Page 9 of House of Hearts
He blanches like he hadn’t considered that. “You could’ve told me you had a phobia.”
“Told you? I don’t even know you,” I jab, even though that’s also not entirely true.
I know enough. Though his world existed on a cracked phone screen to me. I know his favorite spot to vacation is Greece. I know that he’s got an endless parade of girls who adore him. I know that his last post was a year ago, a golden-hour selfie with the captionLIFE IS GOOD.
“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have dragged you up here if I knew.” He has the gall to look sincere. I don’t believe him for a second, but I let him hold on to the scraps of his morality.
“Whatever.”
“So, what now? Do I need to carry you down?”
No way in hell. “I can walk on my own. Just…give me a second to distract myself.” I make the wretched mistake of dropping my eyes, and for a horrible moment, I’m staring at his mouth.
“A distraction, huh?” He snorts, wetting his lips again.
I’ve never whipped away faster. I struggle to keep my tone even. I worry there’s a slight gallop in my words as I answer: “Not that. Just talk to me. Anything. Five minutes.”
“You’re the new one here. What do you want to know about HartAcademy?” he asks before monotonously reciting everything off the school’s FAQ page. “Our Ivy League acceptance rate? Our college-readiness program? Our—”
“The hedge maze,” I blurt out, and I could slap myself for it. There are a million more important questions to ask, but I’m over here asking him to tell me about a glorified garden.
He cocks a brow. “What about it?”
I guess there’s no turning back now. “Why is it locked up?”
Calvin groans like this is a story he’s heard before and one he doesn’t want to hear again. “Because it’s also a private cemetery.”
A chill sweeps over me. “Who chooses to be buried in a hedge maze?”
“I’d tell you to ask them, but seeing as how they’re all dead and buried, I imagine that would be difficult,” he drawls. His damnably long legs stretch out by my side, and I bristle when they brush against mine. “There’s four standing mausoleums in the center, but the only one people seem to care about is Anastasia Hart’s.”
Recognition flares at the name. I’ve stalked the Lockwells long enough to know they’re direct descendants of the original Hart family. They own the school because their forefathers built it. “One of the founder’s daughters?”
“Bingo. Want a prize?” he deadpans. “My dearly departed great-great-great-ancestor is something of a bogeyman at this school. Truthfully, the maze is only locked to keep people away fromhergrave in particular.”
“I’m…” I hesitate to say I’m sorry because no one in his family deserves an apology after Emoree’s death. “Why would anyone want to break in, anyway?”
His lip quirks into a devilish smile. “You’re a smart girl. What do you think?”
I’m sure that velvet voice has conned a fair number of girls in his life.
“Glad you could deduce my intelligence from our stilted thirty-minute conversation. I’m flattered.”
“You got in on the Whitlock academic scholarship. Believe me, they don’t hand those out like candy. You’re the only recipient this year.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m starting to feel better. The lightheadedness has tapered off, and my thoughts have veered away from girls falling. Once again, Calvin has proved himself usefully irritating. “Fine, let me guess. Students here are so bored with their pampered lives that they’re willing to risk expulsion or a slap on the wrist in order to break into private property?”
He grins wider like this is all a fun little game to him. “That and…” The humor drains gradually off his face. “People want to see her ghost.”
Funny how a single word can spring you back in time. “Ghost” has me crisscross applesauce in Em’s room on Halloween night in eighth grade. We were cutting holes into two old bedsheets and slipping the makeshift costumes over our heads.
“Guess how I died,” Em sang with a twirl. She spun like a macabre ballerina, and her outfit billowed in dramatic flair.
“Peacefully in your sleep?” I ventured with my eyes still glued to my own work. Unlike Em, who sheared through her gown with reckless abandon, I was drawing my eye holes with a bottle cap.
She groaned. “Boring. Try again.”
“Heart failure?”
