A lioness. From ten feet away, that’s what Logan looks like to Mason with her nose-flaring and wild-eyed “Who did this?” He admires her for it, but hell, does she really think someone’s gonna confess?
He read the article and the pieces clicked into place—why Cade and Logan were in Principal McNeil’s office with Mr. Bartley. Why Mr. Bartley’s been…different—not exactly in a bad mood, but not his usual enthusiastic self, either. And why yesterday Mr. Bartley ignored Logan.
Last night, Mason’s dad went on a tirade over the article. “How dare they embarrass our school like this! Mason, you call the team together for a meeting tomorrow morning in the locker room. I want them focused on hockey and not this nonsense. We cannot let this distract us from winning regionals.” He used words to describe Cade and Logan that made Mason’s stomach slither like a pit of snakes. His mom tried to calm his father and paid for it with a verbal lashing. Mason closed his bedroom door, stuck his earbuds in, and cranked up the tunes.
He spent the next hour reading through comments. The majority supported Logan and Cade. Some attacked Mr. Bartley. Those pissed him off. These people don’t know him, they don’t know our school, and they don’t know Cade and Logan, he thought. Several times, he wrote a response, then deleted it. But finally, he couldn’t help himself, and he posted his opinion under a pseudonym, of course, like everyone else. His comment was number 217.
Mason would prefer to do the alternative assignment, but what if his dad found out? Ever since Mason struck back, the tyrant found a more effective way of controlling him. Threatening his mother. He swallows hard, and as he watches Logan struggling, he hears his father’s firm directive to the team. “Anyone asks you about the assignment, you answer, ‘No comment.’ Your focus is hockey. STAY OUT OF IT!”
Towering over the crowd, Mason watches Logan. People are giving her a wide berth.
Reg laughs, and says, “They wanted the attention. They’re definitely getting it now.”
“The dog food was classic,” Jesse says.
Mason ignores them, refocuses on Logan until a girl walks by with big blue eyes rimmed with dark eyeliner, deep red lips, and long kickass blue hair. She stops three lockers from his, catches Mason staring, and sends him a shy smile.
“Heather? Heather Jameson?”
She blushes and nods.
“So, what do you think?” Reg asks Mason, pulling his gaze away from Heather.
Mason blinks at Reg. “About what?”
“You haven’t said anything about the article or Cade and Logan.”
Mason shrugs. “Didn’t read it.”
Spencer makes his way over. Half the hockey team stands and watches like Cade and Logan are a part of a sitcom. Mason can’t stand here anymore. He takes two steps away and stops. Dammit. He turns around and shoulders his way through the gawking crowd and into the crosshairs of Logan’s fury.
“Did you do this?”
The insult hits him hard, but he ignores it, ignores her. He can’t ignore the sticky notes.
He rips them off the door: Swastikas. “Burn baby burn.” “Kikes and dykes not welcome here.” He tears them in half, shoves them into his pockets, and begins to pick off the rest.
Logan joins him, clawing at the notes, littering the ground at their feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I know you’d never—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs.
“Do you have any idea who could have done this?”
Mason’s neck prickles. He glances back. Spencer, Reg, and Jesse watch him with disbelief and contempt. To hell with them. He’s sick of them, sick of having to toe the line and keep the peace at home and in the locker room. But what makes Mason sick most of all is the painful gut feeling that several of his so-called teammates are probably—if not definitely—responsible for the disgusting messages in Cade and Logan’s lockers.
“Who knows your combinations?” Mason asks.
Logan turns around. “Only Cade and me. Whoever did this must have somehow gotten their hands on the master list.” Her eyes narrow. “Doesn’t your girlfriend work in the office?” It’s not a question.
Mason flinches. His brow furrows. “You think Kerrianne did this? Or me?”
“No.”
His gray eyes turn into a thunderstorm. But there’s more than frustration, there’s hurt and defeat. He’s tired of walking the tightrope that defines his life. He’s too much, not enough, and pleases no one, especially the tyrant and least of all himself. Shaking his head, he walks away, mumbling, “What the hell’s the point if no matter what I do, I can’t win?”
“Mason!” Logan calls. “Mason, I’m sorry!”
Ignoring Logan, Mason kicks himself for caring. He reaches the stairs leading to the second-floor math and science wing and conquers them two at a time. The seed Logan planted in his head grows. Could Kerrianne get the master combination list? Hell yeah. She’s worked in the school office for nearly four years. Miss Wather has given Kerrianne plenty of responsibility, and even though Kerrianne has her own login on the office computer, she’s smart enough to figure out how to access the locker combination list.
He slips a hand into his pocket, removes one of the crumpled sticky notes, and smooths it out. “Burn with the rest of them,” it says.
Mason knows Kerrianne’s handwriting, and it’s not hers. She may not have written the notes, but it doesn’t erase logic.
Did Kerrianne give someone the locker combinations? It’s highly probable, and he has a list of suspects. His conscience tugs at him. Should he confront her? Find out who she gave the combinations to? When she tells him, if she tells him, then what?