It was even darker here, the ancient architecture not affording much natural light, as all the windows were high and tiny. I squinted through the darkness, doing my best to make out familiar shapes. A water fountain outside Spanish. A bank of lockers at the end of the hall. A poster about the upcoming Homecoming Dance on the wall next to the trophy case.

  I put my hands out in front of me, feeling my way through the building as I followed Chase.

  Ten minutes later, we finally hit the administration offices. I stepped through the doors to the main room and pulled out my phone to provide some illumination. A large desk took up the front, the walls behind it lined with wooden storage closets, a silent copy machine, and several metal filing cabinets. Maybe it was the dim lighting making my other senses stronger, but the school smelled different in the empty darkness. Like pungent dry erase markers and mildewing books. I took in shallow breaths, quickly crossing to the file cabinets where student records were held.

  I pulled at the cabinet door. Locked.

  I was getting really tired of all the locks.

  Chase pulled out our trusty hairpin again and went to work, jiggling it into the hole.

  I wandered over to the administration desk, feeling like I was in forbidden territory. Several wire baskets sat on the top, full of incoming and outgoing paperwork. I glanced at the top of the stack. Graded midterms from Mr. Brown's Lit class. I couldn't help peeking a little. I opened the file, sifting through papers. It looked like Chris Fret was failing this class, too (poor guy!), but amazingly, Connor had gotten an A. I silently wondered if he'd used Nicky's services to obtain it.

  Beneath the file of grades were several other forms—absence slips, band uniform orders, a couple handwritten notes from parents to the principal. Nothing looked especially interesting.

  I almost jumped out of my skin when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a text from Sam.

  whats taking so long?

  locked file cabinet, I responded.

  hurry. cold out here.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket and moved on to the desk drawers, trying the top one first. It opened easily (No way! Something in this school was actually unlocked?), revealing a stash of pens (mostly red), paper clips, some gum, and a couple pieces of hard candy that looked like they might have been there since the school was built. I moved on to the next drawer down, finding a stapler, hole punch, and a couple more boxes of pens. The third drawer held a paper bag that, if the stench was any indication, contained a long forgotten lunch. I quickly shut it, trying not to breathe too deeply, and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside were blank disciplinary forms, some rolls of tape, and envelopes. I was about to close it when I saw a flash of metal at the bottom of the drawer.

  A key.

  "Chase?"

  "Just a minute. I've almost got it open."

  "Think this would help?"

  "What?" Chase spun around.

  I held the key out to him on one finger, unable to help the smirk I could feel spreading across my face.

  "Where did you find that?"

  "Desk drawer."

  He grunted like he wished he'd thought of looking there himself then grabbed the key. Which, I was happy to see, slipped easily into the lock.

  Chase turned it, and the drawer slid open, revealing a row of file folders. He flipped through the first few. "Looks like they're alphabetical. These are E-H."

  "Jenni's a P."

  Chase and I crouched down as he unlocked the cabinet lowest to the ground. "Pierce, Plunkett, Pritchard," he said, laying hands on Jenni's file and pulling it out.

  I shined my phone flashlight on it as he flipped it open. "What does it say?" I asked, reading over his shoulder.

  "A few doctors' notes. A couple disciplinary slips for violating dress code."

  "I knew her shorts were too short," I mumbled. "Check farther back."

  Chase flipped through the papers to the last few in the folder. "Hello." He held one up.

  It was a records request from Herbert Hoover High to her old school, Oakwood Academy. Attached to it was a transcript of her grades.

  Along with a police report.

  Chase pulled the police report out. "Whoa. This is serious. Arson."

  "So Quinn was telling the truth," I said.

  "At least about this," Chase conceded as we scanned the report.

  The language was official police jargon, though I got the gist of it. Gasoline had been used to douse the south side of the social studies building, and then someone had added a lighter to the mix. Luckily, a teacher working late to get ready for an upcoming Back to School Night had seen the blaze and, with the help of a fire extinguisher, had been able to keep it contained to one part of the school until help had arrived. Once the fire had been put out, they'd found the lighter among the debris—a monogrammed silver cigar lighter that belonged to Jenni Pritchard's dad.

