Entranced (Goddess of Fate Book 2) Page 4

  My day perked up a bit when I walked into fifth hour. Journalism was my favorite class now. Ms. Baker assigned us our work stations, separating me from Meredith, and then sent us to work on a Google search project. Easy. Google and I were old friends.

  “What topic are you researching?” the kid next to me asked.

  I glanced up from my laptop and gave him a cursory once-over. His short brown hair fell slightly over his long face, and his gangly legs pushed against the desk in front of him. I didn’t know him. “New school-year traditions,” I said, though up until that moment I hadn’t picked a topic. I turned back to my laptop.

  “Nice. I’m Trey.” He leaned forward and held a hand out.

  Shake hands? Really? I took his index finger and gave it a wobble. “Jayne. Are you new?”

  He shifted a bit. “I guess so. Transferred from Duncan.”

  That got my attention, and I gave him a closer inspection. Duncan Catholic was a pretty exclusive private school, known for its rigorous rules and dress code. He didn’t look preppy, with his dark jeans and black t-shirt. He even had a bit of stubble on his chin.

  “Why the switch?” I asked.

  He flashed me a grin. “Got expelled.”

  Oh. Bad boy. I turned my attention away, losing interest.

  He laughed and leaned his chair on its back legs. “I take it you’re not into the rebel kid?”

  I typed in my search parameters and shrugged. “I have a boyfriend.”

  He settled his chair back down. “For the record,” he said, his voice getting serious, “I didn’t do it.”

  My search results popped up. “Do what?”

  “Hey.” He pointed at one of my results, shuffling his chair closer. “Open that one.”

  I read the title. Duck Massacre at Duncan Catholic. “Ouch,” I said, clicking the link. “That can’t be good.”

  “Hmm.” His tone was non-committal.

  The story was brief, only a paragraph long. I read it out loud. “‘Police have been called in to investigate the killing of more than two dozen ducks on Duncan Catholic School property two days before the start of school. The mutilated bodies were left in a deliberate circle around the flagpole. Security cameras revealed the obscured faces of two teenagers. Leads are still being investigated.’” There were no images, which was probably a good thing.

  “Yikes.” I glanced at Trey. “Not exactly what I had in mind for new school-year traditions. That sort of thing happen often?”

  “It’s happened before,” he said, his face carefully neutral as he reread the paragraph.

  I lowered my voice and leaned closer. “Wait. Do you know who did this? Does it have something to do with your expulsion?”

  He cast me a quick look before turning back to the computer screen. “I told you. I didn’t do it.”

  Before I could ask more, Ms. Baker called my name.

  “Jayne Lockhart,” she said, looking up from her desk. Her eyes scanned the students, and I realized she didn’t know who I was.

  “Here,” I said, raising a hand.

  She pushed her cropped brown hair away from her face. “Come on over here.”

  Trey chuckled. “Who’s in trouble now?”

  I ignored him, trying to play it cool as I backed my chair up and headed to her desk. I could feel the eyes of my peers on me, all of them wondering what I’d done wrong. Second day of school, and already called to the teacher’s desk.

  “Yes, ma’am?” I asked, keeping my tone polite and inquisitive.

  She gestured at the chair next to her desk. “Sit down.” I did. “So I was going over the information sheet you filled out yesterday. You said you worked for the Lacey-Barnegat Times over the summer?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I did an internship there. I can give you contact numbers if you want to check my references.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” She stared at me intently.

  “Oh, yes.” I warmed to the conversation. “I felt like a real journalist. Mostly I had boring assignments or desk work, but it was great to get out in the field and do interviews and research sometimes.” It had really helped me gain confidence in my goddess abilities, as well.

  A confidence that last night had pretty much destroyed. I shoved the thought away before anything could show on my face.

  “Jayne, do you know what the work-study program is?”

  “Um . . .” I’d heard of it, at least.

  “It’s where you spend half of your school day at work, getting a hands-on experience to what you want to do someday.”

