Dead Silence A Body Finder Novel

Chapter 2


THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL HAD THAT TYPICAL chaotic, first-day feel. Like the inmates were running the asylum.

Keeping her headphones on, Violet bobbed and weaved her way through the pandemonium as best she could. She watched—rather than listened—as girls checked out what other girls were wearing, as boys checked out the incoming freshman girls, and as everyone compared their class schedules with everyone else’s.

She managed to slip through the swarms of students relatively easily, avoiding fashion appraisals and obnoxious, overzealous greetings by kids who’d been going to school together since kindergarten but were now acting as if they hadn’t seen each other in decades.

It was only school, Violet thought, feeling more irritable than she should on the first day of her senior year. But she just didn’t get what all the fuss was about. She was probably just tired, she told herself. The pills might make her groggy, but without them the imprint made it nearly impossible to find deep sleep, leaving her with an ache in her head and a sting behind her eyes.

And, still, there was that tinkling echo that followed her everywhere.

Some of her irritability lifted when she saw Jay, waiting for her outside the door of her first-period class.

“Hey,” he said, shoving away from the wall to meet her in the hallway.

She tugged one of the earbuds from her ear and let it dangle free. “Hey yourself.” She smiled up at him, ignoring the headache—and the music-box chiming. “How’d you know what my first class was?”

The corner of his lip lifted. “I have my ways.”

Violet shook her head. “It was Mrs. Jeffries, wasn’t it?” she prompted, but didn’t wait for his response. She knew Jay could get whatever he wanted out of the ladies in the front office. “You know she has a crush on you, don’t you?”

“Gross, Vi. She’s like my grandma’s age.”

Violet leaned in closer and nudged him with her elbow. “Doesn’t stop her from flirting with you. And the sickest part is, I think you kinda like it. I think you encourage her so you can find out things like . . .” She pursed her lips, watching him through appraising eyes. “Things like my class schedule. Any of this ringing a bell?”

He threw his arm around her shoulder, and everything inside her unwound as she leaned into him, letting him share a burden he didn’t even realize was weighing on her.

She saw Chelsea then, shoving her way through a cluster of students who had gathered in the hallway, passing their schedules around to one another. One of the girls flashed Chelsea a dirty look as Chelsea elbowed past her, bumping the girl with her backpack. But Chelsea was oblivious to the girl’s glare, and Violet wondered if she’d even realized the other kids were standing there at all.

“Oh my god, Vi! I’ve been texting you all morning. Don’t you ever check your phone? What the eff?”

Despite her worries about being back in school, Violet couldn’t help smiling at her friend’s bulging eyes and breathless frustration. Some things never changed.

Violet reached into her pocket, digging for her phone, but Chelsea stopped her. “It’s too late now. I just wanna know why you didn’t tell me sooner,” Chelsea reprimanded, her eyes level with Violet’s as she gripped her arm. She leaned in close, ignoring the fact that Jay was right there. “How come you didn’t say anything about your hottie friend comin’ to White River.”

Violet frowned at her friend. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Chels.” She pulled her arm away and glanced up to see if Jay knew what Chelsea was rambling on about. But he looked as perplexed as she was.

“Dude, whatever . . .” Chelsea’s voice trailed off as her gaze shifted past Violet, to the hallway beyond. Her mouth curved, a sly, knowing smile parting her lips. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t know he was transferring here?” she muttered, and Violet realized Chelsea had spotted whoever it was she’d been talking about. Violet turned to look behind her. “You know, the brother of that lady who works with your uncle. The one you never want to introduce me to.” She grinned knowingly. “I can totally see why, though. Yum.”

Violet was about to say that Chelsea was wrong, that she didn’t know anything about a new kid in school, when her breath caught in her throat. She saw, then, who Chelsea was talking about. The “hottie” in question stood out like a sore thumb in his worn blue jeans and black leather jacket, especially amid the sea of freshly purchased mall clothes, some of which probably still had the tags on them, tucked conveniently inside the collars and waistbands.

