Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 65

Calla followed Stephanie out of the girl's locker room. The rest of

the class was already gathered in a haphazard circle in the center

of the gym. Cory and Vincent stood in the middle of the group,

standing slightly apart from everyone else in a way that absolutely

screamed team captain.

As Calla and Stephanie melded into the circle of students, Vincent

said something that made Cory laugh. Calla's eyes narrowed as

the two shook hands, a competitive glint in their eyes.

She wanted to march up to Vincent and ask what the hell the

handshake was all about, but she never got the chance. A piercing

whistle made everyone flinch, and soon the gym teacher had

divided the class into two teams. Calla ended up on Cory's team,

much to Vincent's chagrin.

Luckily, dodgeball wasn't the sort of game where small talk was

possible. Instead of dodging Cory's advances, Calla found herself

running in circles for an entirely different reason, her competitive

edge sharpening to a fine point as she immersed herself in the

game. She longed to escape back to the girl's locker room—she

would find the information she needed by force, if necessary—but

since she couldn't, she focused her energy on hitting as many

people as possible with bright red, rubber balls.

Cooper had it out for her in the first round. A mistake. She dodged

his attempts with relative ease, her focus on slower, easier targets

—the freshmen girls huddled at the back of the gym. Their terrified

screams pleased her in the worst way.

She lifted her foot just in time to avoid a volley from Cooper. He

smirked at her as he passed by, taking care to stick to his side of

the gymnasium. The smirk disappeared when Cory planted a

rubber ball in his back. He wore when the whistle blew, signaling

her team's victory.

"Nice." Vincent and Cooper scowled.

The second round began with more energy than the first. Calla

locked eyes with Cooper on the far side of the gym. She gave him

a sweet, pointed smile. He blanched.

The whistle blew and she darted forward, a half-step behind Cory.

They reached the center line at the same time as Vincent and

Gareth. Before Gareth could tag her out, she danced away, ball in

hand. Her eyes locked on Cooper. He'd just bent over, his hand

reaching for a rubber ball, when she fired a shot into his shoulder.

The sound reverberated throughout the rafters high above.

Vincent couldn't help but laugh as Cooper stormed over to the

sidelines, rubbing his arm.

She gave him no quarter. Each time a teammate tagged him back

in, she ensured his swift removal. He glared at her, trying to convey

some hidden message— I'll get you for this, maybe. But she did not

fear Cooper Daniels. She never had. And she never would.

Her team won that round. The second victory came with a giddy

high. But it didn't last. The third and final round got the best of

Calla. A well-timed volley from Vincent put her on the sidelines,

where she and Cooper sat a couple of feet apart, divided by the

center line. They watched as their numbers dwindled, until only

Vincent and Cory were left to duke it out. Though she hated to

lose, watching Vincent narrowly escape elimination—and then fire

a cannon into Cory's back—felt immensely satisfying in its own

way.

Especially when he looked so good doing it.

"Not bad, Parker," Vincent called after her as she and the rest of

the girls filed into the locker room. She raised her middle in salute

and he laughed. The coach muttered something about teenagers,

but let it slide.

Calla took her time gathering her things, even as the final bell of

the day rang. By the time she shouldered her backpack, most of

the other girls had fled the locker room, sprinting for the parking lot

and the freedom that lay beyond. Stephanie, in particular, seemed

eager to leave. She waved to Calla with hardly a goodbye,

clutching her phone protectively as she escaped.

Calla watched her sprint away, fighting the urge to run after her.

She still needed to grab the rest of her things from her locker—

she'd left her stupid psych assignment in her textbook—so instead

of chasing down her only lead, she hurried out of the locker room,

hitching her backpack higher onto her shoulder.

"Calla!" Vincent flagged her down just before she stepped out of

the gymnasium, the cool air blasting from above blowing stray

strands of hair across her face. She brushed them out of the way

and waited for Vincent, Cooper straggling behind him, his car keys

in hand.

Vincent threw his arm over her shoulders, smirking down at her. He

hadn't bothered changing, and still sported gym shorts and a tank

top. "Need a ride?"

" Do I," she emphasized, just to see Cooper's reaction.

He gagged.

"Let me grab my psych book first," she grumbled. "I left it in my

locker."

She expected them to linger in the gym—it wasn't exactly a short

walk from one end of the school to the other—but they followed

her down the hall, an unlikely escort. Cooper walked on her left, his

hands looped through the straps of his backpack in what she

assumed most might find an endearingly nerdy fashion.

"Find out anything interesting today?" she asked lightly as they

arrived at the stretch of sophomore lockers. She hurriedly twisted

in her combination, her thoughts wandering to Stephanie and Tom

and forbidden photos.

"Nah. Astrid wants to talk more tomorrow." She looked over just in

time to catch Vincent rolling his eyes. "Said she had something to

do after school today."

"Juicy," Calla deadpanned, fighting down violent images of her

hands around Astrid's throat, squeezing until her eyes popped out

of her head.

It was my idea to recruit Vincent, she reminded herself. He's doing

exactly what I told him to do.

It didn't mean she had to like it.

"My day was a little more productive than that." Cooper's words

were an ominous mutter. Calla grabbed her book and shot him a

look. She slammed her locker closed, clicking the lock back into

place.

"Well? Spill," Vincent demanded, a step ahead of her.

"Here? I don't think so." Cooper took the lead as they wound their

way back toward the gymnasium, avoiding clusters of lingering

seniors along the way.

"Lame." Calla clutched her psych book to her chest. "Just spit it

out."

"Yeah. Lame ," Vincent agreed obnoxiously, shoving Cooper's back.

"You can both," he said pointedly, throwing them a look over his

shoulder, "go f**k yourselves."

Calla fought laughter as they reentered the gymnasium, Cooper

slamming through the double doors. A group of freshmen from

their gym class lingered by the doors leading outside, gathered in

a tight, tense circle.

The group looked up, startled by their entrance. Something about

the way they'd gathered around each other, their faces varying

degrees of shock and fear, gave Calla pause.

"What's going on?" she called from across the gym, her steps

slowing as they drew closer to the group. Cooper and Vincent

followed her lead.

She thought she heard Cooper mutter under his breath, "Why does

this feel familiar?"

The doors leading outside burst open, and one of the freshman

girls screamed. Calla recognized the petite newcomer immediately:

Stephanie.

Ignoring the freshmen, Stephanie made a beeline for Calla, Vincent

and Cooper. Her eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks staining

her face. She practically collapsed into Calla's arms. Her hands

were slick with sweat.

"What—Stephanie, breathe. What's wrong?"

Stephanie sobbed, a far cry from her distant composure from

before. Her next words hung in the air like shards of ice, plunging

the room into cold, deadly silence.

"She's dead. Jessica's dead ."