Page 87 of Lesson Learned

I pause for a second, tapping my phone against my chin. “We’ll be better off to meet someone private. How about your room?”

But she shifts uncomfortably, and I won’t force her. Besides, her next-door neighbour is Lianna, and she’s even more skilled at rooting out gossip than Floss is. Steering clear of her makes sense.

“Okay. Meet at mine, then. Tell Marnie to bring her spare key if she can.” That should block James from attending uninvited.

We part ways in the quad, me moving to the arts block where Marnie likes to hang around after hours sometimes, working discarded clay and broken glass tiles into sculptures.

If James is at practice like he said, we probably have a few hours spare before he’ll be monopolising her attention.

She’s not there and I check another half dozen locations, then my phone beeps. It’s Floss.

“Found her! We’re waiting in your room.”

I shove the phone into my back pocket and hurry along the corridor, knocking at the closed door to let them know I’ve arrived before fishing out my key.

There’s no answer, but I’d be cautious, too. A knock could belong to anyone.

I unlock the door, checking the corridor in both directions before I enter, closing it behind me. There’s no one in the room and I move to the sliding door to the bathroom, wondering if they were spooked enough to shelter there.

But when I slide it across, it’s not Marnie or Floss who grabs my wrist and holds it tight, the bones of my joint grinding against each other.

My heart jumps into my throat before breaking apart in a million pieces and falling to the floor.

It’s James.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

CONNER

On Tuesday night,I head straight home, thinking about reaching out to Paisley to see if she’s in the mood for some sexting or just to touch base. The closer we get, the more thoughts of her spill into the rest of my day, consuming any spare seconds until I’m full.

My phone buzzes while I’m staring blankly into the fridge, wondering if I should just drink dinner instead, and I glance at the screen, smiling as I answer it, recognising the number. “Hey, there.”

Instead of an answer, there’s a crying jag. She’s forming words but they’re not legible through her heavy sobbing.

“Paisley? Take a deep breath.”

The call abruptly cuts off. I immediately dial back but it goes to voicemail.

Fuck.

I’m already running for the garage, beeping my driver before trying her number again. Voicemail.

My driver pings back. He’s five minutes away.

I dial her number again, hanging up the moment I hear the robotic voice, and trying again, again, again.

My anxiety creeps up a notch for every time I get the same response. She could be hurt, could be under attack, and I’m stuck here in this gilded cage, taking far too long to get where I need to be.

Instead of waiting, I jog along the driveway, letting myself out the gate, then sprinting for the school. It’s close, running the distance will take less time than waiting for my chauffeur or working out which set of keys operates which vehicle, but as my lungs burn and my feet slap the pavement, the journey elongates to half a lifetime before I can swipe myself through the gate.

Once inside the grounds, I try Paisley one last time, no reply. I want to lunge through the entrance doors and run to her room, but I can’t risk it. My heart thunders like she’s in imminent danger, but I don’t know that for sure.

I can’t toss away Creighton’s assignment without being sure.

Instead, I pull up the phone tracker and curse when it can’t find the signal. Her phone is turned off or dead.

Muscles twitching with anxiety, I switch to the internal camera feed from the student housing lobby. The corridor is never clear, and I see a few students hovering in the halls. Not ideal but soon it’ll be far more crowded. Students are about to pour into the cafeteria for dinner, leaving me no chance to enter unseen.

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