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  “It’s them,” Grayson whispers.

  “They’re cops.”

  A drop of sweat slides down his temple. “They’re the ones who followed me to Tennessee.”

  The men with guns.

  As I shove him up the stairs, it hits me that they might not be real cops. These men could have lied about their warrant, flashed fake badges. Any kind of bounty hunter might be on Grayson’s tail.

  But Sterling has the power and money to bribe real cops. To twist the law to his advantage, the way he did today with that vote.

  It doesn’t matter where these men came from. If they’re here to bring Grayson back to his dad, they’re dangerous.

  We make it to the top of the landing before Grayson stops again. My hands fist in his shirt as I try to drag him toward his room, but he’s fighting me, pushing me out of his way as he tries to go back down.

  “There’s no way out there!” He tunnels his hands through his hair, voice cracking over the words as I attempt to quiet him.

  “You have to hide.”

  “They’re going to find me. I can’t get out the windows; we’re too high up.”

  He’s right. Caleb’s and Henry’s windows aren’t near any trees, any branches he might use to escape. If he’s under his bed or in his closet, they’ll find him. He’s too big to fit in any of the cabinets beneath the bathroom sinks.

  The bathroom.

  “Come on.” Grabbing his hand, I run toward the guest bathroom at the end of the hall. It’s the only one up here not attached to a bedroom, and it has the attic access that Caleb uses to get to the roof.

  When we’re inside, I close the door quietly and stare up at the ceiling.

  “What are we doing?” Panic sharpens Grayson’s voice.

  The outline of a large rectangle is etched directly over his head, above the marble vanity and sink. There’s no string to pull it open like in the girls’ storage room, but there’s a small hook on the far side, lying flush against the ceiling. If I hadn’t known it was there, I never would have seen it. Grayson follows my gaze, lines deepening between his brows.

  “There.” I point overhead. “It’s a ladder to the attic. You can get up to the roof. Hide until they go.”

  He’s shaking his head. “I have to leave. If they find me, I’m dead. My dad—”

  “You’ll never get past them.” I climb onto the counter, my black Converse squeaking against the emerald-green surface. A chair would be better, but we don’t have time for that.

  “If I can get to the garage, I can take one of the cars.”

  I swipe for the hook, but I’m not tall enough, and my fingers just miss it.

  “They’ll see you leave and follow you. You’ll be hunted for the rest of your short life, and everyone here will go down for lying to the cops.”

  “I can’t stay!”

  I crouch on the vanity, one hand on his shoulder, then his jaw. For a moment, I see my mom, her arm linked with Grayson’s while he smiles smoothly down at her. She wouldn’t have hurt him—us—on purpose, but all the same, I hope she’s not responsible for bringing the cops here.

  “You have to trust me,” I tell him. “I’m going to get you out of this.”

  His teeth press together in a wince, but his blue eyes lock on mine.

  He nods once.

  “Good. Help me pull this open.”

  I reach again for the hook, but this time Grayson steadies me, hugging my thighs with the side of his head against my hip. My fingers peel it off the ceiling and pull, and with a squeal, the ladder descends.

  He lifts me down to the floor like I weigh no more than ten pounds, and when I fold the ladder down, he starts to climb.

  From down the hall comes the slap of a door against the wall, and Caleb’s voice resonates off the walls in warning.

  “Why do you have to search our rooms?”

  “Go,” I hiss at Grayson, holding the ladder steady. “Get up!”

  “What about you?” he asks as he reaches the top.

  Another door opens, and this time it’s Joel’s voice, muffled through the walls.

  “Hey! You can’t take our phones.” A pause. “Moore! Can they take our phones?”

  “Dammit.” There’s no going back, and no reasonable explanation of why I’m here in the boys’ hall before them.

  On Grayson’s heels, I hurry up the ladder, and together we pull it up, trying our best to move slowly so it doesn’t squeak. Breath locked in my lungs, I point ahead to an open area in the attic. We scramble through the small space, past the dusty cardboard boxes.

