Prep School Confidential (A Prep School Confidential Novel) (34 page)

Lunging at Brent.

White light explodes in front of my eyes as I scream and pull the trigger.

CHAPTER

FIFTY

Harrow lies on his back unconscious, blood seeping through the leg of his pants. His temple is leaking blood, too, from hitting a rock on his fall to the ground. He’s breathing, though.

Brent lies on the ground, too, holding his chest. I rush over to him, feeling relief flood me when I don’t see red staining his shirt. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if I had missed Harrow. I bend down next to him, and he grabs me, pressing me to him.

“When I heard the first gunshot…” His voice trails off. His mouth is at my ear, then on my lips. His are soft, and they fit mine perfectly. I kiss him back, warmth flooding every inch of my body. He holds my face, kissing me harder as if to make up for all those times we could have kissed but didn’t. Everything disappears, and it’s just him and me, and I finally realize how much I wanted this to happen all along.

The sirens are what finally interrupt us.

“I hope you don’t mind I made a phone call or two,” he says as we pull away. “I finally found someone to let me into your building, and Alexis was there. When you didn’t come back, I figured you’d met someone else here.”

“It’s okay.” I hold on to Brent’s arms still, almost as if I’ll never get him back if I let him go now. “Dr. Harrow needs a real doctor.”

We look over at our vice-principal. He’s still unconscious, but the blood stain on his pants is growing larger. “I better not have hit his femoral artery,” I say. “I
so
do not feel like dealing with my dad if he dies.”

Luckily, Harrow doesn’t die. He does open his eyes, though. Brent holds the gun on him as I move to the edge of the forest, waving my flashlight so the emergency vehicles can find us.

“Hey.” Brent grabs me before I motion to leave him. He kisses me again. “Sorry. Had to.”

*   *   *

Detective Phelan pushes a cup of coffee at me. “Drink, before you get hypothermia.”

I shake my head from under the blanket one of the paramedics gave me. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You’re in shock,” Detective Phelan says.

I want to tell Detective Phelan that since I started at this school, I’ve discovered my roommate was sleeping with the vice-principal, the vice-principal was extorting a senator, the headmaster covered up a sexual-harassment case, and a science teacher could be the reason we all get blown to smithereens one day. Oh, and I shot a guy.

Honestly, nothing really shocks me anymore.

Still, I let the paramedics strap an oxygen mask over my face. It’s kind of nice to breathe, for once. I don’t have the energy to look for Tierney or Goddard in the mass of police officers and detectives swarming the scene outside the forest.

My heart hammers against my chest as a stretcher holding Harrow rolls by. He’s handcuffed to it, and luckily there’s too much gauze and other crap around his face for him to see me.

“He can’t hurt you now,” Detective Phelan reassures me.

I look up at him. “You had no idea it was him, did you?”

The detective’s lack of a response is all the answer I need. We sit in silence, watching the media-police-EMT frenzy unfolding around us. A news copter flies overhead, but I’m hidden in the back of an ambulance. For now.

“We overlooked Harrow,” Detective Phelan finally says. “He was helpful, charming. Powerful. Those are the people who find ways to slip through the cracks in the system. Should be one hell of a trial, that’s for sure.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to think about a trial now. A trial means I’ll have to relive everything that happened. I’ll have to admit to breaking the law to get the answers I needed. I’ll have to watch my friends get hurt—and sit by and do nothing as Cole realizes I’m the reason people will find out about his mother’s affair with Senator Westbrook.

“That’s bullshit,” I tell Detective Phelan. “If they slip through cracks in the system, it’s only because the system isn’t good enough.”

I think of the tape in Goddard’s office. God only knows what Harrow did with it. I think of Isabella, and how scared she must have felt when Lee got off with a slap on the wrist. I think of Molly, who probably for the rest of her life will be afraid to do the right thing because of what standing up for Isabella cost her.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting off hot tears. Sure, Harrow may go to jail, but none of this is right.

“Young man, you can’t cross that tape!” a voice barks.

I look up, and my heart flip-flops. Anthony is pushing his way toward the ambulance, ignoring the police officer trailing behind him.

