“You both can just go suck each other's dicks!” I shout, and the twins laugh as I shove past them and back into the diner.

“We just wanted you to know we weren't going to neglect you, that's all,” Micah calls out as I grab my purse and storm over to the side door we came through, peeking out to make sure the coast is clear before I leave and slam it behind me.

Their laughter follows me all the way back to the car.

The Monday after we get back from break, I keep my head down and go about my day as usual, doing my best to blend into the shadows. The twins don't pay me any special attention other than to ask what happened to the dick on my face.

After that, I'm left well-enough alone. Even Tuesday at Culinary Club isn't very eventful. Spencer stares at me with narrowed turquoise eyes, and Ranger scowls a lot, but Church just sits in the corner sipping his coffee and ignoring everyone in favor of his phone. The twins dump a bag of flour on my head, but that's nothing in comparison to the spiders, or the weeks of detention and janitorial work. I'll take it.

“How long did you wait before you came back to let me out of that trunk?” I ask Church on Thursday, now a bit more comfortable with the idea that the twins really are going to keep my secret. Apparently, as long as they can keep fucking with me, they're totally okay keeping things to themselves.

“Me?” he asks, blinking pretty honeyed eyes at me and smiling. Again, the expression doesn't reach his gaze. Not even close. “Oh, I didn't let you out. I sort of hoped you'd be stuck in there all night.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Oh, and your father's very insistent on the idea of me tutoring you. Meet me in the library tomorrow after class. Don't be late; I abhor tardiness.”

He starts to walk off, and I reach out to grab the edge of his blazer. The look he throws me over his shoulder is cold fucking hell. My eyes widen, but I don't let go.

“You didn't let me out of the trunk?” I ask, and he raises a blond brow at me.

“No. I didn't exactly have the keys, now did I?” Church politely picks the bit of fabric from between my fingers, freeing himself before he turns and starts off down the hall. I'm left standing there with a pit of ice in my stomach that I can't make sense of.

If Church didn't let me out of the trunk … then who did?

The library at Adamson All-Boys Academy is this monstrous tomb, like a massive mausoleum, made all the worse because of the undertaker … I mean librarian, Mr. Dave. As soon as he sees me walk in on Friday, he's glaring at me from behind his desk.

I ignore him and weave through the massive wood tables towards the back where Church Montague is sitting, hands steepled on his crossed legs, eyes focused directly on me. He watches me as I take the seat next to him—the tables are far too wide for me to sit across and still have his help while studying—and pull out my iPad and my laptop.

Neither of us speaks for several minutes, and I look up to find Church watching me. He's smiling, and his face is pleasant, but those cold shadows are still there, that darkness that he hides so well brewing just beneath the surface.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask finally, and Church slides his amber gaze over to mine.

“Because I'm the Student Council President, and that's my job: to help others.”

“I think you're a sociopath,” I blurt, and his smile gets a bit wider.

“I think you mean psychopath. Sociopaths have trouble controlling their emotions, and are prone to emotional outbursts. Psychopaths don't feel human emotion per se, but are extremely skilled in imitating it.” He grins at me, and I frown. “But I assure you: I'm not either.”

“Oh, wow, that's so convincing,” I grumble, shoving my glasses up my face and pushing up the sleeves of the baggy blue Adamson sweater I'm wearing. We're required to wear our blazers every day of the week, except on Friday when we can go without, or don a school hoodie. I'm quite literally swimming in mine which is good; it helps hide the boobs I didn't bother to bind this morning.

Hopefully nobody's noticed. I was just too damn tired. I hate sleeping in dad's house. He turns the Wi-fi off when he goes to bed and hides the modem, so I can't get online. My phone service is crap out here in Nutmeg, Middle-of-Nowhere, so I've spent every night this week just staring at the ceiling and wondering if I'll still fit in when I go back to California.

Just a few more weeks, and everything will be okay, I tell myself. Because honestly, I've decided that once I get back to Santa Cruz, I'm not leaving again. If I put up enough of a fight, Dad will have to realize that I'm serious about this. My whole life is in California; I have plans to go to UC Santa Cruz with Cody and Monica. Then when I graduate, I want to live locally anyway. If you really think about it, him moving me across the country was kind of a selfish, fucked-up thing to do.

“It doesn't matter to me what you think, Chuck. You're a stuck-up asshole that nobody else in this school likes. Your opinion is dirt.” Church turns to look at me, still smiling, and then reaches out and taps my tablet with a long finger. “Now pull up your list of assignments, and we'll work our way through. I don't fail at anything: not even when it comes to educating idiots. We'll get your grades up if it kills you.”

“You mean, if it kills me,” I say, and then I shiver because that expression is just so off-putting.

“Exactly,” Church says, his smile getting wider. He's got a handsome face, but it looks like a mask. Nothing he says or does is real, and I wonder if even he knows why that is. “Now, let's get started. There's nothing I hate more than wasted time.”

With a sigh, I open up my math homework and Church leans over to take a look, our heads nearly brushing. His fingers linger far too close to mine, and even though he's a cold-hearted bastard, there's a warmth that transfers between us that can't be faked.

I swallow hard and try to focus on my work. At first, it seems virtually impossible, what with this weird hot/cold thing I'm getting from Church. But after a little while, we settle into a routine, and I decide his businesslike attitude works for me.

When we're done, Church insists on walking me back to Dad's place—I'm sure only because Archie put him up to it—and I decide not to argue. I was chased by a guy with a knife, after all.

The woods are barren and spooky, the limbs stripped of their leaves from winter's chill. With the fog rolling across the lawns between the path and the forest, there's an ominous feel to the whole scene that I don't like.

“You think she died because she was a girl?”

“Maybe.”

My conversation with the twins resurfaces, and I shiver again. This secret keeps getting bigger and bigger, and it's all the more enticing because nobody will talk about it with me. I'm sure if I just sat down and heard the whole story, I'd forget all about it and move on. But there's something about Jenica's death that's nagging at me.

We reach the front steps, and the door opens.

“Mr. Montague,” Dad says cheerfully, more cheerfully than he's spoken to me in weeks. “I was just about to put dinner on the table. Join us?”

I give Dad a look that very clearly says please shut up and rescind your invitation, but he ignores me and Church smiles prettily.