Dial Em for Murder (17 page)

“I'm sure you're right. I must have misunderstood. There are so many ways to interpret, ‘Audrey dumped me. It's over,'” Sebastian said sarcastically.

I had no clever retort, so I yanked my bag out of his grip and kept walking. Chin up. Eyes forward. All the while I mentally repeated one of the mottos Kayla had shared with me:
Never let them see you cry.

Not that I would ever break down in front of Sebastian. The only people I allowed to see me fall apart were the ones I trusted to help put me back together again. But the last of the adrenaline that had surged through me from my scare in the cafeteria had fizzled out during my little speech, leaving me emotionally drained and empty. So empty.

“You can't run away forever, Emmy.”

I gritted my teeth and kept right on walking. “Watch me, Sebastard.”

He didn't say anything to that. He merely kept pace next to me, increasing his speed to match mine with the ease of a professional athlete. By all outside appearances, Sebastian St. James was back to his normal confident and controlled self. No more snarling. No more yelling.

It was like he had flipped a switch and become utterly impenetrable.

Silence reigned between us as we quickly passed the library, the square lawn where a few kids tossed around a Frisbee despite the chill that hung heavy in the air, and drew closer to the girls' dormitory. My room was probably the one place where he'd be forbidden to shadow me. The big stone building with its impressive arched windows and stained glass windowpanes should've beckoned me inside with its promise of safety.

Except the idea of locking the bedroom door made my throat tighten. I would suffocate inside. I'd become so immobilized by my fear of imaginary noises and the elongated shadows that I'd refuse to step outside again. Not when the outside world included Potential Hostiles and baseball cap–wearing killers.

Outside equaled exposure. Danger.

Uncertainty.

But crawling into bed and hiding beneath the covers wouldn't keep me safe. So I kept moving. I yanked my hair into yet another sloppy ponytail and focused on the rhythm of my shoes slapping against the cobblestones.

Sebastian started whistling.

It should have annoyed the hell out of me, except there was something so familiar about the tune that instead I focused on identifying it. Something about the unflaggingly chipper melody taunted me, which was probably Sebastian's goal.

He began a second rendition of the same melody, and I cracked under the weight of my own curiosity.

“What's the song?”

“It's the Army Air Corps theme, ‘Wild Blue Yonder.'” Sebastian whistled a little more of it and then descended back into silence.

“Where did you learn it?”

It was a stupid question. It didn't matter where he'd heard it or why he had started whistling it. Not compared to everything else I had going on in my life.

“My grandpa taught it to me. He said he hummed it every time a mission made him nervous. Every time he lost a friend. Every time the memories became a waking nightmare.” The jaunty song was at odds with the darkness of his words. “‘We live in fame or go down in flames.' That was his favorite line. He said that someday I'd find something worth lighting myself on fire for. For him, it was me.”

“I'm sorry for your loss, Sebastian.” I said automatically. It was a weak stock phrase, the type better left ignored in cheap grocery store sympathy cards. I'd already said it way too many times. Sebastian wasn't interested in condolences.

Especially not coming from me.

His voice hardened. “I'm prepared to set myself on fire, but first I'm going to scour the world for him. If I have to torch a few people in the process, so be it.”

I wanted to scoff at his words, dismiss them as the grief-fueled threat of a kid who was all bark and no bite. But a dangerous shadow lurked in his eyes. Something harsh and steely and unforgiving.

“I don't make mistakes,” Sebastian's voice was brittle. “And I won't let you screw up either, even if that means hog-tying you to a chair before extracting information. Are we clear?”

A shiver of fear snaked up my spine, but I masked it with anger swelling inside of me. The endless threats and warnings. The relentless barrage of intimidation from everyone from the cops to the school principal to the freaking
chauffeur
. And now
this
?

The mysterious Potential Hostile might've been well beyond my reach, but Sebastian certainly wasn't.

Something inside of me snapped.

“
You're not going to let me screw up?
How generous of you. Really noble. Especially when you consider that your own grandfather trusted
me
more than you. Maybe you should reevaluate which one of us is the screwup, Sebastard.”