  "Look, it says here that no charges were brought," Chase pointed out. "Mr. Pritchard agreed to pay the school restitution."

  "Nice having a dad who can buy your way out of anything."

  Chase shook his head. "He might have bought her out of this. But if Jenni really did kill Sydney for revenge, there's no buying her way out of that."

  My phone buzzed in my pocket again.

  "Geez, hold your horses, Sam," I muttered as I pulled it out.

  Only this text wasn't complaining about the cold weather.

  someone coming!

  Uh-oh.

  "Uh, Chase? Sam says someone is—"

  But I didn't get to finish, as Chase grabbed me by the arm, pulling me down to the floor. "Someone's coming," he whispered.

  Sure enough, the light in the hallway outside flipped on, and I heard the click of footsteps echoing through the corridor.

  And stopping just outside the office.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  My eyes whipped around the room for somewhere to hide. Under a desk? At the back of a cabinet? Behind the poster about the dangers of vaping?

  Chase must have done the same thing, as he grabbed me by the arm. "Quick. In here," he said, pointing to a supply closet along the back wall. Thankfully it was the only other thing left unlocked in this school, and the door opened easily as Chase shoved me in front of him, then stepped inside, quickly closing it behind him.

  Just as we heard the office door swing open.

  I sucked in a breath in the stuffy dark space. It was small, just big enough for the two of us to fit, though not big enough to afford either of us any personal space. Meaning Chase's body was right up against mine, creating a warm, unsettling feeling in my belly that felt very…personal.

  As I tried to decide if I liked the feeling or not, the admin office light turned on.

  I leaned in to look through the crack in the cabinet doors, feeling Chase do the same beside me. (Very close beside me, causing his leg to rub against my leg in a way that had me leaning slightly closer to a "liking it" decision.)

  A figure moved across my field of vision. As he shifted to the right, I saw a familiar powder blue, short sleeved, button down shirt and pair of baby poo brown corduroy slacks cross the room.

  Mr. Lipkins.

  I close my eyes and said a silent prayer that he didn't need any supplies from the closet tonight as he moved to the admin desk. He opened the bottom drawer, pulling out one of the blank disciplinary forms. Then he grabbed a pen from the top drawer and uncapped it, settling in at the desk.

  I held my breath, hoping that whatever infraction he was writing up had been a short one.

  I shifted, my right leg rubbing against Chase again.

  The air in the closet was getting warm. It was dusty and smelled like old wood.

  Though, I noticed as the minutes stretched on, there was another scent mingling with the old closet smells, too. Fabric softener, soap, and a faint woodsy smell that was surprisingly like the men's department at Macy's. Cologne? Body spray? Deodorant? Whatever it was, I found myself not entirely hating being stuck in the closet with Chase.

  He shifted, his body pressing up against mine, and I felt the lean muscles of his chest against my arm, his breath warm on my neck. Irrationally, I started thinking of all the things we could do in a dark closet together to pass the time while Lipkins added to some poor soul's permanent record.

  I wasn't sure how much time went by, but my left foot was starting to fall asleep (crowded up against a stack of textbooks), and the air in the closet was getting seriously warm (or maybe that was just me. Was it my imagination, or was Chase leaning closer?), when I felt Chase's breath tickle my skin.

  "Lipkins is moving."

  I looked through the crack in the door, forcing myself to focus despite the way-too-personal quarters. Chase was right. Mr. Lipkins had gotten up from the desk and was moving…toward the filing cabinet.

  "You locked the cabinet, right?" I whispered.

  I felt Chase shake his head. "I didn't have time."

  Oh fudgecakes.

  "Where did you put the keys?"

  "They're still in the lock," Chase whispered back.

