I weigh my options. Either I can walk into his office, like he asked, or I can turn and run away. Leave campus and go straight to the police.

Mr. McKenzie's pale eyes drill into mine as the clock on the wall counts the seconds, its infinite tick tock filling the thunderous silence. Finally, curiosity gets the best of me. I brush past him through the door and then still, the hairs on my arms rising with alarm.

He's not alone.

Sitting in the chair across from his desk is Jessa Duncan, Kate's roommate. Her eyes are red-rimmed and staring, two giant orbs of angst. We watch each other for a moment before she eventually looks away.

"You must have so many questions. Let's see if I can answer some of them," Mr. McKenzie says from behind me. An unexpected click follows his sentence, and I whip around, trying to place the source. One hand lingers on the doorknob, his fingers on the lock. "Why don't you have a seat and we'll get started?"

Trepidation dries my mouth.

I turn back to Jessa. Her expression which, at first, looked like grief, has now morphed into something else entirely. Eyes tense, lips drawn into a line. Brows pulled together. She's scared.

No—not scared. She's terrified.

When I lower myself into the chair next to her and set my bag on the floor, a barely audible whimper grinds in the back of her throat.

"What a day. Kate's parents are here from Boston, and they are absolutely inconsolable," Mr. McKenzie begins as he sits down across from us. "Daniel Baxter and I are friends, did you know that? We met at Maliseet Bay our freshmen year. Boy, you should have seen us back then—full of piss and vinegar! He's probably my best friend—definitely my longest running. It's so hard to see him this way. He's a broken man, losing his only daughter like that. I didn't want to say anything this morning, not until we knew for sure, but we believe Kate jumped from the cliffs. Same as Ava."

His admission curdles my stomach.

Two identical suicides, both from the same school, nearly six months apart. What are the odds?

"Kids go through so much these days," he continues with a shake of his head. "There are pressures now that weren't around when I was your age. Not only do you have to worry about acceptance, sex, and peer pressure, but social media is doing a hell of a job rotting your brains. Throw in the fear of school shootings and civil unrest, and it's no wonder depression and suicide are on the rise. It's a damn shame, too. All that promise and potential going straight down the toilet."

Next to me, Jessa wrings her hands, twisting and turning them over and over in her lap. As if she senses me watching, she clasps them together and stuffs them between her knees to keep them still.

Mr. McKenzie's face breaks into a smile, his eyes dancing back and forth between us. "But not my Drew. After his mother and I divorced, she was insistent on full custody, but there was no way I was letting someone else raise my son. From the time he was a child, I knew Drew's future would be bright. Now, with my careful guidance and molding, the world is his for the taking. You can't tell me she would have been able to do half the job I've done."

Wind presses against the windows, the clouds a thick gray blanket covering the sky.

"I've told him time and time again he needs to safeguard his opportunities. I can get his foot in the door almost anywhere, but it's him who has to do the rest. Work hard, keep your eye on the prize. I've drilled that into his head since he was a toddler. And by all accounts, he's excelled. Phenomenal grades, sport achievements, extracurricular activities. He's perfect. Kate was perfect, too. They made a dynamic couple. But now she's gone, and the future I planned for him has changed. Not that he won't succeed—that goes without saying. But their union will never bring our families together." His tone turns bitter. "How do you think it feels to have all that hard work blow up in your face?"

A knot tightens in my gut. I don't like the way he's looking at us, scowling, like we're somehow to blame.

Mr. McKenzie pushes away from his desk. He stands, slowly peels his arms from his blazer and drapes it across the back of his chair, brushing aside an invisible piece of lint from the shoulder. His starched dress shirt is next. One by one he unfastens the buttons until the only thing left is a white cotton tee underneath. "Sadly, Drew is not as smart as I thought he was. He got himself into trouble. Or rather, he got someone else into trouble—and we all know how that goes. Don't we, Mia?"

He's not looking for an answer. He bends down and opens a drawer, removes what he needs, and closes it with a bang. It's a solid black hoodie. He pulls it over his head before taking his seat. The sight of him wearing something so casual looks oddly out of place.

