Oh. My. God.
Ariana closed her eyes and sank back underneath the staircase next to Thomas. This couldn’t be happening. Mr. Holmes would never have an affair with a student. He couldn’t. Everyone at Easton knew that he was a good guy. A guy with a wife at home, a pregnant wife who sometimes made biscotti for him to bring to class. He wouldn’t do this to her. There was no way.
Of course, the slobbering kissing sounds coming from the other side of the room suggested otherwise.
Ariana’s stomach turned. She was even more disgusted with Isobel. She’d been dating her boyfriend, Jack, since freshman year. Was almost as attached to him as she was to her morning latte. Ariana had once caught her doodling the name
Mrs. John Staton
in the back of her spring issue of
Vogue
, and knew that the two of them were serious. The spring issue was Isobel’s prize possession. It was common knowledge around Billings that any girl who so much as looked at her copy of the issue before Isobel read it cover to cover twice would never live to tell the tale.
And yet here they were, Mr. Holmes and Isobel, devouring each other like a pair of horny, rabid dogs in the Drake basement. Ariana felt her hands beginning to shake, and she didn’t bother to stop them.
It wasn’t just the fact that they were hooking up, or lying about it, or breaking all sorts of state statutory rape laws in the process. She was more pissed at herself for being so naïve as to believe that they were good people. That they were incapable of doing something so wrong. She had underestimated them, just like she’d underestimated Daniel. She’d been at Easton long enough to know that nothing was ever exactly what it seemed. Apparently, she hadn’t learned the lesson well enough. She felt her hands curling tightly around Thomas’s wool coat, and rage churned in the pit of her stomach.
She noticed Mr. Holmes’s Dockers out of the corner of her eye. Isobel had whipped the pants toward the stairwell, and they were almost within reach. A phone peeked out of the back pocket, and Ariana glanced down at her own cell, dead on the floor next to her.
She still needed to call Daniel, to find out if he was actually in Vermont. And to do that, she needed a cell phone that actually worked. As long as Mr. Holmes was busy holding his perverted version of office hours, he wouldn’t miss his cell.
Ever so carefully, Ariana inched her foot out from beneath the stairwell, keeping her gaze fixed on Mr. Holmes and Isobel to be sure they didn’t see her. She nudged the pants toward her, inch by inch, until they were close enough that she could reach out and grab the cell phone without exposing herself to the happy couple.
Shielding the phone with her cupped hand, she flipped it open and stared at the screen. As her eyes adjusted to the light, the pixels on the screen coalesced to reveal a smiling pregnant woman, one hand resting on her belly. Mr. Holmes’s wife was standing next to his desk,
gesturing proudly with the other hand toward the nameplate that was perched on top of a stack of books. Ariana forced herself to look away from the screen. That woman deserved better than Mr. Holmes.
Don’t we all deserve to be happy? Or at least to search for what we think might make us happy? Isn’t that a basic human right?
Her jaw tightened as she remembered Mr. Holmes’s words in class a few days ago. Now, they took on an entirely different meaning. She’d thought he was challenging the class with those words. Pushing them to go deeper. But he was just using his lecture to justify an affair with a student. And she’d been stupid enough to listen. She shook her head in disgust, cursing herself for trusting him. For always trusting the wrong people.
Her hand slipped against a button on the side of the phone, and suddenly she was staring at a crooked image of Mr. Holmes and Isobel pressed against each other. The furnace blocked part of the screen, but the flashlight on the floor offered just enough light for the screen to capture their faces.
A tiny red dot throbbed at the top of the screen next to the letters
REC
. The phone was recording video. Her heart started to pound in her chest. What was she doing? All she had to do to stop the recording was press the button again, but something stopped her. Ariana felt betrayed—used. Disgusted that two people whom she had admired had turned out to be so unworthy. She wanted to preserve the evidence of this moment. The evidence of their debauchery, the depth of their duplicity. Numb, she stared at the grainy image until their bodies melted out of focus on the screen.