Then I sprinted back toward my dorm.

This time he made no move to follow in pursuit.

I was beyond tardy for my dance class.

A good chunk of my delay involved waiting for the sullen girl sitting behind the help desk, chewing and snapping away on a small wad of gum, to assign me a gym locker. She had then informed me that bringing electronic devices within the sacred walls of the dance studio was strictly forbidden. By the time I'd shoved everything inside and spun the combination to lock it, I was beyond acceptable tardiness, even for a brand-new transfer student.

Still, I entered the gym with my head held high.

“New kid.” The tall, broad-shouldered instructor, Ms. Helsenberg, barely spared me a glance. “You're late. Never wear jeans again. Go warm up in the corner and watch carefully.”

Well, that was nice and friendly of her.

I stalked over to the corner and started doing a set of jumping jacks. My muscles were already sore from my most recent dash across campus, but if this teacher wanted to bark like a drill sergeant, I could find the energy to snap back a salute.

“Cassie! That leg kick was supposed to come a full beat earlier. Lead Mikhail, don't stand there like a lump. Peyton, point your toes. Point your toes!
Point your toes or I will break them.
Better.”

Peyton's right leg flew skyward before wrapping around some boy's torso and then whipping away so quickly it was hard to believe it had ever happened. It would take a whole troupe of Cirque du Soleil performers yanking on my limbs for me to ever replicate that move.

I decided to block out that mental image with a quick round of sit-ups.

“No!” Ms. Helsenberg bellowed at me. “You're using your neck and back, not your core. Do it
right
or not at all.”

I stood up, opting to stop entirely over having everyone in the class watch as she critiqued my form.

“Let's see if you can manage a waltz with Colin.” Ms. Helsenberg jerked her head at a kid on the scrawny side who nearly had a halo of rusty golden curls surrounding his face. “Your hand rests on his shoulder, New Girl! No floppy arms. Everyone pulls their weight here.”

Colin rolled his eyes as soon as she began working with a different couple.

“Stop breathing, New Girl!” he snapped in a pretty good imitation of our dictator. “You can do that outside my studio. I
own
you here.”

I laughed. “I usually go by Emmy. So what do we do now?”

“The waltz isn't too hard.” He puffed out his chest as if he were a matador about to face off with an enraged bull and surged forward. “One two three. One two th—”

I tripped over my feet, barely managing to break free of his hold without falling flat on my face.

“Sorry, I—”

“
Hopeless!
How many times must we go over this, Colin? The man
leads
with competence and command. Watch me right now.”

Before I could object, my hands were placed on Ms. Helsenberg's shoulders and I was whirling across the dance floor without once glancing at my feet. My legs responded automatically and the rapid series of movements felt surprisingly
good
. Strong. Powerful.

“
This
is how you take command,” Ms. Helsenberg barked. “A true leader can control even the worst partner.” She stopped abruptly, dropping her hold on my waist as if the physical contact repulsed her. “That includes Noodle here.”

I stepped back feeling stung. “Hey!”

“If you don't like the nickname, Noodle, then maintain tension in your arms!”

Two days of nonstop anxiety and my dance instructor's biggest complaint was that I lacked tension. I nearly burst out laughing. Ms. Helsenberg didn't have a freaking clue.

“Nasir, you take her. I'm too busy for this.”

I turned around to see a vaguely apologetic Nasir moving right toward me. My ears began to burn. I'd expected that we'd run into each other again before long, at a school this small that was inevitable, but I wasn't prepared for a confrontation. Especially not with Sebastian's earlier accusation that
Audrey
was the one who ended the relationship still ringing in my ears.

“I was rude,” I blurted. “Earlier. In the cafeteria. I was rude to you.”

Nasir shifted uncomfortably, as if he couldn't quite believe I was speaking in full sentences to him. “Yeah. A little. But that's okay.”

I shook my head. “I don't know the details and I don't need to hear them. I'm staying out of it. But I promise you this: if you ever,
ever
hurt my best friend again, I will end you.”

