The Missing Link (Book 1: Outcast) [CURRENTLY EDITING]

CHAPTER SIX: THE PLAN

The rest of the night went by uneventfully. Logan kept Hunter hooked on the subject of my mother's paintings until Emilia started whining because of her delayed bedtime. That was when they decided to call it a night and go back home.

I was pleased with the few answers I'd managed to get from him. Part of me felt relieved by the fact that he openly admitted having blue eyes and black hair, just the way I saw him, but how could anyone feel comforted with the idea of seeing a completely different person from everyone else?

Not for a second had I stopped considering the theory that perhaps people were joking around, that we would get back to class next Monday and they would all laugh—Hunter included—and say, "oh, it was only a joke" or "yeah, we were messing around. We know the new guy isn't blonde and doesn't have brown eyes. Totally ridiculous."

Goddammit, I'd throw a party if that were the case. If not, I would consider signing myself into a mental hospital for my own wellbeing.

Seriously. What were the odds of something like this happening?

That was part of the reason why movies and books had become the bane of my existence. They made you paranoid, so when real life fucked you over, your brain immediately programed itself to throw supernatural scenarios that could explain them. The last thing I needed was Hunter showing up on my doorstep, naked, panting, and slowly muttering the words, "I'm a werewolf, Olivia."

Not only that, but I could also sense Jared would reprehend my sloppy interrogation skills once I filled him in on the night's events. To be fair, though, asking someone why their school file was empty was not only creepy but kind of illegal, too.

If he was hiding anything—and only if he was—how bad could it even be? Scratch that. I didn't even want to know.

People could probably ask for their information to be kept private. Maybe they just didn't want anyone snooping around their files. And yes, his explanations on certain topics were vague, seemingly scripted, but I did believe he was telling the truth in some way—slanted, but he was.

I ended up drifting off into an edgy sleep only to be awoken by the sound of thunder and heavy raindrops hitting the roof the next morning. I was thankful we didn't have any classes, but the hefty memory of Sally's bloody figure stumbling into the hallway had haunted my mind throughout the night.

I just couldn't bear the weight of her words. Like she was sure of it: He tried to kill me. The guy with the glowing blue eyes.

Those two statements kept on playing over and over and over in my mind.

I sighed, feeling nothing but empathy and pity. Everybody thought she was crazy. It was easier to believe a surveillance video than the shaken up girl who claimed she'd gotten attacked. Still, why would Sally Mason—out of everyone—make up something like that? Perhaps people did go crazy, but I'd known the girl since third grade.