  “Oh, nice,” I said, still not sure what this had to do with me.

  “I’m supposed to recommend students for the program.With your background, you seem like a perfect fit.”

  “Really?” I raised an eyebrow. The thought of getting out of school to do more of what I loved sounded too good to be true. “But how?”

  “Well, you have two options. Work in the morning, or work in the afternoon. I also teach journalism third hour, if you need to switch your schedule.”

  “I’d love to!” I sputtered. “That would be great!”

  We spent a few minutes discussing the particulars before she sent me back to my desk. Meredith’s eyes honed in on me as I walked past.

  “What was that about?” she hissed.

  “Tell you after class,” I breathed.

  “Well,” Trey said the moment I sat back down, “that looked like a fun chat.”

  “Yeah.” I gave him a brief smile. “Apparently she’s recommending me for the work-study program. I should finish my assignment now. So . . . it was nice meeting you.” I deliberately turned toward my computer and started typing.

  He laughed, a short bark of a sound. “Sure was.” He leaned toward me, his eyes darkening. “About that duck massacre. Are you going to research it?”

  I hesitated. I hadn’t really planned on it. “I might. It’s kind of curious.”

  He kept his gaze on me. “Just remember primary sources are the best kind.”

  “Well, duh.” Everyone knew that. “What’s it got to do with this?”

  His gaze turned intense. “If you want answers, go to the source.”

  My brow furrowed. “What source? What the heck are you talking about?”

  He shrugged and turned back to his computer. “Nasty business. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “If you know something about this—” I began.

  “I don’t,” he said, never taking his gaze from the monitor.

  “Yeah, okay.” I faced my computer, glad that I wouldn’t have to talk to Trey every day. Something about him gave me the creeps.

  *~*

  “What do you mean?” Meredith grabbed the wall in the school hallway and leaned against it, her eyes wide behind the wire frames. “You can’t ditch me in journalism!”

  “We’ll still have psychology together,” I said, trying to console her.

  “I’ll have to change my schedule,” she breathed, oblivious to me. “I’m not staying in that class without you. It’ll be a nightmare. A work-study program—maybe I can get into one too.”

  I waited for her to wrap her mind around the changes.

  “No, no,” she murmured, staring down the hall. “I don’t want to work right now.” She exhaled. “What about Spanish? When do you have that?”

  “Oh, well.” I shrugged. “I already dropped that one.”

  She ogled at me. “No Spanish? Not even Spanish Club?”

  I shook my head. No way. It didn’t matter that Mr. Livingston was gone; the damage had been done.

  “I’ll never see you, Jayne.”

  “Except every morning,” I said.

  My phone vibrated in my backpack. I looked at the flashing name and flipped the phone open. “Beth. What’s up?”

  “Hey, I’ve had a change of plans,” she murmured, her voice quiet through the speaker. “Can you pick me up after school?”

  I still needed to go by the office and talk about my schedule. “I’m kind of in
a hurry today. What happened to Hannah?”

  “Can’t go.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t go!”

  I reared back when she yelled, holding the phone away from my ear. “Okay. Criminy,” I said, putting the phone up to my ear again. “Be waiting after school, Beth. I’m in a hurry.”

  *~*

  I texted Aaron the good news before my last period.

  Guess what? Got offered work-study program. Get to work instead of go to class!!

  I bounced around on the balls of my feet, hoping he’d respond quickly so we could have a brief celebration before class started. He didn’t, so I tucked my phone away and slipped into chemistry. This class would have to move to earlier in the day; as one of my core classes, I knew the school wouldn’t let me drop it.

  I checked my phone again after school, even though it hadn't buzzed. Still no response from Aaron.

  Knowing I had multiple places to be at once, I maneuvered my way through the hall quickly and hurried to my car, eager to get Beth and be on my way. I grew more impatient the longer I sat idling in the middle school car line, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. I was all set to chew her out for not getting a ride when she popped inside. She grabbed the sunglasses resting on my dash and shoved them on her nose, then stared out the passenger window while she pulled the seatbelt across her chest.

