“But my, is he hot,” Portia said, watching him go. “For a geriatric,” she added, earning another round of laughter.
Meanwhile, my eyes followed Mr. Hathaway, my breath coming short and shallow as he wove his way around the crowded tables, stopping to talk to a group of students. It had been two days since I’d completed my fourth assignment for the kidnappers.
Two days and no word. Two days Noelle might have spent out there somewhere alone and scared, clinging to life by a thread.
Maybe Josh had been right all along. Maybe I needed to tell someone what was going on. Especially now that I’d done my part and it had gotten me nowhere. So what if the kidnappers had warned me not to tell anyone? They’d also told me that if I completed four tasks for them, Noelle would be fine, and they hadn’t exactly come through there. And Headmaster Hathaway had said I could trust him.
But could I? I hadn’t exactly proven to be the best judge of character in the past.
He was at the door of the solarium and was about to walk out. My heart made the decision for me as I suddenly found myself jumping to my feet. My chair scraped against the marble floor as I shoved it behind me.
“I’ll be right back,” I told my friends, ignoring their surprised looks.
I caught up to the headmaster in the wide, carpeted hallway just outside the solarium. A group of sophomore girls milled around on the other side of the hall, texting and laughing as they checked out one another’s phones.
“Headmaster!” I blurted.
He turned around, his eyebrows raised, surprised to see me gasping for breath behind him.
“Reed,” he said.
I swallowed hard, just hoping … praying I was doing the right thing. “I was wondering … can I talk to you about something?” I glanced sidelong at the gigglers. “Somewhere … else?”
The headmaster squared off with me, rounding his shoulders. “Sure. Everything okay?”
“Yes, I just … wanted to take you up on your offer,” I said.
“Good. That’s good,” he replied. “Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks,” I replied, already wondering what I was going to tell my friends about bailing on my own homework assignment. Not that they would mind. Clearly, they were all about helping me. And hopefully, what I had to tell Mr. Hathaway wouldn’t take long. Hopefully, once I dumped my whole, sad, sordid story on him, he’d jump into action and my work here would be done. Ideally, by the end of tonight, the police would be involved and Noelle would be back home, safe and sound.
Five minutes later, I raced across the frigid, deserted campus, my hands clasping my collar closed under my chin, keeping my eyes on the shoveled cobblestone pathway to avoid icy patches. I’d been so distracted that I’d gone out without my hat, scarf, or gloves and now, every inch of my exposed skin screamed out in protest. But even in my discomfort, I already felt at least a hundred times lighter, a hundred times more awake, a hundred times more alive. And at least I was still wearing my big, old, warm boots.
In minutes, I would be unburdened. Hathaway would know all. And yes, I might get punished for forming the Billings Literary Society, but I hardly thought that would be his main focus, what with Noelle’s life hanging in the balance and all. Besides, as long as she was found and she was okay, I didn’t care if they expelled me from this stupid school.
Sniffling and gasping for breath, I sprinted up the outdoor steps to Hull Hall. My hand had just grabbed the metal door handle when I heard scuffling footsteps behind me. Then, out of nowhere, a large gloved hand reached past my shoulder and shoved the door closed again. I whirled around and found myself face-to-face with a big, burly police officer. The fleece collar of his dark blue jacket was flipped up around his stubbly cheeks and he wore a wool hat low over his brow. His badge was pinned to the left lapel of his coat, and it shone, thanks to the security light above the door.
“Reed Brennan?” he said gruffly.
Behind him, two other officers scurried up, out of breath. Had something happened to my family? To Josh? Was this about Noelle?
“Yes?” I said.
The officer whipped out a pair of handcuffs, grabbed me by the arm, and swung me around in one, swift motion. I was so surprised I went temporarily blank, my vision blurring over and my head going weightless. He lifted my bag off my shoulder and tossed it down the stairs, where one of his buddies caught it. Then the cold metal closed around my wrists.
I was being handcuffed. Why was I being handcuffed?
“Wait!” I blurted, finding my voice. My heart spiraled around in my chest like a tilt-a-whirl gone horribly off the track. “What’re you doing? What’s going—”
“Reed Brennan,” the cop said in my ear, “you are under arrest for the murder of Noelle Lange.”
Noelle is not dead. She’s not. She’s not, she’s not, she’s not.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the cop said, grasping my shoulders and flinging me around. My stomach swooped as my foot slid off the top step in front of Hull Hall. I stumbled forward, down the stairs, and right into the waiting arms of the other two officers. One was short, fat, male, and whose breath smelled like cheese. The other was a scrawny woman with dark hair and a zit on her chin the size of Plymouth Rock. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“No, no, no, no wait!” I shouted. My mind reeled in ten different directions as the cops dragged me to my feet by my upper arms. I looked around for someone, anyone, to see me—to help—but there was no one around. “What happened? Where did you find her?”
“Kid, I’m not supposed to say this,” the gruff cop said, straightening his gloves as he descended the stairs after me. “But you really might want to remain silent.”