Made You Up(93)

“Celia. What did he tell you?”

“It’s none of your business, douche.” A little of Celia’s old self resurfaced. She huffed and went to sit at the end of the bleachers, then dropped her head into her hands and began sobbing.

This was worse than usual. Much worse.

I forced my breathing to remain even. If McCoy came anywhere near Miles, I’d be on him like a snake. Like that python.

Be the snake, the little voice said. Be the snake. Squeeze the life out of him.

Miles glanced toward the gym doors that led to the rotunda. “McCoy will be here soon,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was worried or scared.

“Do you think he’s still in his office?” I asked. Miles nodded.

Celia was having a breakdown. McCoy was probably sharpening his executioner’s axe.

If I went now, I might be able to head him off. Stop him before he ever left his office. It could work.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Miles. “Restroom break. Stay away from McCoy if he comes in here, okay?”

“Okay.”

As soon as I was out of Miles’s sight I began jogging. The rotunda was dotted in red—trophies, pictures, whole pieces of wall dripped with red paint. A long wavy red line led the way from the gym to the main office at the far end of the main hallway. I followed it.

Be the snake.

I strode past the front desk, ignoring the protests of the secretary, and pushed my way into McCoy’s office.

He sat behind his desk, looking unusually put together. Suit. Tie. Hands folded in front of him. Bloodshot eyes. The office was just an office—certificates framed on the walls, books on a bookshelf, computer humming on the desk.

“It’s okay, Mary,” he said to the secretary. She huffed and went back to her seat.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, balling my fists at my sides.

McCoy picked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been calling Celia down to your office for the past four years. I know you’ve been working on some kind of plan with her mother. And I know you hate Miles. I know you’re trying to get rid of him because . . . because Celia’s mom said he’s an obstacle.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Ridgemont.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” I glanced out the door to make sure the secretary wasn’t listening. “I’m not crazy, all right? I know about Scarlet. I know about your obsessions. I’m not letting this get past me. And I’m not going to let you hurt Miles.”

McCoy rearranged the nameplate on his desk. “You’re mistaken. I don’t plan on doing anything to Mr. Richter.”

“If not you, then who? Celia?”

“I can’t say I know what Celia Hendricks has to do with it.”

“Look, psycho—”

“I realize you’ve had a difficult year, but are you sure you’ve taken your medication regularly?”

“I have, actually. You’re not my mother, so please don’t ask me that again. Now tell me what you’re going to do to Miles.”

“Again, Miss Ridgemont, I’m not going to harm a hair on Mr. Richter’s Aryan head.” He paused, and it took all my willpower not to look away from those searing eyes. “You should hurry back. It would be a shame if you failed your community service requirements right at the end of the year.”

I hesitated. If McCoy revoked my community service hours, I would definitely get sent away somewhere—Woodlands, or worse—and I would probably lose all class credit for this year. He had leverage; I had pieces of a story and a psychiatrist on speed dial.

He laced his fingers together with a benign smile. “I think we’re finally seeing eye to eye.”

No we’re not, you *. But I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t say anything if I wanted to get out of here in one piece. I stood on the other side of his desk, shaking with fury.

“Have a nice day, Miss Ridgemont.”

I trudged back to the gym in silence.

I couldn’t stop McCoy on my own, but if I told anyone about this, who would believe me? It might sound vaguely believable coming from someone like Tucker, but from me . . . There was no way. If I even breathed a word of something this big, my mother would have me committed before I could say just kidding.

I entered the gym on the other end of the bleachers, near the scoreboard. The bleachers had already filled with athletes and their parents. The members of the club were stationed around the room near the doors. Miles stood beneath the scoreboard, his back to me. Celia stood beside him, like she was on a leash.