know. Only you know the answer to that.”
***
“We still on for tomorrow?” Carson asked as soon as he sat down in bio.
I nodded. “As long as you still want to help.”
Again, he got that look on his face, like he was confused and then wary. The same look that crossed his striking features during every conversation with me. “Yeah, I do. I have practice in the morning.”
“That’s okay.” I kept my gaze just above his eyes. Looking directly into them or at his lips was just asking for a return of confusing, frustrating emotions.
Scooting his chair closer to mine, he leaned over my shoulder and laughed. Shivers danced down my spine. “What are you drawing? Bigfoot?”
My fingers stilled around the pen, and I frowned at my drawing. It was a poorly drawn sketch of a guy. “I think that’s supposed to be shadows surrounding him, not hair.”
“Oh, I kind of see it now.”
“I honestly don’t know why I’m drawing this.” Laughing self-consciously, I put my pen down and looked at him. He was so, so intoxicatingly close. “Well, I’ve learned I’m not an artist.”
“I’m going to have to agree with you on that.” Sitting back, he studied my drawing. It was really just an outline of a guy, shaded in with my pen. I hadn’t stayed in the lines. Guess that explained the whole hair thing. “There may be hope for you, though.”
Right then, I decided I liked the way one side of his lip curved up. Crooked but perfect. “You were quiet on the way to school today.”
Carson brushed an unruly lock of hair off his forehead. “Big test in history.”
“Do tests bother you?”
He laughed softly, stretching out his long, lean body under the white table. “Any test bothers me because if I fail one, it kills my GPA.”
“You’ll do fine. You’re kind of great, so—” I smacked my hand over my mouth, horrified and unsure of where those words came from.
Carson stared at me, a slow smile pulling at his lips. “Well, I’m going to have to agree with you again.”
Cheeks blazing like I’d been out in the sun for too long, I lowered my hand. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “I can pretend I didn’t hear you.”
“That would be great.”
A sly, mischievous look crept into his dark blue eyes. “But I won’t forget.”
Mrs. Cleo rolled into bio then, carrying a stack of paper. The heavy bracelets around her thick arms jangled with every step. I faced the class, fighting off a stupid grin, and locked eyes with Candy. She arched a brow and mouthed, “Carson?” The way her lip curled around his name was a work of art. Glancing at Carson, I was happy to see he hadn’t noticed.