that faint kiss he brushed against them at the after-party. The urge to throw myself into his arms ripples through me. I grip Noah a bit tighter.
“Like you care,” Noah snaps back.
“Of course I care,” the Southern notes twang in his voice. Eli swallows. “I’ve been running all over hell’s half-acre looking for you. It’s bad enough he’s drinking again, but the police are taking that video seriously—”
“Shove off.” Noah slams his hand into Eli’s chest, splaying his fingers. It’s an enormous hand, and it stops Eli in his tracks. He turns his big eyes to Noah, studying his former friend as if he intends to discern the answer from Noah’s concrete features. Tension ripples down Noah’s arm. He doesn’t shove Eli, but his monster lurks under the surface, and I can tell he’s close to snapping. “You don’t want to be part of this, remember? Go throw a ball around with your new stepfather.”
Eli’s face darkens. “Fuck you, Marlowe.”
He spins on his heel and stalks off, narrowly missing crashing into George as she bounces out of the girl’s locker room. “You were talking to Eli?” She sounds hopeful. “Did he say anything about…”
“The kiss?” I shake my head. In between the seventeen discussions we had about how lovely Isaac’s hair is, I told her what happened at the party. “Nope. It must’ve been a drunken mistake.”
“Eli Hart doesn’t make drunken mistakes,” George declares as she slips her arm into mine. “I meant to tell you, because I won’t see you at lunch—”
“Another art project?” George is applying for a creative arts program that’s hella competitive, and she’s only got a few months left to finish her application, so she’s working on it every hour of the day.
“Yeah. I’m going to need to tape paintbrushes to my hands if I’ve any hope of getting my portfolio done on time. Which was what I wanted to tell you – I’m not going to be at school tomorrow. I’m doing a workshop on audio-visual installations and optically altering time and space at the Brawley Guerilla Art Institute.”
“Sounds weird.”
“The weirdest.” George beams. “I can’t wait. But you’ll be okay, right? I heard about Gabriel. Is he going to—”
“He’ll be fine,” I say with more certainty than I feel. “The Emerald Beach police department is no match for the fury of Mackenzie Malloy.”
Antony works us so hard during gym that by the time I collapse on the mats for warm-down, I can no longer lift my arms. I’m not the only one groaning in agony, but I am the only one who knows I’m to blame for our punishment. Still, seeing Eli’s ass bounce around in those tiny shorts is worth any pain Antony dishes out.
Noah stays behind to talk to some of his track teammates, and George races through her shower to get to the art lab. I take my time under the warm water, using all the fancy products I raided from Ainsley Malloy’s bathroom cabinets and listening to Cleo and her snakes gossiping about Gabriel. She’s so busy holding court that she doesn’t notice me drop laxative powder into her gross green shake. Antony said no more pranks, but he’s not the queen of this school – I am.
Job done, I head through the Humanities block toward the cafeteria. The halls are deserted – the Humanities block is the oldest wing of the school. As Ms. Drysdale pointed out, “This patriarchal establishment wasn’t built with a heating system because they believed frostbite would turn boys into men.” Now, the school admits both sexes, and we all get to enjoy freezing our tits off. I hug my bare arms and hurry along the corridor when I hear a sob coming from Ms. Drysdale’s office.
I stop in my tracks, listening hard. I hear a male voice say something, and she interrupts. “You shouldn’t be here. What if they ask questions? What if someone recognizes you?”
I flatten my body against the hall. The male voice laughs – it’s a friendly laugh, full of bonhomie. I can tell from the pinch in her voice that Ms. Drysdale doesn’t consider this guy her friend.
“You don’t need to be so tense, Penelope,” the male voice says, smooth as silk. “I’m here on a personal errand. My future stepson attends this school, and I wanted to make sure your Principal Foster was taking good care of the boy. I’m looking out for his future; that’s the kind of guy I am.”
“Yes,” she says, her voice flat.
“Imagine my surprise