  I knew the sunglasses routine too well.

  “Beth?” I said as we pulled away from the school zone. “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, for the love of cupcakes!” She threw her hands in the air. “Would you and Mom just get off my back?” She sniffed and ran the back of her hand under her nose.

  I arched an eyebrow. I couldn’t recall ever being on her back, literally or figuratively. But that was beside the point. “I love cupcakes.”

  She laughed reluctantly. “You’re so ridiculous.” Then she fell silent. The silence lingered in the car for a few minutes, and then she let out a loud exhale. “Mom called the school and told the team I was dropping.”

  “What?” It was one thing for Mom to discourage Beth from doing cheerleading; it was quite another to force her hand.

  “Yeah.” Beth’s fingers wiped at her cheeks. “Everyone is mad at me. They think I decided to quit.”

  I never had any interest in cheerleading or dance or anything that seemed more of a beauty contest than sport. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t empathize with my sister. “You can explain, right? Tell them your mom made you?”

  “If they ever talk to me again. Hannah was so furious she told me not to come over. Called me a traitor.”

  Some friends they were. “Is there anything I can do to help?” I turned onto our street, remembering that I needed to hurry to work. I bit my lip, not wanting to seem impatient.

  “No.” She sniffed and shook her head. “Thanks anyway.” She flashed a wobbly smile, then hooked an arm through her backpack and climbed out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My concerns for Beth faded when I got off the elevator on the third floor of the office building housing the Lacey-Barnegat Times. I took a moment to inhale the aroma of paper and ink, always lingering in the air even after the presses stopped. The scent was cathartic.

  Today, especially, I had reason to be excited.

  I stepped up to Mr. Edwards’ office and rapped on the doorframe. “Hello,” I said.

  My boss glanced up from the memo in his hand, removing his glasses in one quick motion. Although well into his fifties, he still had a head full of dark brown hair and friendly eyes. “Hello, Jayne!” he said, rising with a smile. “How’s the first week of school going?”

  “Okay, I guess,” I said, flushing with pleasure. I locked my fingers together in front of me. “You wanted me to come by and discuss my schedule.”

  “Of course. Come on in.” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

  I pulled my purse into my lap and sat down across from him. “I actually have some exciting news.” At least, I hoped he’d think so. “My journalism teacher recommended me for the work-study program. If I’m accepted, and if you approve it, I can work here in the afternoons every day.” I held my breath, waiting for his response.

  “Of course we’d love to have you. You were a great asset over the summer, and I hated the thought of hiring someone else to replace you. When can you start?”

  I beamed at him and hauled out the papers Ms. Baker had given me. “I’m not sure. I’ve started the paperwork. If you can fill in the rest and sign at the bottom, I’ll turn everything in tomorrow and get it all straightened out.”

  “Good.” He pulled out a pen, surveyed the papers, then filled in several lines and signed his name at the bottom. “Then we don’t even need to discuss your weekend hours. Let me know what you find out, and we’ll see you on a daily basis.”

  “Thank you.” I took the signed papers and shouldered my purse, relieved at how easy that had been. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I stood up, ready to leave, when another rap came from the doorframe. James Patten, a college kid who worked on the police reports section, stood there.

  “Picked up something on the police scanner,” he said. “Sounds pretty serious.”

  Mr. Edwards stood up from his desk. “What is it?”

  “Sounds like a kid committed suicide. The police are already onsite. Should we send someone?”

  I sucked in a breath. Criminy. Suddenly I was glad I hadn’t Seen that death.

  “Could be a restricted scene.” My boss squinted his eyes and rocked back on his heels. “I’ll find out if we need a press pass. Until we get one, go ahead and send someone, but they are only to speak to the police. No approaching the family. Maybe neighbors or spectators, if anyone is around.”

