She rolled over on to her back and sighed. “Someone who makes my toes curl.”
Like Fitz.
“Someone I don’t want to stop kissing. Ever.”
Like Fitz.
“Someone who gives me that punch in the gut feeling every time I see him walking down the hall.”
Like Fitz.
I might be in trouble.
* * *
Monday Afternoon
Fitz
It was all verycloak and dagger.Behind the bleachershad been a little vague given the size of our football field and stadium.After schoolwas even more so, as I went from class immediately to football practice. However, it was a little after four with practice winding down and everyone headed toward the locker room when I picked up my phone and saw another text from the same number.
At first, I didn’t know what the hell I was looking at until I realized they were GPS coordinates. Using Google maps, I plugged them in and waited for a red ping to show me the way on the map.
I made my way to the far end of the football field—the visitor’s section of the stadium—and saw the shadowy figure waiting for me underneath the bleacher seats. I could smell the vaping smoke from here and knew I’d been right in my prediction.
It wasn’t a bad meeting spot. This side of the stadium was surrounded by woods. No homes abutted the school here and, from this position, you could see anyone who might be approaching.
We would be both unseen and have the advantage of a warning if anyone got close. I dropped off the bleachers and landed easily. Turning, I took in Locke with his pale English face, dark hair and long dark coat. Sucking on his vaping pen, which should have disgusted me, but there was a way he did that made me think of those old Turkish hookahs. Like there was almost a meditative quality to it.
“Locke,” I acknowledged.
“Darcy,” he said as he blew out a stream of steam. “Thanks for meeting me. I’m sure this must seem fairly ridiculous, but I didn’t want to be seen or overheard. A new fellow doesn’t know who to trust at this school.”
“Well, I’m an old fellow at this school and I don’t know who to trust, either. Especially you. Why are you selling fake E?”
He laughed. “Because it’s hysterical. I’m not in school for two days and people were asking what they could score from me. I found it rather cheeky, so I had a little fun. My pill pushing isn’t your problem.”
“What is my problem?”
Locke looked around. “This betting ring. The girls’ virginity. I don’t think it stops there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone is running an operation. This list isn’t a lark. Or something that someone just did for typical high school humiliation sport. The money that’s changing hands is too much, too smooth. The second I have a lead on the Venmo account, it changes. This doesn’t feel like an amateur game to me.”
I snorted. “How would know what a professional game feels like?”
He lifted a shoulder, took a hit on his pen. “Let’s just say my schooling experience has been significantly more colorful than what most here at Haddonfield Memorial are used to.”
“How do I know you’re not full of shit?”
Another shrug. “I suppose you don’t. Does Thornfield Home mean anything to you?”
The abrupt change in subject disoriented me. “What do you know about Thornfield Home?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
I bristled at that. “It doesn’t mean anything to me in particular. It was a state-run foster home located on the edge of town. My friend Heath lived there until it was shut down. Adler and Eyre did, too. As well as Ed’s girlfriend, Bee.”
