So now I get to sit here and learn about classic literature from a guy who's been leaving me threatening notes. He glances my way and notices Mark's hand on my tie. The asshole releases me fairly quickly and saunters back to his seat, but not before tossing a look over his shoulder that says he isn't done with me just yet.

I take a seat and glare at Mr. Murphy for the remainder of class. He pretends not to notice, but I know he does. His smile looks a little forced, and there's sweat on his forehead, despite the cool autumn temperature.

The rest of our first week back is like that, uneventful but a little weird, a little off. It's like the student body can sense that there's a murder-mystery brewing right beneath their noses. I'm actually surprised to reach the weekend unscathed.

Well, relatively unscathed. With the lockdown in full effect, Nathan breathing down our necks, and my dad treating me like a delinquent, it hasn't been a very exciting five day stretch.

“I swear, I could close my eyes and like, not wake up for an entire month.” I flop down in Ross’ old chair in the lobby of the Student Council room and lean my head back against the seat. His job is so much harder than I thought. Like, I had no idea how much I was padding onto my workload by accepting the job of personal assistant to the Student Council. It's a job I won't have much longer if we don't win the elections next week. Each guy has to run separately for his position, although based on what I hear of past years, there's absolutely zero competition.

You know, except for the recently deceased Jason.

“Remember the first year we did this,” Ranger says to Church as the latter of the two starts some fresh coffee brewing on the table in the corner. “Before the twins transferred here. We had that idiot Gerald Mikel as secretary and his dumb-shit of a best friend as treasurer. What a nightmare.”

“Gerald Mikel used to bring decaf coffee to meetings,” Church says, narrowing his eyes in just such a way that says that's most definitely an unacceptable and inexcusable action. “I never liked him.”

He turns around to look at me, an empty mug in hand, holding it out of habit maybe?

For the past five days, we've been dancing around the fact that we're one, technically engaged; two, sharing a room together; and three, dating. It's been a little awkward, but in a good way, in an I have butterflies living in my belly sort of way.

“Has anyone given you shit over our engagement?” Church asks as the door opens and Spencer and the twins come in, laden with Tupperware from yesterday's Culinary Club meeting. We're practicing for the bake-off against Everly All-Girls Academy in spring. You know, provided we're all still alive then.

“Not really,” I start, rubbing my finger over the ring on my hand. Whenever I pass Dad on campus, I swear, his eyes dart right to it and he bristles in frustration. Hypocrite. Mom was nineteen when she had me, and by then, they'd already been married for months. Besides, Dad was in his thirties when he started dating my teenage mother. He really has no room to talk. “Mark called me a gold-digging faggot on Monday, does that count?”

“Let's beat him up,” the twins say, and I smile. It's sort of their, like, motto or something.

“This is getting way out of control. Mark used to know how to toe the line, but now he just insults our girlfriend and gets away with it? I don't like that,” Spencer says, tucking his hands together behind his head and frowning hard.

“Don't forget,” the twins say, each lifting up a single finger in the air. “He's guilty. We're sure of it.”

“So you've said before,” Church murmurs, finally pouring a mug of coffee and then, contrary to his usual character, he douses it with cream and sugar before coming over to stand in front of me. He offers up the mug while the other four boys gape at us like we've just started having a wild rut in front of them. This time, when Church hands me the cup and tries to keep our fingers from touching, I thread mine through his and he goes completely still. Our eyes meet, and a hot cord of tension runs between us, invisible but powerful and potent anyway. “I've been thinking about him. Him, and all our other suspects, and here's what I've got.”

Church releases the coffee into my hands and moves away as Spencer flips his tie over one shoulder and leans back against one of the walls, popping open the top on a Tupperware container and going for a freshly baked molasses cookie. Our food theme this week was autumn fresh. Bleh. Ranger made it up, can't you tell? He also made miniature fondant squirrels to stick on some cupcakes. Don’t think I missed him blushing while he examined their cuteness.

P.S. They had sparkly tails, too.

“And?” Tobias asks, taking a seat on the bench and leaving his feet flat on the floor. When Micah sits beside him, he crosses his legs, and I smile. It's the little tells, right? “What's the verdict, Mr. President?” He takes an M&M cookie from a separate container, picks the blue M&Ms out and then gives them to his brother. Micah does the same, but passes the green ones to Tobias.

“Mark's family has attended Adamson since the very beginning,” Church says as I sip my coffee, wishing I could take my bindings off but knowing that we've got student meetings today. It's my job to check each person in, mark down names and complaints into the computer system, and then lead them back to the boys for their meeting. Once they’re finished, I have to add the resolution—if any—to the student's file, how long they were in the room, and then run any errands necessary. On Monday, I had to head out and reset the locker combinations on five different lockers. Of course, I can't go anywhere by myself, so Spencer went along with me and we may or may not have made out in an alcove on the way.

I'm a bit useless as an assistant right now, I suppose, but the boys want me here anyway, and I'm too selfish to say no.

“And, interestingly enough, so have Selena’s and Aster’s families.” Church pours himself a cup of black coffee and turns around. “By the beginning, of course, I mean since the very first class was held on this campus. They all have ancestors who used to work at the abbey that was here before it was turned into a school.”

“That's a hell of a coincidence,” Micah says, polishing off his third cookie and heading for a fourth. Ranger just stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed, listening to the conversation. Things have been a little weird between us since the double naked baking incident. I've noticed he's been avoiding his frilly aprons a bit, too. Not cool. We need to work out all this tension. And, really, I mean, there's only one way to work it out.

“Truly. There are only two dozen students who've ever shared that sort of lineage in the history of the school.”

“Between Everly and Adamson, is there anyone else that fits the bill?” Ranger asks, but Church just shakes his head. Damn.

“Other than Selena’s brother, Gareth, no. Nobody else but you.”

“Me?” Ranger asks, wrinkling up his nose. “That shit must be from my dad’s side of the family then. I feel like my mom would’ve mentioned it. Does that mean it’s a dead lead?”

“Maybe.” But Church doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

“There are most definitely three attackers,” I say, scrubbing my hands down my face. We only have about fifteen minutes before our first appointment of the day arrives, unfortunately, so this is our last chance to talk this over as a group today.