Private School Kings

Count Down

I ran, heels in hand, through the overgrown path that led back to campus. I was hopping sticks, dodging branches, and stumbling over rocks. Normally I might have been frantic, but after the two lines Tim had forced on me there was no fear, only exhilaration. Everything was going perfectly. Everything was perfect. I finally understood why Charlie had made so much money dealing. This was amazing.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I understood that the amount I was enjoying this was a problem, especially given my family history, but it was too far back to really register. Instead, I relished in the feeling, the way the earth welcomed my bare feet, the way my veins were full of a fabulous fire, the way I seemed to fly through the forest more than run.

My feet carried me back to the Pruitt grounds, where the windows were dark and uninviting. I didn't care. With so much of the student body at the ball there was much less chance of running into anyone I'd prefer to avoid.

For some reason I could not define or detangle I found myself gravitating toward the journalism office. I went because I could think of no reason not to. It just felt right, though it was hard to imagine anything feeling wrong at the time.

The door was open, and the room was empty inside. I threw down my phone, tossed my heels towards a corner and fell into the roller chair, slinging my legs atop the desk and letting out a sigh like I'd just done an eight hour shift for the last time in my life.

It was only then that I realized how out of breath my mad dash through the forest had left me. It didn't feel the way it usually did. There was no exhaustion, no sore throat or side cramps. If it wasn't for my hammering heartbeat I might not have believed I'd exerted myself at all.

I'd meant to sit back, to relax for a moment, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. There was so much more to do, so many plans to execute, and I felt so capable for once.

I sat for long enough to catch my breath and then I was up again, pacing the room and working it all out in my head. I was so caught up that I didn't hear the door slam open, though it must have because when I turned Fletcher Highguard and Madeline Kwan were standing in the doorway.

The buzzing of the world around me went quiet. It had been so long since I'd seen Fletcher, not since the night Heather told me about Magnus. He hadn't changed, not at all. That's why it hurt so badly. This freckled, frowning, face, those haunted, hungry, eyes, the complicated boy they belonged to. It had all been mine for a moment. Until it fell away.

I was still for the first time since the Lord's ceremony, and so was Fletcher. We stood there, staring at each other, until Madeline finally broke the spell.

"I got your text." She said.

"My text..." I fumbled for my phone, having no memory of any text, but there it was, staring at me under Madeline's contact. Meet me in the journalism office. It had been sent right as I left the ruins, at the height of my high. That was why I'd been so sent on coming here I realized, embarrassed. "Right." I said, trying to sound like I'd understood the whole time. "I'm the King's girl." Had I been sober I probably would have thought up a preamble for the statement, but instead the words seemed to fall from my mouth.

Madeline's eyes went wide, and she let out a small gasp. Fletcher's surprise was a little more subdued, but it was there. In the arch of his eyebrows, in the tightening of his fists.

"I have a recording." I continued. "I have proof of what happened with Magnus. Here." I handed my phone, recording ready, to Madeline, whose hands were grasping for it with fervor I wouldn't have expected. She crossed the room, holding it to her ear, face pinched in focus as she listened to Tim's voice rise from my tinny speakers. Fletcher, on the other hand stayed where he was. He scanned me warily.