Sweet Like Revenge

09 - Old Allies

"Elle," Neabar called from the other side of the court. "I've got a job for you."

I bounced off the subs bench—although it was less of a 'subs' bench and more of an 'Elle' bench—and raced over to meet Coach by the sidelines. Since our MIA defender had miraculously returned, I'd been demoted to benchwarmer.

And boy, was I keeping that bench warm.

"Where do you want me?" I asked.

"The office," Neabar said, dumping a load of paperwork into my unexpecting arms.

I felt my smile fall instantly, my disappointment surely evident. "The office?"

"They need to be sent out today," Neabar told me, her attention fixed on the practice match. "Ask for copies."

I opened my mouth for clarification, but Neabar had already stomped down the line to scold Poppy for poor footwork.

I had little choice but to retreat from the team, cross the sprawling lawns, and duck back over to the main building. Neabar was a drill sergeant. But I wouldn't have minded it so much if she was directing me on the field rather than away from it.

The main office at Irvine Academy had always reminded me of a labyrinth. Not only was it the central hub of school admin, but it housed the teachers' lounge, first aid room, boardrooms, and several of the most senior teachers' offices. The most intriguing thing about it, though, was the way that the whole building had been designed.

Renovation after renovation left it looking like a work of art, all old architecture and sleek, dark floors. But it was huge, and no matter how much I'd tried to study the map of the floor plan on the school's website, I swore no sane person could navigate it without getting lost. I was half-convinced that there was a secret entrance or room somewhere; maybe an Illuminati-style chapel where the Elites sacrificed their prey.

I entered through the main doorway and walked up to the front desk, which was unusually vacant. It was strange, eerie even, to be alone in such a big place that was usually bustling with activity.

I waited a moment longer, then cleared my throat loudly.

"Just a minute," a voice called, then asked, "can I help you?"

I peered down a winding corridor to my right. A male student had emerged from one of the offices, his vibrant green eyes twinkling as he approached me with a friendly smile.

"Uh, I don't think so..." I motioned to the desk. "You'd think they'd have someone manning this thing at all times."

"That'd be me." He pointed to the room he'd come from. "Just had to grab something from Walsh's desk."

I tilted my head ever-so-slightly. There was something familiar about the boy. Something about his face—about those damn eyes—that nagged me.

"Aren't you a student?" I asked, eyeing his uniform pointedly.

His brow furrowed the tiniest bit, his eyes creasing as though he was amused at something. "You don't remember me."

My heart staggered in my chest. Was I supposed to remember him?

"We met on your first day," he clarified. "Out in the hall."

I blinked back at him dumbly.

"We kind of ... crashed."