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Jaidev
“YOU ACTUALLY TOLD HER you should get together to improve your dance?” Trent stares at me, with one eyebrow raised, then bursts out laughing.
“Yeah. And then she didn’t even show to the practice late yesterday evening or this morning.” I pause. “I mean, I texted her and said sorry, and she said it was fine, but I’m pretty sure she is avoiding me. Didn’t see her at dinner last night either, or lunch today.”
“Mate, sounds like you’ve really upset her. How exactly did you word it?”
I recall what I said, with what I think is pretty much a word-for-word recount. Trent just shrugs in the end though. No words of wisdom.
“Just have to wait and see.”
Waiting doesn’t exactly make me feel good. I want to be active, doing something, but I also don’t want to flood Taryn’s phone. So, it looks like I’ll just have to wait for her to come back.
It’s easy enough doing this, keeping myself busy. Luckily, there are no formal rehearsals with Taryn and Evangeline, and it’s just my solo timetable this afternoon. But I wonder when Taryn will show up to any of our own sessions again, the ones we scheduled in ourselves for extra practice.
I busy myself with classes. I’ve got three this afternoon—leaps and jumps, and two with Madame Cachelle on the English way of dancing—before endurance and gym. As I’m walking to my first class, taking the outside route that passes the main gates of the grounds, I see Ivelisse. She’s walking with her hood pulled up, hands deep in the pockets of her leather jacket, heading toward the gates.
“Hey,” I call out and she jumps. “You seen Taryn?”
“Yeah, she’s gone.” Her voice sounds thicker than usual.
Gone? “Gone?” My eyes widen. Has she... did I scare her off completely?
Ivelisse nods. “Family emergency. Yesterday.”
“Wait, what?” I rush toward her. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “But look, I’ve got to go. Got an appointment in the city, and I can’t be late.”
She scurries off.
I message Taryn quickly, asking if she’s okay and if there’s anything I can do. I almost expect an immediate answer, but there’s not. Even a few hours later, there’s still no reply from her.
Hazma leans toward me as he adjusts his foot and rubs it. We’re in the gym. “Did anyone come forward yet?”
The lipstick threat. I shake my head. I can’t help but think it’s Victoria. I mean, I know she wants me out of here, but I also can’t assume it is her. Just because she made it clear she didn’t like me, it doesn’t mean she’d leave a racist note.
“No one’s said anything to me if they have.”
“Unfortunate that it happened right before your assessment, too,” he says. “But don’t worry. We’ll find out who did it.” He gives me a grin I think is supposed to be reassuring.
###
AFTER I’VE FINISHED for the day, Mr. Aleks finds me to say the police are here and want to talk to me about the threatening message. At first, I think it means they’ve found something, but a few minutes into the conversation with the detectives, it becomes apparent they’ve got no new information. They’re just trying to ascertain the facts, as they say.
“We are aware of the previous incident you were involved in,” one of the officers says. She’s white—they both are—with dark hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. “And we know you were cleared of any intent in that.”
Intent. Like I’d want Camille to be hurt at all.
My mouth dries. I nod and look around the room. Mr. Vikas’s office. At least I’m not in a station right now.
Or a cell.
“Do you think it is reasonable to assume that the person threatening you here also knows of the incident?” the other officer asks. She’s older, and I think she speaks with a Manchester accent, though I’m still a bit unsure with all the British accents.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s more of a you-don’t-belong-here message than one that sounds like it refers to something specific. They haven’t mentioned anything in the message that would indicate that.”
Except Victoria knows. She definitely knows.
The officer nods. “We have to look into anything it could be related to.”
My chest tightens. “Anything that would mean it’s not racist then?” I ask. “That would mean I deserve a message like that?”
“That’s not what we are saying. And we will be looking into this very seriously, I can assure you.”
“Well,” I say. “There is one person here who knows about Camille. Victoria Simmonds. She made it clear to me before that she knows about...about what happened. She said it to my face.”
“What did she say?”
I think back. “That I’d better watch myself.”
The two officers share a glance.
“So, a clear threat then.”
“Well, yes.”
“And do you think she’d leave a cryptic message, too? To warn you?”
I shrug. “I don’t really know her. I don’t like her, though. She’s making my ballet partner’s life difficult too. Constantly undermining her in front of other dancers.”
“That’s...” The older officer looks at her notepad. “Taryn Foster?”
I nod.
“Okay, then.” She closes her notepad. “We’ll look into this more. Try not to worry. We’ll find out who it is.”
Will you? I want to shout, but I don’t. I don’t trust the police, and I don’t feel kindly to them.
Not after they arrested me for murdering Camille.