Page 23 of Alamort

“Oscar.” He says with narrowed eyes.

I know. I just don’t want him to think his name holds any importance.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what I said.” Brushing him off because guys who have big egos love that shit.

He leaves me at the dean’s door and I knock, feeling like I was just here yesterday.

“Enter,” says a bored voice from behind the heavy door. It looks like he was in the middle of sitting here. I’m sure I’ll be his excitement for the day.

“First day here and already causing problems, Miss Carter.” His expensive brown suit doesn’t mask the nastiness oozing from his pores. I do a dramatic 360-degree turn until I face him once again.

“I don’t see any fires?” I question. Since that was the one stipulation he wouldn’t tolerate.

“Ahh, no, but posting inappropriate pictures of yourself on the school website is frowned upon, don’t you think? Or what about skipping second period? We take attendance here very seriously.” Was I supposed to go to class like that? I would want everyone to see that? Is this guy joking right now? There used to be a show about this. Someone would jump out and say they’re getting “Punk’d”. I’m not a celebrity, but this has to be a joke.

Raising my eyebrows, I go to respond to tell him exactly what I think of arrogant pricks like himself. When he cuts me off.

“Saturday detention with me. I’ll see you then.” Then busies himself with some papers on his desk. The thing about men such as Headmaster Bush is that they never believe they are wrong.

By the time I get back to my room, I have homework in every class except gym. My hand aches from writing before transferring it onto the tablet provided from the school. I like to visualize it, see it then put down on electronics. Not only stare at a computer for hours on end.

Remembering the paper I put into the waistband of my skirt about Megan, I take a well-deserved break and do some research. Typing her name in the search engine only to have a window pop up as blocked, denying me access. Weird that a student who went missing here and now you can’t search her name in the search bar. That’s suspicious.

I pull out my phone that’s not associated with the school network and try again. A minimum of five articles pops up when searching for information about Megan. I eagerly select the first one that comes up. It’s the same flyer from the gas station and locker room.

Missing Persons: Megan Riley

Sex: Female

Race: Asian/Caucasian

Age Missing: 17

Missing From: Port Clyde, Maine

It goes on listing her physical characteristics, the standard on a missing person report. Backing out, I click on the article below.

“Teenager Reported Missing from Cox Academy,” reads the headline.

“PCPD are growing increasingly concerned for the welfare and whereabouts of a teenage girl last seen on the school campus of infamous Cox Academy heading to her dorm. Megan Riley, 17 originally from Los Angeles, CA was last seen wearing a white shirt and jeans. Port Clyde police are asking for anyone with information to come forward and her family has put out a reward for her safely return.Officers are currently investigating close family members and friends. No suspects at this time.”

My tongue runs along the outside of my teeth. Deciding to screenshot it to dig into it later. It’s weird that her family asked for a “safe return”. Did they know someone had her all along?

I back out of the website to see what else I can find. A recent headline from nine months ago, “Riley disappearance being ruled as homicide.” Whoa. I click it and my phone glitches. An error page has popped up in place of where thearticle should be. What the hell? At least I screenshotted one page, that way I can try to track down any theories. A knock sounds at my door, and I quickly shut my phone off, knowing River didn’t want me to dig into her disappearance.

All My Friends – THE WLDLFE

Ding. Ding. Ding.I jump up from my desk to find the source of the noise. I scatter blankets, pillows, clothes, and whatever the fuck else is lying around. Where the fuck is it?Ding.The phone continues to go off, signaling Priya is on it. I have it to set up to notify us of everything she does. It was easier than I thought to get my hands on her phone. The fight was the perfect distraction. Unplanned, but perfect. She didn’t notice a thing. Not to mention the guys were proud of my sticky fingers. Not that I would fuck it up, just that they didn’t think I had the balls to go through with it. The constant coddling to protect me from myself is getting to be too much for me. I’m treated differently and it makes me feel like I’m not a part of the team we created together. They think I’m fragile. Breakable.

Priya. I throw around her name a couple of times to see how it feels. She was unapproachable. Talking to her was like prying out teeth. How something that seems so innocent could be a devil in disguise? I’ll never know. Well... I chuckle out loud to myself. Looks can be deceiving. I realized she didn’t want to beat the party when she refused to participate in drinking, dancing, or mingling. Let alone talk to me.

After she finished drooling, she immediately stiffened and closed herself off with the resting bitch face she’s had since she walked through the school gates. I smirk at the thought she doesn’t find herself immune to us as she thinks she does. I find the duplicate phone underneath my bed, in a box. Leave it to Mal to think it’s a game. I roll my eyes at his antics. He’ll need to try harder and maybe shut off the sound next time. I click the lock button to unlock the screen and sit back and watch the software do its thing.

I watch raptly as she clicks onto a web browser. My heart drops in my stomach when her screen shows she’s searching for the girl who went missing a couple of years ago. Crew is going to want to know about this, or maybe I need the reassurance that everything is fine. My palms start to sweat and queasiness forms as a memory tries to niggle from the back of my mind. Shaking my head, I send a group text to the guys downstairs to come up here.

Within three minutes, we gather in my room. Bennett on my unmade bed, Crew taking residence in the chair he’s claimed as his own in the corner closest to the door.

“We have a problem.” I state calmly when I’m anything but. I show them the phone with the articles she’s currently scrolling through.

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