His dead sister.

His suicidal sister … or his murdered one.

“Why do you think she was murdered?” I blurt, and Ranger's blue eyes go wide. He grits his teeth, and I cringe slightly when it looks like he might hit me. Instead, he flicks his still lit cigarette in my direction.

“None of your damn business, Carson,” Ranger sneers, looking down at me like I'm the scum of the earth. His blue-streaked dark hair hangs in razored waves over his face. With the black plugs in his ears, and the tattoos, he actually looks less like an emo-douche and more … badass or something. “Just stay the fuck away from me, okay? Don't come to Culinary Club on Thursday.”

Maybe he thinks that's a punishment … it's not.

But as he walks away, I scramble up to my feet and follow after him. No way in hell I'm being left alone out here. Once inside, I pick up the emergency phone in the kitchen and stare at it.

Ranger comes back into the room, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk, when he notices me standing there. One dark brow goes up.

“What the eff are you doing?” he asks me.

My hand is shaking, and I sniffle slightly from my brief moment of crying. If I report this, Dad will lose his mind. He'll lock me up in his house and escort me everywhere I go. Then again … how can I not tell him? Tonight might have been a prank. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it wasn't one of the Student Council members inside that hoodie.

Then again … if he thinks it's dangerous here, maybe he'll send me back to California? I pick the phone up again and start to dial “1” for the emergency line.

Ranger snatches the handset from me and narrows his blue eyes. It's so dark in here, the only light coming from inside the fridge, so it's hard to see his face, but I swear there are shadows in that stone-cold gaze of his.

“What's going on?” he snaps, as I curl my hands into fists and meet his stare dead-on.

“A man with a knife was chasing me just now,” I spit out, expecting him to laugh at me. Or deny it. Or … What I don't expect is for his eyes to go wide, for his skin to turn sallow in the glow from the fridge.

“What the hell did you just say?' he whispers as I reach for the handset, and he jerks it away from me again. This time, his nostrils flare with anger. “What. Did. You. Just. Say?” he snaps, and his tone brooks no argument.

“You heard me!” I shout back, feeling the silent tears on my cheeks again. Ranger glares at me, chest rising and falling in panting breaths. “Some psycho just chased me from my dad's house all the way back here—and he had a knife. So, who was it, Ranger? Was it Church? Spencer? One of the twins?”

“None of us,” Ranger growls back at me, shoving the phone into my hand and curling my fingers around it. He steps so close that we end up toe-to-toe. “We might fuck with you a little, but we're not completely psycho.”

“Really? Because Church came all the way up to my dad's place today to threaten me into leaving this mystery about your sister alone.” Ranger's eyes get even wider. “He shoved me into the trunk of a car and left me there for six hours. I don't know who let me out but—”

“So help me, Carson, if you're making any of this up, I will fucking kill you myself.” Ranger pushes me up against the counter with his body, and I hate that I sort of like the feel of him.

“I'm not making it up,” I whisper, my voice cracking. Something about that sound seems to rub him the wrong way. He shoves off the counter and stalks away from me, swigging the milk, and then chucking the glass against the wall. I jump as shards fly everywhere.

“Call Nathan,” Ranger growls, glancing over his shoulder at me. His eyes are glittering with anger. I can see them, bathed in light from the fridge. “Call your dad.”

“You believe me?” I manage to choke out, and he turns away from me.

“Clean up this glass when you're done,” is all he says as he heads into the common area and turns the TV on some old black and white show. The volume is basically muted, but it makes me feel safer, knowing he's in there. How messed-up is that? The guy just broke a bottle and then ordered me to clean it up, and I feel safer with him around?

What the hell is with the state of my life right now?

With a deep inhale, I dial up Nathan the security guard, and get ready to wake up the whole school.

The next day, I can barely keep my eyes open. Dad roused the entire campus last night, called the police, and grilled the hell out of me. Part of me wonders if he thinks I'm full of shit.

“Thanks for waking us all up last night, Carson,” some blond guy sneers as he walks past, blowing on one end of his straw and shooting the paper wrapper straight into my face. Jerk. But I'm too tired to bother with him. Besides, I already have the Student Council on my ass. The last thing I need to do right now is gain some aggro from anyone else.

My eyes drift over to them, sitting at the table in the corner. The twins are literally standing on it, giving some sort of stupid performance that has the room roaring with laughter. I don't pay much attention to them, switching my gaze to Ranger.

He's staring right at me, so I turn away, and try to catch a nap on the cafeteria table. We're on lock down until the police give the okay, so I'm forced to eat in here with everybody else.

It's a veritable hell.

After school, Dad escorts back to the house, and I find myself being led to one of the upstairs bedrooms.

“You'll stay in here for the remainder of the year,” he tells me, and I gape at him. That's pretty much the last thing I wanted. Don't get me wrong: living in a dorm full of asshole boys is basically a nightmare, but living with dad is worse. Trust me: I've been doing it for nearly seventeen years now, and I like having my own space.

“Why?” I snap, but he just gives me this look, his eyes a deep blue that are nothing like my pale-colored ones. If he hadn't demanded Mom get a paternity test after I was born, I might wonder if I were his biological child at all. We're so damn different in the personality department. “Nobody else has to move in with their dad.”

“Nobody else was chased by a man with a knife,” Dad replies dryly, and my jaw nearly hits the floor as I gape at him.

“You don't believe me, do you?” I whisper, and he gives me a look through his Coke-bottle glasses.

“I believe you think you were chased by something,” he says with a huge sigh, his big barrel chest rising and falling with the motion. “But if you think is going to get you a one-way ticket back to California then—”

“Have I even asked to go back to California since last night?!” I scream, because even though I thought to take advantage of this situation to get my way, I haven't yet. Something … is holding me back.

Jenica Woodruff.

For some strange reason, I can't get her smiling face out of my mind. Or her brother's frowning one. Or … whatever.

“Charlotte, I'm done with this conversation. I've asked some of the boys to move your things over this weekend. For now, you can sleep in the guest bed. There are spare uniforms in the drawer.” Dad moves away before I can even think up an appropriate response, and I slump down on the edge of the doily-covered bed. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I video chat Monica and pray that she answers me.