Page 8 of They're Watching You

“That little card in your hand is hardly proof we’re responsible.”

Disappointment feathers in my chest. She’s right. If I go to the headmistress now, maybe they’ll keep a closer eye on things around campus for the next few months, but it’s not going to get Polly to speak to me. It’s not going to convince anyone to open an investigation after having found a note written in Polly’s own hand.

Annabelle waves at someone across the courtyard and then leans an elbow back onto the step behind us. “I honestly haven’t heard from Polly. I miss her as much as you do, but the best thing is to give her some space.” She stills for a moment. “I do have a theory, though, about where she went.”

“You do?” This I wasn’t expecting.

“Well, she spoke so often of becoming a television star, like her favorite actress—what was her name?”

“Mona Perkins.”

“Right. Well, what if she decided to go for it?”

The idea sends pinpricks of sadness through me. They spread until my insides are just a swollen mess of pain. Polly and I used to binge-watchStolen Hearts, a show about a genetically engineered monster teen who can’t allow herself to fall for anyone out of fear she’ll eat them. One night, when Polly and I had finished rewatching the season 4 finale, where Hetty accidentally kills Zane, Polly shut off the TV and just sat there, staring at the black screen. “What’s wrong?” I asked, confused, since she’d already known Zane was going to die.

“She didn’t go to college, you know.”

“Hetty? She’s only a junior.”

“No, Mona Perkins. She was just walking around Venice Beach with her friends one day when some film director spotted her and invited her to an audition.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Polly sat still, arms wrapped around her knees for another minute. Finally, she shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to take a trip to Venice Beach after graduation.” Grinning, she chucked some popcorn at me, and I whined, because we were going to have to clean it up before the next group who’d booked the common room TV came in.

I clear my throat and glance up to find Annabelle watching me, warmth in her expression.

But I don’t trust her. The Polly I knew wouldn’t have quit high school on some reckless mission to become a Hollywood star. She might’ve had a momentary lapse of judgment in middle school, but she’d changed after spending two years at my side. She’d learned that good things only come from hard work. And Polly works just as hard as anyone. At her grades, at theater. Annabelle knows something about my friend.

My friend, who looked terrified a few hours before she “ran away.” My friend, who wanted to show me something the day she was last seen. Could it have had something to do with this society?

I have to speak to more members. But if Gavin’s right, the only way to find out who they are is to earn an invite.

After tucking the invitation back into my pocket, I reach for my bag, removing the deck of playing cards I stole from my dormitory’s common room. “Any chance you’re up for a game?” I ask, waving the deck.

She tosses me an incredulous expression before glancing back down at her book. “Occupied at the moment.” Her mouth barely parts as she speaks. Like she can’t be bothered to move it.

“Really? It would be a shame for everyone on campus to see this invitation,” I say, letting the playing cards spill from the box down into my palm. “Not much of a secret if everyone knows about it.” My hand trembles, but I do my best to match her icy glare. “One game. You win, my lips are sealed about your special club. I’ll give you the invitation and you can light it up in whatever drunken ritual caused the cathedral to burn down.” A hint of amusement lights her eyes at this. “I win, and”—I shrug—“you give me a chance to become one of you.”

“Why?” she asks simply.

My head draws back. “Why what?”

“Why do you want to becomeone of us?” Her hand makes a furling gesture through the air. “You just said we were bad news.”

I bite my lip, not having thought through this part. “Baddoesn’t bother me,” I say, which is a complete and utter lie. I haven’t been late for class once during my entire time at Torrey-Wells. “I guess if Polly comes back, I want to be a part of whatever she’s part of. To be honest, I’m a little hurt she never invited me.” The truth of this statement falls on my ears with a weight that presses down, slipping through my throat and landing on my chest.

“It wasn’t her place,” Annabelle says.

“I could use the excitement too,” I add, struggling for words. For air. “When you run on adrenaline, being bored most of the time—especially the past few months without Polly—is a major soul crusher.”

An eternal moment passes as Annabelle stares, her shiny lips pursed. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” she says finally. “The society.” She tugs the elastic from her bun, letting her majestic hair tumble down her back. “But I do admire a competitive spirit.”

“Rummy, then?” I push the cards between us on the cold marble, thankful I made Jordan play a few hands with me last night in preparation for this moment.

“Afraid I’m not in much of a mood for rummy.” Despite Annabelle’s word choice, her tone conveys no fear. My stomach drops. She pauses to think and then her eyes flash. “Texas Hold’em. For coin.”

“Oh.” I dig into my pocket, even though I know exactly what I’m about to find inside: a hundred bucks my parents gave me to buy new cleats for when the small holes in my current pair become massive craters. My parents don’t just hand out spending money. Every latte I buy, every movie I attend, every pack of socks I purchase, gets charted in this budget spreadsheet my dad wrote up. Each penny eventually gets paid back through summer jobs. If I tell my parents I gambled this money away, there will be no cleats. Which means I’ll be playing lacrosse in my socks by the end of the season.

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