my elbow. My whole arm sang from the impact, my fingers going numb.
“Watch it!” I scrambled up, cradling my arm, and whirled to see who’d pushed me.
Bree Carlson. Of course. Silky hair and wide eyes and a honeyed voice hiding a poison tongue. Confident she was Broadway-bound and talented enough to make it happen. Simon’s ex.
One of many exes, to be honest, but the only one who’d tried to win him back. She took a step forward, deliberately crowding me.
“What is your problem?” I snapped.
“You are,” she said, her voice higher-pitched than usual. “Where’s Simon?”
“He moved.”
“He didn’t move,” she snarled. “It’s been more than a week, and nobody’s heard a word from him. He won’t answer any texts. He left his dog. He left his car. He left in the middle of the season without a word to his coach or his team. He would never do that. I know him.”
“Simon knows a lot of girls.” I shook my head with mock pity. “All of them just as well as he knows you.”
But they didn’t know him. Not the way I had.
“The two of you disappear, and now you’re waltzing around like nothing’s changed. Nobody would have missed you,” she added, lip curling. “But his whole life is here. Why are you back instead of him? What did you do?”
I left him. She was right—everything Simon loved was here, and he’d given it up, and I’d let him. The guilt dragged at me more every day. I slung my bag over my shoulder and reached for the doorknob, the ever-present ache in my chest climbing into my throat.
She shoved me again, but this time I was braced for it. I swung my backpack at her shoulder, feeling it connect with a thump.
Bree shrieked and clawed, snagging a fistful of hair. Her nail raked my cheek and I swore. It felt good to fight, to finally give action to my anger. I rammed an elbow into her stomach. Hit her with my bag again. Shoved until her spine hit the cement-block wall, and shoved again for good measure.
Walkers rarely need to fight, but younger sisters do, and Bree had nothing on Addie. She blinked back tears and panted, but went still.
“Get this straight. I didn’t do anything to Simon.” I stepped away. “And if you touch me again, you’ll need another nose job.”
She shook back her hair, voice wavering. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Admitting it hurt worse than the scratches she’d left.
“Del! Bree!” Ms. Powell, the music teacher, strode toward us. Her normally cheerful face was creased with concern. “What’s going on here?”
“She attacked me!” Bree said. “I was just standing here and she went crazy. She’s unstable.” She raised a trembling hand, letting a few tears fall before wiping them away. Despite having a good five inches on me, she managed to make herself look small and vulnerable.
Bree played all sorts of roles in school productions. The helpless victim was another act, and any other teacher would have bought it.
Lucky for me, Ms. Powell wasn’t like the other teachers. She was a Free Walker—a rebel working to undermine the Consort, our leaders. Yesterday she’d told me Simon was alive, and my Walk had proved it. Now I needed answers, and she had them.
Her expression gave nothing away. She inserted herself between us. “Do you have any witnesses?”
Bree shook her head. “But—”
Ms. Powell cut her off. “The minimum suspension for fighting is five days, I believe. For both parties.” She paused to let that sink in. “Aren’t auditions for the spring musical this week?”
Bree’s nostrils flared. She leaned around Ms. Powell, saying, “Everyone knows it’s your fault, you violent little freak.”
“That’s enough,” Ms. Powell said. “Bree, I’ll see you in class. Use the rest of the lunch period to cool off.”
Bree turned on her heel and stomped away.
Ms. Powell unlocked her door, waving me in. “After you.”
Once I was inside, face-to-face with the only person who had answers, my questions wouldn’t come. I sat at the battered upright piano, resting my fingers on the cool ivory keys, not playing a note.
Ms. Powell’s classroom was lined with shelves of instruments and cabinets full of sheet music. The piano was tucked into the far corner, angled so she could keep an eye on the class; a door in the opposite corner led to her office. Untidy rows of desks filled the center of the room, a lectern was at the front, and she leaned against it, watching me expectantly.