The sun was beginning to rise over the east edge of campus as Ariana crept toward Drake. She hadn’t slept all night. Had simply stared into the darkness, her hand on Thomas’s chest to monitor his breathing. In the early predawn hours, she’d slipped through one of the basement windows and sneaked back to Billings to get food. Now, she cradled in her arms the only things she’d been able to find in Noelle’s closet: a bottle of SmartWater, a couple of Zone bars, and a white chocolate reindeer Dash had left on her pillow before break.
Ariana shuddered in the cold, her body feeling weak and drained. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to wear the bloodstained coat she’d stashed under the basement stairwell the night before, so while she was at Billings she had grabbed her camel-colored fall jacket. It was warm, but not nearly warm enough to combat the early morning chill, its icy fingers pressing against the back of her neck and sending continuous shivers down her spine.
The sound of her boots crunching over the hardened snow cut through the crisp air. As she hurried around Drake to get to the basement, she thought she heard another sound. Footsteps moving through the snow in tandem with hers. She froze, pressing her body against the side of the building. Holding her breath, trying to quiet the sound of her throbbing heart.
Nothing but deafening silence.
Don’t be stupid, Ariana. No one else is up at 5 a.m. on break. You’re alone.
It’s all in your head.
Still, she picked up speed as she rounded the building, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Ketlar. Just thinking about the deserted dorm chilled her more than the winter air. Made her feel like she was back in Thomas’s room, petrified and alone. Staring at that awful photograph as a hot breath slid down her neck. Her stomach surged again at the memory. Whoever had been in there had wanted to hurt her. And had the means to do it. Worse than the idea that someone was trying to sabotage them was the suspicion that Daniel was the intruder.
Mr. Holmes’s cell phone hung like a heavy weight in Ariana’s pocket. She had thought about calling the resort from her room at Billings but had wanted to get back before Thomas woke up. Thinking about making the call sent her pulse into overdrive, but she had to do it. Whether he was there or—God forbid—here, she had to know. She vowed to call the moment she was safely back at Drake.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, threads of pink light played over campus, casting colorful shadows over the white snow. The beautiful
sight of Easton’s Gothic buildings, suddenly illuminated, should have calmed her. Ariana had always loved the way the campus looked in the early morning. The nightmares always woke her well before Noelle stirred, and she often sat at her desk to admire the view. Easton seemed so noble, so pristine in the hours before it was corrupted with students.
But instead of looking serene and untouched, the looming buildings seemed menacing, threatening.
She stopped in front of the first basement window. Something above her had moved. She looked up at the rows of windows that stretched above her. On the fourth floor, a shadow was moving in front of the window.
Startled, Ariana flung herself toward the building and pressed her back up against the wall. She checked her watch. Five fifteen a.m. Who would be up at this hour? Trying to control her breathing, she titled her head back to stare up at the window above.
The figure paused, its back to the window. In the early morning light, she recognized the dark hair. The familiar navy argyle sweater. It was Sergei. Just Sergei. Relieved, Ariana ducked down and threw the window open. She tossed everything through the opening and onto the desk she’d moved underneath the window that morning. She heard the sound of the plastic bottle rolling across the floor.
Quickly, Ariana crawled through the window, dropped down to the desk, and then to the floor. Shoulders rising and falling with her rapid breath, she chided herself for letting her curiosity get the best of her. Sergei could have seen her, not to mention any one of
the other students staying behind during break. She had to be more careful.
And she had to know where Daniel was. Hands shaking, she pulled out Mr. Holmes’s phone and dialed.
After one ring, a young female voice chirped in her ear. “Good morning, Winter Lodge Resort. This is Alessandra.”
Ariana cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m trying to get in touch with one of your guests,” she whispered into the receiver, glancing across the basement. Thomas was still sprawled out on the dusty floor, his head resting on her coat. “Daniel Ryan?”
“One moment, Miss. I’ll try his room.”
“Thanks,” Ariana croaked.
It’s fine,
she told herself as the harsh ring echoed from the receiver.
It’s going to be fine.
Still, she felt sick to her stomach. If he picked up, that meant he had no idea what she’d done or whom she’d done it with. But if he picked up, he was still going to be angry. What was she going to say to him?
“Yeah?” A groggy, muffled voice sounded on the other end of the line.
