GREY

I'd kept a low profile for the rest of the week. When I finally replied to Cody, he was more than happy to rewrite my entire essay for me, as long as I wasn't still ticked at how much of a jerk he was during our little Wednesday workshop.

Dash was just relieved when I told him I hadn't actually ended up going to the funeral, an easy enough lie that he'd probably never check—after all, it wasn't like he'd make a trip to Browning Heights to investigate for himself.

It felt a little scummy not telling the guys what really happened, but I was way too scared. Whoever that man in the mask had been, frigid sunlight glinting off the latex that shielded his face, he was a mystery—an apparition who'd vanished inside the shadows of Redemption Grove as I sped away in terror.

And it was probably better if I left it that way.

I knew for sure that the guy couldn't be Cody. Even if I still couldn't explain the bloody towels in his bag, Cody Ashford wasn't the man in the mask. And that meant I still had some digging left to do.

But how?

I knew I couldn't go back to Browning Heights again, not alone—and not with the guys either. I needed an inroad, somebody who could get me inside without being suspicious, somebody who could help me source the towels without raising suspicion...and find out how Cody'd gotten his hands on them.

I pondered it all throughout my solitary Monday-morning drive to Goldengate, the trip feeling quicker than ever despite the wave of cars blitzing past on their early commutes.

The main entrance beyond the Goldengate parking lot was less crowded than usual, but the hallway just past the double doors was packed with more than enough of my chattering classmates to make up for it.

I sidled inside and met the eager smiles of Dash and Brayden, the latter of whom was swiping through photos on his phone screen as he held it up with pure joy.

"Yo, Grey!" Brayden called. "Check it out, man!"

I shuffled over to the two of them. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

Brayden swung an arm around my shoulder and practically yanked me off my feet. "Just picked him up from the vet this morning!"

The vet? I glanced down at the screen, spotted the glowing image of Brayden as he held what at first looked like nothing but a white ball of fluffy fur. "Uh, dude...what's that?"

"It's a puppy, bro!" He swiped at the screen, the next photo showing the little pup with its eyes open and its mouth stretched wide in an darling yawn.

I chuckled. "Wow, I wouldn't've guessed. You guys just got it this morning?"

Brayden nodded, a gigawatt grin splitting his face. "Haven't picked out a name yet though."

"Well, uh...congrats, man. That's awesome." I laughed as Brayden pulled me tighter. "Gonna be one lucky pup—he gets to try all your amazing cooking."

"Yeah," Dash added, smirking. "Not to mention a certain someone is absolutely head-over-heels for dogs." He tilted his head left, where Mary Beth and two of her friends stepped inside through the courtyard French door on their way to first period.

Brayden's eyes darted away, a soft shade of pink brightening his cheeks. His grip around my shoulder loosened, and he twisted behind me—as if I was anywhere close to being tall enough to hide him.

"Come on, guys." Dash chuckled and patted Brayden on the back. "Let's get to class. Cody's gonna blow his top if we don't grab him a seat at the front."

A phantom chill ran through my blood. "He—he's not here yet?"

"Huh?" Dash quirked a brow. "Oh, not yet. Said he was gonna be a little late but asked us to save him a seat."

"R-right," I managed. "Yeah, guess we'd better get going then."

I ducked my head as I followed Dash and Brayden, their towering frames clearing a path for us to march inside Mrs. Cabot's classroom. We claimed the foremost quartet of chairs in the front row, stocking my backpack in the fourth to save a space for Cody.

Just as I was rifling through to grab my composition book bound in spiraling gold, the shuffle of footsteps at the classroom entrance caught my eye. I peeked up, spotting Jacquarious as he slid through the door and took his seat along the wall.

He hunched to the side before tucking books underneath his chair and fetching his own gilded composition journal to place on top of his desk.

I flicked my head away instantly, hoping he hadn't noticed me watching him, and turned my attention to the front of the room, where Mrs. Cabot strode to the podium and situated a single hand on the roll sheet as she read it aloud.

Cody's still not here? I shifted in my seat, firing an uncertain look at Dash and Brayden as the name Ashford was marked tardy for the day.

The rest of the roll read out with dialectic breeze, the name Whelan peppering the end as usual.

"Very good," Mrs. Cabot mused as she stashed the roll sheet inside a manilla folder tipped with metallic ends. "Now that that's out of the way, I know you're all anticipating handing in your essays in just two days' time." Her smooth and sharpened smile met the muted groans of the class. "Oh, come now—don't be so disconsolate. The day's barely started, my dears; and I have news for all of you."

I slumped a little in my chair as she stepped from behind the podium, retrieving a square remote to turn on the overhead projector.

"In the spirit of rapport and congeniality, I was thinking today could be one of reprieve and reproof." She squiggled on her computer's matte trackpad, the glowing image of her digital screen flashing like a searchlight onto the white board at the front of the room.

Surrounded by a gilded box was a bulleted checklist printed in serif strokes, the words Stories Unheard titling the list and matching the golden border.

"This," Mrs. Cabot mused, "is your assignment for today. You'll be workshopping your essays in groups of three to four, and I expect strict adherence to the questions I've posed here." She gripped a dry-erase marker to tap against the screen. "You are to trade essays with at least two other students, and you may only give feedback that you yourself are capable of defending and explaining—something as simple as 'this word sounded good here' won't suffice." That wry grin of hers returned as she slid the marker onto the podium and clapped her hands together twice. "Alright, let's get to it, everyone. Time is of the sweetest, purest essence."

I hunched my shoulders before fishing out my essay, angling my head toward Dash and Brayden while they did the same. "Do I really have to do this?" I moaned as they pulled their chairs closer. "I mean, Cody already...you know...helped me with mine."

Dash shook his head with a knowing grin. "Yeah, well, just 'cause you guilted him into writing you the next Hamilton doesn't mean the rest of us are off the hook. Now hand it over." He extended a hand to take my essay.

The pages were still crisp from an hour ago when I'd printed them at home, remembering at the last minute that I probably shouldn't try accessing it digitally while I was at Goldengate. Not like I wanted any hackers on the school Wi-Fi to find an e-mail from Cody titled Sorry I'm a Dick, I Wrote Your Essay for You—paraphrasing, of course.

Chuckling at the thought, I took Brayden's essay right as he grabbed Dash's, the three of us turning in unison to the list projected on the white board:

Who is the center of the conflict presented?

What is the main thrust of your partner's narrative?

When does the paper fail narratively, and when does it succeed?

Where does the narrative shift from explanatory to expository, and vice versa?

How does the author earn the right to your attention?

Why does the author think that this story is unheard?

I groaned aloud. "Seriously?" My neck twisted to the right, gaze tracing the room's perimeter and falling again on Jacquarious, solitary and still against the wall.

I glanced back at Brayden and Cody, both already scanning the pages they held for grammatical errors and stylistic answers to Mrs. Cabot's barrage of literary inquiries—and then I turned again to the boy sitting by himself.

Alone.

All alone.

"Hey...Jacquarious," I barely realized I was talking before the words echoed in my ears.

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine; I gulped, gave a crooked smile. "You uh...feel like working with us, man? Groups of three or four, right?" I almost cringed at my own words. "It's...a lot more fun when you're not reading all by yourself."

He scanned my face for a moment. Did he think I was joking?

"I...sure," he answered with a creaking nod.

I grinned, Dash and Brayden doing their best to hide hesitant looks as I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, as I slid my backpack out of the chair we'd been saving for Cody—as Jacquarious slotted in between the three of us, handing over an essay we could hardly believe.