CHAPTER 12
1051 Words
Cory Michaels was insufferable.
"We should hang out sometime," he told Calla as she dug around in her locker,
pretending to look for her notebook.
He pushed his head into her peripheral. "Do you like pizza?"
There's no escape. Calla plastered on a smile. He's relentless.
He and Cooper Daniels were a lot alike in that regard.
"Pizza?" she asked, delaying the inevitable. She would have to give him a straight
answer eventually.
Cory and his damn pizza. Cooper and his damn cat.
"Pizza," he agreed, giving her a grin that had doubtless won over many girls before.
Calla withheld a grimace. "About that."
"Don't tell me you've got homework," he complained, leaning in close—close enough
to smell the spearmint on his breath. "I am a great tutor, you know."
She paused, trying not to envision how his breath would smell if she cut his throat.
"Rachel needs me, actually. We've got plans."
"So? Cancel."
"Can't," she said with a shrug, closing her locker with a little too much force.
"Besides, there's a killer on the loose. It's not safe."
Cory gave her an odd smile. "It's not that serious. My dad's on the case, remember?
He'd tell me if there was any real danger."
Calla screamed internally. How could she have forgotten such a crucial detail?
You i***t. His father's a detective. You should be using him to find out more
information, not pushing him away.
She recovered quickly and gave him an apologetic smile. "I did forget, actually. He's close to cracking this thing?"
"Well. Close is pretty subjective," he hedged. "But it's all he talks about. He's
obsessed."
"I'd be worried if he wasn't," she joked. She leaned back against the lockers, which
subsequently brought her closer to Cory. Her left arm brushed his chest. "So.
You've got the inside scoop, huh?"
He seemed pleased by her response. He shrugged with a nonchalance so forced,
she had to bite back a grin. "Obviously."
"C'mon. Tell me something. Anything," she demurred, lay on the charm.
"Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He gave her a questioning look. "I
mean, Tracy was your friend, right? I don't wanna freak you out or anything."
"Freak me out? Please." She raised herself up on her tippy toes, bringing their faces
barely an inch apart. "I can take it."
At that, Cory's face went hot with color. He laughed and looked away. "You'd have
to keep it a secret. My old man would kill me if he knew I was talking about this."
"Pinky promise," she said. To emphasize her point, she grabbed his hand and looped
her pinky around his.
He leaned forward conspiratorially, eliminating the space between them. "Alright. So
get this." His lips brushed her ear. "The killer left a note."
"A note?" she asked, a little too quickly. She pulled back. "Creepy."
"Totally. Dad has no idea what it means."
Play to his ego, Calla.
She gave him an appreciative smile, their pinkies still wrapped together. "Dang. You
really do have all the tea."
"Told you." He grinned down at her. "So. About that date..."
"Calla, right?"
They both turned. Vincent Townson slid up to them, his gym bag slung over one
shoulder. He glanced at Cory and smiled, holding out his fist.
Cory released his grip on her pinky and the two greeted each other.
"Sorry to interrupt, man," Vincent started, shrugging his massive shoulders. He
didn't look very sorry to Calla.
"Nah. No worries." Cory turned to her, a question in his blue eyes. "Talk later?"
"Sure."
Casting her one last, wistful look, he left—only to be immediately accosted by Ryan
Kane, who threw an arm around his shoulder. The two disappeared around the next
corner.
"Didn't mean to cockblock," Vincent joked. He shoved the hand that wasn't on his
bag into his pocket, looking blasé in grey sweatpants and his letterman jacket. How
he got away with wearing sweats to school, Calla had no idea. Must be a football privilege.
She smirked, unsure why the star quarterback had decided to grace her with his
presence. "Are you kidding? Your timing is impeccable."
Vincent laughed, caught off guard. "Happy to be of service." He paused, examining
her in a way that raised the hair on her arms. An unusual reaction. "Calla Parker. I
don't think I've had the pleasure."
"Fifth grade. American history," she corrected, straining to remember the handful of
interactions they'd shared. He'd let her borrow his cyan crayon. She was almost
sure of it.
" Doctor Blake," they finished together, mocking the condescending tone of their
middle grade teacher.
Vincent let out another laugh. "Oh my God. I totally forgot about that class."
"Your brain is probably blocking out the painful memories," she reasoned, and then
held out a hand. "Nice to re-meet your acquaintance. I'm sure Cooper's told you
nothing but wonderful things about me over the years."
She was being bold, sure. But who ever won a game of chess by playing it safe?
Vincent grinned. He took her hand and winked at her. "Of course."
He kissed the back of her hand. Simultaneously, the flash of a camera in her
peripheral made her tense.
"Sorry!" A skinny kid with oversized glasses and freckles darted down the opposite
hall, a camera clutched in both hands.
I know that kid. Calla tried to put a name to the face, but it escaped her.
She looked back at Vincent. He shrugged, equally perplexed. Her eyes zeroed in on
his lips. He had nice lips. It would be easy— so easy—to take a knife and cut—
Stop, she commanded, banishing the image from her mind. Not right now.
"So," she mused, turning to walk in the general direction of her next class. "You need
something?"
"Do I need an excuse to talk to a pretty girl?" he asked, never missing a beat.
She shot him a sly smile. "Yes."
"Fair enough." He kept pace with her easily. His bulk kept most of the other
students rushing through the hall at bay, clearing an easy path. "I'm here for Coop.
Well. More like because of Coop."
"That so?"
He made a noise in the back of his throat. "You like pushing his buttons, don't you?"
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