Exposure (6 page)

Which isn’t to say we’d become popular. The majority still avoided us, unable to bridge the gap from grudging respect to actual friendship. But the taunting had stopped. The pranks had been discontinued.

Fine by me.

Being left in peace was enough.

Our classmates’ change in attitude didn’t extend to Ben, however. They took his expulsion as irrefutable confirmation of his complicity in the Gamemaster’s schemes. Nothing could convince them otherwise. I’d stopped trying.

Shelton checked his watch. “Bell in five.”

“All right, you jackals.” Hi squared his shoulders. “Come and get some Hiram.”

They both looked to me. I nodded.

Hi pounded his chest—once, twice—then strode through the archway. Shelton and I followed him down the cobblestone path. Circling a cherub-capped fountain, we entered the quad and made for the mammoth granite lions flanking the school’s front steps.

Students filled the courtyard, chatting in groups among the benches and delicate rock gardens, soaking in the morning sunlight before first bell. The usual morning scene.

Maybe no one will care.

As we crossed the flower-lined plaza, conversation stopped.

Heads turned. Eyes followed. Whispers flew behind cupped hands.

Crap.
The local TMZ was tuned in to us.

Hi’s head whipped this way and that. “They’re staring like we’re buck naked.”

“Keep moving,” Shelton hissed. “This is excruciating.”

“Just follow me.” Ignoring the gawkers, I hurried to the giant wooden doors and slipped inside. A deep breath. Then, face set to neutral, I fired down the hallway. AP Calculus was first period. I needed my book.

Rounding the first corner, my heart sank.

Jason Taylor was idling by my locker. Pretending not to be.

“Tory!” Jason flashed a grin. “I heard you did great yesterday. Did that guy really pull a knife on you?”

“Knife? What?”
Argh.
Worse than I thought.

“That’s the rumor outside. Didn’t sound too likely.”

Jason had the whole Nordic thing going. Ice-blue eyes. Pale skin. White-blond hair. His body was Thor-sized, too. Captain of our lacrosse team, Jason was a sick athlete.

He was also infatuated with me.

A problem that appeared to be getting worse.

These days, Jason seemed to pop up everywhere I went. I worried he’d planted a tracking chip on me, like a prized Labrador.

Don’t get me wrong—Jason’s a fantastic guy, and a true friend, one of the few non-Virals I could count on in a jam. He’d been instrumental in thwarting the Gamemaster, risking his life to help save others. That’s not something you forget.

Romantically, however, he just didn’t do it for me.

No tingle. No spark. Chemistry fail. I didn’t understand why, but there it was.

Jason spoke as I shuffled my books. “Did you know Chance was there?”

My hands froze. “Where? In court?”

Jason nodded. “He sat in back. Saw the whole thing. It must’ve been banana pants in that room. You sure like causing a stir.”

Jason went on, but I was barely listening.

Chance Claybourne. In the gallery. Watching me.

I wasn’t sure what it meant. What I
wanted
it to mean.

Make no mistake, Chance was a problem. A fabulously gorgeous problem.

Chance had graduated from Bolton the previous semester. Though only eighteen, he’d gained access to a large portion of his inheritance, making him one of the richest men in Charleston. Son of former state senator and pharmaceutical magnate Hollis Claybourne, and heir to the staggering Claybourne family fortune, he was also the city’s most eligible bachelor.

Chance kept turning up in my life.

Twice in the last year he’d witnessed our flare powers unleashed. He’d seen our enhanced speed and strength, and glimpsed our glowing eyes.

The first time shocked him so badly, he’d ended up in a mental hospital. The second time convinced him to return for more treatment.

I encouraged those fears, selfishly protecting the pack at his expense.

Guilt still dogged me, but I’d done what was necessary.

Protecting our secret came first. Always.

When Chance resurfaced, he’d been a different person. His playful side had mostly disappeared. The current version was more bitter, with harder edges. And that man was intensely suspicious of me and my friends.

Chance had also helped stop the Gamemaster—saving our butts along the way—but those events had convinced him we were hiding a secret. I had to stop him from learning how right he was.

Abruptly, I realized Jason had stopped talking.

One pale eyebrow rose. “You’re sure everything’s okay?”

“I’m fine.” Closing my locker and shouldering my pack. “People are making a bigger deal out of it than it was.”