Nasir didn't appear cowed by my threat, but his eyes momentarily flashed at the
again
I let slip. “I hurt Audrey?”

“Of course you did!”

Ms. Helsenberg stormed over toward us. “Less yapping, more dancing!”

I obediently placed one hand on Nasir's shoulder and tried to recall the steps.

“One two three. One tw—”

“Audrey broke up with
me
,” Nasir said as if that settled everything. As if she couldn't possibly miss him or she never would have dumped him in the first place.

My eyes narrowed into fierce green slits. “What did you do to make her bolt?”

His face flushed and mumbled something incomprehensible.

“What was that, Nasir?”

“I said, I stole her phone.”

Just like that, my arms really did become noodles as I tried to slither out of his grasp.

“You did
what
?”

“It's not as bad as it sounds.”

“You
stole
Audrey's phone?”

“I only wanted to poke around on it a little,” his cheeks reddened further, adding a dusky tinge to his copper skin. I could feel my own face heating, but embarrassment had nothing to do with it. A fierce tidal wave of indignation swept through me.

“That's supposed to make it
better
?” I hissed. “That's a complete violation of privacy!”

“I know.”

“It's an invasion of her trust!”

“I know.”

“It's completely and totally
wrong
!”

Nasir's eyes widened in mock surprise. “Really? Now that's new information, Emmy. Oh wait. No, it's not.”

I jabbed his chest with my index finger. “You don't get to be snarky here! No way. Not after telling me that you tried to steal my best friend's phone.”

“Can we schedule some other time for me to be snarky then? I have so many clever retorts saved up.”

I shook my head. “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Of course it's not!” Nasir quickly repositioned my hands so that we wouldn't get yelled at by a scowling Ms. Helsenberg. “My breakup hasn't exactly been a barrel of laughs, so excuse me if I'm not interested in your post-relationship analysis. Not that I should have to explain myself since it was
my
relationship. Not yours.
Mine.
”

He had a point. Several, in fact. Except he couldn't be any more wrong.

“Audrey is the
best
,” I said. “She's smart and loyal and funny and beautiful and awesome because she's Audrey. She'd do anything for her friends—no questions asked—and she's capable of forgiveness to an extent that scares me for her safety. So you can tell me to mind my own business. I don't care. When it comes to Audrey, all bets are off.”

Nasir stared at me as if I'd grown a second head, but I didn't regret saying any of it. I didn't care what Nasir thought of my protective instincts. Just because Audrey had spent the past few weeks pretending to be totally over Nasir didn't mean I could slack off on my best friend duties.

“Do you really think she'd forgive me?” Nasir asked so softly I almost thought I created the moment in my head.

But no, his dark brown eyes were riveted to my face in a way that unnerved me. There had to be a class at Emptor Academy on interrogation techniques. That would explain how everyone here could rattle me with a simple stare.

“Maybe,” I shrugged. “Do you deserve to be forgiven?”

He started to speak, thought better of it, and shut his mouth.

“You think it over and get back to me. Better yet, get back to
Audrey
. But if there's even the smallest chance you might maybe, possibly, potentially hurt her again? Delete her from your phone. Right now.”

Ms. Helsenberg clapped her hands for attention. “Form your lines everyone.”

The room parted with the girls facing their male counterparts with a few feet of distance between the pairs. I quickly sidestepped around a short girl with a tight French braid in order to put an extra few feet of space between Ms. Helsenberg and me.

“We have ten more minutes. Let's make them count, people! The Argentine Tango is a very sensual dance. It's meant to portray passion. Heat. Fire. So get out all your immature giggling right now. I won't tolerate any sloppy footwork.”

No pressure, though.

“Girls curtsy. Boys bow.”

I bobbed an awkward dip, as the rest of the girls sank into graceful
Pride and Prejudice
–worthy curtsies. I half expected one of the girls to say, “Why Mr. Darcy! I'd
love
to dance with you,” in some ridiculous imitation of a British accent. Although given the academy's international appeal, I was equally likely to hear the clipped vowels of the genuine accent.