Curtis having a row with one of the doormen at the Hurst Centre; everyone going to the cinema; hanging out at the park; loads of pictures of us in The Pit. And the bowling trip. The bowling trip, the one when Leon and I first started talking, when I first started to like him. It was like recalling a memory, seeing events of my recent past, but seeing them through someone els e’ s eyes.
Gemma then flicked over to the notes, pages of notes, hundreds of observations about our actions and mannerisms, the things we said, how we said them, what we did, where we went. But the title was the thing that disturbed me the most: PROJECT KATE AND CO.
‘ Oh, god ,’ I said, covering my mouth, dropping the phone to the table.
Gemma held my gaze.
‘ Now there's anotherreason for us to get out of here quickly ,’ she said. ‘ We do n’ t know what h e’ s up to, but we sure as hell know i t’ s not normal. And it involves us . ’
‘ But it couldbe innocent ,’ I argued, unsure whether I believed myself. ‘I’ ve been chatting with him. H e’ s just a bi t… jealous, lonely. Perhaps h e’ s been trying to, I do n’ t know, get to know us ? ’
‘ By stalking us? Tha t’ s not what innocent people do. H e’ s a crazy boy, Kate. Like, what is it he's planning? We ca n’ t trust him. We have to leave . ’
‘ But - ’
‘ You ca n’ t defend him, Kate. I know you like giving people second, third, fourth and fifth chances and all that, but this time you have to listen to me. We ca n’ t have another Marshall Finch situation on our hands. Yo u’ ve seen the pictures for yourself. That freak is n’ t right. H e’ s up to something. He's asicko . ’
‘ Yes ,’ I said.
‘ We need to tell the others ,’ she added. ‘ But carefully. We do n’ t want Byron catching on. We do n’ t want him to know that we know. It might set him off. I’ ll tell Curtis and Greg. You tell lover boy over there . ’
‘ Yes ,’ I said, sinking.
Chapter Twenty Three
Gemma went to find Greg and Curtis while I stayed by the desk. For as long as no one noticed me in the shadows, I scrolled through Byron's phone again. There was something magnetic about the photos - all the care, the trouble he'd gone to, to record our activity. Why? What did he want ? What was so special about us ?
He'd obviously followed us from place to place, kept track of our whereabouts. Lots of the photos were taken in The Pit, the open-plan central lobby of the school building, where most of the sixth form hung out. No wonder h e’ d known about Marshall's endless text messages. He'd been there.
I couldn't recall seeing him. His face had been familiar when he'd first entered the art room, with his sweaty, red cheeks and muddy boots, but I hadn't been able to place it. He must have kept well hidden. Or had I simply failed to notice him? After all, he'd said it himself: no one pays attention to the nondescript loner.
As I switched off the phone and placed it back on the table, I realised I wanted to see past the shock. I wanted to understand. As freaky as Byron was, was he actually a threat? My instincts told me he needed my compassion more than my outrage. He'd been pretty honest about a lot of things, almost like he'd been trying to help me, warn me, open my eyes to other people's deceptions. It had seemed like he was on my side.
Oh, god. It was so hard to know. My gut told me Byron was okay, but as Gemma had pointed out countless times, my gut wasn't always that reliable.
Gemma then flicked over to the notes, pages of notes, hundreds of observations about our actions and mannerisms, the things we said, how we said them, what we did, where we went. But the title was the thing that disturbed me the most: PROJECT KATE AND CO.
‘ Oh, god ,’ I said, covering my mouth, dropping the phone to the table.
Gemma held my gaze.
‘ Now there's anotherreason for us to get out of here quickly ,’ she said. ‘ We do n’ t know what h e’ s up to, but we sure as hell know i t’ s not normal. And it involves us . ’
‘ But it couldbe innocent ,’ I argued, unsure whether I believed myself. ‘I’ ve been chatting with him. H e’ s just a bi t… jealous, lonely. Perhaps h e’ s been trying to, I do n’ t know, get to know us ? ’
‘ By stalking us? Tha t’ s not what innocent people do. H e’ s a crazy boy, Kate. Like, what is it he's planning? We ca n’ t trust him. We have to leave . ’
‘ But - ’
‘ You ca n’ t defend him, Kate. I know you like giving people second, third, fourth and fifth chances and all that, but this time you have to listen to me. We ca n’ t have another Marshall Finch situation on our hands. Yo u’ ve seen the pictures for yourself. That freak is n’ t right. H e’ s up to something. He's asicko . ’
‘ Yes ,’ I said.
‘ We need to tell the others ,’ she added. ‘ But carefully. We do n’ t want Byron catching on. We do n’ t want him to know that we know. It might set him off. I’ ll tell Curtis and Greg. You tell lover boy over there . ’
‘ Yes ,’ I said, sinking.
Chapter Twenty Three
Gemma went to find Greg and Curtis while I stayed by the desk. For as long as no one noticed me in the shadows, I scrolled through Byron's phone again. There was something magnetic about the photos - all the care, the trouble he'd gone to, to record our activity. Why? What did he want ? What was so special about us ?
He'd obviously followed us from place to place, kept track of our whereabouts. Lots of the photos were taken in The Pit, the open-plan central lobby of the school building, where most of the sixth form hung out. No wonder h e’ d known about Marshall's endless text messages. He'd been there.
I couldn't recall seeing him. His face had been familiar when he'd first entered the art room, with his sweaty, red cheeks and muddy boots, but I hadn't been able to place it. He must have kept well hidden. Or had I simply failed to notice him? After all, he'd said it himself: no one pays attention to the nondescript loner.
As I switched off the phone and placed it back on the table, I realised I wanted to see past the shock. I wanted to understand. As freaky as Byron was, was he actually a threat? My instincts told me he needed my compassion more than my outrage. He'd been pretty honest about a lot of things, almost like he'd been trying to help me, warn me, open my eyes to other people's deceptions. It had seemed like he was on my side.
Oh, god. It was so hard to know. My gut told me Byron was okay, but as Gemma had pointed out countless times, my gut wasn't always that reliable.
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