“Just another day for the Morris Island Three.” Jason smiled to show he was kidding. “I’m sure you dazzled them, like you do everybody else.”

Hi and Shelton reappeared, saving me from having to respond.

They greeted Jason with exaggerated head nods—those two had accepted his friendship completely, and seemed to revel in his attention. I understood. It was nice being friends with one of the cool kids.

Heels clicked on the hardwood behind me.

My eyes squeezed shut.

Of course.

I turned to find the Tripod of Bitch standing in formation.

Their positions had shuffled, but the components remained the same.

Ashley Bodford was now front leg. She had dark eyes, glossy black hair, and perfect teeth. Pretty, but in a cold,
mean
way, if that makes sense. She wore the same uniform I did—white blouse, plaid skirt, black knee socks and shoes, and navy blazer—but somehow
she
made it look stylish. No idea.

Courtney Holt stood a half pace behind Ashley. Tall and thin, with a model-perfect physique, she was the stereotypical embodiment of pure blond vacancy. She was sporting her “go-to” look—a white Bolton Griffins cheerleading uniform, two sizes too small. Upon discovering that particular dress code loophole, she’d purchased five sets so she could wear one every day.

Those two were awful in their own right—though, truthfully, Courtney was more stupid than mean. Just standing close to them made my skin crawl. But it was the coven’s third member that caused me sleepless nights.

Madison Dunkle cowered behind Ashley, color flooding her cheeks as she dodged my eye. With exquisite makeup, machine-tanned skin, and a new arrangement of perfectly highlighted auburn hair, Madison was a study in manufactured beauty. Our uniforms matched, but Madison’s anklet could’ve put me through college.

Formerly the Tripod’s leader, Madison had been dethroned by Ashley.

The most likely cause? Her palpable fear of me.

Last summer, in a fit of anger, I’d flashed my flare eyes at Madison. She’d nearly fainted. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a few months later I’d tried to . . . well . . . read her thoughts.

I know.

She’d sensed me poking around. And freaked. Hard.

The experience had shaken Maddy Dunkle badly. She seemed to verge on a panic attack every time we crossed paths. Only I knew why.

Ashley didn’t care. Pouncing on her frenemy’s weakness, she’d taken over the clique. I quickly realized that Ashley had always been the nastiest of the three, a pit viper with a venomous tongue. Madison was a classic bully. Ashley
smiled
while cutting you to pieces.

But like everyone else at Bolton, the Tripod had changed.

“Hey, Tory.” Ashley flashed her shark-like smile. I tried not to flinch. “We heard about the attack in court yesterday. How awful!”

“Did that schizo
really
have a gun?” Courtney blinked, wide-eyed. Not a candidate for Mensa. “They shouldn’t let him have one in prison.”

“It was nothing.” Searching for a quick escape. “The bailiffs handled it.”

Madison had begun edging away. Suddenly, she turned and hurried down the hall.

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Forgive Maddy.”

Linking her arm with mine, she pulled me close, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Madison has
issues.
She’s seeing a shrink.”

A psychiatrist? Not good.

Having hooked my arm like a fish, Ashley tugged me down the corridor. Caught off guard, I let her. Courtney smiled sweetly, keeping pace.

It occurred to me that I’d been maneuvered into Madison’s place.

An unpleasant thought.

I still couldn’t process these vultures wanting to be friends. I had zero interest.

Behind me, Jason waved farewell. Hi and Shelton trailed our procession by a few paces, bemused looks on their faces.

Shut it, you two. I’ve been taken hostage.

“You should join us for lunch today,” Ashley said casually. “The boys’ soccer team baked us cookies, or something. Can you believe it?”

“Jason might be there,” Courtney chirped. “He likes you.”

“Oh.” Not a brilliant response. “Yeah, maybe. I might have a thing, though.”

Wonderful. Good job, good effort, Tory.

Behind me, I heard Hi fake coughing to cover his snickers.

The bell rang again, saving me from further awkward conversation.

“Bye, Tory.” Ashley released me with a parting squeeze. “Talk later, promise?”

“You bet.”
Dear God.

The boys and I watched them saunter down the hall, classmates scurrying from their path.

