Haunted Rayne

17 | Dark Parallels (part 2)

Rayne Foster frowned at the locked door of Mr. Matthews' classroom, her frustration mounting. "It's not even Saturday," she muttered as she fiddled with an immovable doorknob. In the West Hall of Maria J. Westwood, marigold chandeliers dripped with faux candlelight, clouding the white marble hallways with a flood of amber as though they were made of gold.

The door remained stubbornly closed. If Rayne wanted to borrow Jackie's computer, then she needed to get back in her good graces and, somehow, convincing Mr. Matthews to keep Hillary and Mr. Davenport's secret was the only way she could do that. In a huff, Rayne spun around, leaned against the wall, and slid until she was resting on the cold floor. "Dammit," she said, giving the door a thump with the back of her fist.

Where was he?

Watching that security footage was all she could think about anymore. Rayne needed Jackie's laptop. The tense thumping of her heart began to feel more and more like a ticking time bomb, tapping away at her chest, festering anxiety, and desperately awaiting a detonation that might finally uncover the truth . . . or worse—just another inexplicable suicide.

But how was Rayne supposed to expose the truth, or even stop an impending death, when she couldn't even distinguish the dead from the living? She had been talking to Nikki for weeks before she found out the girl had been dead for ten years! How was she supposed to do anything to stop this, when she couldn't even understand it?

Creeping into the fall of light, a shadow swept her toes.

Rayne gasped.

"Teacher's pet much?"

Rayne looked up to see Cole Bradford's hand extended toward her.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You surprised me."

"Sorry about that." He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. It never failed to amaze her how rebellious he managed to make the school uniform appear. His dress shirt was untucked, his blazer missing, and his black-and-white Louis sneakers complimented his matching wristwatch. Today, beneath the curtain of an open collar, he also wore a black cord necklace looped with a silver shield pendant. Cole eyed her eyeing him, then he studied the classroom door. "Matthews is off-campus today," he said. "You lookin' for him?"

"Off-campus?" Rayne dusted her pant leg. "How do you know that?"

"Saw him head out a little while ago."

"Great. I had a question for him." Afraid she had said too much, Rayne suddenly searched Cole's gaze for any sign of curiosity.

He surrendered his hands. "None of my business. I get it."

"Good," Rayne said, starting toward the stairwell.

Cole hurried his stride to keep pace beside her. "Where are you going?"

"What happened to 'it's none of my business'?" she said with a snicker, before admitting, "I'm just going back to my dorm."

He nudged her with his elbow. "Well, I was thinking we could hang out."

"Hang out?"

"Yeah. Just us. You and me."

She sighed. "Cole—"

"I know, I know. We're not dating. I get it."

"Okay, then what is this?" she asked, stopping to face him. "What's your goal here?"

"I can count on one hand," he began, raising his left palm, "the number of times you've smiled since you showed up at M.J.W."

"Oh, really?" Against better judgment, she released a smirk. "So you're keeping track of my smiles now?"