Chapter 3 Red Ink and Real Threats

I stared at my hand. The liquid was thick and clung to my skin. It didn't look like red ink from a pen. It was darker and smelled like old pennies. I pulled my backpack onto the desk, and more of the fluid spilled out. It soaked into the edges of my Algebra textbook, turning the white pages a sickly crimson.

Knox was at my side in a second. The anger he had been wearing just a moment ago vanished. He looked at my hand, then at the bag.

"What is that?" he asked. His voice was low and tight.

"I don't know," I whispered. My heart was thumping in my throat.

I reached into the front pocket of the bag. My fingers brushed against something cold and plastic. I pulled it out. It was a Ziploc bag, but it had been punctured. Inside were the remains of raw meat swimming in a pool of blood.

I dropped the plastic bag on the desk. It made a wet, slapping sound. Knox swore under his breath. He grabbed a handful of paper towels from the sink at the front of the room. He didn't ask permission. He grabbed my wrist and began scrubbing my skin. His touch was firm, but his hands were shaking as much as mine.

"Someone put that in there," Knox said. He looked at the door. "When was the last time you had your bag?"

"Lunch," I said. I was struggling to breathe. "I left it in the music wing stairwell for ten minutes while I went to the bathroom."

Knox threw the bloody paper towels into the trash. He looked at the red puddle on my textbook. "Blaire."

"You don't know that," I said, even though I knew she was the only one who cared.

"I know how she works, Aria. She doesn't just get mad. She gets even." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll talk to her."

"No," I snapped. I finally found my voice. "If you talk to her, it makes it worse. I just need to clean this up."

I reached for the textbook, but Knox beat me to it. He picked up the heavy book. The stains had already seeped deep into the paper. It was ruined. He shoved it into the trash can.

"I'll buy you a new one," he said.

"You don't have to do that."

"I do. Because this happened because of me." He looked me in the eye. For the first time, he wasn't looking through me. "I'm sorry, Aria. For the hallway this morning. For all of it."

I didn't know what to say. I had spent so long being invisible that an apology from Knox Hale felt like a weight I wasn't prepared to carry. I just nodded and started cleaning the desk. We worked in silence for the next ten minutes. The smell of the raw meat lingered in the air, making my stomach turn.

When the desk was finally clean, I slumped into my chair. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me feeling hollow. I looked at the clock. We had thirty minutes left.

"We should probably start," I said, pointing to the blank worksheet.

Knox sighed and sat back down. He picked up his pencil. He looked at the first problem, then at me. "I really don't get this, Aria. My brain just doesn't work this way."

"Try the first step," I said. "Forget the X. Just look at the numbers. What’s the first thing you see?"

He looked at the page. "A mess."

"Fair enough. Look at the parentheses. You have to deal with them first. It’s like a defense. You have to break through the outer line before you can get to the basket."

Knox tilted his head. He looked at the equation again. "The outer line?"

"Yeah. Multiply the number outside by everything inside. Simple as that."

He hesitated, then wrote a number down. He looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. He wrote another one. A small smile touched his lips. He finished the first step and looked up.

"Like that?"

"Exactly like that," I said.

We spent the next twenty minutes working through the sheet. He wasn't fast, and he made mistakes, but he was trying. He didn't throw the pencil again. Every time he got stuck, he’d look at me, and I’d give him a hint. It was the most we had ever spoken without an audience.

As the sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows across the room, the door opened. It didn't swing wide. It just cracked open a few inches. I froze, expecting Blaire to walk in.

A younger boy poked his head in. He looked terrified. He was holding a small, white envelope.

"Is Knox Hale here?" the boy squeaked.

Knox stood up. "Yeah. What is it?"

The boy ran into the room, dropped the envelope on Knox’s desk, and bolted out. Knox picked up the envelope. His name was written on the front in perfect, looping cursive. It was Blaire’s handwriting. He tore it open. There was a single photo inside.

Knox’s face went pale. He gripped the edges of the photo so hard the paper began to crinkle. He didn't say anything. He didn't even breathe.

"Knox?" I asked. I walked around the desk. "What is it?"

He didn't answer. I reached out and took it from his hand. It was a photo taken through the classroom window just minutes ago. It showed the two of us sitting close together. From that angle, it didn't look like tutoring. It looked intimate.

At the bottom of the photo, someone had written in red marker: The whole school sees you now.

Knox grabbed his bag and headed for the door without a word. He didn't look at me. He didn't say goodbye. He just left me standing in the darkening classroom with the photo in my hand. I walked out of the room, my legs feeling like lead. I just wanted to go home.

As I reached the parking lot, I saw a crowd gathered near my old car. They were laughing and holding up their phones. I pushed through the group. My breath hitched.

Every window of my car had been covered in red spray paint. In huge, dripping letters across the windshield were the words: STAY IN YOUR LANE.

I stood there, the cool evening air biting at my skin. I could hear the clicks of phone cameras behind me. I wasn't invisible anymore. I was the lead story. I reached for the door handle, but it was coated in thick, wet paint. I looked at the crowd, and for the first time, I didn't see people. I saw predators.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from an unknown number. I opened it, and my heart stopped. It was a video of me in the music wing stairwell, leaving my bag unattended. The person filming was laughing quietly.

The text undernea

th simply said: Round two starts tomorrow.