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“And your freckles. Almost as unique. Like constellations.”
I’m folded
“You must think so,” he continues, and a hand snakes around the table, straight to my blazer pocket, and – Oh. Fuck. I’m trembling like a leaf as he pulls my phone out, the timed recorder clock blinking back at me. The device looks strangely small in his large hands.
“I’ve got to be honest with you, sweetheart. I’m not sure undercover work is your calling.”
“Adrian,” I try again. Calm. Rational. Honest. “I was honest with you the other night. Let me be honest with you now.”
“I wasn’t going to show it to the police,” I say. “At least, I had no immediate plans to. It’s just…” I swallow. “We didn’t exactly leave things on great terms the other night.”
Afterward, I returned to my dorm room, finished some homework, and slept like a baby.” I gape at him.
“Well, it’s quite simple. I killed him because I woke up Tuesday morning and felt like it.” He shuts the door behind him, and it takes exactly ten seconds
And five more seconds to realize he took my sketchbook with him.
“You can’t be in here.” I feel the exact second Adrian’s gaze lands on me like a zap down my spine. “It’s alright, Cam,” he interjects smoothly. “She’s with me.”
“I want my sketchbook back.” His eyebrows furrow in mock confusion. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“You know, you’re being a little rude, Poppy. No small talk? You’re not even going to ask me how my day’s been?”
“I’ve got to be honest. I expected more after the way I opened up to you last night.”
“Let’s not do this, alright? You were right last night. I know when I’m beaten. I just want my sketchbook back, and you will never have to worry about me again.”
“Well, beaten or not,” Adrian says, “You’re not really in a place to be making demands, are you?”
“What do you want?” “Come to the swim meet on Saturday.”
“But I guess I could bring some homework to do during the meet.” “No.” I raise an eyebrow. “No?” “No,” he repeats. “What’s the point of coming to the meet if you’re going to spend the whole thing staring at a textbook?”
“Adrian,” I plead. “Do not drop that. I need that for my portf –” The rest comes out in a choked gasp as he pulls back three fingers, leaving only his index finger and thumb to hold the spiral-bound sketchbook in place. My heart leaps into my esophagus.
“You know, if I did drop it, you could probably still save most of your artwork…assuming you jumped in right away.”
“I’ll come to the meet, alright? You don’t need to ruin my sketchbook. I’ll come.” There’s a playful gleam in his dark eyes. “Well, when you say it like that, it’s almost like I’m forcing you.”
“And here I thought you were the kind of person who’d find all that attention more obnoxious than appealing.” He shrugs. “I do, but it’s your discomfort I find appealing.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever met a full-grown adult who doesn’t know how to swim.” It takes me at least three seconds to compute that the person speaking to me is Adrian, who sounds entirely unconcerned for my well-being.
“You know, this might be the part where you thank me for saving your life.” Teeth chattering, I say, “You waited at least a minute before jumping in.” He shrugs. “Well, I’ll admit that I did consider letting you drown, but…”
At least he didn’t let you drown
would’ve been such a hassle. Finding an alibi, talking to the police…I have better ways to spend my night.”
Sophie stands up abruptly, nearly toppling over Penelope, to wave at him, but his gaze jumps right over her and to – Oh. He’s looking at me. Here, in front of everyone, it sends a strange flutter through my stomach.
His eyes meet mine, the corner of his mouth curling up when he sees the rolled-up posterboard in my lap. He tilts his chin, gesturing for me to unfurl the sign.
His smile drops. Because I am not holding a Swim Your Way to Victory, Adrian! sign. There, in big, swirly letters, my sign says: Adrian Ellis is a killer
Heart pounding, I wink and give him my cheesiest smile as I flip the sign over and reveal the back: …in the pool! The darkness clears from his expression, but his eyes narrow. I hold his gaze.
Bhahahahah
It could be a job gone wrong. Or blackmail. The realization hits like a lightning strike. Blackmail.
“Adrian!” Sophie shouts. “You were amazing!” Several whoops follow in agreement. Adrian peers up at our side of the bleachers with a smile,
but it’s not Sophie who draws his attention. It’s me. He’s smiling at me.
“You know, you were great today, Adrian, but you know who was amazing?” A raised eyebrow. “Who?”
“Your teammate. Cam. I mean, seriously, I could not look away from him. He was amazing. A real budding Michael Phelps if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Cam? Cam Buchan? You thought Cam Buchan was amazing?”
“Yeah, I mean…” I reach for something that sounds believable. “The way he swam that butterfly stroke. Unbelievable.” His eyes narrow. “He swam freestyle.” “Well…he was so fast it was hard for me to tell.” “His finishing time was 3:40. Mine was 2:20. In what world does Cam Buchan’s very average, very unremarkable time make him ‘amazing’?”
“I don’t know…there’s just something about him in the water. Something…” “Amazing?” His jaw ticks, and his lips are compressed into a thin line. He’s pissed,
“Tell Cam congratulations for me, will you?” He doesn’t respond.
“You went for the hash browns. Very courageous given your newfound fear of food poisoning.”
“It’s a ploy. If you start looking unwell, perhaps I can stop eating and save myself.” I roll my eyes. “Oh. Great.”
“Actually, it’s not. If you don’t want to be vulnerable, you don’t have to be. That’s your choice. Just like me choosing to leave right now is mine.” “I’m trying to apologize to you. That’s something I don't very often, you know. At least not genuinely.” “And you seem to be doing a superb job of it,”
“This feels different than I thought it would,” he says. “What feels different?” “Opening up to someone,”
I think that might be the most pathetic excuse of a jacket I’ve ever seen,”
“Well, it’s keeping me warm,”
something heavy settles over my shoulders, and I realize he’s draped his jacket over me.
“You want it back, don’t you?” I ask. “Besides, I won’t need it in my dorm room.
“You have the rest of the week to write that paper,” he replies. “You’re spending the day with me.”
“Does everything have to turn into an ultimatum with you?” “If it gets me what I want,”
“You’d rather manipulate the situation than ask nicely.” “Manipulate. Convince. Does it really matter if the end result is the same?” Another step forward. “And I did ask nicely.”
“There you go. You got it,”
“Good girl.” A sudden warmth rushes right through me, and I hope to whatever higher power there may be that he can’t tell.
“I wasn’t watching Cam or anyone else. I was watching you. The whole time I was there, I was watching you. You were amazing. You were the one I couldn’t look away from.”
