Dangerous Boy (14 page)

What kind of sick joke is this supposed to be? If Daemon is doing this, what’s the point? Is he trying to scare me away from Logan? Why does he even care if we’re together?

“Something wrong?” Adam asks, stopping in front of me.

I point at the paper on the floor. Adam looks at me for a long moment and then scoops it up, unfolding it. His face goes white. “Where did you get this?”

I swallow, point at my locker.

“It must be a Halloween prank,” he says, sounding only half-convinced. “Right?”

“Maybe…”

“You don’t sound so sure.” He places one hand against the lockers.

“Well, it was attached to a rose. The third one I’ve gotten.” I stop myself before saying more.

“And?”

“And the last one had a poem about how I was being watched.”

He steps closer, alarm flaring to life in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I knew you’d get all worked up,” I say. “Sometimes you like to play big brother, and I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“I
should
get all worked up. With everything happening in town, this is a big deal.”

“This is hardly related to bloody cow bones and Peeping Toms.”

“And dead birds, and red handprints…” Adam gives me a pointed look. “And someone stole a few dozen stop signs over the weekend. There are two missing on my road alone.”

I frown. “Yeah, same with mine. Me and Allie saw a couple
people almost wreck,” I say, staring at my locker door. “They replaced the sign already, though. Besides, a few roses have nothing to do with that stuff. It’s just a joke.” I don’t tell Adam about the
real
bloody handprint on my car window. Lately, I just keep thinking I might have imagined it. That the paint was just drier on my door, and that’s why it looked like a darker shade of red and didn’t have the same plastic scent.

He puts a hand on my good shoulder and turns me to face him. “I was debating telling you this, but…we figured out that Bick’s quad
was
sabotaged.”

“What? Like how?” The wheel’s magically falling off was one more thing that I was trying to just push from my mind.

“Someone messed with the lugnuts and stripped out the studs. The wheel was
supposed
to fall off.”

I stare at him, my head spinning. “But it couldn’t have been about me. How would someone know I was going to ride that specific quad? Or honestly, even ride a quad at all?”

Adam shrugs. “I don’t know. If it’s not about you, then that means someone’s after Bick.”

“No, that’s crazy. Why would anyone ever want to do anything bad to Bick?”

Adam cocks his head to the side. “So you think you’re the more likely target?”

I shake my head. I don’t even know what to think anymore.

“Either way, I just want you to take this stuff seriously, okay? Report the roses.”

“I will,” I say, turning to slam my locker so that Adam can’t
see the duplicitous expression on my face. “I’ll go to the office during lunch.”

Adam narrows his eyes. “And the reason you can’t go now is?”

“We have to work on our campaign during politics. It’s due soon and we don’t get a lot of group time.”

“But you swear you’ll go later?” Adam stares, waiting.

I nod yes, and am pleased to see that Adam buys the lie. There’s no way I’m going to report it. If it
is
Daemon, then it’s Logan I need to talk to, not the principal.

He smiles in relief. “Okay. But text me if you need me for anything.”

“Well, since you’re offering, how about a Diet Coke?” I grin.

Adam just shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Just let me know how it goes.”

“Fine. Now go to PE already. Nothing’s going to happen at school.”

“All right, later,” he says, heading down the hall.

I turn away from him, staring at the closed door to my locker. How did someone open it? How’d they get my combo?

I shake my head, clearing away the troubling thoughts as I walk away from my locker. If a little white lie gets Adam off my back, I figure it can’t hurt.

Once through the door to class, I make my way to my chair, plunking my stuff down on my desk. Too late, I realize I have to be a little more gentle. A wave of pain cascades down my bad arm, and I take in a sharp breath.

“Hey,” Logan says, reaching over to tug at the drawstring on my hoodie, flashing me one of his gorgeous smiles.

“Hi,” I say, trying not to think of Daemon, of red handprints, of black ribbon.

His eyes sweep over my brace. “Feeling okay? Did you and Allie do anything fun last night?”

Conflicted emotions swarm my stomach.
Yeah. I Facebook stalked you. And I didn’t like what I saw.

I answer his question with one of my own. “Can I ask you something?” I look down at my sling, picking at a piece of lint sticking to the fabric.

“Sure. Shoot.”

“What did Daemon do to get expelled from Cedar Cove?” I ask, looking up.

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but before he can reply, Mr. Patricks walks to the front board. “Okay, guys, I need to see highlights for your campaign plans by the end of the day today. You’ll have class time all week to work on your actual campaigns, and then they launch in full on Monday, with your speeches. So get to work.”

Logan turns his desk around and I scoot over, so that I’m staring at him—but he’s looking down at his binder.

“It’s kind of a long story, and I don’t really want to get into it at school. Another time, okay?” He looks up and grins in a way that’s meant to be reassuring, but I can’t help but picture a different smile. A smile meant for the girl in the slinky silver dress, a girl he’s never talked about. A prom he’s never mentioned.

“Um, sure. Whatever,” I say, trying not to give away my annoyance. I just want to know what happened. Why is that such a big deal? But I guess if he doesn’t want to talk about it here, I’ll have to ask him later.

I pull out a sheet of paper, writing
Campaign Launch Plans
across the top, and our names on the right-hand side. I can’t stop myself from wondering if he ever worked on a project with the other girl, if she ever wrote his name on a paper like I’m doing now.

Then I write, in block letters,
advertising
, jotting down ideas like
posters
,
fliers
, and
buttons
underneath.

