These Deadly Games(25)

Pound, pound, pound.

I could almost feel Caelyn trembling against me, burrowed under my covers. But it was only the tingling sensation of fear spidering through my veins. Whoever was at the door now, it wasn’t Dad. He was clear across the country.

I’d seen to that.

I glanced at the clock—4:46. I’d told Akira and Randall to come over at 5:00, and now I needed every second of those fourteen minutes to Google-stalk Lance Burdly. Frustrated, I set my phone on the counter, then thought better of it and shoved it into the silverware drawer before scurrying to the door. Through its floral stained-glass window, I recognized Dylan’s plaid jacket. He was alone. Last I saw him, Mr. Chen was leading him to his office after finding the answer key I’d stuffed into his locker.

Palms sweating, I opened the door. “Hey.”

Dylan leaned against the doorframe, an olive-green beanie covering his chestnut hair. “Hey.” He stuck his hands into his pockets all casual-like, but worry creased his brow. “Your doorbell doesn’t work.”

“Obviously.” Mom hadn’t had a chance to call someone about it. “You’re early.”

“Obviously.”

Cool. So we established we could both observe things.

His lips twitched into a grin, and I let out an awkward chuckle snort.

“Dork,” he said with continued accuracy. “Akira said you already went home, and, uh—I wanted to … I had to tell you…” He rubbed the back of his neck, smile gone. “I didn’t do it, Crystal. I didn’t steal that test.”

I reeled, surprised. Why’d he give a rat’s ass what I thought? But the earnest look in his eyes told me he did. I almost said, “I know.” But I wasn’t supposed to know. I had to pretend that for all I knew, he did steal that answer key.

Or was it cruel to feign suspicion, especially with this newfound knowledge that he cared what I thought of him? It made my heart simultaneously wobble and constrict with guilt. Confused, I motioned for him to come inside, mustering an empathetic smile. “Well … listen, I’m sure everything will be fine—”

“I got suspended.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh no.”

“Newboro has a zero-tolerance policy. And it’s going on my record. MIT will see it on my transcript. I’m screwed beyond belief.”

Dammit. This was all my fault. Sure, I hadn’t known that locker was Dylan’s. And if I hadn’t stolen that test and slipped it into his locker, I would’ve put Caelyn’s life in jeopardy.

But my actions might’ve put Dylan’s future in jeopardy.

Oh boy. I had to sit down.

Dylan followed me into the kitchen and slid onto the barstool next to mine, dropping his backpack on the floor. “I can’t believe this.” He slipped off his beanie, strands of hair flopping across his forehead. “You know when something so absurd happens, you think you must be dreaming, because there’s no way in hell it could be real? Almost like you’re watching shit go down from someone else’s perspective, because it can’t possibly be happening to you?”

I almost laughed. Accurate description of my day. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He adjusted his glasses and sighed. “Wow, this smells good.” He pinched the edge of the brownie pan and slid it closer. “Did you just bake this?” He must’ve felt its warmth.

My heart jolted. “No! I mean, yes. I did. I, uh…” I scrambled for a lie. “I thought you could use some comfort food.” He met my gaze, and a strange expression crossed his face. Was he amused? Surprised? My cheeks flushed. “But they’re no good.”

“Why not?”

“A fly landed on it.” I internally face-palmed. That was the best I could come up with? Really?

He quirked his brow. “You’re going to throw out all this gooey goodness because of one fly?”

I cringed. “Don’t flies puke on whatever they land on?”

“Aw, but you baked me brownies. I’ll suffer some microscopic puke.”

“Gross.” But my heart did that weird little wobbly thing again. The brownies were technically fine. I handed him a spatula, and he dug in. “So Mr. Chen really thinks you took the test?” I asked.

“Yup.” He freed an uneven brownie square and took a bite. “I told him math’s my best subject; I don’t even need to cheat. Didn’t matter, though. The evidence was in my locker, so, you know, guilty until proven innocent.”

“Huh,” I said, remembering the security cameras dotting the ceiling in the hall. Would Mr. Chen eventually think to check the footage? “Maybe you could talk him out of putting it on your record, at least. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“But I didn’t make a mistake. I can’t admit to something I didn’t do. Anyone could have slipped that test in through the vents.”

My heart seemed to stop beating. Feign ignorance. Just feign ignorance. “What, you think someone planted it in your locker or something?” Okay, so that was like the opposite of feigning ignorance. My cheeks scorched as he gaped at me.

“Oh, geez. I thought maybe someone was trying to get rid of it. You think someone was trying to frame me?”

I glanced warily at the silverware drawer where my phone was, hoping our voices were too muffled for An0nym0us1 to hear. “Er…”