Page 18 of Forget Me Twice

I bet he has a singing voice to die for. I’ve come across no evidence of it, but I know he has a significant interest in music.

Tristan doesn’t so much as blink, seemingly oblivious to my internal lustful musings. His focus is intense as he tracks my movements, watching as I stride towards him without stopping.

Hmm. He likes to keep tabs. Noted.

I throw him a jaunty salute just as I pass.

“Good thing he was only anearly morningguest, then,” I drawl with a sarcastic tip of my lips.

When there’s no response, I’m tempted to risk a look back over my shoulder, just to see if I managed to put even a small dent in that contemptuous mask of his. But I don’t. It’s clear from my intel gathering that Tristan Sinclair and his gang are social predators and predators like that canalwayssenseweakness.

So instead, I concentrate on putting one heeled foot in front of the other.

And maybe I put a little extra swing in my hips.

Game on, boys.

“Well, I think that’s everything,”Principal Brunswick says brusquely, her hands slapping down on the desk in front of her. Despite the fact that I’m insisting on a transfer to her Academy in my final year of schooling, she’s barely given my flawlessly doctored transcripts a second glance.

She’s evidently keen to wrap up my enrollment and move on with her day. I politely mirror her movements, smoothing down my blazer as I stand to grasp her outstretched hand.

Her handshake is dry and firm, as no-nonsense as the woman herself.Anita Helene Brunswick, 59. Principal of Roxborough Academy for 11 years. Divorced. No children. No known connections to the Strange Aces.

Our weeks of heavy research into the faculty have not produced even a sliver of evidence that the graying, tight-lipped but efficient headmaster has been compromised in any way. In fact, her bank records going back for the last decade show that she seems especially immune to bribery and coercion. Her leadership style is decidedly a little hands-off when it comes to the student body, but there have been no major complaints or life-altering scandals.

What I need to work out is if that’s because we’ve uncovered an actual, honest-to-God academic official with an intact moral compass, or if it’s just that no one has managed to find the correct leverage on cat-loving, two-time Open League Bowling Champion Anita Brunswick?

“Thank you, Principal Brunswick. I look forward to my time here at Roxborough,” I manage through a forced smile. My tenure as charming Front Man has begun, and practice makes perfect.

She gives me a bored hand flick in return. “If there’s anything else, be sure to book an appointment with Vice Principal Cressel.” In other words, her task as the glorified Welcome Wagon has concluded.

Thoroughly dismissed, I leave her suite of offices, enrollment package and schedule in hand, and head on out past reception.

The young receptionist, pretty with chestnut curls but dull blue eyes, shoots me a friendly smile as I pass.Single mom, kicked out by her fiancé and living hand to mouth in her great Aunt’s spare room.She can barely afford formula and child care, let alone the anti-depressants she’s supposed to be taking. She could definitely use the money being a Gray Man lackey would bring. Perhaps she could be a steady source of staff lunchroom gossip.

I give a small nod in return and mentally file her onto myMaybelist.

Stepping out into the main hall, I’m surprised to find it still swarming with students. I’d just made the assumption my orientation spiel would run me late for my first period, but it seems as though I may have a little time to spare before classes begin for the morning.

All grades seem to have congregated out in the vaulted halls of this two hundred year old gothic Academy; laughing and shoving and hollering greetings, catching up after the long break and establishing cliques for the new year.

My mind wants to reel as I take in all their faces, each of their files blooming to life in my head like an impromptu PowerPoint presentation. Luckily for me, the extra Xanax I took after breakfast is still doing its job, working to keep the rising chatter between my ears to a dull static and the edges of my mood smoothed out.

I fondly pat my pocket where I know my beloved flask is also sitting. I’ll inevitably need that later.

Eager to dump these textbooks and paperwork before my English Lit class, I allow one long, slow blink to reorient myself. I then hoist my bag up onto my shoulder and stride off down the long hallway, heels clicking sharply.

My line of sight stays fixed to chins and shoulders so as not to continue overloading my poor brain by taking in all their profiles one by one. Thanks to my schedule and a set of Academy blueprints that I memorized earlier, I could navigate my way around these halls blindfolded.

What greets me at the bank of my assigned locker, however, only validates my suspicions that I used up what meager stores of cosmic luck I might have had by trying to shoot myself in the head—and now myKarmagauge has been left onEmpty.

Blocking access is a group of drop-dead gorgeous boys and girls, busy holding court before the crowd of simpering seniors. The rabble are each taking turns sneaking adoring glances at their leaders and swapping summer rumors with their neighbors.

The Rox Boys.

I can not catch a fucking break.

When it doesn’t seem as though anyone has noticed my arrival, I take a few precious seconds to hastily compartmentalize my thoughts. It’s the first time I’ve seen the Boys out in the wild together, and not just as a wall of mugshots.

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