Logan clears his throat. “So, um are you going to be ready for the speech?” I lean back against my chair and shake my head. “No. Not even close. I can’t believe Mr. Patricks is making us speak in front of another social studies class.”

“It won’t be
that
bad…”

I roll my eyes. “Why did I agree to this again?”

Logan leans forward, looking straight into my eyes. “Because you can do this. I know it scares you, but when it’s all over, you’re going to be happy you took a risk, that you made a name for yourself.”

“Right. Sure. You’re going to be rethinking those grandiose ideas of yours when Madison or Lucas totally trumps me.”

“Not true. You—”

I cut him off. “Nope. We’re going to lose the bonus points on the final when I go down in flames.” I give him a fake smile, then grip the pencil harder in my hand and glance over at my competition. Lucas is the democratic candidate, a guy whom
I’ve shared various classes with over the years. He’s nice. Total presidential type—diplomatic and levelheaded, but knows what he’s talking about. Madison’s the one I’m really worried about. There’s no way she’s going to play fair. She’ll probably give dirty politicians a run for their money.

Logan slides his hand across his desk, laying it over mine. “Seriously. You’re going to be awesome. I know you can do it.”

“May I just remind you that the last time you convinced me to confront a fear I broke my collarbone?”

I almost feel bad for saying it, because Logan cringes. It wasn’t exactly his fault anyway. The bike was sabotaged. I wonder if Adam told him….

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. Are you doing okay?”

Sure. Other than being freaked out over anonymous roses and bloody handprints and mysteriously stripped lug nuts.

I want to say it. I want to talk about everything that’s happened and how it all makes me feel.

But then again, I don’t. I’d rather the roses just didn’t exist. And part of me thinks that if I ignore them and that stupid bike, everything will go away.

I give him the simplest answer. “Mostly. My shoulder hurts whenever I jar it. Which apparently, I do about thirty times an hour.”

“Yikes,” he says, furrowing his brow in sympathy. “Sorry.”

I shrug, unintentionally illustrating my point, and wince. “You know what? Let’s talk campaign stuff to distract me.”

“Okay, if you insist.” Logan slides the paper I’m working
on onto his desk, jotting down a few notes. “So, we’re still focusing on extending break time, increasing lunch options, and targeting the students least likely to vote, right?”

“Yeah. That’s what we turned in last week. Might as well stick with it.”

I swallow. “Um, so…were you on Facebook much yesterday?”

Logan raises a brow. “Change of subject much?” He grins. “Not really. I checked it yesterday morning before we went riding. Why?”

I stare down at my binder, unable to meet his eyes. “Because someone has been leaving me messages using your profile. I got three new ones early this morning.”

“What?” Logan’s chair squeaks on the tile as he snaps to attention.

I glance over at Mr. Patricks, who has his back to me as he works on his computer. We’re not supposed to have cell phones in his class, but I fish mine out of my pocket and pop open my Facebook application before showing it to Logan. “Here. Look.”

Logan takes my phone and his face goes pale as he looks over the messages.

“Weird, right?”

“Yeah…” He slides the phone back to me, a shocked expression still on his face.

“Were you still logged into your account the last time you closed your laptop?”

“Oh.” He blinks. “I don’t know. Probably.”

“So then these messages must be from Daemon,” I say, tucking my cell into my pocket.

He leans forward on his elbows. “Yeah. I guess. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him, and I’ll change my password and everything.”

“Honestly, I think we need to sit down with him.”

Logan looks away, stares at the front board, and for a long moment, I wonder if he’s going to answer. Finally, he says, “Why?”

I shift my weight, and my plastic chair creaks beneath me. “Maybe if we go about it diplomatically, just sit down in a calm manner, he’ll understand this stuff isn’t okay.”

Logan shakes his head. “He knows it isn’t okay. But you met him. He kind of gets off on getting under other people’s skin.”

I swallow, thinking of the hook in the basement sliding along the back of my neck. It’s not what Logan’s talking about, of course, but it doesn’t stop the image from constantly appearing in my head. “I know, but I really think we should. Please? It would make me feel better to tell him straight to his face that he needs to leave me alone, to stop…messing with me.”

I cut myself off just before I’m about to accuse Daemon of sabotaging the quad. He couldn’t have known I was going to ride that bike, so it can’t be him. It can’t. And yet I still wonder…Logan’s lips thin. “I can do it for you.”

“I’m serious, Logan.” I cross my arms, awkwardly thanks to the brace. “I want to tell him to back off. Together.”

Logan sighs and leans back in his chair, meeting my eyes. “Okay. We can try.”

“How about this weekend?”

“I don’t know if this weekend would really work…” Logan mumbles. “It’s kind of short notice.”

I give him a pointed look.

“Okay, okay,” he says, chewing on his lip as he glances down at his hands. He sighs, resigned, and meets my eyes again. “Does Sunday work for you?”

I nod. “Sounds good. What time?”

“Six?” Logan says, fully giving in now. “We can do dinner. I’ll show you my affinity for boiling noodles.”

I grin. “Sounds impressive.”

“It’s an acquired skill,” he says, nodding sagely.

“Okay then. It’s a date.”

“Great.” He grins and slides the paper back in front of me.

I peek down at the assignment and take a deep breath in relief. A few more days and this freaking campaign will be the only thing I have left to worry about.

At lunch, Allie and I grab some snacks from the vending machine, and I glimpse over my shoulder to be sure Adam isn’t watching us. I don’t want him to ambush me and insist on the office visit. If I tell the principal about my suspicions, they’ll have to talk to Logan. I just don’t want to make his life harder than it is already.