The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(71)

I stood a little taller and walked by. “Have a nice night.”

“You too.” She did her own double take as I passed behind her for the door.

“Nellie?”

I kept moving, the door closing on Phoebe as I returned to the party and snagged another glass of champagne.

The dining hall had been transformed for the event. Round tables draped with crisp white linens filled the space. White curtains had been hung to hide the food buffet line and vending machines.

A small stage and podium had been erected at the head of the room. Bouquets of red roses adorned each table. The evening light was waning beyond the rows of windows that overlooked the courtyard. The lawn and flower beds were perfectly manicured, just like they had been in the years when I’d spent my lunches in this room.

So much was unchanged. Yet it was entirely different.

Or maybe that was simply me. I was different.

Pierce’s parents stood beside a table in the center of the room, and when they spotted me, waved me over.

I joined them and made introductions with the other members of our table as the waitstaff began bustling around, replacing empty champagne flutes with glasses of wine as they encouraged us to take our seats.

The champagne helped calm a few nerves, but until I saw Cal, my heart would be in my throat. He was here, right? Maybe he was running late? As the conversation continued at our table, I searched the room, looking toward the stage.

A familiar profile and a pair of broad shoulders caught my eye. My heart did a cartwheel.

Cal sat at one of the front tables, wearing a tailored black tux. His spine was stiff, his posture rigid. One hand dangled at his side and his fingers were snapping.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

He was nervous.

I wanted nothing more than to cross the room and wrap him in my arms, but with everyone taking their seats, it would be too conspicuous. For this, I didn’t need an audience. I’d have to wait until the dinner was over.

Cal’s mother sat at his side, her dark hair twisted in a tight chignon. Beside her was Colter Stark, reclined in his seat with an arm draped casually over the back of her chair.

Colter laughed at something, and even from a distance, I saw Cal’s jaw clench.

They looked alike, something I’d forgotten or maybe hadn’t noticed as a teen. Colter was a handsome older man, his hair the same color as Cal’s except for the gray threaded at his temples. But there was no kindness in Colter’s eyes. His expression was the epitome of superiority.

Dickhead.

I tore my eyes away as the chair beside mine was dragged away from the table. A boy wearing a pair of black slacks and a pressed blue shirt took the seat. On the pocket, he had pinned a name tag.

Franklin O’Connell

Junior

A mop of red hair hung in his face as he touched the edge of his plate. His shoulders curled in so deeply that if he could have disappeared beneath the tablecloth, he would have tried.

Pierce’s parents had told me on the ride over that there’d be some students attending tonight. Kids who excelled, either academically, artistically or athletically. Sitting at the table to our left was a girl with a violin charm on her bracelet. The boy at the table to our right was so tall that I assumed he was on the basketball team.

“Hi.” I shifted, holding out my hand to the kid beside me. “I’m Nellie.”

“Frankie.” He shook my hand, his grip too tight. “I mean Franklin.”

“Nice to meet you.” I leaned in close and dropped my voice. “Is this your first fundraiser dinner?”

He nodded. “There are a lot of forks.”

I laughed, taking in the three beside each of our empty plates. “At least we don’t have to do the dishes.”

A small smile graced his mouth.

“How do you like Benton?”

He shrugged. “It’s all right.”

“You’re a junior?”

“Yeah. I will be in the fall.”

Our conversation was cut short when a man took the stage and leaned into the microphone at the podium. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming tonight. We are so honored to have you in our school.”

He introduced himself as the dean of students, then proceeded to lay it on thick as to why we were all here. A chance to improve the lives of the next generation. The opportunity to sculpt young minds and provide them with an unparalleled education.

Dean Hendrickson finished his welcome message, then the waitstaff began delivering the first course. As the clink of forks on plates mingled with conversation, I split my attention. Every few bites, I’d glance toward Cal, whose back was mostly to me.

He spoke to his mother here and there, but he mostly talked with the student at their table.

I did the same.

Franklin was shy but incredibly bright. It took through the main course for him to open up and speak freely.

“So you love math,” I said. “What do you think you’ll do for college?”

“I don’t know. Maybe MIT. Depends on if I can get financial aid. I’m, uh . . . one of the scholarship kids here.”

I hated the way he dropped his gaze as he finished his sentence. I hated the way he poked at his steak.

“I was a scholarship kid here.”

“For real?” He looked me up and down. “Did the rich kids suck back then too?”