Whistleblower by Kate Marchant

Author:Kate Marchant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wattpad WEBTOON Book Group

Chapter 18

When I opened my eyes the next morning, my first thought was that I really needed to shut off the bell tower alarm on my phone before it woke up Hanna. This triggered an avalanche of memories. Hanna slumped over Andre’s toilet, hair askew and eyes heavy lidded. Bodie St. James carrying her home, the muscles in his arms flexing elegantly in that black Henley shirt under her weight. Him agreeing to finally, finally, speak to me about what he knew.

Me kicking him out of the apartment so I could have a moment alone to mourn my— my car.

I pulled my duvet up over my face, burrowing deep in the detergent-scented darkness beneath the covers. I wanted to scream but there was no time for emotional breakdowns in modern capitalist society. My Garland Country Club uniform was in a clump on the floor of the closet. After I’d patted out most of the wrinkles, brushed my teeth, and braided my hair, I fired off a text to PJ asking if she’d be able to swing by and give me a ride to work.

My car has a flat tire, I lied, adding a frowny emoji to keep it casual.

Her reply appeared a few seconds later.

Sure thing girl! Be there in fifteen She’d punctuated this with a shooting star and a thumbs-up. With my ride sorted, I pulled on my sneakers and padded out to the kitchen, tugging the bedroom door shut behind me. I was shoving granola bars into both front pockets of my jean jacket when the door flew open. Hanna appeared, like a tiny hungover goblin emerging from her cave, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the kitchen light.

“Good morning,” I whispered.

“How bad was I?” she demanded, her voice a gravelly croak. Half her hair was still tied up in a prewrap ponytail. The other half was matted to the side of her neck in one enormous thicket.

“Andre was the only one who noticed you got sick,” I said.

I didn’t know if that was true, but I figured I’d rather lie and save her the embarrassment than let her spend all morning panicked and picturing the entire Garland football team listening to her hurl.

“Did he carry me home?” she asked. “I remember somebody carrying me.”

“Actually, Bodie did.”

“Bodie St. James?”

“PJ’s here, got to go, talk later.” I dashed out the door.

“Stay hydrated!”

—

On Sundays, the Garland Country Club was dominated by the retirement crowd, which meant PJ had to cruise cautiously through the parking lot, and stop for a solid three minutes while a very elderly man tried to navigate his Audi into a spot big enough to house a doublewide trailer. We ended up sliding into an employee space right next to Rebecca’s car—a pretty Lexus (black and sleek as a river rock) with a Garland University decal on the rear window. Just the sight of it made me slump in my seat.

“I hope you’re serving today,” PJ said, using her rearview mirror to check her lipstick and fluff her hair.

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