The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove Read Free Page A

Charleston without getting a hug on her return, but after my hallway tumble with Justin, I didn’t mind a little bit of affection, even from the pseudo-psychic Lampert.
    “You okay, Nat?” Tracy asked. Even though her signature sapphire-tinted glasses hid her eyes, it was almost like her voice was squinting at me. “Your energy orb is very present. Which can be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on—”
    “I’m fine,” I told Tracy.
    She raised her eyebrows but dropped the subject.
    “Sit down,” she cooed. “Have some tea.”
    Tracy poured a steaming mug of chai from a hot pot on the windowsill, and her two cohorts Liza Arnold and Portia Stead sat down on the beanbag flanking her sides. Portia whipped her long hair up into a massive blonde bun, and Liza closed her eyes meditatively. I stifled a laugh, thinking that by the time these girls were seniors, they’d be so over this phase that they’d look back and laugh at themselves. But for now, I was in their court, so I just plopped down among them on the final beanbag in the ring.
    “So,” Tracy said, giving strange weight to the word. “How’s life?”
    I cocked my head. “Life’s good,” I said. “But why don’t we talk about why you called me in here?”
    Liza opened her eyes, coming out of meditation. She glanced at her watch, then at Tracy. “Just tell her. The bell’s about to ring.”
    I lifted my chin. “Tell me what?”
    “Okay, I’ll just cut to the chase,” Tracy said. Her voice changed and let in a rare hint of her natural southern twang, which made the bindi between her eyes look halfway ridiculous. “My sister-in-law is one of the ballot counters for the Ball this year,” she said. “She told me this thing about Justin Balmer last night. Now I know you guys have a history—”
    I held up a hand. “We don’t have a history—”
    “Whatever,” Tracy said. “It’s obvious you and Mike are really happy; I’m just saying that I thought you should know there’s buzz about J.B. this year.”
    I could feel the blood rising to my face. Even though Palmetto Court was technically a student-driven vote, everyone knew that behind the scenes, the righteous right-wing school board kept a hawk eye on the ballot boxes to ensure that no one “unsavory” ended up with the crown.
    I should have known J.B. would do something to secure a leg up with the ballot counters. What had he done? Bribed the judges? Not that I hadn’t thought about it myself . . .
    “Okay, which wrinkly ballot counter is that asshole screwing?” I blurted.
    The juniors gasped, and Tracy covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “No, sweetie, you misunderstood. The judges aren’t exactly buzzing about J.B. in a good way.” She tucked a braid behind her ear. “Between you and me, someone’s trying to keep him off the Court. Some bad blood from last summer—I don’t know the details. I was just telling you because—”
    I could breathe again. I almost wanted to kiss Tracy.
    “Because you knew I was worried about Mike,” I said finishing her sentence.
    “Exactly,” Tracy nodded. “Nothing’s certain, of course, but I figured I owed it to you to pass along the word. Your poker face isn’t half bad. Still, I hate to see a pretty girl give herself premature worry lines when I can do something to help.”
    “Does Justin know someone has it in for him?” I asked, trying to smooth out my forehead without looking too obvious.
    But before Tracy could answer, an apocalyptic crash of thunder boomed outside. All the girls crowded around the window to get a look.
    “Oh my God!” Liza cried, gazing out at what was quickly turning into a full-fledged hailstorm. “We left the banners in the parking lot. They’re tempera paint! They’ll melt!”
    Instantly, the junior bathroom mobilized. I guess hippies couldn’t always be at peace with the weather. All the girls started scrambling to get their massage oil back in their hemp bags so they could save their