Page 58 of The Pawn

I open my mouth to retort but can't come up with anything. He has a point. At any time he could've destroyed one of my essays, put something in my book bag, or messed with me. But he hasn't, unlike the others.

That doesn't mean I trust him.

Lukas says, "Let's just agree to get along for this presentation. I want a good score, and so do you. It's twenty percent of our midterm grade. Everything else—Cole's dumb little list, Blake and Tanner's games—can stay separate from this. Deal?"

I lick my lips, searching for an objection, a reason why this has to be a trick. As I do so he leans forward, and the edge of his slacks moves up a bit, revealing a strange tattoo on the outside of his right ankle.

"Is that a dragon?"

He jerks, reaches down and pulls his sock up suddenly, a frown on his face. "It was a dumb impulse decision. I've been getting it lasered off, but it'll be months before it goes away completely."

"It looks neat."

"Stop trying to change the subject," he grouses. "Do we have a deal—that we work together on this project, and pretend like everything else going on around us isn't happening?"

Since I can't figure out a reason to say no, I nod and stick my hand out between us. "Deal."

Looking bemused, Lukas takes my hand and shakes it, his palm warm and soft against mine.

I tell myself it might not be a trick.

But I don't quite believe it, and I refuse to relax. Lukas DuPont may have pretty baby blue eyes, perfect skin, and a charm to die for, but he won't reel me in to believing in him. There's something he's hiding—there has to be.

I just have to keep my head down and play along until I find out what it is.

Chapter 30

One Week Later

Tanner Connally has been gone since the day that helicopter landed on the field, out on an apology tour across America—mostly the South—with his father the straight-laced senator. The sound bytes could be pulled from a publicist's playbook, line by line: he regrets what he did, he's never done it since, it was a huge mistake, and he's made amends to the boy he hurt.

It's so much like what Blake did—and his response to it—that I get a sense ofdéjà vufrom hearing it. The first time I sit down and watch one of his apology videos, I find myself thinking that no one can be buying this.

By the end of the week it becomes clear that no oneis. Reporters and political blogs are mocking the insincerity of it all, and Connally's numbers are going down in the polls. Everyone is snarking that Tanner looks like the unwilling, angry participant in his father's political machinations, nothing like his sweet cherubim younger sisters.

So the senator ups the ante. He brings his son up on stage during one of his town halls and makes an announcement, Tanner standing uncomfortably and reluctantly at his side, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"My son here has a troubled past, and we've done our best to show all of you that he's moved past it. But we haven't done enough, I realize—because we haven't told you the truth. The whole truth."

He motions his wife up onto stage, and she takes the place next to him. Eva Connally is a petite blonde woman with delicate features. It's strange that I never noticed it before, but Tanner looks much more like his father and almost nothing like his mother, from the dark hair to the tanned skin.

"You see," Senator Connally continues, "when Eva and I first got married, we wanted very badly to have children. But God had different plans for us. We weren't able to have biological children, but we were given a gift instead: the chance to adopt."

He pulls Tanner close to him, the younger Connally's face oddly still and emotionless next to his father. Tanner is usually so animated, either in joy or rage, but he looks completely blank as his father reveals his origins on live television.

"After a few years a miracle happened, and my wife got pregnant with twins: our girls. But Tanner was a miracle in his own way, and we named him after me because he was, and always will be, our beloved gift from God and my firstborn son." Soft sighs of appreciation from the audience at this. "So when one of his peers, who knew about the adoption, called him an 'unwanted bastard,' well, it got to him. As I imagine it would get to any one of us. But he's learned and changed since then, and we hope you'll give him a second chance, just as God gave him a second chance when he gave him to us."

It's all very schmalzy, religious, and hollow. But the audience eats it up, and so do the polls. Within a few days Senator Connally's numbers are way up, and in the evening after a particularly grueling class, I hear the sound of a helicopter landing outside.

The senator's son is done apologizing. He's back on campus, and ready to rumble.

Just in time for the Hallow's Eve Festival this weekend.

* * *

"So, Brenna, how is recruitment coming along for scare team A? Tell me we'll have the best ghoulies and goblins at our haunted house. Ihaveto beat what my sister did in her first year here."

It's the Rosalind lunch meeting about the Hallow's Eve Festival, the traditional yearly dance and haunted house festival where all the first year girls show off their skills—both the frightful and the sexy kind. Georgia and Piper are, of course, going as sexy cats or sexy nurses or sexy whatever; I don't think they've nailed a final theme.

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