the phone app, scroll through my contacts, but there’s no Cataldo. I’m sure she gave me her number! Fuck, was it on a card? I’ll have to go up to my room and get it. I’m almost to Bay. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. I keep scrolling my contacts. There’s Ethan’s name, floating under the Ds. I tap and hold, open our text chain, start swiping.
Tipton is B—
A force like a sack of bricks barrels into my back, sending my phone flying to the grass. I pitch forward onto the cold, wet ground. My fingers scramble for the screen, and I tap haphazardly over and over and over until an arm wraps around my front, pinning my arms to my chest. I’m hauled upright, and a hand slithers over my mouth. My screams die into the cold, clammy skin. I try to kick, to force my elbows back into Tipton’s chest, but he’s stronger than I am. The flame in my chest, a stupid bravado I’ve always clung to, flickers and dies inside me. I thought because I was tall and bigger than all the other girls, because I row crew and keep myself in shape, that I could protect myself. But Tipton drags me back, back, back, behind the towering shadow of Bay Hall so quickly, so easily.
He hisses in my ear, “You blackmailing bitch.” Perhaps I overestimated his strength, because he stops dragging and instead starts to pull, so I am forced to trip along after him. He’s left my mouth free, and I let out a plaintive cry for help, but we’re too far behind the building. The singing is too loud.
Tipton leads me behind Bay and then surprises me, stopping short and hauling me against the brick wall.
“Give me the phone.”
“What?” I sputter.
“Don’t play dumb.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He knows I’m lying. I know I’m lying. But I have to buy myself time. Have to pray that somehow my text went through to Ethan. That someone is looking for me. Tipton squares off in front of me, flexes his jaw and fingers.
“I don’t want to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I squint my eyes shut, because screw facing death bravely. I don’t want to see this. I do scream, though, a raw shriek ripping from my throat as his assault lands….But there is no pain. Only the flush of discomfort as his hands go everywhere. The space between my breasts and hips, up and down my legs. He’s frisk-searching me. I open my eyes. He really just wants the phone?
But that’s your only evidence, a voice niggles. Not dying, however, is higher on my priority list than proving their affair.
“Aha!” Finally he reaches my jacket pocket and retrieves Emma’s phone. “Why’d you have to make that so hard? I’m not a creep. I don’t want to touch you.”
“Not a creep?” I bite back. “You raped Emma.”
He recoils as if I’ve thrown boiling water in his face. “I am not a rapist. You’ve got the age of consent wrong. It’s sixteen in Massachusetts.”
“Men who memorize age-of-consent laws are big fucking creeps,” I hiss. “You’re our counselor. You’re supposed to be the adult. Is that why you killed her? Because she was going to get you caught? Fired and arrested?”
“I loved Emma.”
Tipton lunges for my throat, closing his fingers around my windpipe and squeezing. He comes at me so fast that my head slams back against the brick wall, bright stars bursting across my vision as he chokes my breath away. My hands scrabble against his chest; I try to push him away, but he’s leaned all his weight against me, pinned my arms.
“TIPTON, FREEZE!”
Cataldo’s bellow cuts through the oxygen-deprived fog in my head. I hear the click of a safety being disengaged. Tipton releases pressure, and I gulp thick lungfuls of air before doubling over with a cough that scrapes my raw throat like a rake.
“Against the wall, with your hands raised and behind your head!” she orders Tipton, who complies, though not before dropping Emma’s phone to the ground.
“The phone,” I manage to croak as Cataldo approaches.
“What?”
She doesn’t get it. Panic in Tipton’s eyes crystallizes with intent, his foot coming up as he moves into position. Tipton stomps down hard, and a strangled, animal sound tears from my throat as I charge him, knock him on his ass.
“Stand down, Olivia!” Cataldo screams, retraining her gun onto me.
“The phone!” I repeat, pointing to the ground. Emma’s