Pulling the door open, I spot the directory to my left. Town records are located on the second floor. As I climb the stairs I contemplate how I am going to inquire about a town tradition that seems to be an urban legend.
Approaching the woman behind the counter I ask, “Good afternoon, is there someone I can speak with about accessing some information?”
I’m not expecting the contemptuous glower she aims in my direction. It’s off-putting, making me momentarily confused, then I remember they put asshole in the water in this town.
“What about the town’s history are you looking to learn?” A voice icier than her stare asks.
Someone failed their customer service training. My patience with this lady is waning, you’d think I was here to barter a deal for her firstborn. Stemming off my instinctive snark, I pause then answer, “I’m just hoping to get to know the town I live in better, maybe see old records and see how the town was established.” If possible, her face contorts into an even deeper scowl.
“Well, the records aren’t kept here, they’re in the basement. You’ll need to put in a request to gain access, which I doubt you’ll get, and all non-town staff must be supervised.” Her hand disappears behind the counter and returns, slamming a form down. “Fill this out. Requests take up to three months to be reviewed and approved.”
Grinding my teeth, my anger is on the precipice of exploding. Did she just say three months? I don’t have that kind of time. If I bark at her I’ll never get answers. Again, I turn off my inner smartass and channel Shay’s innocent manipulator energy.
Pasting on my customer service smile I say, “This is a bit of a rush inquiry, I’m hoping to use some of what I find in a Civics paper.” I pause, taking her in to see if she’ll bite. Her face is drawn up and her brows are knitted together, she’s not stopping me, so I plow on, “We’re writing a research paper on the constitution and I know Edgewood dates back to the time it was signed. I was hoping to see if any of the members signed it.”
Oh Shay, you’re rubbing off on me. That was chef’s kiss good. My feel good inner devious bitch high five lasts a nanosecond. The deep set of her sneer says she doesn’t give a fuck about me or my request.
“Look, I’ll say this for you one more time, Miss Bishop, fill out the form and wait for the approval or denial of your request. If you have nothing else to ask, then I suggest you take your leave.”Who pissed in her cheerios?
I dig my nails into my palms, praying it prevents every wiseass remark sitting on the tip of my tongue, ready to flay the snub-nosed shrew.
“Thank you for being so helpful, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” I reply, then turn to head out of the office.
Once I’m outside, I rest my back against the wall, eyes closed, and my head tilting back. I let out an exasperated breath. Everywhere I turn for information on the selection, I’m met with a dead end. Even Google searches turn up nothing. My thoughts race, trying to come up with alternative solutions. I begin replaying the conversation, dissecting each part, seeing where I went wrong. I didn’t think my request was that outlandish. I definitely didn’t have an attitude.
My eyes snap open, the open palms of my hands slap against the wall, as my spine goes ramrod straight. My mind lasers in on one point: How the fuck did she know my name?
19
LEV
Istill can’t believe we’ve turned up nothing useful on the Senator. Whoever he’s meeting with is good at keeping their presence off the grid. We’ve spent the last week digging through all the leads Glen provided and they were all dead ends. If we don’t find something soon our dads are going to flip. Well, mostly Wes’s dad. I rub the back of my neck as I walk down the hallway at school, cringing at the prospect of seeing Mr. Edgewood angry.
I’m approaching my locker when I see Ariah’s curved frame waiting for me. Her back is turned, providing me with the perfect opportunity to take in just how freaking stacked her ass is. Her waist to hip ratio makes no anatomical sense. If I didn’t see the S curve of her silhouette with my own eyes, I’d swear that shit was made up. Pulling my lip in between my teeth, I adjust myself, hiding the growing bulge in my jeans as she turns around, her blue hair swinging with her movements, allowing me access to her low cut tank and the top of her ample chest.
“Hey, where have you guys been? I was looking for you all last week,” Ariah asks, and I shift my gaze from the bounce of her tits, matching the cadence of her words. As I open my locker, I remind myself not to be sucked in like Wyatt and Owen obviously have been. It’s not that I dislike her. I just don’t trust her because she’s an unknown. Wes is bent out of shape about the timing of her arrival and I’m starting to wonder if it’s more than a coincidence myself.
Slamming my locker shut, I observe the flush of her cheeks and clenching of her jaw, signaling her growing annoyance with my lack of response. I take my time to acknowledge her question and decide to entertain her line of questioning, for the moment.
“We had shit to do. I’m not Wy, so you shouldn’t be looking for me at all,” I reply, knowing I sound like a dick. Especially, since we’ve had relatively decent interactions, but with the selection picks only a week away my patience for everyone but the guys is nil.
Outside of the flare of her nostrils she gives me nothing. No indication of being hurt at my rebuff. Any other girl in this school would look crestfallen if I spoke to them like that.
She just arches her brow and snarks, “Just because you have a dick doesn’t mean you need to be one. A simple ‘we were busy’ would suffice, Lev.”
She has so much fucking mouth on her and I can’t help but love and hate that, at every turn, she never backs down. Her attitude is the driving force of Wes’s campaign to run her out of town or make her fall in line.
“And just because you have a mouth doesn’t mean you should open it,” I snipe back, shrugging my shoulders and brushing past her, to head to class.
“Hey fuckhead,” she shouts, my head turning over my shoulder just in time to see her small hand reaching out and snatching my arm. I see black, my skin grows tight, my body locking up before reflexively reacting to the foreign touch.
I’m there again, outside the school, being dragged by my arm. They’re pulling me toward the black car and they have a gun to Owen’s head. I can’t let them take me, I can’t let them hurt him. “Stop! Stop!” I shout as my captor throws me in the back of the black car and slams the door. Owen’s crying as the car jerks from the curb, throwing me against the backseat.
“Shh, we have to think. What did our dads say to do?” I whisper.
“If it’s safe, try to escape, even if only one of us gets away,” he sniffles.
Looking out the window I see we’re flying out of town. Maybe if we stop at a light we can jump out. I go to say this when the privacy window rolls down and one of the men in front holds his gun at Owen again.
