Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,155

had been a highlight of my school years, but now it’s just another reminder that my life is standing still.

“Pep rally starts in ten,” Coach James says, popping his head into my office on Friday. He holds up a folder. “Could you drop these by the headmaster’s office? I’m on crowd control.”

I grunt my agreement and stand, taking the folder. The last thing I want to do is sit in a smelly gym with eight hundred students cheering about how our football team is going to kick Thistle Cove’s ass tonight. Thistle Cove has won state three years in a row, and with Emory and Reynolds gone, the team’s gone to shit. Even with their old head coach in jail, they’re going to wipe the floor with us.

“Just take this to his office?” I ask.

“Yeah, leave it in the box if he’s already gone.”

“Gotcha.”

Like a fish swimming upstream, I cut through the students headed to the gym while I go the opposite way, toward the main building. The kids are decked out in Devil pride; the cheerleaders in their short skirts and the dance teams sparkly uniforms. Briefly, I think of Sydney Prescott and how stupid it was to chase after her. It’d be easy to blame that on her being a hot cheerleader, but mostly I just saw something my brother had conquered and I wanted to take it away, prove that he wasn’t special. Even after it was clear he didn’t want her, it was still obvious she wanted him. The whole thing was sloppy and obvious. Thank fucking god he’s gone now, nice and comfy in Hartford, too far away to feel anything but a garden variety contempt for.

When I reach the admin offices, the lobby is empty, and I call out, “Hello?”

I spy a note on the secretary’s desk.

At the Pep Rally. Be Back at 3:00. Go Devils!

I roll my eyes. Jesus, this place never changes. It’s fucking surreal. Banners all over school announce the football game tonight and fireworks after the dance tomorrow. I’m wondering if anyone will notice if I skip the pep rally when another idea pops in my head.

Collins should be at the rally too, which means no one will be in here for at least an hour. Once again, I call out, making sure none of the other admins are around, but the place is a ghost town. Although I already gave Gene the encrypted file, if I can get substantial dirt on Georgia’s family, maybe I can finally get it back and ease some of this weight on my conscience.

There’s a whisper in the back of my mind—a reminder that it’ll never be enough. That there’s a chance it’ll always be one more gamble, one slightly riskier bet, a higher price and a better win.

I try to tune it out.

No way he left the door open, I think. Way too easy.

If I’ve learned anything lately, it’s that shit doesn’t come easy to Heston Wilcox, but I’m a glutton for punishment and try the door, anyway. To my surprise, the knob turns, opening without resistance.

Well, maybe it’s my lucky day after all.

I enter quickly and go straight to where I suspect he hides his key. I noticed the tassel on the end of his key ring when I was in here last time. It was distinctive enough, black and red and silver. So I search his rows of shelved books. I pull a few out to check for the tassel, but I don’t find anything—not on the shelves.

There’s an antique student roster fanned out in a display case near the window. The tassel is hanging from the bottom, nestled between the pages.

“Bingo,” I mutter, fishing it out.

I slide it into the lock and spring it, pulling it open to ‘H’ and quickly find Georgia’s file. Sitting in Collins’ chair, I drop the file on the desk. It lands with a slight thud. It’s not massive, but there’s some weight to it. There’s dirt in there, I have no doubt. The kind of dirt a potential politician might not want out in the open. I reach to flip open the cover, but find myself pausing.

“It won’t be enough, will it? It’ll never be enough. Not until you’ve gone through it all.”

Goddam Warren, getting in my goddamn head.

But as I stare at the folder, the edge slightly bent, it’s not really Warren I’m thinking about. It’s Georgia.

I’m thinking of her, so perfect in that dress, looking miserable and sad.

How she felt in my