Deadly Little Sins Read Online Free PDF Page B

actually didn’t think to pack mine.…”
    “That’s okay!” Remy sounds like Minnie Mouse—if Minnie had been hitting the pipe. I hang up the last of my Wheatley blazers and sit on the edge of my bed.
    “Hey, I didn’t mean to freak you guys out at lunch,” I say. “I’m just exhausted and kind of jittery about being back, I guess.”
    The worry leaves Remy’s eyes. “Totally understand. We can unpack later, and take a nap before dinner if you want.”
    “That’s a fabulous idea.”
    Remy shuts the light off and climbs into her bed. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once you rest up.”
    “Mm-hmm.” I roll on my side and let the sound of her chattering lull me to sleep. I guess I am exhausted, after all.
    Or maybe I’m getting so used to my lies that I’m starting to believe them.
     
     
    I wind up sleeping until eight. Remy is up and unpacking. I yawn and drag myself to my computer, which is just about the only thing I’ve unpacked. And I google Natalie Barnes.
    There are so many results that I narrow my search terms to “Natalie Barnes + Massachusetts.” There are two Natalie Barneses living in the area: A fifty-something- year-old doctor and a stay-at-home mom who is really into knitting and Downton Abbey , according to her blog.
    All I can discern from my other searches is that there are 104 Natalie Barneses living in the United States. One website offers me the mug shot of a Natalie Barnes who was arrested seven years ago for the bargain price of $14.99.
    I eye the credit card that’s linked to my parents’ account. It’s for emergencies only, and while this qualifies as an emergency in my mind, I doubt my parents will be happy to see me buying mug shots on their tab.
    In my dresser is a velvet pouch filled with all of my cash savings—birthday money from over the years, a fifty spot here and there from guilty grandparents I never see. I have a couple hundred, easily, but there’s no way around using the credit card unless I pay someone to do it for me. Which may wind up being more trouble than it’s worth.
    Besides, Ms. C isn’t the mug-shot type. She was slightly dorky and really into her job. I can’t picture her doing anything that could get her arrested.
    I click out of the screen. It’s probably another Natalie Barnes.
    I hope it’s another Natalie Barnes.
     
     
    The next morning before the assembly, Remy and I meet up with Kelsey and April, who are in even fouler moods because they were accidentally placed in a triple on the first floor with a junior.
    Cole and the guys saved seats for us in the last row of the lower level of Blackman Hall. The orientation itinerary describes the assembly as “Senior Welcome Ceremony: Led by Dean Jacqueline Tierney.”
    Wonderful. Just the person I want to see on my first day back.
    But I guess it’s better than the alternative: ex-headmaster Benjamin Goddard.
    A lot of people at Wheatley had to answer for their crimes last year, but Goddard was not one of them. In fact, the opposite happened. Goddard stepped down and the media portrayed him as a martyr: the great man who took the fall for the corruption that had managed to poison his beloved school.
    Goddard knew another student was stalking Isabella before she died and fired an administrator for trying to protect her. Goddard had a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy when it came to the famed crew team’s dangerous hazing rituals.
    And now he gets to spend the rest of his days cloistered in some million-dollar waterfront property that his severance pay from Wheatley is no doubt paying for.
    I realize I’m clenching my fist as I sit down next to Murali. I let it go as Remy sits next to me. Cole is on the other side of Murali, talking to Graham.
    “I heard the new vice principal is this guy who ran a public school in Roxbury for like, twenty years,” Remy says to me and to Kelsey, who’s on the other side of her. Murali and April are both glued to their phones, not listening; April’s