  I watched, dread curling around in my belly, as Mr. Lipkins discovered the same thing. His bushy eyebrows furrowed together as he stared at the shiny keys dangling from the lock. He straightened up, glancing over both shoulders and surveying the room for a possible explanation.

  I shrank as small as I could, hoping he didn't see the guilt emanating from the closet.

  Luckily, he simply opened the cabinet, shoved the form into some student's file, then shut and locked the cabinet. He dropped the key back in the bottom drawer of the desk then walked out of the room.

  A second later the light outside went off, and I let out a sigh of relief as I heard footsteps retreating down the hall.

  "That was close," I whispered.

  "Yeah," Chase said. I could feel his breath coming hard beside me.

  "Think it's safe to leave the closet?"

  "Probably." But he didn't move.

  "So…do you want to?"

  "Not really. I kinda like it in here."

  I rolled my eyes in the dark and shoved him out ahead of me.

  Even though part of me kinda agreed.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later we were outside again, jogging around the far side of the school to where Sam and Kyle were still standing under the oak tree. Though, it was hard to distinguish one figure from the other as they were firmly stuck together at the lips.

  "Ahem!" I said in an exaggerated throat clearing.

  Sam detangled her mouth from Kyle's long enough to look up. "Oh. Hey."

  "Hey," I said. "You guys are supposed to be our lookouts not makeouts."

  Sam blushed in the moonlight. "You guys were taking forever. We had to find a way to keep warm out here. Besides," she pointed out, "we did warn you someone was coming."

  "Did he see you?" Kyle asked.

  I shook my head, telling her about our near miss with Lipkins.

  "But did you see Quinn's file?" Kyle pressed when I was done. "Is she a fire starter or what?"

  Chase nodded. "Yeah. It looks like Quinn was right. Jenni does have a violent streak."

  "And a thing for revenge," I noted.

  The only question was, had Jenni's thirst for getting even been quenched by getting Sydney busted for cheating…or had she taken it one step further and ended their rivalry permanently?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The next day, Mom agreed to drop me at the front entrance of school and not walk all the way in. I felt slightly guilty that her trust in me was based on the erroneous assumption that I'd been tucked up in my room all last night like a good prisoner. But only slightly. (She had, after all, tortured me with Bon Jovi at top volume the entire ride to school.)

  As soon as I walked into the main building, I saw a table set up in the hall with a cardboard ballot box on top. Jessica Hansen was manning it, handing out little slips of paper to anyone who passed by.

  "Hartley!" she hailed me. "Have you voted yet?"

  "Voted?"

  "For Homecoming Court!" she said with a giddy smile.

  I had to admit, I hadn't.

  "Today's the last day," Jessica said, handing me a slip of paper.

  "Wait—today?" I asked. "I thought we had until Thursday?"

  Jessica did an exaggerated eye roll, and I could see she'd doubled up on the blue eyeliner today. "Earth to Hartley? Today is Thursday."

  I blinked at her. Really? I'd been so caught up in trying to track down Sydney's killer that I'd totally blanked out the rest of the world. If today was Thursday, that meant that the big football game was tomorrow and the Homecoming Dance the next night.

  Not, mind you, that I was planning to go. Dances, especially Homecoming Dances, were a date kind of thing, and considering I was currently guy-less, I'd planned on a nice quiet night at home with a package of Oreos instead. I looked down at the slips of paper next to Jessica's ballot box. Four guys and three girls were named. I noted with a pang the conspicuously empty spot where Sydney's name might have been. At the very bottom there was a spot for a write-in vote.

  I looked at my choices. There was a football player/cheerleader couple who looked like they probably stood a good chance. There was a color guard girl and soccer player combo who could be a possibility. Then there was the Connor, Jenni, and Ben trio. My money was on Connor and Jenni. But honestly? I really didn't want them to win. Especially if one of them had killed Sydney.

  So, I decided to have a little fun with it and write in a couple instead. I dropped the ballot in Jessica's box and headed toward first period.

