Page 28 of Web of Lies
Tristan:
Gray hair at 18…… a fucking aneurysm too…… So which day should I pace my dorm worrying about your ass?
Me:
Friday night.
Tristan and I strategize some more throughout the night while playing a few rounds of Angel Warrior texting through our app. We’ve discussed headsets a few times, making gameplay easier, considering we are on a team but dismissed it quickly. Getting close to Tristan is nice, but anonymity works for us right now.
We’re both teenagers. He has his reasons, and I have mine. With my father’s fame, it makes it difficult. In the blink of an eye Tristan could know everything about me, my family, and anything else he would want, thanks to Google. It’s something I’m very uncomfortable with, so we stay like this—anonymous in every way. The only good thing for Tristan come Friday is he’ll be on his own football field, taking his worry and aggression out on unsuspecting guys. It tilts the scales in my favor. He’d text me nonstop if he didn’t have a distraction.
Throughout the week, Chase takes this whole‘wooing’to a whole new level. Tuesday was red roses in a vase in my locker with a brief note letting me know Chase tried. And it warmed my heart seeing them in full bloom beside my books, with a handwritten note hanging from the stems written in his beautiful cursive.
Your first day of wooing. Still up for football? ;) —CB
Later in class, I told him, of course, I’d be there for his game and thanked him for the flowers. His grin infected the whole classroom, lighting up with his puppy-dog enthusiasm. And then, he only had eyes for me.
Wednesday, I found a small, old white iPhone with new headphones in my locker.
“Enjoy what I enjoy,” he said with that panty-melting smile. “Besides, I’m desperate for you to listen to the Hartbrakers, New Girl. You’ll love them! And don’t tell Zoe, but—God—her drumming and singing is sooooooo killer!!” I, of course, didn’t tell Zoe a thing. The way he spoke about her music melted my heart. His eyes lit up like fireworks were in the damn sky. To see him so passionate about her music fills my head with very dangerous thoughts.
In between classes, I blocked out the yells and the screams of the other kids, listening to Zoe’s raspy voice. Her singing hit me right in the heart. I felt what she felt. Heart-pounding heartbreak. Sadness. Anxiety. Happiness. Joyful celebrations. Every ingredient mixed in her music blended like a delicious cake, mixed to perfection.
Thursday, a ticket for his football game sat in my locker, reserving a comfy VIP seat just for me.
“You’ll have the best seat in the house! You’ll be able to see everything. I can’t wait to show off my incredible moves to you. Hot damn, you’re going to enjoy the game so much!” He squealed like a girl through the entire day, vibrating with joy.
He was even sneaking an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to his body. After every class, he waited for me by the door, took my books, and held my hand. Sneaking me looks of pure joy, he walked me from class to class. I couldn’t help but lean into his warmth, soaking up the happiness radiating off him. Chase is like sunshine bottled into a giant, muscular football player. It’s contagious.
I voluntarily sat with him and the others through lunch, enjoying their conversations. Seger seemed to have healed over the last few days since his spat with Carter. I still don’t know what happened there, but whatever it was, he’s not talking about it.
Zepp, being Zepp, barely said a word to anyone. He just stared at us all, taking in everything, and stored it inside his brain. Being around them so casually like this, and seeing them in their natural habitat, made me rethink the whole “they’re murderers” thing. Sure, Seger and Carter threw some punches like street fighters, but Seger walked away. They were still on my radar, but maybe I have to consider other possibilities.
Ainsley didn’t sit with us that day. She hid with her girlfriends at another table, barely making conversation with them. Her fork pushed most of her lunch around as if her mind had wandered to a distant land. Which it wasn’t. Ainsley seemed too spacey and too timid to be a murderer, but she was still on my shit list. Not just for the bullying she pulled on Mags, but for breaking into my fucking room. Twice. With a camera. Looks can be deceiving, and I have to remember that.
After a week of being on Chase’s radar, I relaxed around him. It’s easy to do. His lively personality makes it so easy to feel wanted and comfortable. He’s easygoing, jokes a ton, and never fails to lift my spirits. Chase is so good. He almost distracts me away from tasks I had come here for. He wouldn’t, of course, this would be to my advantage, but still. A girl could get used to this kind of attention. I’ve never had a guy chase me before. And maybe…. I like it. Just a little? Ok—I like it a lot.
By Friday, a red and white football jersey, with Benoit scrawled across the back of it, makes its way into my locker. I smile at the surprise, feeling the odd warm butterflies floating in my tummy. I never expected to feel like this, but I like Chase. A lot.
An arm wraps around my shoulder, my eyes admiring the football jersey in my hands. Chase’s body heat penetrates through my school uniform, pulling me further into him.
“You’ll wear it?” I peer into his hopeful gray eyes.
There’s a lightness in them, begging me to give in. A genuine grin reaches his hopeful eyes. His hands pull together, praying, looking as if he’d fall to his knees if I said no. But how could I say no? To that face? No way.
I smile, reaching up to peck his cheek without thinking. “I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity.” I breathe against his cheek.
“YESSSSSSSSSS!!!” He shouts, jumping in the air and knocking his heels together.
Everyone’s eyes in the hallway snap in our direction, heating my cheeks. Looking back at Chase, we can’t help the laughs escaping us. His happiness is contagious, burrowing into the depths of my sadness and dragging it away.
I walk to class with his jersey in my hands, excitement thrumming through my veins. With his arm around my shoulder, we make our way into calculus. Carter eyes us from the back of the room with his eyebrows raised into his blonde locks. Confusion warps his features, watching my every move. Eventually, class starts, and the teacher drags his attention away from me. The day goes by quickly enough. The anticipation of what I have to do later weighs on me like a heavy boulder resting in the pit of my stomach, threatening to send the delicious food I ate back up.
I pull on a black hoodie with dark jeans and sit in front of my computers. If I can pull this off, I need to cover all my bases. Who is to say Ainsley doesn’t have the same skills I do? The last thing I need is to bring this whole undercover Sherlock Holmes gig down by one mistake. So, while everyone is in the football stadium celebrating the first game of the season against their biggest rivals, I’ll disable all the cameras. No one will see me coming, and no one will see me going. I’ll get in, look around, and be out before the first quarter of the game. I pull up the student directory and investigate Ainsley’s private files. Room 301, Kirkland Building, not too far away.
Through the cameras, doors open throughout Ainsley’s apartment building and close, including hers. She shrugs on a small sweater over her school spirit wear—even though it’s hot as balls—and makes her way out of the building with everyone else.
By the time I make it to her building, silence fills the corridor, making my job ten times easier. I walk along the forgotten stairway, making my way up to the third floor. I peek my head out of the stairwell door, looking around for any signs of life.
