Free Prep School Confidential (A Prep School Confidential Novel) by Kara Taylor

news.”
    Murali looks like he wants to give me a high five. Everyone else looks at Alexis. Her cheeks flush as deep as her sweater, and she’s about to open her mouth when someone loudly shoves a chair between me and Remy.
    “Scoot over,” Brent says to her. Wet curls poke out from beneath his knit hat.
    “You okay?” Remy purses her lips at Brent. She pushes her bowl of sliced strawberries toward him, but Brent ignores it and turns to me. “Have you heard from that detective again?”
    “Not since I talked to him yesterday.”
    Alexis’s voice is clipped. “You talked to the cops?”
    “Of course I did,” I say. “Isabella was my roommate.”
    “They told us not to.” Alexis stares at me like I belong in a school where the main subjects are shoe-tying and counting change. It’s the same way she looked at me my first day, and then again when I walked into her Calculus class.
    If I didn’t have more obvious things to worry about, I would take this bitch down.
    “I talked to my dad today,” Cole cuts in. That gets everyone quiet.
    “He’s the attorney general of Massachusetts,” Alexis says without looking at me, even though I’m obviously the only person at the table who didn’t know this.
    Remy shushes her. “What’d he say? Does he know anything?”
    “He wouldn’t tell me much. He said the police commissioner is going to release more information tomorrow … but they’re saying this probably wasn’t random. Whoever killed Isabella probably knew her.”
    A hush falls over the table. April opens her mouth as if to say something, but Alexis gives her a hard look. April picks up her fork and turns it over in her hands.
    No one is looking at one another.
    *   *   *
    I know the man who’s stepped out onto the auditorium stage is the headmaster, based on the sheer fact everyone looks like they’re about to wet their pants. Bailey has the same effect on people, until you do something totally ridiculous, like program your best friend’s cheating ex’s laptop with a virus that blasts “I’m a Slave 4 U” on loop during theology class. Then she’ll crack and laugh at your moxie while sharing peanut M&M’s with you in her office.
    Headmaster Goddard doesn’t seem like the M&M-sharing type.
    The auditorium is so quiet I can hear my heartbeat.
    “The Wheatley School and community lost a valuable member this weekend,” he begins. “Isabella Fernandez was a hard-working, generous, and kind-hearted student and friend. We ask you to respect her memory by avoiding the temptation to speak with any members of the media you may see in the surrounding area.
    “I understand many of you have questions regarding the senseless nature in which this promising young woman’s life was taken away. Unfortunately, the faculty does not have the answers to your questions at the current time. Rest assured that the staff, administration, and Suffolk Police are confident in your safety on campus. Security will be increased in light of the pending investigation. However, this incident should serve as a tragic reminder that leaving the dormitories after proscribed curfew hours is a serious infraction.”
    Is he trying to say that this was Isabella’s fault? What an asshole.
    Goddard clears his throat. “Any student with pertinent”—he pauses on the word—“information that may aid the investigation is reminded to see me, Dr. Harrow, or Dean Tierney, Dean Watts’s replacement. Thank you for your respectful attention. Memorial service information will be available in the coming days.”
    Goddard exits, and Harrow steps onto the stage. The climate in the auditorium immediately relaxes. Harrow clears his throat and taps the top of the microphone. He tells us how sorry he is that we’ve lost a classmate in such a brutal and senseless manner, but I tune out once he starts playing rumor patrol. I’ve been reading enough news articles to know the facts:
    1. Isabella’s throat was cut.
    2. She had no personal