Deadly Secrets

Chapter 20: The Assignment

Max leaned against the hood of his Porsche, waving the yellow Post-it note glued to his finger like a flag. Two words were scribbled on it: Macbeth Assignment.

It was either English or Chemistry. And he absolutely hated the latter.

The night before— after he had gotten home—Max had immediately gotten to work, pulling out a forgotten corkboard from a utility closet, and hanging it up on a bare wall in his study room. He pinned all of Zara's photos against it. He circled all the flaws with a red marker, and jotted down his thoughts on sticky-notes, attaching them to the images. Every once in a while, Max would consider hiring someone to do the job for him, but then his incompetent father would come to mind, and the consideration would disappear.

The satisfaction of proving his father wrong would be greater if he did the research on his own. All he had to do was remind himself that he was doing it for his own good, not for Zara's. He was the victim in this situation, not her.

Max scoffed, shoving both hands into the pockets of his jacket. Remember, I'll be watching your every move, he had warned, and here he was. So the photographic evidence Rubair had used against her was fake, but why her out of all people? Who exactly was Zara and what kind of person was she? All his father ever did was pull wool over Maximilian's eyes, and he was sick of it. It was time to see things for himself, rather than blindly follow orders.

He strode towards the front gate of his school, his purpose clear in his mind.

-:-

As Max trudged down the hallway, he basked in its emptiness. The place was usually a ghost town at seven in the morning, except for the odd student who liked to suck up to teachers.

The type of student Max liked to bully mercilessly.

Even the teachers were cooped up in their lounge-room, adding the final touches to their program for the day. Hopefully, Mr. Pender was in the English classroom instead of the lounge—the last thing Max wanted was to have the entire staff think that he was eager to learn.

Not entirely wrong, but still.

Max's attention snapped towards the slamming of a locker door. He observed the kid, probably a freshman, attempt to hold three textbooks and a binder underneath one arm. With the other hand, he tried to fit the lock into place. The child was so short and feeble, the books seemed to be half his size—it was a surprise that he could even reach his locker. Max had to give it to him, though, he was one persistent little bastard.

That's why he would enjoy crushing that persistence like a bug.

Max's lips curled upwards in a sadistic half-smile as he watched the struggle, making no move to help him. Instead, without faltering, he walked right next to the kid and 'accidentally' shoved him against the locker. The poor soul squealed, violently ricocheting against the metal door before collapsing like a sack of potatoes, his books skidding away from him.

Loving the sound of his victim's whimpering, Max snickered satisfactorily.

He turned into another hallway, his steps slowing when he reached room 143, or his English classroom. Each door had a rectangular window in it, allowing a passerby to partially look into the room without having to disturb a lesson inside. Max stopped right beside that window—the last thing he wanted to do was to have Mr. Lawrence see him awkwardly loitering outside the room.

Max dragged a hand through his hair, then took a deep breath when he heard rustling on the other side.

I'm really doing this.

He wasn't going to lie. Max was a little apprehensive about what he was going to do and was already going through a mental list of responses in the event that his request was rejected.