  Below us, the bathroom door opens. We both freeze.

  “Why was this shut?” comes a male voice from below. Grayson starts to move again, but I grab his ankle, forcing him to be still. If the ceiling creaks beneath our weight, they’ll know we’re up here.

  He holds still.

  Neither of us breathe.

  Moore’s voice is quieter; he’s farther away, and I can’t make out what his response is.

  Seconds pass. A minute or more. Then the voices below move the other direction, and we head for the open area of the attic where we can both stand.

  Creeping down, we’re careful not to disturb any of the boxes or step off the solid wooden beams onto the thinner wood panels. Our path is pitch black except for the yellow circle of my phone’s light.

  The last time I was here, I was with Caleb.

  I need to get downstairs before they notice I’m missing.

  “That way.” I point left to where the beams will lead Grayson to the window outside. “Go to the roof. Wait there until one of us comes to get you.”

  “You’re not staying?”

  “The detectives have already seen me. They’ll notice if I’m not there.”

  He glances ahead, peering into the darkness toward the window. He doesn’t have a phone, and without the light, he chances falling or getting lost in the maze of twisting rooms.

  I give him mine. “It’s going to be fine. You trust me, right?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, all right.”

  He goes toward the window, and I head to the girls’ storage room exit, feeling my way with my outstretched hands, cringing at every soft brush of cobweb that dances across my knuckles or cheek. My other senses are sharper without my vision, and I can hear more voices coming from downstairs as I breathe in the dusky scent of mothballs on the cold, stagnant air.

  My feet shuffle over the planks, but still, I almost trip and go crashing across the insulation.

  I catch myself with a muted yelp and move on.

  Finally, I make it to the ladder. Wiping my damp palms on my thighs, I hustle down. The ladder goes up with another metallic groan, and I press my ear to the seam of the storage room door, listening for any sound outside.

  When none is heard, I slowly turn the handle and tiptoe out into the hall. I head toward my room, eyes down, hoping they haven’t already searched it while I wasn’t present.

  “Hey, you. What’s her name?” I turn sharply to find Detective Morales standing with Moore and half a dozen students at the end of the wing. Geri stands on his right, her stare as cold as death. To his left, Caleb is passive, mildly interested.

  But I know him better. This is a show. He is coiled and ready for anything.

  “Brynn,” says Moore evenly.

  “Brynn, where are you heading off to?”

  I jut a thumb over my shoulder. “My room.”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  I work to swallow. “With Detective Simon. Downstairs.”

  He nods, walking toward me. “You didn’t hear we were searching your room? Thought you might have wanted to be around for that.”

  Caleb meets my eyes, waiting for my response so he can play off it however necessary.

  “You searched my room?” I turn, and feigning annoyance, stomp toward my door. Sure enough, it’s been tossed. My laptop is missing off my desk, and my mattress has been pushed aside. Both closet doors are open, as are
my nightstand drawers, and my bathroom door. Some of my clothes have been strewn across the carpet.

  I cross my arms over my chest and summon a worried, angry expression.

  “Did you think I shrunk him and hid him in my dresser? Sorry.”

  Morales smirks, his neat black beard crinkling with his cheeks.

  “I’ve seen your face before,” he says, and my knees begin to shake. “You know Grayson, don’t you?”

  Behind him, Moore’s stare narrows. “You have a warrant for the premises, Detective. Not to harass the students.”

  “I’m hardly harassing her,” says Morales, stepping closer. His eyes move over my face, confirmation lighting his smile. “I’ve seen you somewhere with him, or in the news, perhaps.”

  My throat goes bone dry.

  “It’s the Pop Store photo.” Charlotte, standing inside her cracked door, steps out, her face flushed. She’s already wearing pajamas, and she looks pale. My heart lurches at these words, though I’m not sure where she’s going with them.