“I can’t tell if they’re
actually
being friendly, or just messing with me,” I whispered. “Ashley gives me the creeps. And Courtney is terminally stupid.”

“I think that
is
Ashley being nice.” Shelton pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “She’s just not very good at it. Lack of practice, and all that.”

“She’s using you to get to me,” Hi said confidently. “Both of them. They’ve caught Hiram fever.”

I nodded. “Of course. It all makes sense now.”

We entered the classroom and took our seats. I was digging in my bookbag when a hand touched my shoulder, causing me to jump.

“Oh!” Giggles. “Maybe less caffeine tomorrow, Brennan?”

My heart rate slowed as I identified the offender.

“Sorry, Ella. I just survived another Tripod drive-by. I’m still a little spooked.”

“Bleh.” Ella Francis slid into the chair beside mine. “I have Purell if you need it.”

Ella was a recent addition to my playlist. We’d met by chance. After catching Shelton and I chatting during one of his lectures, Mr. Terenzoni had switched his seat with hers. The “punishment” had resulted in my making a wonderful new friend.

Ella was beautiful in a textbook, Gap-model way, with gray-green eyes, pale skin, and a thick braid of sheeny black hair that fell to her waist. What surprised me most was her biting sense of humor. Ella was mercilessly sarcastic. I couldn’t get enough of her.

“When can you come back to practice?” Ella asked. “The defense is suffering.”

“Hopefully soon,” I said. “This trial has to end sometime, right?”

Ella patted my hand. “I heard you did great. That bastard is going to rot in jail.”

“Thanks.” Slumping down in my seat. “I just want the whole thing finished.”

I’d learned quickly that Ella could be persuasive. So much so, in fact, that she’d accomplished the impossible—after weeks of prodding, I’d actually tried out for the soccer team.

I still don’t quite know how it happened, but yours truly was now the Bolton Prep Lady Griffins’ newest fullback.

Ella was our midfield maestro. She could run all day, attack and defend, and generally own the ball for ninety solid minutes. Last season she’d been selected first team all-conference. Everything we did ran through her nimble feet.

Me? I barely understood the rules.

That said—and loudly tooting my own horn—I’m pretty damn good. I’ve always been well coordinated, and in decent shape. From the first scrimmage the game came fairly easily to me. Most parts, anyway.

I tend to stay in the back—the intricacies of both midfield and forward still elude me, and I prefer facing the other team’s goal at all times. Nonetheless, Coach Lynch told me privately that I’ve got the skill set to become a striker. Not too shabby for a novice.

Of course, that was before the trial began.

I hadn’t made a single practice in two weeks.

A thump sounded behind me.

Ella and I turned to see Shelton, red-faced, scooping books off the floor. “Sorry. They must’ve waxed these desktops.”

“Look,” Ella whispered as she pointed to the back row. “The Gable twins are out again. How many days is that?”

“I haven’t seen Lucy or Peter all week,” I said. “That’s not like them.”

The Gables were both honor students, and math freaks to boot.

“Vacation?” I guessed.

“In April?” Ella shrugged. “Nice timing.”

The third bell rang. We spun to face the front, where Mr. Terenzoni was already scribbling on his dry-erase board. A prickly man, he liked to publicly embarrass anyone who wasn’t paying attention. I locked in on his lesson.

Ten minutes later, the classroom door swung open. Mr. Terenzoni’s head whipped toward the disturbance, his mouth opening to complain. Spotting the visitor, he snapped it shut.

Headmaster Declan Paugh entered, leaving the door ajar behind him. Fit and trim for a man nearing sixty, he had a tuft of thick white hair encircling an otherwise bald dome. Paugh wore a natty tweed jacket, white shirt, and tan slacks. A purple bow tie completed the ensemble.

Known as a strict disciplinarian, the headmaster was obsessed with upholding the lofty standards of Bolton Prep. He’d been a quiet opponent of allowing LIRI to provide scholarships for Morris Island kids, but he’d never mistreated us once the decision was made.

Nonetheless, I’d spent my entire career at Bolton carefully avoiding his attention.

Paugh scanned the room with watery gray-blue eyes. Settled on me.

Perfect.

“Miss Victoria Brennan, please come with me.” His nasally tenor oozed pretentiousness. “You as well, Misters Stolowitski and Devers. Quick now.”