“Back in Arcadia,” I say, and the moment I do, his gaze locks on my mouth like a heat-seeking missile. “What was your brother competing in again?”
And there it is – his smile twists knowingly, and I suddenly understand. A breeze picks up, and suddenly I’m cold all over.
“You have no brother,” I whisper, and it’s like a knife has cut my sense of safety. My sense of understanding this world. “You were there for me, weren’t you?”
He doesn’t answer, but he’s given me enough proof already: Emmett had been watching me. For months now.
“Why?” I ask.
I need to know why. I need to know why he was there, watching me, scouting me.
He finally opens his mouth as he shrugs. “I picked you. The school sent me there.”
I don’t buy it one fucking bit, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Yo, Emmett,” says Trey, sticking his head out the window. “We need to go.”
“Bye, Ophelia,” he says, stepping into the car. For the first time, I notice that it’s fancy. Sleek. And dangerous looking. I don’t recognize the logo, and realize with a jolt it must be a car from the Jameson Automobile Co. “Have fun on your walk back.”
With the snap of a door and the rev of an engine, the car does a U-turn and heads back into civilization. I feel an urge to stomp out their taillight, flip them the bird – do something to them – but I’m completely out of my league.
A chilly breeze hits me right now. The sweat has dried on my body, and goosebumps light up my skin. I shiver.
There’s a reason for all of this, I think dully. There’s a reason for Emmett showing up at Arcadia, for the scholarship offer. Emmett has some sort of ulterior motive for me. And I don’t like it one bit.
And there was a reason they brought me out on this road, I think as I start walking.
Nobody ever fucking drives it.
4
Chapter Four
I sit in my assigned car spot – the very last spot at the very back of the lot. Yards away from anyone else. Figures. Even though there were plenty of open spaces before me that I could have, they assigned me the last one.
I can’t help but think Emmett and the others are behind this. Clearly, it’s some sort of status thing.
Last night, I did my research on Jameson, Massachusetts.
What Lily had given me proved accurate.
The Jameson, Blackwater and Whitworth families were the remaining founders, and their kids, Emmett and Bernadette, Vivian, Vincent and Trey went to WJ Prep. The Whitworths had another son still in middle school.
There was no record of a Jameson from Jameson, Massachusetts in the Arcadia track attendance.
Emmett was a lying sack of shit.
But yeah, a Forbes article last week had done an exclusive interview with Thomas Jameson. I promised myself I would read it, but I was so exhausted after coming home that I just went to bed instead.
Mom and Brendan had bought my “going out to dinner with the team after practice” bit. I wanted so badly to tell them everything, but I didn’t want them to worry. They have enough on their plates as it is. Though they had been disappointed I hadn’t told them about dinner. I tried to bite my tongue, and the hole in my pocket where my phone normally occupied... I knew they were doing shitty things on it. That phone has sensitive information.
I’d done my makeup that morning. An extra application of mascara, a dash of highlighter and a fresh coat of cherry chapstick. There were deep bruises on my arm, starting to turn dark purple, as well as marks on my neck. A hardened part of my heart told me not to cover them up. To bear what they had done to my body loud and proud, to stick it to them that I wasn’t afraid of their bully tactics and assault.
So I rushed out the door that morning, my neck red and my throat swollen, to avoid Brendan’s offering of cereal and eggs.
&n
bsp; I flip down the car mirror and gingerly touch the marks. The ghost of Emmett’s fingers are swollen and perfect indentations. The more I look at them, the more they distort and twist, and my mind flashes back to silent suffocation, the primal desire for air, the sinking feeling that I was at his mercy. I hadn’t been able to move or make a sound, my breath lodged in my throat, Emmett’s fingers stopping it.