“Jesus,” Violet heard Jay breathe beside her, and she felt his arm stiffen around her neck as they watched Rafe approach. “You’re kidding me, right? What the hell is he doing here? Tell me you didn’t know about this.”

“I—I didn’t know about this,” Violet tried to say, but she was sure that no sound had actually escaped her lips, that her words had gotten stuck, lodged against the stone blocking her throat. Because that was when she recognized who Rafe was with, the flawless blonde girl walking beside him.

It was Gemma—looking as out of place as Rafe did, but in an entirely different way. Even from the front, Violet knew the other girl’s jeans were designer, and cost more than Violet’s entire wardrobe. The heels on her boots were at least five inches tall, yet she walked as if she were wearing flats. Effortlessly. Gracefully. Her trendy bag was too big to be a purse, and Violet’s throat tightened even more when she realized it was meant to carry books.

Rafe and Gemma stopped right in front of Violet and Chelsea and Jay. Violet was still speechless, unable to push her voice past the clog in her throat.

Chelsea had no such dilemma. “Sooo . . .” she said, looking from Violet to Rafe and back again. “This is sorta awkward.” But there was nothing in her tone to indicate she was the slightest bit uncomfortable. She wrinkled her nose. “Well, since Violet seems a little . . . tongue-tied, let me be the first to welcome you. I’m Chelsea.” She held out her hand, her grin extending to Rafe—and only Rafe—as if Gemma weren’t standing there at all.

He cast an uncertain glance down at her hand, which wasn’t held out for a handshake, but was palm up instead. Rafe turned to Violet, frowning.

Chelsea’s brows rose impatiently. “Your phone,” she explained, extending her hand even farther as she waited for him to hand it over.

An amused expression crossed his face, but he reached into his back pocket and dropped his cell phone into her awaiting hand. Her fingers moved quickly as she unlocked the screen and opened his Contacts list, deftly adding her name and number before handing it back to him with a satisfied grin. “There. That’s better,” she stated, as if he’d asked for her phone number. “Now I just need to know your name and we’ll be all set.”

“Rafe,” he answered, a sly grin finding its way back to Chelsea, and something uneasy settled in the pit of Violet’s stomach. The last thing she’d wanted was for these two worlds to collide, she thought, as she stood there in the hallway of her school and watched that very thing happening.

“So, Rafe,” Chelsea drawled, making his name sound practically pornographic coming from her lips. “What made you decide to come to White River High?”

“He’s not,” Violet finally managed to choke out, but she wasn’t really talking to Chelsea. She was glaring at Rafe now, her gaze intense and unwavering. “You can’t just drop in and wander the halls of my school whenever you feel like it, Rafe. There are rules. You have to check in at the office first. You have to show ID and get a visitor’s pass.”

But Rafe just stood there, grinning back at her. It was Gemma, her eyes locked solely on Jay, who responded to Violet. “Mmm, actually, we can,” she countered, raising her perfectly tweezed brows. “Your little friend’s right. We’re students here now. We can come and go as we please.” She puckered her lush red lips as she shot a satisfied smirk in Violet’s direction.

Fire crackled through Violet’s veins as she scowled at the other girl, and then at Rafe, trying to decide who she was angrier at: Gemma for being such an ice princess, or Rafe for just standing there pretending to look utterly innocent in the matter. Violet knew better—Rafe was anything but innocent.

“And you are . . . ?” Chelsea cocked her head, appraising Gemma, in the same way a snake might appraise a baby mouse. “His sister?”

Gemma’s lips curled and she glanced at Rafe, his black hair almost as far from her pale blonde as was possible. “Yeah,” she agreed abrasively. “Something like that.”

Violet looked at the two of them and wondered if there was a person alive who would buy that they shared a single strand of DNA. Chelsea appraised them suspiciously.

At the moment, though, Violet couldn’t care less about that. “What is she talking about?” she demanded, ignoring both Chelsea and Gemma as she turned to glare at Rafe. “Why are you here . . . really?”