Mr. McKenzie catches me staring and smiles. "I can still pull it off, don't you think? Suits and ties are so overrated. Sometimes, I enjoy the feel of good ol' cotton." His gaze shifts to the window before moving back. "Besides, it's going to be raining cats and dogs out there. Don't want to ruin a perfectly good Armani."

Jessa squirms next to me. A tear rolls down her cheek, leaving behind a shiny, wet trail. "I wa—I wanna go—go home," she stammers. "I don't want to be here anymore."

Mr. McKenzie clucks his tongue. "Now, Miss Duncan—you know we can't have that. There are things we must take care of first." He leans back and the chair creaks beneath his weight.

I try to keep my voice steady. "Why are we here?"

When he turns to me, his eyes are cold. "We're here because of your sister. If Ava hadn't lured Drew away from our carefully constructed plan, none of this would have happened."

The blood drains from my head. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy," he says. "Somehow, she weaseled her way beneath Drew's skin, and he just couldn't stay away. If I hadn't been at the store when she bought that pregnancy test, I may never have found out in time. Talk about a stroke of good fortune."

He knows Ava was pregnant and the idea makes me sick. It was none of his business, yet he was in the right place at the right time—as far as he's concerned.

"You think it was Drew's?" When he doesn't respond, I continue. "It could have been anyone's. Maybe the guy didn't even go to this school."

At first, he just laughs. "As if I don't know what goes on under my own roof." He leans back and stares up at the ceiling, his hands folded behind his head. "You may not believe this, but for once I tried not to intervene. I hoped that if I gave it some time, whatever wild oats that boy needed to sow would take care of itself—Lord knows I was more than guilty of having a good time at that age. But do you have any idea how difficult it is to sit back and let your child make a mistake? How do I counsel him through an unwanted pregnancy with a girl meant for nothing more than a good time? Suppose that's what I get for allowing him room to grow."

Something clicks inside me. Something heated and fierce. I'm unable to hold back the hysteria that's been building for years.

I lean forward in my chair and slam my hands against his desk, ignoring the sting that shoots through my palms. "Who the hell are you to judge my sister?" My voice is a barely recognizable scream. "Ava was meant for more than some privileged boy's pleasure. She wasn't perfect, but she was good and she was kind. She was a brilliant artist. And I know in my heart she would have loved that baby with everything inside her—even if it was the product of two extremely fucked up gene pools. So, don't you dare say anything bad about her. Do you hear me?" I hiss through gritted teeth.

"Or what? Your days of playing vigilante are over, Miss Greenley." He straightens in his chair and composes himself with a smirk. "Are you surprised I know you've been poking around where you don't belong? This is my school. My livelihood. I'm aware of everything that takes place on this campus. I just prefer to choose my battles wisely. What's a few alcohol-infused bonfires on the beach, or the occasional hook-up in the boat house? I can look past that, the same way I overlooked that poor, little scholarship girl hacking into the computer to change her grade, or the football players who enjoy tackling each other off the field just as much as they do on. Instead of fighting every problem, I concentrate on things that matter most. And what matters most to me is Drew."

A lump of dread unfurls in my chest. I sit back in my chair as his confession sinks in. "Are you saying that you take care of Drew's problems?" My voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

Next to me, Jessa's breaths punch in and out of her mouth. She rocks back and forth in her chair, her words coming out so fast they trip over each other. "I need to call my mom. Please give me back my phone!"

A warning alarms in my head. Slowly, I turn back to Mr. McKenzie. "Why do you have her phone?"

Surprise registers across his face. "Oh, that's right! Thank you, Miss Duncan, for the reminder." He uncurls his palm and extends it across the desk. "I'm going to need yours, too."

I shake my head, my hand guarding my back pocket. "I'm not giving you anything."

He stares for a moment before opening another drawer. Then he cocks his head, and places his hands on the desk. "Miss Greenley, don't make this harder than it has to be."

Except I can't move. My eyes are fixed on the glint of metal beneath his fingers.

Mr. McKenzie has a gun.

Hey, readers! Thank you so much for your time and support. I really appreciate it! If you were planning to read my other YA mystery/thriller, Emma That is Dead, it was invited into the Paid Stories Program and will only be free to read for a limited time. I don't have a date yet, but if it's in your reading list, I wanted to give you a heads up! Thank you! 🧡