I drop the blanket and rush into his arms. His hair tickles my ears as he pulls me in tight. “I can’t believe you did this. You’re insane. You’re stupid. You’re amazing.”

I break away from him. Once the shock fades that he’s really here, in front of me, and not in jail or anywhere else, it feels as if there’s a wall between us. It would be easy to blame it on me kissing Brent, but the first brick in the wall was laid the second I found out he stole from Isabella.

“Did you really…?” My throat is dry and tight. Anthony’s eyes darken.

“Would it matter to you?”

“Of course it matters, Anthony. I want to trust you.…”

“That’s the thing. I still don’t think you’d trust me again if it wasn’t true.” His face is angry and sad and something else I can’t quite place. “Glad you’re okay. Enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Anthony.” I shout for him to wait, but he’s already letting the police officer escort him to the other side of the tape again.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

I turn to see Brent, smiling this completely devastating smile. “He’s—”

“He’s something to you.” Brent steps toward me and kisses my forehead. “I’ll wait for you to figure out what.”

“You’re … something to me, too,” I say stupidly. And then it hits me: This is how it is. I’m not dealing with two awesome pairs of shoes here. I can’t have both of them. Even if I choose one, we’ll all be thinking about the other.

No matter what I do or don’t do, everybody gets hurt.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

My parents take the next flight out of JFK and arrive at the Wheatley School in the morning. So do everyone else’s parents, though. There are no classes this week—just constant meetings and assemblies, where I assume Goddard and Tierney and the rest of the trustees will try to convince parents this whole ordeal has not traumatized their children.

Senator Westbrook and the Redmonds are conspicuously missing. I catch up with Cole at breakfast the next morning. He gives me a rueful smile before I can say anything.

“You did what you had to do,” he says. “Everyone would have found out anyway if Isabella went forward.”

I don’t like the bitter tone to his voice. “I’m sure she didn’t know what she was doing, Cole. She obviously was crazy over Harrow and—”

“Don’t you get it, Anne?” Cole says. “None of what she did was an accident. Isabella hated all of us, and she screwed with everyone just because she could. I know you think she was your friend … but if she had stayed alive long enough, she would have screwed you over, too.”

He walks back to the table without me. As I watch him move farther from me, the weight of what I’ve done hits me. I’ve seriously screwed up the power structure around here. That’s why no one would talk after Isabella was killed: They all think it’s better to exist within a corrupt hierarchy instead of being outside it, trying to fight it.

But I’m not one of them. I’m going to keep fighting it, even if they expel me. Which, let’s face it, is looking extremely likely.

Darlene finds me in the dining hall and says Goddard wants to see me. I knew this was coming, so I didn’t even get breakfast. I stand up straight, throw on some rosebud salve, and make my way outside. Everyone I pass watches me with quiet reverence and wide eyes. I don’t blame them; I’m not just the girl who burned down part of St. Bernadette’s now. I’m the girl who shot the vice-principal.

Goddard’s secretary leads me to his office. I take a seat across from him, taking a sort of pleasure in the fact that he doesn’t know I’ve been in here before.

“Well, Ms. Dowling,” he says. “You’ve had quite a year, and it’s not even March.”

I stare into his watery old-man eyes. “I suppose.”

“In light of recent events, the future of the Wheatley School is uncertain at best.” Goddard folds his hands and levels with me. “But nonetheless, I’d like to discuss
your
future here.”

“Yeah, about that. I pretty much assumed I didn’t have one.”

A small smile plays at the corner of Goddard’s mouth. “You know what they say about assuming.”

My jaw nearly drops. “You’re … not expelling me? How could you still want me here? What makes you think I
want
to be here?”

Goddard shifts in his seat. I can tell no student has ever talked to him like this before. “Ms. Dowling, you brought Isabella Fernandez’s killer to justice. You may have bent a few rules in the process, but imagine how it would look if we decided to expel a student the media is calling a hero.”

So that’s what this is about. They won’t expel me because of how it will
look.
I should have known better. Goddard doesn’t think I’m a hero. Judging by his ironic smile, Goddard thinks I’m a gigantic pain in the ass, and he only wants me here because the best way to deal with a problem is to contain it.