Rafe just shrugged, and Violet felt her blood simmer. “Gemma’s right,” he admitted, and then he pulled out a rumpled class schedule from his pocket and held it up, as if confirming Gemma’s statement. “We’re students. This is our first day too.”

Violet grabbed his schedule and looked it over. She felt her stomach drop when she recognized four of the six classes. They were identical to hers. How the heck did Rafe—Rafe who Violet was pretty sure hadn’t even attended school last year—get into AP Lit?

“Is this some kinda joke?” Jay asked, and Violet wondered if he’d noticed the same thing she had—the similarities between the class schedules—or if he was just referring to the fact that Gemma and Rafe were actually planning to attend White River High.

Gemma looked dejected as she held out her schedule, not rumpled at all, toward Jay. “Look, we have classes together too,” she said in a voice that Violet had never heard her use before. A soft voice. Almost a nice voice. She pouted, and Violet couldn’t tell if it was calculated or genuine. “I thought you’d be happier to see us.”

Jay hesitated, probably as taken aback by the switch he’d seen in her as Violet was—although probably not nearly as suspicious of it. And then his brows creased. “How did you know we had classes together?” he asked.

Gemma plucked the slip of paper from his fingers and tucked it into the pocket of her shiny patent leather book bag. She did a complete 180 then, her disposition changing from dejected to aloof in a matter of seconds. “You have your ways, I have mine.” And then she wriggled her fingers at them in a wave that showed off her nails, which were flawless and glossy and as perfectly manicured as everything else about her. “I wouldn’t want to be late on my first day!” she exclaimed before strutting away on her too-high-for-high-school heels, looking as if she were walking a Paris runway. Every male head in the hallway except for Rafe’s and Jay’s turned to watch her go. They were too busy having a good old-fashioned stare-down to notice anyone else.

“I hate her,” Chelsea declared solemnly, and somehow Violet managed to stop herself before she could agree.

Mostly because she didn’t hate Gemma, even though she wanted to in that moment. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have every intention of finding out what she and Rafe were up to. Why they were suddenly enrolled at her high school.

“Come on, V. We should probably get going too.” It was Rafe now, looking at her with smug confidence as he tapped his watch.

Violet’s jaw clenched. “I’ll be right there,” she ground out, emphasizing each word, enunciating every syllable.

He shrugged once more and she watched as he sauntered through the classroom door, throwing the strap of his backpack carelessly over his shoulder.

Jay waited until he was gone and then he looked down at her. “You didn’t know, did you?”

“I swear I didn’t,” Violet assured him, shaking her head. “Of course I didn’t.”



Inside the classroom, everyone had already taken a seat. Above the music box that no one else could hear, whispers filled the room as Violet stepped through the doorway, crowding the air and replacing the first-day exuberance.

There was a new kid in school.

Without meaning to, she found herself seeking him out the moment she stepped inside. He wasn’t hard to spot though. He sat by himself in the back of the classroom, and all eyes were either already on him or were intermittently darting in his direction. Beside him, there was an empty desk with a backpack perched upon its chair.

He was saving her a seat.

Self-consciously, Violet searched for another opening before realizing that the one next to Rafe was the only one left. She’d lingered for too long in the hallway.

Rafe didn’t seem to care that he’d managed to trap her, and that she had no other choice but to sit beside him. He only grinned when she rolled her eyes as she reluctantly made her way down the aisle toward him, listening to the barrage of whispered comments as she passed.

“. . . did you see his hot sister . . .”

“. . . different last names . . . must be adopted . . .”

“. . . heard he was in juvie . . .”

“. . . does Violet Ambrose know him . . . ?”

Violet ignored them all, keeping her gaze averted. She even managed to avoid looking at Rafe when she shoved his backpack onto the floor. It made a satisfying thunk, causing everyone in the class to turn and look at her as she took her seat. But instead of giving them the satisfaction of a response, she trained her eyes on the whiteboard at the front of the room, wishing their teacher, Mr. LeCompte, would stop dawdling in the staff lounge and get here already.

