Page 33 of Not On Your Life

Each girl unanimously drops what they’re doing and retrieves their stuff before filing off the court. One girl, I think her name is Megan, turns around at the door and for a split second I think she’s going to come back. But then she must change her mind because she spins and leaves with the rest of them. The wind beneath my sails drops like a lead weight.

What just happened?

A few balls roll lazily around the abandoned court, and then the lights click off. The darkness leaves me with one overwhelming and irritating thought. They chose Connor over me. And it feels painfully familiar.

I can’t get upset about this. I won’t. What do I have to do to win them over? Bring them candy? That works on Crew.

No. There are probably rules against that nowadays.

I flip the lights back on and start cleaning up the court, a job so much easier with help.

It takes me three times as long to get everything put away. And when there’s nothing left, I gather my things and head in the direction I came. The right way this time—the way that takes me past the classrooms where the kidnapper is.

Okay, not really a kidnapper. They willingly went to him. Which is even more terrifying.

Once again, the laughter can be heard from yards down the darkened hallway.

I scoff at the merriment. The law is not fun. Volleyball is fun. Why would they choose to sit at a hard desk when they could be smacking balls at each other’s faces?

Despite my desire to ignore Connor altogether, I stop a foot from his classroom door listening to him discuss the acquittal process in a much more entertaining way than I learned it. The kids eat it up, and it only makes me madder. How can he be good at so many things?

“Do witnesses ever lie on the stand?” I hear a girl call.

“Ah, good question. If they are already under oath, you can’t outright assume they are lying. But you can study their speech patterns, their responses, and body language, and if something doesn’t add up, then it’s time to get creative to figure out what they are hiding.”

“Like what?” another student asks.

It’s quiet for a moment, and I decide to continue down the hall. He might have a general clue what he’s talking about.

“Miss Cardozo.”

My lungs seize. I’ve been caught.

Nope.Donotlisten to the devil.

My pulse kicks into high gear and I plant one foot in front of the other, praying I make it to the door before he catc—

“Miss Cardozo.” The voice is much closer this time.

I freeze then slowly swivel on my heel, pretending to have barely heard him.

“Huh? Oh, did you call me?”

His wry smile leads me to believe my act was not persuasive. “Yes, I did and I’m sure you heard me quite well considering we are the only two people in the hall.”

I prop a hand on my hip. “I don’t make it a habit to converse with the devil.”

“Maybe you should. I bet he’s got some things he’d like to say to you.” Connor stops in front of me, blocking the light from the classroom with his large body.

“Does he have some more lies to spread?” I scowl at his chest, noticing that the top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone.

Three! He’s in a high school with very impressionable children showcasing that hideous triangle of tanned skin. He should be suspended.

He saunters forward, bringing that triangle closer to my eyes. “Are you enjoying the view, or should I undo another button?”

Warmth floods my cheeks and my eyes snap to his face.

“Go ahead. Then I can get you fired for indecent exposure.”