Please Don't Tell - Laura Tims Page 0,34
bathroom, get a drink, sprint to the other side of school to sit down before the bell rings again—and there’s no spare second to find Levi’s spiky-haired head. But Pres’s orange curls bob up. I weave toward him, grab his shoulder.
“It’s not Cassius,” I whisper quickly. “Nov vouched for him.”
“I—”
“I’m not scared of him. I don’t feel it.”
“Let’s—”
“If we keep focusing on him, we’ll never figure out who it is for real—”
“Okay!” he bellows. Two freshman girls snort. He drops his voice again. “Okay. We can think of others. I made a list of everyone I saw at the party. We’ll start there.”
“I think the blackmailer might’ve sent Roseby to my house,” I say quietly. “He showed up there yesterday, and then there was this new note—”
“I thought you said you put up the baby monitor!”
“I put it up right after.”
“Oh, God.” He nearly walks into a locker. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
Before I can think of an excuse, noise interrupts us. There’s a crowd by the plastic art display case. Something crashes and someone yells, “Get off!” I shoulder to the front, Pres behind me, just in time to see a flushed, heaving Ben bang his fist off Levi’s mouth. His lip bursts in a crimson spray.
“Don’t,” Pres hisses, but I leap forward anyway and wrench Ben off.
“None of you give a shit that Adam’s murderer goes to our school!” Ben jerks away and opens the art display case, tearing out Cassius’s paintings, one after another. He rounds on Levi.
“You—you’re supposed to be his half brother. You’re pissed at me for not wanting his murderer’s art on the walls? What the hell?”
Levi stops gathering the paintings.
“Break it up!” It’s our regular security guard, with Officer Roseby. Sometimes Roseby hangs out by the water fountain when there’s been a drug scare or a threat, side-eyeing people who take too long in the bathroom. Most everyone scatters, including Pres. Ben scowls, wincing when it hurts his swollen eye. Levi must have gotten in at least one punch before I showed up.
“You two couldn’t think of a better way to behave, with all that’s going on?” growls Roseby.
“That pathetic loser started it,” Ben growls back.
“A pathetic loser who can kick your ass,” Levi points out politely, cupping his hand under his chin to catch the blood.
“Look in a mirror, asshole.”
“Joy,” Roseby grunts. I tense, but he’s barely looking at me. He gestures at Levi. “Take this boy to the nurse’s office. And you, Stockholm, you look shipshape enough to get to class. In light of the recent tragedy, I’m going to let this slide.”
More like in light of the fact that we don’t have a principal anymore. And our vice principal has no clue what to do. The security guard nods helplessly. Ben glares, but flees. Levi still doesn’t look at me.
Someone stumbles into me. It’s Cassius. He stares at the torn paintings, despair fogging his face, before kneeling and gently gathering the undamaged ones. He clutches them to his chest.
No, he didn’t murder anybody.
“And how are you involved here, Mr. Somerset?” Roseby’s voice gets sharper.
“He wasn’t,” says Levi. “Someone was vandalizing his work.”
Roseby ignores him. “Seems like you’re at the center of everything that goes wrong at this school lately.”
It’s like Cassius thinks that if he stays hunched, predators won’t see him. When was the last time I heard him speak?
“Because it makes total sense that he’d throw his own paintings on the floor,” Levi says, frowning.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” Nov’s finally found us. Her voice is glacial as she steps between her father and Cassius.
“Stay out of this, Annabella.”
I always forget November’s not her real name.
“Sorry, Jacob, I don’t really want to,” she says. “A police officer’s job is to protect people, yeah? That’s who needs it, right in front of you. He’s being harassed. Yet you still see him as the criminal. I wonder why that is?”
“You’re making a scene.”
“Sometimes scenes need to get made.”
“Go get in the car, young lady,” he grits out, pointing down the hallway toward the doors. “You’re coming home early.”
“You can’t talk to me like some little kid who doesn’t know anything.” She snaps a new rubber band on her wrist, her hand shaking. “I know lots of things.” She pauses, then mumbles, “Like the real reason we moved here from the city.”
Officer Roseby’s face gets ugly. “We will have this discussion at home.” He grabs her arm, hauls her away. She rolls her eyes over her shoulder at me, but