Mr. LeCompte was notorious for being late, she remembered that much from taking American Lit with him the previous year. But today, of all days, Violet wanted nothing more than for class to get started already.

She felt something tap against her elbow and saw Rafe from the corner of her eye, stretched all the way across the aisle, as he held something out to her. She jerked her arm away from him, and concentrated even harder on not looking at him.

“Psst.” She heard it, almost unnoticeably at first. And then louder, so that everyone in the rows ahead of them could hear it too. “Psst!”

She turned then, concentrating on glaring daggers at him now. “What!” she whispered back.

He held out a piece of folded paper in her direction.

Her stern expression cracked as she bit back a smile. Was he actually passing her a note in class?

Swallowing her amusement so it wouldn’t show, she snatched the paper from his hand and slipped it beneath her desk just as Mr. LeCompte wandered into the classroom.

“Happy first day of school, class, and welcome to AP Literature.” The way he said “literature” made it sound distinctly like he had a British accent, despite the fact that everyone knew he’d only spent one year abroad during a teacher-exchange program. He dropped his crumbling leather satchel on his desk as he walked to the whiteboard to write his name with red dry erase marker. Below that he started itemizing their first-quarter reading list.

Violet glanced as surreptitiously as she could at Rafe when she realized that she’d seen those same books on the shelves in his bedroom. She remembered them all, Catcher in the Rye, Heart of Darkness, The Handmaid’s Tale. His confident grin confirmed that he thought this class would be a piece of cake.

She, on the other hand, had only read one of the books on the list, Lord of the Flies, and that had been back in the eighth grade, so she probably wouldn’t get away with skipping it this quarter.

Ignoring her impending workload, she unfolded the note hidden in her hand.

Don’t be mad, was all it said in his blocky, boy handwriting.

Violet glanced over at Rafe, her head cocked challengingly. Why shouldn’t she be mad at him? He should’ve at least called to warn her that he and Gemma were going to be there today. She deserved that much, didn’t she?

She crumpled the note into a tight ball and shoved it into her backpack, which was on the floor by her feet.

Rafe shifted toward her, hanging from the side of his desk as he leaned all the way across the aisle. “Don’t be like that,” he insisted quietly. “It’s not my fault, V.”

She grimaced. “Stop calling me that.”

“What? V?” Now he was the one who was confused. “Fine. Whatever.” He shrugged. “Then stop acting like I did something wrong.”

“Ms. Ambrose? Mr. . . . ?” Mr. LeCompte interrupted them, and she could hear the warning in his fake-British drawl.

Rafe’s eyes darted forward, but he didn’t sit up. He stayed where he was, stretched across the aisle, practically sitting in Violet’s desk. “Priest,” Rafe answered. “Rafe Priest.”

“Mr. Priest,” Mr. LeCompte continued. “Since you two have already started getting to know each other, you can go first.” Violet felt her cheeks growing warm as she realized she had no idea what their teacher was talking about. Then, to the entire class, he explained, “Everyone will pair up, and you’ll have five minutes to get to know your partner. After your five minutes is up, you’ll each take turns introducing your partner to the rest of us.”

There was a collective moan, and Violet sagged into her chair, not in the mood for this little getting-to-know-you exercise. But Rafe didn’t seem nearly as reluctant as she was, and he dragged his desk closer, making Violet cringe against the screeching sound the legs made across the industrial tile flooring.

“Okay . . . go,” Rafe said eagerly, watching her expectantly.

“Go? Go what?”

“Go . . . start telling me about yourself.”

She half smiled. “How about you tell me what you meant when you said it wasn’t your fault that you’re here? Whose fault is it then? What the hell are you doing at White River, Rafe?”

He grinned back at her, a stupid grin. One that made her wonder what really went on inside that head of his. “Fine. Be that way, V, but this is gonna make for one awkward introduction. Consider yourself warned.”

“You already know pretty much everything there is to know about me. Now stop avoiding my questions.” She settled her chin against her palm, trying to look perky rather than peeved as she waited for him to get on with it.