  “The Pop Store photo?” The picture of Grayson and me in his house comes to mind. I’m standing on the stairs while he writes his number on my wrist.

  I’m beaming because I’ve just earned my place at Vale Hall.

  “Yeah, remember last summer?” says Charlotte, giving me a meaningful look. “There was that picture on Pop Store that Geri swore was you.”

  “Oh.” I groan. “She looked nothing like me.”

  “Yes, she did,” Geri calls out from the back of the pack. “She totally looked like you.”

  I grin. “Enough that you believed I was a celebrity for a week.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  Morales frowns. “I need your phone, Brynn.”

  I cringe. “I don’t have it.”

  “It’s an anomaly,” says Morales. “A teenager without a phone. I didn’t think there were any of your kind left in the world.”

  “I mean, I lost it,” I say.

  “Where is it?” Moore steps around Morales, his mouth a flat line.

  I look at my feet, repentant.

  “It was in my bag! I must have dropped it sometime after music class.”

  He says nothing for a moment, and I’m suddenly afraid that he’s actually angry with me. That my innocence will hinge on a stupid flashlight I gave to Grayson so he wouldn’t come crashing through the ceiling.

  “That’s the third one in two months,” Moore finally says. “You pay for the next one, that was the deal.”

  I gape at him. “I don’t have that kind of money!”

  “Neither do I,” he says.

  “Morales!” Simon yells from downstairs. “Got someone here to see you!”

  Morales takes his time sizing me up with his cop glare before he turns and heads toward the staircase. We all follow, pausing on the steps when Belk and Dr. O come into view. Simon’s standing beside them, holding a plastic bag filled with cell phones.

  Dr. O’s cheeks are ruddy. He’s still wearing his black, knee-length coat and leather gloves, though he rips them off now and flicks them onto a side table beside a vase.

  “Detective Morales,” says the director. “If you’d like to step into my office, I’m sure we can work out whatever problem you think you might have.”

  Morales descends the stairs slowly. “We’re just investigating a lead, Director. A concerned father reported there was a kid here we know to be missing.”

  Henry’s stepdad. He’s the only father that saw Grayson at the house this weekend. He must have been angered enough by Henry’s refusal to leave that he went to the police.

  Henry’s at the bottom of the stairs, still with Caleb and Sam, and at this, his head lowers, hiding his face.

  I told Grayson he should have gone upstairs that day.

  “Students, go to your rooms,” Dr. O says.

  Those on the first floor move slowly toward the stairs.

  “Now.” Dr. O bites down on the word.

  We back away toward the corner, while those who were downstairs come up. No one goes to their rooms, though. We stay out of sight, in the alcove beside the stairs, smashed together like sardines to eavesdrop.

  Henry squeezes beside me, his cheeks still glowing red. I think of that safe in Dr. O’s office—the one hidden in the fireplace. It might have Susan Griffin’s phone. It could have all our student files.

  Who knows what kind of information Dr. O is hiding in this place.

  “My security tells me you’re looking for Senator Sterling’s son? He’s not here. This is a school, Detective, a private institution, approved by the state. We abide by regulatory procedures and do not steal unenrolled children from their parents.”

  “I don’t know,” says Morales. “That dad seemed pretty concerned you were holding his stepson hostage.”

  “And yet, you aren’t here for him, which leads me to believe you took no stock in his claim.”

  “There’s nothing to be angry about,” says Simon. “Not unless you’re hiding something.”

  For a moment, there is silence downstairs. Geri’s elbow presses into my side. Charlotte’s hand is on my back. Henry leans against my side, shoved in place by Sam.

  Caleb is right in front of me. My eyes fix on the stripe of bronze skin between his black hair and the collar of his gray T-shirt. A week ago I would have touched him there without thinking, but now I’m not sure if it’s okay, so I’m perched forward on my toes, trying not to fall as I listen to what’s being said below.

