“I had stuff to take care of back home,” she said with a shrug.
Stuff like making sure all her accounts were securely locked down and her protection order was still in place. Stuff like figuring out how her stalker had gotten access to her private information and making sure it never happened again. Stuff like seriously weighing whether or not she could afford to keep being Orchid McKee or if she was going to be forced to erase her and vanish once again.
The problem was, she liked the person she’d created at Blackbrook. The scholar, the scientist. Orchid had spent her childhood being told she was worthwhile solely because her face could make money for other people. She was beloved by strangers who had never seen her for real. Here, her teachers liked her mind. Here, she felt like a whole person.
Blackbrook, and Orchid McKee, were worth saving.
“Stuff like what?” Vaughn asked.
“Dealing with everything,” Orchid said. “Therapy.” That wasn’t a lie. She had been to see her therapist a lot. They’d talked about the murder and about Mrs. White. All those months that Orchid had been living with Mrs. White, she’d never dreamed that the woman was capable of murdering someone. Even when Orchid had confronted her in the secret passage below the kitchen, it was hard to wrap her mind around the idea. Mrs. White had been an aged hippie, not a killer. The older woman herself seemed shocked that she’d done it when she confessed everything.
“Oh.”
She looked at him. She hoped he wasn’t one of those guys who got weird about therapy. Especially since she and her therapist had spent a fair bit of time talking about Vaughn, too. Her therapist thought this crush was “good for her,” whatever that was supposed to mean.
“Did you talk to anyone? It’s a lot to take in.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Not a lot of shrinks in Rocky Point.”
Of course. “What about the new school counselor?”
“I’m sure he’s fully booked. Don’t know if you’re aware of this, but there was a murder on campus last term. A lot of people are struggling with grief.”
“Didn’t you get that message from him? We Murder Crew members take priority for appointments.” Orchid had already gotten two voicemails from the guy—a Mr. Winkle—about setting up a meeting, and Scarlett had mentioned seeing him.
But Orchid already had a therapist she could trust. If Mr. Winkle was so busy, she’d rather he focus on people who needed him, like Vaughn.
Vaughn frowned and was quiet. “The counselor’s from away. I don’t think he’d understand.”
But Orchid did. This town was very, very small. However close to Mrs. White she had been from living with her in Tudor House, it was nothing compared to Vaughn’s bond with the woman. He’d known her since childhood. She was once a resident of the girls’ reform school that Tudor House had been before it was rolled into Blackbrook Academy. During the storm, Orchid had gotten the sense that they knew each other very well, indeed.
“You don’t know until you try,” she said.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Well, you can always talk to me.” She placed a gloved hand on his parka sleeve. “No one should be alone in this.”
That was the decision she and her therapist had come to. Orchid had been too much alone. Murder aside, she was safer at Blackbrook, away from her old life. Besides, the killer was behind bars, and her stalker was sequestered and had been given stern warnings. Nothing else was going to happen here.
The sound he made was too grim for a laugh. “I’m not alone.”
“Orchid!” someone called. They both looked up to see Scarlett Mistry bounding over, her crimson wool coat trailing out behind her like a cape. Where Orchid dressed to blend in, Scarlett liked to stand out. As she approached, she caught sight of Vaughn. “Oh. You.”
Vaughn nodded brusquely. “Hello to you, too.”
“How was your break or whatever?” Scarlett asked him.
“Busy. We had a lot of work to do on campus to get it ready for you to enjoy when you came back.”
She gazed dismissively over the mud slicks and yellow caution tape. “Guess you have a lot more to do.”
“Ouch,” Orchid said, getting between them. “Give it a rest, will you?”
Vaughn straightened and handed her back her books. “I think we’ve reached Murder Crew critical mass. I’d better make myself scarce. I’ve got stuff to do back home, anyway.”
“Okay, bye!” Scarlett trilled.
Orchid shot her a look, then turned to Vaughn. “I’ll see you later, though, right? We have to talk about the history project. And . . . stuff.”
He smiled again. “Yeah. And stuff.”
Orchid watched him head off toward the bridge to Rocky Point. And Scarlett watched Orchid watch Vaughn.
“Eww,” she said at last. “Do you like him like him?”
Orchid sighed. “Little bit.” Lot bit.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “But why, though? Look who you are, and look who he is. You should be dating someone in a boy band, or a pro athlete.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“The son of a president?” Scarlett suggested.
“Now that’s just gross.”
“I’m just saying. Famous people don’t date nobodies from nowhere.”
“I’m nobody from nowhere,” Orchid reminded her. “I’m Orchid McKee. I have no family, no home—” No past. No support, except what she paid for. And as for friends . . .
Well, there was Vaughn. And Scarlett, when she wasn’t driving Orchid nuts.
Scarlett was the only person at Blackbrook who knew Orchid’s secret. Last term, during the storm, Orchid had confided in her, fearing that Headmaster Boddy’s killer was the stalker who had sent Orchid a threatening letter and meddled in her tuition payments. It hadn’t been, but the truth was out, anyway. And now, Scarlett had decided that they had to be best friends.
Perhaps it had been a mistake. It wasn’t that Scarlett was untrustworthy . . . exactly. She just wasn’t precisely trustworthy out of the goodness of her heart.
If Scarlett Mistry even had a heart.
“Nobody . . . for now,” Scarlett pointed out. “I’m not ready to close the door on Emily Pryce just yet.”
Especially if she could find a way to make Orchid’s erstwhile fame work in her own favor.
“Think of how awesome it would be for you to make a triumphant return to celebrity.”
Orchid shook her head. Hard. “I don’t want to return. Not to Hollywood.” Being a child star was hell. Being a grown-up star sounded even worse.
“Well, you say that now. But after you get a degree at some fancy Ivy League school . . . People get super impressed by all that. Natalie Portman. Emma Watson.”
Now Orchid just laughed. “I’m so glad you aren’t the one making decisions for me, Scarlett.”
“For now,” Scarlett repeated darkly. She hugged herself. “Let’s get back to the house before we freeze.”
They headed up the steps of Tudor House and went inside. Orchid kept her eyes averted from the floor of the hall. She never even went into the conservatory anymore. Couldn’t, without picturing Headmaster Boddy’s lifeless body and gray face.