He leaned closer, coming over the top of the wood laminate desk, so that she found herself staring directly into his deep blue eyes. She told herself not to be unnerved. It wasn’t the first time she’d been this close to him. He was just trying to throw her, she was sure of it. His lips parted and her gaze shot down to watch them, her heart speeding up. “Sara,” he said.

“Sara?” she asked. “Sara what?”

He let out a low chuckle, and she knew he was laughing at her but couldn’t manage to be annoyed by it. “You asked whose fault it was. It was Sara’s. She’s the one who asked us to enroll this semester.”

Violet frowned, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. “Why would she do that?”

His hand crossed the space then, settling over hers, and like so many times before, there was a sudden surge of warmth, like a microexplosion, from his skin to hers. Achingly familiar, yet disquieting at the same time. Like the music-box imprint that followed her. “She was worried about you, and she doesn’t like the idea of us going to school in the city with metal detectors at the doors.” He grinned then. “Plus, I think she’s hoping some of your small-town charm will rub off on us.”

Violet drew away, but not far enough, and their fingers still touched. “I’m fine. I’ve already told you that. All of you.” She didn’t know if he could tell she was lying. Honestly, she didn’t even know if she was lying. She was fine, she supposed, as fine as she could be considering everything that had happened.

“Is that why you barely come to the Center?” He stared at her, unblinking as he studied her. “Is that why you avoid my phone calls?”

Violet glanced away. “I answer.”

“Sometimes,” he said, but there was a wistfulness to his voice now. “I get the feeling you wish I’d leave you alone though.”

She swallowed, not sure what to say to that.

“I can’t, V. And Sara’s not the only one worried.”

Her eyes shot back up to his, and she wondered if Gemma’s empathic gift was wearing off on her, because she swore she could feel everything Rafe was feeling in that moment. Restlessness and fear and concern, all frenzied and tangled together like wings trying to beat their way out of his chest.

Or maybe those were her feelings.

“I—I’m telling you the truth. I’m better. I’m . . . stronger now.”

Rafe just watched her, and then he shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t up to us anyway. And we’re not leaving, so you might as well get used to it.”

Violet heard someone clear their throat, and she looked up to find Mr. LeCompte looming above them. She glanced nervously down at their hands, realizing that their fingertips were still pressed lightly together. She squeezed hers into a fist.

“You’re up, you two,” Mr. LeCompte said, and then turned on his heel and left them sitting there, staring after him.

“Quick,” Violet whispered. “Tell me where you were born.”

Rafe got up, looking completely nonplussed by the panic in her huge green eyes. He bent down and whispered in her ear, “You were warned, V. This is about to get awkward.” And then he grinned at her before following Mr. LeCompte to the front of the room.



“Hey, V! What’s up?”

“Oh my god, will you please stop calling me that?” Violet complained to Chelsea as she dropped her lunch tray on the table with a crash.

Chelsea grinned back at her with absolutely zero remorse. “I think it’s kinda precious. Besides, word on the street is you prefer it.”

“Yeah, V,” Jules chimed in, a similar unrepentant look on her face. “What I don’t get is, why you never told us before. We’re your friends—you can tell us anything.”

“Can I tell you to shut your pieholes?”

“Uh-oh . . .” Chelsea mocked. “Someone’s cranky.”

“Maybe she’s hungry. Her blood sugar’s probably low,” Claire offered. Jules and Chelsea started cracking up, while Claire just stared at them, trying to figure out what she’d missed.

“I’m not hungry,” Violet retorted, just as she saw Jay coming toward her.

“Oh, snap! Check this out,” Chelsea said conspiratorially, elbowing Jules. She pointed to Gemma and Rafe, who were also heading right toward them, drawing whispers and stares. “Jay doesn’t like Rafe, but Rafe likes Violet—I mean, V. And the girl, the one who isn’t really his sister—” She turned to Violet now, interrupting her narration. “Wait, what was her name again?”

“Gemma,” Violet answered listlessly, giving up and letting her friends have their fun.

