Page 32 of Wicked Little Secret

I was no expert on the etiquette of college-aged people and social media, but posting photos of each other felt… serious.

It felt like ownership. Some form of claiming.

And then my descent grew even worse. The rabbit hole continued until I was on Lucas Cumming’s Instagram and I read an exchange between him and Wicker in the comment section for a throwback post about last Halloween.

Some massive costume party the fraternity threw that I vaguely recall hearing about due to the police being called. Rumors about drugs, brawls, alcohol poisoning, and date rape spread like wildfire about the occasion. Dean Rothenberg fought like hell to contain the flames.

good times!!! Can’t wait to do it again

this year. dates already set. u coming or u taken?

taken n still coming! me n ms priss will be there

nice!! i’ll have the goodies ready to go. we about to throw down!

My stomach muscles clenched. My eyes narrowed rereading the message three, four more times. Eventually, I screenshotted it, saving the image to my camera roll.

Goodies.Whatgoodies?

Is that code for drugs? Alcohol? Some other dangerous element?

…and did Nyssa know her boyfriend was calling herms priss?

My runaway thoughts were so loud, I couldn’t quiet them enough to go to sleep. After flicking off the lights, I laid awake in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, considering the million different possibilities.

I had never been more certain than in that moment.

Nyssa had no clue what kind of fire she was playing with dating Wicker. She clearly didn’t grasp how much trouble he could bring her.

Don’t worry, Miss Oliver. If you can’t see the trouble he is, I’ll show you myself.

“You never show up here,” Theo laughed. “I think I’ve been managing these apartments for, what, two or three years? You’ve turned up exactly once. That time I accidentally had your laptop.”

I raised both brows at her. “Accidentally? What you call an accident, I call theft, sister.”

“Theft? Okay, drama queen.”

“That’s usually what it’s called when someone takes something without permission.”

“Whatever. Still weird you’ve come by to see me at work.”

…what you call weird, I call opportunity.

I set down the large cinnamon dolce latte I had grabbed her from Java King. “Consider it returning the favor. You bring me coffee quite often. Now I’m bringing you some.”

Theo plopped down behind her desk in her cramped little office where the heater blasted lukewarm air and she had a view of the freeway from the window. She snatched the cup and took a long sip, then almost spit it out.

“They made this all wrong! Where’s the cinnamon and whipped cream? Lucky I have some in my mini fridge.”

Theo grabbed the latte and turned her back to fuss with fixing her drink.

I had drifted over toward the corkboard on the wall where the spare sets of keys hung for every apartment in the building.

Once she was making throaty sounds of satisfaction at the extra whip and cinnamon she’d added, I was ready to go.

“See you later,” she said, scooping up her phone toscroll through. “I’ve got a Zoom meeting in ten. The damn board of trustees want info about the building conditions.”

“Sounds very important.”

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