Page 18 of They're Watching You

“That back there wasn’tlife-threatening, Maren. Nobody forced Kara to drink anything. But the games are highly competitive. And taxing. They can wear on a person.”

“Why not just drop out of the society, then? Why leave the academy?”

“It can be”—he pauses—“complicated. Especially if she already called in her favor. Which I’m pretty sure she did.”

“What do you mean?”

At the fitness center, Gavin glides along the side of the building, avoiding the lamplight, and I copy him.

“I don’t know, Maren. But she was a scholarship student, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And the last few months, she wasn’t dressing like one, was she?”

“Oh.” Maybe I was wrong to assume all those expensive things in Polly’s closet were gifts from Annabelle. “So you’re saying the society gave her money?”

“It’s a thought. Maybe she felt an obligation to give the money back if she stayed at Torrey-Wells.”

A fear spikes in my head, high and sharp. He could be right. This whole past year, Polly abandoned me for someone better—somethingbetter. And wealthier. Did she simply take it a step further that night? If she was planning to escape with the society’s money, it would explain the jitters I saw out on the lawn.

“She’s not a thief,” I finally spit, batting the idea away. There has to be more going on here.

Gavin opens his mouth to argue, but a whistle drifts on the breeze, and we duck behind the health center. The first rays of sunlight glimmer in the distance. The path to my building is clear, but it won’t stay that way for long.

“I have more questions,” I say. “You’re going to tell me everything about Polly. Tomorrow night, when you walk me to the meeting. I’ll see you outside my dorm at a quarter ’til.”

Gavin grins. “Like a date.”

“Shut up,” I growl, eyeing his stupid cloak again. “And for once in your life, wear something halfway normal, please.”

Seven

After my Saturday morning elective, the only thing I want in life is a nap. But we’ve got a preseason lacrosse scrimmage against Meadow Green Prep.

My head is completely out of the game from the get-go, and it shows. By the end of the first half, I’ve missed a dozen shots, and Meadow Green is up by two goals.

Frustrated, I slump down on the bench and jab at the grass with the shaft of my lacrosse stick, avoiding my teammates’ stares. Coach is so baffled by my performance, she barely even yells at me during the halftime talk. I’ve never been this unfocused on the field before. I’ve allowed everything going on with the society to interfere with my game, and now the whole team is paying for it.

“What’s up with you today?” asks Valeria as the others wander back onto the field.

“Sorry, I was up late studying.” I adjust my goggles. “I’ll pick it up.”

“You’d better.” She takes one last gulp of water and picks up her stick. “We’re counting on you.”

As we get into position for the second half, I replay Valeria’s short-winded pep talk in my head. I let it consume my thoughts, pushing out my tiredness, the distractions.Get in the game, Montgomery.

The whistle blows for the opening draw, and I sprint toward the loose ball, snatching it up for my team. Ball in pocket, I sprint down the field, weaving in and out of the opposition, my teammates’ voices cheering me on. My heart pumps and my vision tunnels, everything blurring by in my periphery, only the goal in focus. Dodging another defender, I spot my opening. I release the ball, which sails past the goalie into the back of the net.

The crowd erupts, and my teammates rush to congratulate me. “There she is,” Valeria says, slapping me on the back. “Now, do it again.”

I do. Six more times, to be exact, landing us a 15–13 lead.

Still riding the high of the win, I return to my room. I start gathering my shower caddy and towel when my phone rings.

Plopping down onto a beanbag chair, I answer it. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, sweetie. How are you?” He sounds as tired as I feel, and I realize it’s Saturday. Our weekly call is on Sundays.

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