  “Got it.” James turned away, and I reached out, grabbing his sleeve.

  “What kind of kid?” I asked, my heart pounding in my throat for no discernible reason. “A college kid?”

  He looked at me as if suddenly realizing I was there. “No. High school. He probably went to your school, Jayne.”

  I let go of his arm. Chances were, he was right. Most kids in the area went to Lacey Township High. “What was his name?” I whispered. Please don’t be anyone I know, I begged the universe.

  “Mike Spencer,” James said, searching my face for a reaction as he spoke.

  “Mike Spencer?” My knees trembled. James and Mr. Edwards both reached for me as my legs buckled.

  “Did you know him, Jayne?” James asked, hunger for a story battling with his sense of compassion. “Were you friends?”

  “No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head, barely hearing James’ questions. “Mike can’t die this way.” He could not. It was a hunting accident. Not a suicide. I’d Seen his death in the parking lot just yesterday. “They’re wrong. It wasn’t a suicide.”

  I realized they were both staring at me, and I lifted my eyes. “The police are wrong,” I said, quite emphatically.

  “Why don’t you sit here and rest a minute, Jayne,” Mr. Edwards said, his tone gentle. “This must be hard for you.”

  “No!” I cried, and then the tears broke free and raced down my face. “No, this is all wrong!” I ran from the office, jumping in the elevator and hitting the button. I saw them talking, gesturing, probably concerned for me but more interested in Mike’s death.

  “This isn’t right,” I sobbed, yanking my phone out. My hands trembled as I typed a hasty text to Laima.

  Need help. Urgent. Deaths are changing. Urgent!!

  The elevator dinged on the first floor, and I hurried out. I needed to go somewhere, do something. But what? And where?

  I pulled my seatbelt on and leaned back, taking several deep breaths. Then I opened my phone again and called Aaron. When the call went to voicemail, I almost threw the phone across the car. Instead, I hung up and dialed again. And again.

  On the fourth dial, Aaron picked up. “Jayne,” he murmured, his voice soft, “I’m in a study group in th
e library. Can I ring you back?”

  “Aaron,” I choked out, “something really weird is going on. I need to talk to you. Right now.”

  There was silence. I thought I heard him exhale, and then he spoke again, his voice clearer. “All right. I’m outside. What’s wrong?”

  “This boy I Saw,” I sobbed out, shoving a shaking hand through my curly hair. “He died in a hunting accident.”

  “I’m sorry, Jayne. That sounds awful.”

  “That’s not it!” I shouted, louder than I meant to. “The police are at his house right now, and they’re saying it was a suicide.”

  “Oh.”

  I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out what that meant. “But it wasn’t a suicide, Aaron. His best friend Clay shot him. On accident.”

  “Maybe Clay is saying it was a suicide to protect himself.”

  I closed my eyes, my panic dissipating. Of course he was. I almost laughed in relief. “You’re right. That has to be it.”

  “Great, Jayne.” My problem now solved, he sounded impatient to end the call. “I should get back.”

  “Hey,” I said, remembering my unanswered texts. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Did you get my text earlier?”

  “Hmm? Oh, the one about the work-study? Yeah, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

  “Why didn’t you respond?” I frowned out the window.

  “I’ve been busy. I’m at school,” he said, as if it were totally obvious.

  Too busy to text me? I bit back the words. “Yeah, okay.”

  “All right?” he asked.

  No, I wasn’t all right. But he didn’t have time for me right now, anyway. “Yeah. I’m all right. Thanks for thinking it through with me.”

  “Sure. I’ll ring you later tonight.”

  “Yeah.” This time when I hung up, I did toss the phone away from me. I turned the car on and pulled away from the curb, anxious to get home and watch the unfolding news story about Mike Spencer.

  Mom joined me in the den when I didn’t leave the television even for dinner.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  I chewed away at my fingernails, anxiously waiting for a new revelation. “A friend from school died,” I whispered.