Ariana gripped the phone tightly in her sweaty fist. Daniel’s voice. He was in Vermont.
“Hello?” His voice sounded again, stronger this time. It was familiar, almost comforting. Ariana felt a twinge in her heart. Indecision? Remorse? But then the image of his glowing laptop screen flooded her thoughts. The image of all the names, the endless
list of girls. And her name, no different from any other, at the end. She’d been a nothing to him. Just some girl that he’d counted on screwing by Christmas.
She slammed the phone shut and tossed it on the table next to her. Relief and dread filled her at once.
Daniel wasn’t the one stalking her and Thomas. This was a good thing. But now she was back where she started. The person who had taken that picture had the power to ruin her life. He or she had evidence that she and Thomas had been on campus when they weren’t supposed to be, that they’d been in another student’s room, that they’d been doing things they definitely weren’t supposed to be doing. The person who had taken that picture could destroy her. And she had no idea who that person could be.
Feeling a new wave of adrenaline rush through her, Ariana scooped up the bottle of water and the food and crouched under the stairs, next to Thomas’s body.
“Thomas,” she whispered. “Wake up.”
She pressed her hands against his chest. His body was limp, motionless under her palms. She tried again, shaking him more violently this time.
“What the hell?” he yelled, sitting up straight. When he saw Ariana in front of him, he gripped his head with both hands and sank back onto the floor, wincing in pain. “Your wake-up calls could use a little work.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.
“Like somebody took a bat to my head. And my ankle.”
He tested his ankle by pressing his foot into the floor and flinched, his eyes still closed.
“I’m sorry about the timing, but I need you to focus,” Ariana said firmly. “I have to show you something.”
She removed the folded picture of her and Thomas from her pocket. He had to see the photo—had to know what was going on.
“What is it?”
Thomas struggled to push himself up against the cement-block wall. His swiped the bottle of SmartWater and twisted the cap off, chugging half the bottle in one gulp.
Ariana dropped the picture on the floor in front of him. “I found this in your room yesterday,” she began, opening Mr. Holmes’s cell phone over the picture. Blue light spilled over every crease, every imperfection in the paper. “On your desk.”
Looking confused, Thomas leaned over the crinkled piece of paper. Shock froze his features, and he was silent.
“Somebody’s following us.” Ariana was trying to sound strong, but her voice came out shaky. “And it’s not Daniel. I called his resort this morning. He’s there. Just like you said.”
“Why?” Thomas asked, his brow creasing. “Who would—”
“I don’t know,” she said flatly.
She stared at the photo. Thomas was facing the camera. She was facing away. They were both sitting on Daniel’s desk, amidst a pile of textbooks and dirty clothes. Daniel’s laptop was open on the edge of the desk, facing the door. Once again, the thought of that spreadsheet sent a shiver of disgust through her body.
“What’s that?” Thomas squinted harder at the picture, bringing it in front of his face.
“What’s what?” Ariana felt her pulse quickening.
“Nothing.” He shrugged. His features had hardened. “I just thought I saw something.” He dropped the picture again and Ariana snatched it before it had the chance to reach the floor.
“Show me,” she demanded.
The picture was the only link between them and whoever was following them. If he’d seen something that could help them figure out who it was, she needed to know.
Thomas rolled his eyes and pointed. “It’s just that dark smudge in the corner of the mirror. I thought it was the photographer, but it’s just ink from the printer or something.” Thomas reached for the white chocolate reindeer, peeling the edge of the tinfoil away. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m starting to wish I’d gone home for Christmas.” He reached down to his ankle and touched it gingerly. “Definitely sprained.”
Ariana studied the picture, trying not to let his words sting. She knew his comment hadn’t meant anything, but it was hard not to take it personally.
“It’s nothing,” Thomas said again, biting off a giant antler. “Don’t waste your time.”
But Ariana’s pulse was quickening again. She stood up and brought the photo over to the window, where the soft morning light was starting to gain strength. Suddenly, the smudge, as Thomas had called it, came into focus. Ariana’s eyes widened in disbelief as she recognized
the familiar pattern. The dark argyle plaid she’d seen just seconds ago, in the window on Drake’s fourth floor.