Paranoid(26)

His mouth almost fell open. She knew? Without cameras, how . . . ? He didn’t wait around and ask, but nearly knocked the chair over as he scrambled to get out of the tight, airless office. His mother was going to go through the roof, he decided, but for the moment, he’d avoided a serious beating from Schmidt.

Right, and what are you going to do about him?

Dylan didn’t know, but he told himself as he hurried to English class, he’d figure out a way to get Schmidt what he needed. Then, maybe he’d be free. The school year was almost over and Schmidt was heading to college. Hopefully, he’d be smarter in the future and stop stepping into jams like this.

Really?

Cuz everyone knows.

You’ve become the supplier, and face it, you like the money.

Once Schmidt leaves, there will be another bully. And then another one for the whole time you’re in this sucky high school.

How the hell are you gonna get out?

“Crap,” he muttered under his breath as he reached the door to room 107. He’d find a way.

Somehow.

He’d have to.





CHAPTER 8


Rachel picked up the kids at school, and if they noticed her bad mood, they didn’t say a word on the way home. Harper was deep into her phone, texting while seated next to Reno in the backseat. Dylan, ever-present earbuds in place, looked out the passenger window and kept to himself. The only indication that he wasn’t in his usual fantasy world was the fact that his head, deep in the hood of his sweatshirt, wasn’t bobbing to the music only he could hear.

Maybe his confrontation with the school administration had made an impact.

Rachel hoped so.

Her own day had gone from bad to worse with the pall of Violet’s death hanging over her. Her front tire had gone flat on her way back from the cemetery, then her aging workhorse of a printer had finally given up the ghost in the middle of printing notes for the damned meeting tonight, and finally, to top things off, the school had called to report that Dylan had been caught cutting class.

“. . . and don’t know what’s going on with him,” Mrs. Walsh had said, and Rachel had pictured the tiny administrator frowning with concern. Or mock concern. Rachel hadn’t been sure which. She sometimes suspected Marlene Walsh enjoyed her authority and ability to discipline. “But this is the third time and that’s cause for suspension.”

“Doesn’t that seem to defeat the purpose?” Rachel had pointed out. “If he’s cutting class, then why would you reward him by letting him out of school?”

The administrator had paused for a beat. As if she hadn’t thought of this before, but Rachel suspected differently. “Yes, I know. It’s all school policy. But I’ve devised an alternative solution.” She’d then outlined her plan, a far better idea in Rachel’s opinion. Would it work? Who knew? Both of her children were pulling away from her, and the little boy who had worn his heart on his sleeve while growing up and who had confided in her had become secretive, as had his sister.

Now, she parked in the carport and let Reno sniff around the backyard as her kids filed through the back door and she followed. Once they were in the house, Harper still texting as she headed down the hall to her room, Dylan shedding his backpack by the door, Rachel let the hammer fall. “Mrs. Walsh called today.”

Dylan froze as Harper went into her room. Then he slowly removed his earbuds as Rachel went on. “She told me that she caught you in the hall when you were supposed to be in class.”

“Oh. I was getting my algebra book.”

God, did he look guilty.

“I know. But you were ditching English.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

Overhearing the conversation, Harper had returned to the hallway, idling as Rachel asked her son, “What were you thinking?”

“I dunno.”

“Oh, come on, Dylan.” Rachel didn’t bother hiding the exasperation in her voice. It had been a helluva day and she wasn’t up to teenage subversion. “There was a reason you ditched.”

He hesitated, a tic appearing near his temple, then came up with a lame excuse. “I didn’t have my report ready.”

“So you didn’t go to class? Because of an unfinished assignment? That’s how you handled it?”

He tried to shrug it off, but she was sure he was lying. He’d been a bad liar as a little kid and she’d hoped that trait would stay with him, but now she wasn’t so sure. Lies came more easily to him these days.

“This is the third time, Dylan. Mrs. Walsh was going to suspend you.”

Another lift of a shoulder. “But she didn’t.”

“Yet.”

“I just have to do some stuff for her.” He started to open the refrigerator door, and she slammed it shut before he could peer inside.

“I’m serious. There are only a few weeks left of school this year—the least you could do is finish your assignments, turn them in, and stay in class.”

His eyes darkened and she thought he was going to say something to her. Instead his jaw tightened and he glared. “I will.”

“Wait a second,” she said. “Is there something else going on?”

He looked away as Harper cast her brother a glance of . . . sympathy? Conspiracy? Warning?

“You know something about this?” she asked, turning her attention to her daughter. “Harper?”