Say It Again (First Wives, #5)(10)

Sasha remembered listening to Russell speak in the ten minutes he had onstage during their graduation. Russell had been caught many times in his early years, but by the time he left Richter, he hadn’t spent one night in solitary for two years.

She smiled when she thought of the scroll he’d unraveled to read from.

“The missing lion paperweight from the headmistress’s office that was later found duct taped to the hood of her car; junior year.

“The entire supply of gym towels taped to the ceiling of the girls’ locker room; senior year.” Sasha had been a part of that stunt.

Russell was the physical joker, where Sasha took pride in a different type of prank.

She’d hacked into the mainframe security at the school and spent hours recording film of uneventful days and nights. Once a month, for her last year in school, she’d uplink her footage and cut the live feeds in order to break into various classrooms. She picked locks, hacked computers to display naked pictures of strangers on home screens. Those pranks aged quickly, and she moved on to placing hidden cameras and recording conversations she’d later pipe into the PA system at the school.

When Sasha had left Richter, she’d owned up to about half of her self-entertainment. All the talents she’d managed in those final years helped with her escape and trip to the bar her senior year.

She’d called the headmistress on purpose.

Why? To show off? To prove she could? A little of both, she supposed.

Sasha flipped through pages.

She wrote down the names of several students. Classmates that she remembered going on to criminal justice careers. Whispers of government agencies recruiting on campus were a constant buzz in those final months. Only the elite were offered interviews, and those students were not always vocal about where they went.

Sasha found Amelia Hofmann’s photograph. Instead of writing down her name, Sasha searched for other photos of the girl to see who she spent time with outside of class. When her search came up empty, she opened Amelia’s senior yearbook. She found a picture of Amelia in her room with two roommates.

She wrote their names down.

The hair on Sasha’s forearms stood up seconds before a girl pulled out a chair opposite her and sat.

Sasha closed the book and looked up.

“You’re the Sasha Budanov.”

“I didn’t realize I had a title.”

The girl reminded Sasha of herself at eighteen . . . maybe seventeen. Stern expression, eyes without emotion, set jaw. It was hard to read the girl’s thoughts with her guard so clearly raised like a wall around her.

“You do here.”

“What is your name?”

“Claire.”

“You’re American.”

Claire shrugged her shoulders. “I saw you yesterday in Ms. Denenberg’s class. Impressive.”

“I was taught by the best.”

Claire leaned forward on her elbows. “Do you use it? Outside these walls?”

“You’re asking if I fight?”

She gave a single nod.

“Why do you want to know?”

Claire scooted her chair back and stood. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

Sasha stopped her with one word. “Yes.”

Claire made eye contact and held it.

“How long have you been at Richter?”

“Two years.”

“You’re what? Seventeen?”

“Eighteen. I graduate in May.”

“Are your parents keeping you here, or are you going elsewhere for college?”

Claire looked away. “My parents are gone.”

The words I’m sorry hovered over her lips but didn’t come out. “So the decision to be here is yours.”

“Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

Claire pointed at the faculty bracelet that scanned every door to open it. “I don’t have one of those, so yeah . . . sometimes.”

“You agree to the rules and conditions when you step on campus.”

“Yeah, I know.” She paused. “Did you choose to stay here for college, or did someone force you?”

“I had a benefactor who would pay for this school so long as I was here. I didn’t see the need to finish my education outside these walls.”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “You’re not like the other people here.”

“I’m not?”

“No. You didn’t ask about my parents. Didn’t offer sympathy.”

Sasha placed both hands to the sides of the book she had been looking at. “I’m not very nurturing. Besides, if you wanted me to have details of your parents, you’d have told me. The loss of a parent isn’t always something to be sorry about.”

“How so?”

“When my father died, I cheered. My mother was gone before I had a chance to know her. Wasting emotion on someone’s assumed life is rather pointless, don’t you think?”

“Richter taught you that.”

“Richter taught me many useful things.”

Claire turned her head away. “I guess.” She sighed.

Sasha gathered the yearbooks and stood. “It was nice meeting you, Claire.”

The girl didn’t offer the same. “Are you staying for a while? Joining the staff?”