Virtual Attraction [COMPLETE]

5| The Boiler Room

Adam didn't show up to English class again. He probably thought he could get away with it because Miss Reggae didn't count attendance as a participation grade.

But I'd had enough. I waited by the SAIC room as Victoria left with her partner Mickey and caught up beside her.

"Where's your brother?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, as though to say who gave you permission to talk to me?

"You heard me," I said, annoyed. "Where the fuck is your brother?"

"How would I know?"

"How come he hasn't been in school for the past few weeks."

"He has...he just doesn't come to class. Or, he comes to class...just not English."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't have to. He's gotten 100% in English for the past four years, without even

having perfect attendance. It's too easy for him. That's why he just did the REP assignment and gave it to you. It wasn't as a favor to you. It was out of boredom."

I sighed. I didn't care whether he was a genius—he was not going to ruin my chances of getting

into a good college.

"Just tell me where he is please?"

She rolled her eyes. "Check the older part of the school."

"Where is that?"

"Take the elevator to the mediate floor. The one just before the underground parking."

MDP never failed to surprise me. Underground parking?

I followed her instructions, but was surprised to find the mediate floor was completely unpopulated. When I pushed through the school doors into the utter darkness of the school building, Shining the light of my phone on the walls, I stopped to read the plaques of the founders of the school. Alfred Dalton had been the founder. He'd started the school after his parents had brought him to America when he was young and his parents had only been able to afford his education, not his siblings. I read that the guilt had hampered him, until he'd decided to create a school for teens, in honor of his siblings and his parents.

I turned around the corner, surveying some of the volleyball trophies the school had won—

A noise.

I froze. The whole building was dark, save for the light on my phone. Whoever else was here couldn't be up to anything good. Craning my head, I heard some laughter and whispering. It was coming from a room in one of the hallways, a few doors adjacent to the stack of trophies and plaques I was standing near.

For a second, I debated whether it was really worth finding Adam. The mediate floor looked like the kind of place axe murderers and asylum escapees would hide out. Still tiptoed towards the sound, passing four rooms along the hall, running my fingers lightly through the ridges of the brick wall. Finally, Room 180M. Chemistry 800. Mr. Yang.

Beside the entrance of the door, there was a black backpack and a small purple purse, designer wear probably. I nearly caught my foot on the backpack beside the door, tearing open the back pouch. I winced as the backpack gave a slight jingle and a pile of notebooks and books fell out, even a fifty-dollar bill popped out.

I leaned my head over the open door, surveying the scene and hoping whoever was in the room next to me hadn't heard the commotion. Wouldn't head out of the room with their chainsaw, so my mother would have to hear about it on the news. Death by chainsaw murderer—admittedly, not the best way to go.