I want to tell the wrinkly old bastard to fuck off, that there’s no way I’m staying in Massachusetts or at his stupid school.

Then I think of gummy worms.

It sounds ridiculous, I know. It’s such a simple thought, but the fact that Isabella loved them so much and will never get to eat them again fills me with sadness. Then anger. Because even if Lee Andersen didn’t kill Isabella, and Goddard isn’t responsible for Isabella’s death, he could have been.

And everyone deserves to know that.

Guess I’ll be sticking around, after all. Someone needs to testify at Harrow’s trial, and the tape from Goddard’s office is still out there. I still have a chance to get Isabella the justice she really deserves.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” I say. “It’s very generous of you to let me stay.”

Before exiting his office, I give him a smile. His face falls just a little, almost as if he detects the message behind it.

Get ready. Because I’m going to take you down.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-TWO

My father stands beside me, stone-faced, as I identify James Harrow as the man who held a gun to my head and confessed to killing Isabella. I try to keep my gaze on the wall behind them as the men in the line-up shuffle away, but Harrow still manages to look right at me. He’s on crutches, and his face is covered in patchy stubble. I know he can’t see me, but I still want to throw up all over the police-station floor.

He can’t see me. But he still smiles at the two-way mirror. The smile spreads from his lips to his eyes. The same crystal-blue ones that find me in my sleep.

Dad’s grip on my shoulder tightens protectively. “I want that bastard remanded without bail,” he tells Detective Phelan.

“He’s not going anywhere,” the detective says. He shakes his head, his gray eyes haunted. “Men like him … All I can say is sometimes I wish we still had the death penalty here.”

“Yeah, well,” I say, “I’m sure his fellow inmates will have fun with the pretty new guy.”

“Really, Anne, do you have to talk like that?” my father says, but Detective Phelan winks at me. His smile fades a bit as he stops me on our way out.

“We searched Harrow’s house for the recording device you told me about,” he says. I stiffen. When he doesn’t say anything else, I know they haven’t found it. Or maybe he doesn’t believe it even exists.

“Thanks for trying,” I tell him wryly. I look up at the television over the detective’s station. It’s broadcasting CNN, and while there’s no volume, there’s a caption below the newscaster. It reads:

Senator Westbrook expected to resign at 1:00
P.M.
today
.

“You’d better get going.” Detective Phelan nods to the TV. “You don’t want to miss a good show.”

*   *   *

My father leaves me outside of Amherst. I knew he’d have to go back to New York eventually, and even though he’s still pissed at me for getting involved in this mess, I don’t want him to go.

I hold on a little tighter when he hugs me this time.

“We could find a school in New York for you to finish out the year,” he says, for the millionth time since he got here. I shake my head.

“I can’t start over again this late in the semester.”

He tells me he loves me and he’ll see me for spring break. Then he’s gone, and there’s a hollow feeling inside of my chest, because I can’t go with him. I have too much I need to set right here. I need Cole and Remy and everyone to understand why I did the things I did. Why I lied to them and hurt them.

They’re nothing like my friends at home, but I don’t want to lose them now that I have them.

Darlene comes out of the stairwell as I’m showing my ID to the RA on duty.

“There you are,” she says. “Isabella’s brother was just here. He left something for you.”

My stomach sinks. Anthony was here, and he didn’t call me or try to see me or anything?

Darlene emerges from behind the desk with a cardboard box. “It’s some old textbooks of Isabella’s. He figured maybe you might need some of these for next year. Whatever you don’t want, I’ll bring back to the bookstore.”

I nod mechanically. Next year. Will I even be here next year? I can’t think that far right now—I can’t think past the fact that Anthony was here and he didn’t want to see me. The thought of that still feels like a slap across the face.

This is how it’s going to be. I probably won’t see Anthony again until Harrow’s trial, if he even shows up.

I drag the box of books into the lounge. I don’t plan on keeping any of them, but I want to know what other classes she took here. I want to know more about the girl I never got to know—the girl who changed everything for me, even if she’ll never know it.