Page 27 of The Pawn

For a moment, her expression vacillates between one choice and another. But finally, she spills. "Well, you know about that girl who was assaulted during orientation week, right?"

My heart kicks up speed like a big brass band, thumping in my chest so hard that I'm sure the others will hear it. I can't seem to form words to respond to Tricia's question, so it's a relief when Chrissy says, "There were rumors, but most of it was social media stuff. I don't even really have accounts on most of the websites where I saw it being spread—and it's a good thing, too, because it looked dreadful. Daddy almost pulled me out until he heard the guy who did it wasn't coming back to school."

I wait for her to complete the sentence with,because he committed suicide,but of course that's the part of the story these rich privileged kids don't know. Wayborne is a small town, and my parents were respected members of the community, at least before Daddy got in his truck and drove away from his own family forever. When the coroner came to pick up Silas's body, he took the rope with him, and in his report he ruled it an accident.

Nothing in Silas's obituary in the local paper mentioned anything about suicide. People knew—or guessed—what had really happened, especially because Wally had to tell his mom, and she's the biggest gossip in town. And of course I told Jade and her mother Grace, because they were the only people I trusted to understand the devastation.

But it's not the kind of information you can find online from miles away. What really happened to Silas that day, from the fight in the storm to the rope and how we cut him down, is for few of us to know and none of us to share. As far as Coleridge is concerned, he withdrew from school before the semester started, and a girl named Brenna Cooke enrolled instead—anything else is for the ghosts and the dead.

I know my brother didn't assault that girl. It's something that I feel in my bones, no matter what anonymous people said on the internet. Despite Cole's declaration online that"a girl was assaulted during orientation week, and a student named Silas Wilder bears responsibility for what happened,"I know he's not to blame.

So I force my face into a neutral expression and buckle in to listen to his name get dragged through the mud.

"I guess you didn't hear about the assault, Brenna, but it was this whole deal," Tricia says. "The girl who it happened to didn't want to come forward, but she had this video evidence that she handed over to the Elites—that's these four boys on campus. Anyway, she never filed charges, so there was never a police investigation. But I heard from the girl who was supposed to bunk with her that it was Mariana Marks who came forward, and because of how it was handled, she moved off campus. That's why she doesn't live in Rosalind Hall anymore."

Chrissy deflates. "Ah, drat. So I guess there'll be no moving to a swanky apartment for me, then. Not that I envy her or anything," she clarifies, no doubt realizing belatedly how terrible she sounds, "it's just that I thought it was something innocent, like her family gave the school an extra donation to grease the wheels."

My mind is stuck on an earlier detail. Heart doing a too-fast rhythm, I ask Tricia, "What do you mean when you say she didn't like how it was handled? Did her former roommate give any details?"

The girls give me a funny look for being curious, but Tricia answers readily enough. "Apparently they never caught the actual guy who did it. He wasn't caught with evidence. But she told her roommate that she eventually remembered who it was, even though the night was fuzzy, and it seems he still goes here."

Chapter 14

My stomach is churning with so much nausea that I can feel bile rise in my throat, but at the same time, I'm filled with triumph.

Because I've been vindicated.

If the victim herself says the guy who assaulted her is still on campus, then there's no greater proof that it wasn't my brother. He's in a coffin in the ground, nowhere near campus.

Before I came here, there was a promise I made to myself, one I swore I wouldn't break, unlike the promise to stay quiet and hidden. I swore that I would go after the Elites, and any other rich privileged students who attacked my brother without proof, but I would never go afterher.

The girl. The one who was raped. Who never made a public statement or put her name out there.

I swore I would elevate her story, no matter what it turns out to be, instead of trashing her or attacking her. She's not the one who lied and started rumors about my brother, after all. Whatever is on that video they didn't share, the one Wally says he saw Silas confront some girl about, no one knows the truth but her.

And I won't take down a rape victim to vindicate my brother. Especially now that I know she can come forward with a side of the story that clears his name.

All I have to do is convince her it's worthwhile to publicly spill all the sordid, horrifying, and triggering details. That, or—more preferably—I can stick to just taking down the four boys who set fire to the flame that destroyed my twin, and let the girl go on to live in quiet peace.

I don't know which I'll choose. It all depends on what the truth is—and why Mariana Marks hasn't come forward with it, even after all this time.

"I'm surprised she still goes here at all," I admit, re-inserting myself in the conversation. "I mean, if her attacker is still on campus."

Tricia shrugs, looking uneasy. "Apparently she was certain he wouldn't come for her again. I don't know why—my friend wasn't inthattalkative of a mood. But if you ask me, it sounds like she has something on the guy that can take him down, so she decided to opt for mutually assured destruction."

Chrissy says, "I didn't know the girl was MarianaMarks,but if it is her, going here makes sense. Dean Simmons is her uncle, and her parents are well-off, but not Coleridge rich. She probably gets free tuition here and can't afford to go anywhere else this nice." She sighs, shaking her head. "I guess it was too much to hope for that it was some Miriam or Mary Anne or whoever that got to live off campus. Itwouldbe the dean's niece. The rest of us are stuck here, two to a room."

Never in my life has anyone ever sounded as spoiled as Chrissy Lakewood does right now, but for some reason she's still starting to grow on me. She may be a gossip with too much money and not enough tact, but unlike Georgia, Veronica, and Heather, she's not mean.

And her tendency to get information out of people has given me something: I know now the name of the girl who went to the Elites with a story about being assaulted during orientation week.

I just have to figure out what to do with that information—and where the line is when it comes to doing anything at all.

* * *

8:00 AM: Calculus I

Everyone here has a nice laptop or an even nicer tablet. I feel conspicuous with Silas’s old computer under one arm, its heavy weight and beat-up plastic practically screaming how cheap it is. But I need the laptop. Most of the classes at Coleridge use online textbooks, available as ebooks via an app or through a website, which students can read using an account associated with our Coleridge.edu email addresses. My phone doesn’t have the latest OS, so I can’t use the ebook app. It’s the laptop or nothing.

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