  I was halfway there when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out just outside Lit class.

  it's jenni. we need 2 talk

  I raised an eyebrow at my phone, thinking that was interesting timing because I had something to talk to her about as well.

  @ lunch? I asked.

  sure. meet @ *bucks.

  cool. c u then

  I flipped my phone shut just as the bell rang and quickly joined the swarm of people dispersing to their classrooms.

  * * *

  The Starbucks on Blossom Hill Road was only three miles from school, which was nothing if you were lucky enough to have a car. And a heck of hike if you weren't. Thankfully, Sam had borrowed the Green Machine that day and was more than happy to give me a ride if a pre-lacrosse-practice caffeine fix was in the mix.

  It was one of the larger coffee places in town, decorated in a trendy-chic style that was supposed to make people feel good about spending $6 on a cup of coffee. Personally, if said coffee was full of creamy, syrupy goodness, I thought it was well worth it. Tables lined the walls, filled with people on laptops. In the center of the room was a circular booth, surrounded by tables on all sides where soccer moms chatted in their Lululemon workout clothes and older couples sat reading books. A few smaller tables dotted the rest of the floor space, and I noticed a blonde woman sitting by the windows who kept looking up every time the door opened.

  I blinked as she turned her profile our way.

  Wait a minute…

  "Mom?" I asked.

  Mom looked across the room at me, surprise hitting her face for a second before a smile replaced it and she waved me over. "Hartley!"

  I crossed the crowded room, Sam a step behind me.

  "Mom, what are you doing here?" I asked, suddenly insanely worried she'd somehow caught wind of my lunch meeting.

  A worry that I realized was completely unfounded as she answered. "I'm meeting someone for coffee."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Someone?"

  She looked down at her napkin. "Uh-huh."

  "A male someone?"

  "Sort of."

  "From online?"

  "Well…"

  "Mom!"

  "What?" she asked, putting her hands out, palms up. "Match dot com says that coffee is a perfect first date."

  "You're here on a date?" This was much more worrisome than being followed.

  She pulled herself up to her full height, despite the hot pink color spreading from her cheeks to her forehead. "Yes. I'm waiting for my date."

  "This is a disaster. You can't date!"

  "Hartley, don't you think you're overreacting just a little?"

  "What do you know about this guy?" I asked, ignoring her. "What if he's crazy? What if he's some psycho?"

  "Hartley," she said, giving me a head tilt. "He's not a psycho. I know him well enough to be sure of that."

  "You can't really get to know anything about a guy through messaging, Mom."

  "Which is why we're having coffee in person," she said.

  I pursed my lips together. "Are you sure you don't want to take up knitting?"

  "Hartley!"

  "Fine!" I threw my hands up. "I'm just gonna go sit in the corner now and pretend I don't know you. But," I added, "if Cybercreep does anything funny, call me."

  Mom grinned at me. "He's not a cybercreep, Hartley. He's a perfectly nice, normal guy."

  "Yeah, they all start out that way…" I said, letting the warning trail off as I jumped into line behind Sam, all the while keeping one eye on Mom. I watched as the front door opened, her eyes shooting to it with way too much excitement as a guy walked in. He was tall, dark haired, and dressed in a suit. I held my breath as I watched him cross the room…then sit down at a table with another suit wearing guy.

  Whew. Not my future cyber dad.

  I grabbed a skinny caramel macchiato and followed Sam to a table near the back (with a good view of Mom so I could keep an eye on Cybercreep). Sam dug into her feast of a venti Frappuccino with extra whipped cream, a lemon scone, and a glazed donut.

  In two minutes flat, she'd inhaled the whole thing.

  "Wow," I commented.

  "What?" She blinked at me.

  "Hungry much?"

  "Hey, this is my lunch. Besides, I need the extra calories for lacrosse," she said, licking a couple stray crumbs from her lower lip.

  At this rate, all that extra exercise was going to end up adding pounds.

  Thankfully, before I could comment, the front door opened again and a familiar blonde in short-shorts and a tight top walked in.