What Lies Beneath ▸ House of Anubis [1]

chapter fifteen. house of proof

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            After last night's temporarily-heart-stopping first act of a horror flick, we're unfortunately faced with another day of school. Honestly, after hearing the girl on the recording say that he murdered her parents, whoever he is, the last thing I wanted was to return to school. I just wanted to pull a Patricia and stay home, bundling up under twenty blankets and eat ice cream. But according to Nina, that wasn't 'acceptable,' so here I am, sitting in Mr. Winkler's class and discreetly trying to finish a muffin I didn't get to eat this morning. Beside me, Amber puts on the finishing touches of her makeup.

            "Right, everyone settle down, please," Winkler instructs. "Okay, uh, before we start the class, the school is having Prospective Parents' Day next week. And I would like some volunteers to help show the outside world what a talented bunch you all are."

            I frown. "You say 'outside world' like they're visitors from Mars."

            The class laughs and Winkler smiles. "I think you've just volunteered to head our art booth, Ashley."

            "See, I don't remember saying that."

            "You'll have to learn how to read between the lines, then." Before Winkler can continue, the athletics teacher Ms. Robinson comes in with her students, telling them to take a seat. "Ms. Robinson, I'm in the middle of a class here."

            "This is my classroom, Mr. Winkler," Robinson replies. "If you look on the timetable, you'll know I've had it booked for weeks."     

            "Shall we—"

            "I don't think so."

            Winker apparently gives up on keeping the classroom, as he turns to us and tells us to go to the drama studio instead. Smiling, because those chairs are so much comfier than these, I grab my things and stand—only to turn when I hear a thud from behind me. Alfie's on the floor with one of his shoelaces tied to the leg of his chair.

            I frown, glancing to Clarke. "Is that one of mine?" He shrugs. "At least give me credit next time."

            Alfie and Clarke catch up to me in the hallway, the former freed from his shoelace prison asking, "What do you mean is that one of yours? Did you two conspire to prank me? Is that what you were passing notes about during French yesterday?"

            I scrunch my nose up. "Maybe."

            "I thought you were confessing your undying love for each other," he comments casually. I don't get a chance to snap at him, though, because he adds quickly, "So you two are friends now?"

            "More like frenemies," Clarke states.

            "In your dreams," I tell him.