“Okay, yeah, Gemma. Gemma doesn’t like Violet or Rafe as far as I can tell. She’s kinda nasty, that one. But she definitely likes Jay, or at least I think she does. She was all over him in third period.” Violet glanced up at them, suddenly more interested in Chelsea’s running commentary than she wanted to be. Chelsea’s voice dropped to an almost-whisper just as all three of the people she was discussing converged on the table at once. “This is about to get real.”

They stood there, the three of them—Jay, Rafe, and Gemma—all looking down at the open spaces at the table as if deciding who would sit where. Violet reached for Jay’s hand, making his decision for him as she pulled him down to sit beside her, scooting over to make room.

And then her mouth practically fell open when she realized that Gemma was actually trying to squeeze herself into the nonexistent space on the other side of him. Gemma smiled at the boy who sat on the long bench on the other side of her, batting her long lashes and puckering her lips, until he willingly made room for her. When he smiled back, he sheepishly revealed braces and could barely maintain eye contact with her. But he didn’t seem to mind when she sandwiched herself between him and Jay. Why would he, Violet thought? Gemma was probably the hottest girl who’d ever pressed herself against him.

Violet, on the other hand, minded a great deal.

Rafe seemed oblivious as he rounded the table, to the other side, where Jules and Chelsea parted like the Red Sea to make a spot just for him.

Violet leaned forward on her elbows, hovering across the top as she narrowed her eyes on Rafe. “You realize everyone’s calling me that now, don’t you?”

“What? V? I thought you liked it.”

She pursed her lips, counting silently to herself before responding. She didn’t want to lose her temper. Not here, in front of everyone. “No, Rafe, you didn’t. I told you I didn’t, and you stood right up there in front of the entire class and told them it was my favorite nickname. And what was all that stuff about me playing the banjo?”

Claire stopped chewing long enough to ask, “So that’s not true either? I thought that was kinda cool.”

“You know we’re probably getting an F, don’t you?” Violet finished, ignoring Claire.

“An F . . . for introductions?” Rafe turned to Jay then, petitioning for an ally. “Come on, man. Help me out here. She’s being a little dramatic, right?”

Violet glanced up at Jay and saw a flicker of something she recognized all too well, the hint of amusement. Her lips tightened as she locked eyes with him.

He raised his brows, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Leave me out of this,” he said to both of them, laughing just a little too easily. “I don’t wanna get involved in your battles.” And then he grinned at Violet, looking intentionally contrite. “That was the right thing to say, wasn’t it?”

Across from them, Chelsea pretended to cough the word “whipped” while Gemma cupped her chin in her hands as she watched Jay and Violet with more interest than she should have. “Is she always this . . . controlling?”

Violet glared at Gemma, but it only made Gemma’s lips bow upward. A smile that could pass for a sneer, depending on who it was directed at. And when she looked at Violet, it was definitely a sneer, no matter how pretty it was.

Inside, Violet felt her emotions churn at the prospect of spending even another hour, let alone a week or an entire semester, under the same roof as Gemma and Rafe on a daily basis. They were her teammates, sure, but they were also stirring up trouble in the part of her life she’d always considered her own. The one she tried to keep separate from the secrets of the team and her ability.



After stopping at the office to talk to the counselor about the possibility of changing some of her classes so she wouldn’t have to spend the majority of her school day with Rafe, she reached the biology lab just after the bell sounded . . . which meant, on top of everything else, she was tardy.

It also meant there were only two seats still available by the time she’d arrived. She was surprised to find that Gemma was in this class with her. She hadn’t bothered to look at the other girl’s schedule. In fact, it hadn’t even crossed her mind they might actually share classes together.

The other thing that threw her off was that the seat next to Gemma was one of the two that remained vacant. Considering Gemma had been the star of the show today—at least where the boys were concerned—she would have expected to find them clamoring to sit beside her.

But when Violet glanced at the seat, she realized why it was still open. Gemma’s designer book bag was already sitting there, and Gemma had already started unpacking her stuff and spreading out. It was clear she intended to take up more than her fair share of the lab table.

