Page 137 of Wicked Games

I pick up my paintbrush again, dipping it into the sky-blue acrylic paint. We’re working on cloud formations, using the actual clouds out the window as inspiration. It gives me an excuse to face away from Caleb.

“You’re going to regret it,” he says.

My shoulders lift a fraction.

The truth is, I don’t really care if I regret it. My dad knows things—I’m positive he does. I’m not getting answers from anyone else. Tobias Hutchins’ phone has been disconnected, all signs of his online presence wiped.

Caleb says my mom is in town, but I haven’t been able to find her either.

He won’t give me answers.

Which leavesmy father.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, gazing at one particularly fluffy cloud and trying to figure out where to use darker colors.

“How’s your portrait coming along?” Caleb asks. “Seeing as how it’s due soon.”

I eye him. “Almost done. You?”

“Finished.” He smirks. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”

My cheeks heat. I don’t know how Caleb sees me, and up until right now, I was eager to find out. I think I can hold off a bit longer, though.

I hum noncommittally, and he laughs under his breath.

The rest of the class flies by, and soon enough the bell rings to dismiss us for the day. I wave goodbye to Robert, who tells me to be home by noon tomorrow. In the hallway, Caleb takes my hand. Our fingers lace together.

The energy in the halls is palpable, kids rushing by in ERE colors. The football players are grinning, bouncing on their heels. They move in a pack toward the locker rooms.

And yet, no one knocks into us. They skirt around Caleb and me like we’re protected by a forcefield.

The advantage of being Caleb Asher, I imagine.

Riley and Eli meet us at my locker.

“Are we all riding together?” Riley asks.

Eli bounds beside her. Caleb’s energy is more contained, held like a jar full of bees in his chest. I feel the same way. My limbs won’t cooperate, and we’re on the edge of a cliff.

It isn’t just the game either, or the night ahead of us. It’stomorrow. I’ll be seeing my father for the first time in seven years. And if I let myself think about it, I’ll work myself into a panic.

Like what do I say? What do I wear?

“Focus,” Eli says to me, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

I jerk back and scowl.

“Yes,” Caleb answers Riley. “We’ll drop my car off at Ian’s house and ride together. Then we’ll be able to leave from the party whenever we want.”

I nod at his rationale.

“Great,” Eli hoots.

I slam my locker, books unloaded, and we join the throng of students exiting school. The pep squad—girls who weren’t able to get on the cheerleading team, apparently—has decorated the front of the building with signs and balloons.

We’re going to state!

Go get ’em, ERE!

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