  “Detectives,” says Dr. O slowly. “These students are my responsibility, and you have breached the security of their home while I was not here to assure their safety. If you have questions, you take them up with me, otherwise we can discuss this at the station, in the presence of your supervisor.”

  “Damn,” whispers Charlotte. “Nicely done, Dr. O.”

  “No kidding,” says Sam.

  Their eyes meet across the heap of us, then deflect away.

  Not much else is said, and when the front door closes, we break apart, breathing a collective sigh.

  All except Caleb, who turns on me, mouth pulled in a thin line.

  “Where is he?”

  Automatically, my defenses rise. He can’t blame Grayson for this; Henry’s stepdad’s the one who turned him in.

  Of course, Grayson never should have been downstairs.

  But it’s Dr. O’s fault he’s here at all.

  And it’s mine that he isn’t gone already.

  “On the roof,” I say.

  Hurt flashes through Caleb’s eyes and echoes back through me. I sent another guy to our place.

  “I’ll get him,” says Henry, trudging off alone. I should do it, but I have the feeling Henry needs a minute alone to tell him why this happened.

  “Sterling’s going to blow this for all of us,” says Caleb roughly.

  “It isn’t his fault,” I say.

  His eyes widen. “You’re defending him? Now?”

  “Why not? No one else will.”

  We’re standing close enough that I can feel the anger steaming off him. Everyone has gathered around us, hungry for the show, but I don’t care. Caleb’s anger becomes mine, and as my skin heats, I edge closer.

  “There’s a reason for that,” he says, shoving his glasses higher on his nose. “Maybe you forgot why he left you on the roadside last summer, but I haven’t.”

  “He didn’t leave me. I sent him away.”

  “Brynn,” hisses Charlotte, and it’s only then I realize what I’ve said. I told Caleb that Grayson threw me out of his car and ran. I told everyone that, Dr. O included.

  Now everyone knows that I tried to protect him.

  “You sent him away?” Caleb asks.

  I swallow. “It was an accident. You’ve made mistakes that hurt people, too.”

  Like Margot, when he told Dr. O that she was in love with her mark.

  Caleb looks at me like I’ve just switched to some foreign language, and something inside me breaks.
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br />   We were on the same side, and now we’re not.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Grayson needs to go. If you don’t get rid of him soon, I will.”

  With that, he turns and strides away, leaving me bruised and hollow, while the rest of the students stare and whisper.

  All but Geri, who squeezes my arm in understanding as she heads back to her room.

  CHAPTER 22

  Due to the security issues, we’re all on lockdown for the rest of the week. No one goes to their assignments or off campus for any reason, and after a couple days it starts to feel like one of those social experiments where guards place bets on which inmates will shank each other first.

  Everyone blames me for the cabin fever, whether they say it or not.

  But so far no one seems to have told Dr. O that I set Grayson free three months ago.

  The morning after the detectives left, Dr. O gathered us—Grayson not included—in the living room for a debriefing. He apologized for the inconvenience and assured us that everything would be all right. Moore signaled Ms. Maddox to initiate a code when he saw the police, which wiped our browsing histories and phone messages clean. All alternate IDs were collected and moved into his safe—Charlotte found mine in my desk drawer and turned them in. Moore would be retrieving our devices from the station the following day. He promised the detectives would not be back again to bother us.

  He also said Grayson wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and that everyone should support my efforts to complete my assignment. Which did not make me the most popular girl on the playground.

  And yet, I still haven’t told Dr. O what I know about Jimmy Balder.

  I’ve started to at least a dozen times this week, but whenever I head toward his office, I think about my mom taking that job for Wednesday Pharmaceuticals and selling the house to get a new apartment. I have to be absolutely certain not to screw this up.

  What will Dr. O do if I tell him that Susan and the senator approached Jimmy together the night of that fund-raiser? What did they say to him before he disappeared? If this information is what Dr. O needs to bring a case against Matthew Sterling, will Grayson have to testify? And if he does, will he be safe, or a necessary casualty in Dr. O’s mission for justice?