Page 77 of Hateful Lies

Chapter 38

Astrid

It doesn’t take long to find Justin once I enter the Fine Arts building. I barely know my way around Vogel Hall, but it isn’t hard to find the painting studios. The closer I get, the stronger the smell of paint and oils becomes. I trail my hand along the wall, feeling daubs of uneven paint left behind that didn’t make it onto a canvas.

The individual student studios aren’t pristine like the rest of the campus. Art students are scavengers of old stuff that they somehow convert into unique, coveted, and cool. I walk by several tiny rooms made of plywood-hammered brackets on the floor, creating makeshift stalls within a larger room. I find Justin in the last studio in the corner. His space has the most natural light, with two walls of tall windows. His space is empty except for a few canvases facing the wall.

“Hey, are you working?” I ask, slowly walking into the room.

Justin looks up, a little surprised to see me, but doesn’t look bothered by my intrusion.

“No, I’m about to stretch a canvas.” He looks at me. “You want to pose for a sketch?” My mouth flinches, and he notices with a sulk. “You only have to sit on that stool. I want to do a couple of quick sketches.”

I don’t trust Justin, but I need his help. I nod and sit on a stool by the window. The warmth from the sunlight feels good in the drafty studio. He grabs a sketch pad off a cluttered table and sits opposite me. I want to talk. We have to, but I’m not sure if I can move my mouth.

“Can I talk while you draw?” I ask.

“Not the best idea.” His hand moves across the paper, loosely gripping a piece of charcoal in his fingers. “But I’m sure you came here for another reason than to sit. So, talk.”

“I want you to help me get into the Investors Club as a full member.”

Justin scoffs. “You won’t give up on that. Astrid, you won’t get in. That’s why Bryce paid your fee. So you wouldn’t lose your money.”

I take a deep breath that sounds like exasperation. I box people in a concrete ring, but blackmail is new. “I found the spreadsheets on the laptop for the fight club.”

His hand stills, and then he starts drawing again. “Are you sure that’s what you found?”

“I’m certain of it,” I reply, “I went to the library and asked for help.”

Justin immediately stops drawing and stares at me as if I have one brain cell.

“And I also finished reading the student handbook,” I continue, “It’s very enlightening—especially the pages on gambling and how we’re not supposed to do it. I also looked into how to file a complaint. So if I’m not included in your club, I’ll have to send the spreadsheet to the school board. I believe in preserving Stonehaven’s exemplary standing.”

“You must want it bad,” he states matter-of-factly. “Honestly, Astrid. Bryce is the one who decides. The rest of us could make a recommendation, but the idea was Bryce’s, so he owns it.”

“I don’t get it.” I hop off the stool. “The Pit has been around longer than Bryce. How come he’s in charge? Just because he’s rich?”

“No, because he’s smart and has capital,” Justin explains, “Bryce discovered the Pit…”

I hold up my hand. “He discovered it?”

Justin frowns, then backtracks. “He introduced a more structured way to place bets than what had occurred in the past.”

I put my hand down. “When Grinder was a fighter, people got paid fairly for putting themselves on the line. Sure, things are more organized and less dangerous now, but Bryce has only made it better for the people who don’t fight.”

“And I suppose you want to represent the underdogs,” he smiles sarcastically as he folds his arms.

I shake my head. “I want my money first.”

Justin smiles, picking up his paper and pencil again. “An honest answer. I forgot what it was like to be around honest people.” When I open my mouth to talk, he places his fingers against his lips and resumes sketching. “I want to capture your expression.”

But I’m too anxious to wait. “I want in. But you can’t tell Bryce what I have, or he’ll crush me.”

“Correction,” he glances up, “He’ll crush us. It has to seem like my idea, but I’m not convinced I should help you.”

“Why not?” I snap in frustration. “Do you want the school board to find out?”

He scoffs. “No, I don’t, but you’re overlooking something. My chances of going to the college of my choice are nonexistent. My family expects me to pursue a political path just like my father. They can’t let that hard-earned power disappear.”

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