White Lies (Book 1)

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned away from the unbearably dull tones of Ms. O'Connor's voice and faced behind me. Noah Lincoln was what I found.

How does one explain who Noah Lincoln is? Where to even begin?

Noah Lincoln is the stereotypical personification of bad news. The money, girls, drugs, alcohol – all of which flowed and exchanged effortlessly to and from his very sketchy hands. Especially the alcohol. He belonged to a multi-million-dollar legacy – the empire of distilleries which kept a third of the town employed. One which has landed his family a coveted seat at the table of Angelica's elite circle.

Noah had his fingers in all sorts of pies. If you wanted anything – legal or otherwise – you went to him. No questions asked.

The rumor mill churned endless stories of he and Jenny's many escapades. These rumors never stopped after Jenny and Robbie's institutionalism as the 'it' couple.

Their flings were rumored to have lasted long after Jen and Robbie had become an item, causing a quiet scandal whispered behind backs. The fabled mysteries of these flings were spread far and wide not by complete strangers, but by Jenny's closest and most admired friends. I didn't envy her position, in a lot of ways – when you're at the top of the ladder, there isn't a single person in the room who doesn't want to tear you down.

We even have proof, they would say. Text message screen shots. Saved videos and files from social media. A secret, private Instagram account. Cryptic messages which her friends claimed to be able to decode.

There were other, much older rumors, too – rumors surrounding Jenny's parentage which had been around for as long as she had been alive.

The mind of the modern teenager was a landmine of treachery. And this was an important element of the story, within the context of Robbie and Jenny's disappearance.

That night in the back alley. The sparkly dress? The high stilettos? Jenny was definitely at a party. The same party that Noah was invited to, and the same party that they had been captured and filmed with illegal substances.

Seeing Noah's face, in that midday light, set off that first reaction. A chemical reaction, or maybe even an allergic reaction – something so violent and sudden and extreme that I had no way of hiding it from him. My mind went to overdrive. My eyes went wide.

Oh my God.

That night. The dress. The arguing. Jen and Robbie.

Arguing about Noah.

Noah. Who was staring at me weirdly.

"What?"

I stared at him, still dumbstruck. "You..."

He cocked an eyebrow.

Somebody cleared their throat. Nate sat to my right, watching us warily.

Noah's face relaxed into a sneer, plump lips curling seductively. "Oh. That's right. I forgot. You two are like fucking now. That's wild, man." He turned to Nathan. "How'd you bag and tag the crackpot?"

Nathan clenched his jaw. "Fucking cool it. How are you not in juvie already?"

He laughed. "Aw, hell. Where's your banter gone, Nate? I'm only kidding." It was clear from his expression that a friendly 'banter' with Nate was the opposite of what this was. "And what do you know? I just love this shithole so much; I keep coming back for more."

Nathan was right. I frowned. Hadn't he been expelled for bashing Howard Garcia into a coma several months back?

Noah was on a roll. "But something here just seems a little suspicious to me. I can't put a finger on it," he wagged his two fingers between Nathan and I. "Now you," he pointed to me, "used to have a thing for that... gee, what's his name, I can't think of it— ah!" he snapped his fingers, imitating a light bulb flashing above his head. "Roberto, that's it! The dead guy! So the dead guy's been gone for, what, five seconds and you drop him like – that," he snapped his fingers again. His smile was predatory. He was enjoying his little game. "Interesting stuff."

I gritted my teeth. He knew things about me that he clearly had no business knowing. Yet no matter what he said, I couldn't keep letting my feelings be known to him. Seeing the dark curl of his lip close up, the callous, arbitrary look to his eyes... something about him seemed off. Noah continued, his face alight with cruelty.

"But still – Nathan? Of all the still-alive people in this shitty town, you chose... him? Couldn't find anybody better, could you?" he let out a small laugh. "Of course not. Who would want to touch the dirty scraps that were left outside of the mental asylum last Tuesday?"

Nate stood up from his chair without warning, causing immediate disruption to the class. He grabbed Noah roughly by the neck and pulled him face-to-face. Noah had the bulk, but Nate had a height advantage – and right then, his face screamed murder.

"Fuck off. Leave her alone," he seethed, and my blood ran cold.

"Nathan Ericson! What argument could you possibly be having that can't wait until lunch?" Ms. O'Connor cried. For somebody so tiny and frail, she must have been part banshee in another life.

By this time, the entire class had transformed into sporting spectators. Phones were already out, and braced for prime recording. Nate didn't seem to notice our teacher, nor the others, nor any of it. Nathan and Noah were locked into positions, both waiting to see who would do what first.

As was I. I should've stopped it. Instead, I held my breath with everyone else.

I couldn't understand why Nathan had reacted so violently over what somebody else had to say about me. Worse things were said about me frequently, and on an ongoing basis. We had both agreed to doing our part in finding Robbie and Jen, and that once Robbie and Jen were found, we would both go back to our normal ways. Nathan would go back to mocking me, and I would go back to being mocked.

"Sit back down, both of you! I won't say it again," Mrs. O'Connor ordered, pointing a threatening finger towards them, "or you'll both be spending an afternoon with me!"

I'd like to say that they both sat down quietly. I'd like to say that Nate had suddenly found his common sense, and realized that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to strike a fight in the middle of English.

But then I'd be lying. And nobody likes a liar.