Page 17 of Friend
Chapter Four
Practice
Somehow, the entire nightandthe next day was drama free. But before I could get too comfortable—to finally breathe in relief—as our last period ended, Bianca turned in her seat with a smile that caused my stomach to sink.
She, unfortunately, had not forgotten about herplan.
A sense of foreboding fell over me, deepening at the excited gleam in her eyes. I didn’t even know what the plan was, but I was certain it was horrible.
“Finn, it’s time!” As the classroom emptied, she set her backpack on my desk. She was practically bouncing in her seat, and obviously had been waiting for this all day. “I even brought supplies.”
Oh no.
I gazed down at the olive-green bag, and my hope for a quiet afternoon was lost. “What do you mean?” I asked, though I knew. “What are we doing again?”
Bianca groaned and rolled her eyes before reaching into the backpack. She pulled out one of her infamous spiral-bound notebooks; in this particular one, she recorded random facts that made no sense.
“One second,” she said, flipping open the book and leafing through to a page. There were names and dates, along with bullet points, that apparently displayed some sort of pattern. As she bit her tongue throughout her search and wrinkled her forehead in concentration, I was reminded of Anthony.
The necromancer, who was my fellow quintet member, also loved to fill his notebooks with strange things. The two of them would probably get along.
In comparison, at least Damen’s art made some sense.
“Lemme show you.” She turned the paper to face me, and then pointed at the center of the page. “I’ve written down every time they’ve been awful this year. I’ve noticed there’s a pattern—”
“Hold on,” I interrupted, noting that this page was near the end of the book. “They haven’t beenthatbad.”
They were awful, but certainly not an entire college-ruled book worth, at least. Especially since her penmanship was tiny.
Bianca glanced up at me. She bit her lower lip as her shoulders tensed. “I write downeverything,” she began slowly, cautious, as a familiar wariness moved over her expression.
My heart sank. I leaned forward, covering my eyes with my hand.
I recognized that look.
“Bianca…” I forced myself to remain calm. I didn’t even understandhowthis could happen. I’d been keeping an eye on her almost every moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
There was a low shuffling in front of me, and I looked down, hand still on my forehead, to see that she was pulling the notebook back to her. “My point is,” she was saying, “except for yesterday, Cory hasn’t been physically aggressive since middle school.”
“And someone else has?” I asked.
She didn’t answer me—at least, not that question. “But within the last week he’s been getting weirder. I think his eyes even glowed once.”
I lifted my hand, glancing at her, as my heart began to race.
Freaking werewolf hormones.
“Who’s been hurting you?” I pressed my hand over the notebook, not allowing her to move it further. I refused to let her change the subject. She looked away, yet even without her response, I suspected.
Drew was timid and, usually, not stupid, and she said this recent behavior was unusual forCory, which left Adrian.
“I’m not hurt,” she said, and there was a frazzled edge to her voice. A warning began to ring in the back of my mind—a stirring of intuition I couldn’t ignore.
Adrian and I were going to have a little chat. “What did he do?”
“L-let’s get back on t-topic.” She grabbed the notebook with both hands and pulled it away. I let her. My heart began to sink at the resurfacing of her stutter.
She only did that when she was really upset—or when she was hiding something.
