One Small Thing(12)

“Wait—” Scar catches my arm. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Why not?” I shrug. “He obviously goes to school here. I might as well face up to him now instead of trying to hide from him for the next nine months.”

“There’s no reason for you to talk to him,” Jeff says. “We’ll keep him away.” He throws a dark look over his shoulder toward Chase, who’s gathered his books and is walking away.

Yeah, Chase definitely has a rep. Even Jeff, who’s been gone for so long, has apparently heard that something went down between me and Chase. That means word’s gotten around.

A spark of anger lights my belly as I picture Chase bragging to all those Lex kids that he bagged a Darling girl.

I speed up, walking fast down the hall with my eyes pinned on Chase’s back.

He’s an island. Like, there’s literally a bubble of space around him, which is shocking given the size of my class. Three hundred seniors attend Darling. The halls are packed this morning, yet no one seems to be able to penetrate his personal space. Fuck. I kinda love that.

I walk faster, waving hello to classmates but not stopping until I reach Chase. He’s halted in front of the AP Calc room. How convenient.

I hug my books close to my chest and clear my throat. “Chase.”

He spins slowly until we’re facing each other. “Beth.”

Despite my anger that he might’ve told people about us, I appreciate that he calls me Beth. He knows me only as that. I don’t have to remind him that it’s my name now.

“Who’d you tell?” I say bluntly.

He wrinkles his forehead. “Tell?”

“Yeah, who did you tell?” I repeat, sounding way more confident and confrontational than I feel right now. Just being in his presence is fogging my mind. “About Saturday night.”

Rather than flush or look sheepish, he meets my gaze head-on. “Nobody.”

“Nobody,” I echo, still suspicious.

“Yeah. Why would I tell anyone?” he says simply.

For some inexplicable reason, I believe him. I believe he’s kept quiet about what we did at the party. Someone else must’ve seen us. Maybe someone saw me coming out of that bedroom. Ashleigh, or the guy who owned the house. Whoever it was, I know it wasn’t Chase.

“All right, then,” I say with a nod.

The corners of his eyes crinkle in humor. “All right, then,” he echoes.

Anger dissipating, I brush by him, open the classroom door and then reach back and grab the sleeve of his untucked and unbuttoned denim shirt to pull him inside. “So I don’t know if you’ve heard the scoop, but the AP Calc teacher is a monster. Rumor has it she stays up nights and spends her weekends thinking of new ways to torture us. Expect constant pop quizzes and no-mercy midterms.”

He sounds amused. “Okay.”

There are a few other students inside. Macy Stedman waves to me until she notices Chase. Then her hand falls and her face grows anxious.

“Lizzie, come here.” She motions me over.

“Lizzie?” asks Chase, an odd note in his voice.

“It’s Beth,” I tell him. “Elizabeth Jones.”

There’s a long, strained beat.

“Elizabeth Jones?” he chokes out.

“Yes. But everyone calls me Beth.”

He jerks his arm out of my grip. My hand drops to my side. I flush lightly, embarrassed by his sudden need to get away from me.

“Did you tell me your last name the other night?” His voice is low and harsh. I have to lean in to hear him.

“Maybe. No. Probably not.” I don’t know his, either, I realize. “Why? What’s yours?”

“Lizzie! I need to talk to you!” Macy calls shrilly.

“It’s Beth,” I tell her between gritted teeth. “And I’ll be there in a sec.” I turn back to Chase, whose face is chalk white. “What’s yours?” I repeat.

He licks his lips and takes another step back. And then another. Until two desks are between us. “I’m Charles Donnelly. And I’m sorry.”

With that, he turns on his heel and walks out of the classroom.

Charles Donnelly.

My stomach lurches. “I thought your name was Chase!” I yell after him.

Macy appears at my shoulder. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

I turn bewildered eyes to her, hoping for some help in processing what I just learned. “That was Charles Donnelly?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods and rubs a hand up my arm.

“I didn’t recognize him.” My head’s clogged up. I can’t stop blinking.

“He’s changed a lot. Prison will do that for you,” she sneers toward the empty doorway. “Come on. I bet you’re in shock. I can’t believe you have classes with him. Admin sucks. They are so incompetent.” She leads me over to the desk next to hers. “Should I get you a water? Or, um, a Coke maybe? I’ll get a Coke. Be right back.”

I barely register her leaving because my mind is still whirling over the fact that I slept with Charles Donnelly.

The guy who killed my sister.

I barely make it to the trash can before my breakfast surges violently up my throat.





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