Gemma looked up as she opened the cover to her binder, which was an embossed alligator print that matched her book bag. Violet rolled her eyes and made her way toward the only other open seat in the lab.

But she faltered mid-step when she saw who was sitting in the spot beside it.

Grady Spencer.

Grady, who Violet had known since elementary school . . . who she’d played tag with on the playground and ridden bikes with and learned to skip rocks with at the lake.

He was all those things, and more. But he was also the same Grady Spencer who’d tried to kiss her last year . . . even after she told him she didn’t want to be kissed. Even after she insisted he stop. He’d been aggressive and forceful, and had crammed his tongue inside her mouth. Even now the memory made her heart race and her palms sweat.

Seeing him there, she felt trapped.

Grady hadn’t noticed her, as he dug through his backpack, his gaze down. But he would . . . any second now. And then he’d see the panic on her face, and he’d know that he was the one who’d caused it.

She wondered why she even cared what Grady thought. He had caused it. It was his fault she felt this way. His fault she stood frozen in the middle of the classroom, unable to take another step. Unable to even think.

Maybe he should know how she felt about him. How torn she was between the Grady he’d once been when they were kids . . . and the Grady who’d pawed at her, drunken and belligerent, refusing to believe she didn’t want him the way he wanted her.

She looked around, sure that everyone must be watching her now. How could they not be? How could they not see the dread coming off her in anxious waves?

But they weren’t. No one in the class even glanced her way.

Except for Gemma.

Gemma was watching her, her expression more intrigued than usual. Her lips taut and her eyes intensely curious.

And something else. Something more . . .

Violet wasn’t sure what it was she saw there. If it had been anyone other than Gemma, she would’ve thought it was worry. But this was Gemma she was talking about.

Violet blinked, certain her imagination must be playing tricks on her. Certain it was merely the panic of facing Grady, distorting her perception and screwing with her mind.

But when she looked again, it was still there, the look. And this time she was convinced it had to be real.

And then Gemma did something else unexpected. Violet watched in disbelief as the other girl reached over and removed her book bag from the chair. After a moment, probably only the span of a breath really, when Violet didn’t react, Gemma lifted her eyebrows and nodded toward the empty chair beside her.

And Violet knew: Gemma was telling her to sit in the open spot.

But why? Violet wondered, even as she backtracked in her own footsteps, trying not to breathe an audible sigh of relief that she wouldn’t be forced to sit next to Grady.

It didn’t matter really. Violet didn’t have the luxury of being choosy; she took the seat wordlessly, not sure what she could say to the other girl.

She frowned as she pulled out her own spiral notebook—a plain one with a flimsy green cover—and dropped her backpack on the floor. She knew how Gemma felt about her.

What was it she’d said exactly, that Violet reeked of the dead? Was that how all empaths felt about her? That she carried the scent of death on her wherever she went? She supposed she’d have to wait until she met another empath, someone who could sense the emotions of those around them, to find out. So far, Gemma was the only one she knew.

She glanced sideways at the blonde girl, who was staring straight ahead now, almost as if she were intentionally ignoring Violet. In spite of herself, Violet couldn’t stop from asking, “Why?”

For a moment she thought Gemma wasn’t going to answer her as she continued to look forward at the space where the teacher was already introducing herself and explaining the ins and outs of Anatomy & Physiology. But Violet didn’t believe Gemma was as captivated as she appeared to be by the teacher’s explanation.

Just when she’d decided it was pointless—the other girl wasn’t going to answer her at all—she heard Gemma sigh and say beneath her breath: “Whatever that guy did to you, it must’ve been pretty messed up.” She turned her pointed chin just the scantest amount to appraise Violet’s reaction, and seemed satisfied when Violet’s eyes widened. “I honestly don’t think I could spend an entire semester in the same room with the kind of tension you were feeling. You were making me uncomfortable.” She looked forward again, indicating the conversation was over. “And you’re welcome.”