“Labor Union?” I said loudly. “This is disgusting.”
“It’s extremely complicated even for a crash course, but technically, they have this mentorship program and within that program is another in which girls are basically . . . prostitutes.” She gathered the books and walked to the shelf, sliding them in their place.
“It’s like a damn never-ending matryoshka doll,” I said, looking at the paper. “How did you find out about this?”
“The short story? Lana told a friend about it and that friend started showing up here, lurking in the woods out back, parking in front of the gates and looking in. It was creepy. I thought it was someone’s ex-girlfriend or someone Fitz pissed off.” She cringed as she said it. “Sorry. But Lana was here one day, for a gala, and saw the girl and said it was a friend of hers. She went outside and asked her to please leave. Apparently, the girl wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“You don’t buy that?” I asked.
“Lana worked for the paper. We all knew she wanted to tear the societies down from the inside and we all agreed she shouldn’t be here.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine. If she had been unwanted . . . was that why my brother was arguing with her in those pictures? Telling her to stay away from The Eight? From The Lab? From our father?
“How involved are the guys we know in this little ring?” I asked and felt the need to hold my breath as I waited for the answer.
“If you’re asking whether or not Logan fucks these girls, the answer is hell no. In case you haven’t noticed, Fitz is extremely particular with who he fucks and he’s never brought a regular around. Anywhere.” She frowned as she spoke the words, as if just now realizing this. “Honestly, you’re the only person I’ve ever actually seen him hang out with. I mean, we hang out, but he’s like a brother. He’s cordial, at best, to some of the girls around campus, but I wouldn’t say he’s very welcoming, if you know what I mean.”
I did know what she meant and it gave me a little more confidence in what we had.
“Does anyone else?” I asked. “Marcus? Nolan?”
“No. Absolutely not.” She shook her head. “My understanding is that this whole idea stemmed from The Swords. They’ve been known to hire girls.” She waved a hand toward another bookcase. The one with a row of red spines. “You can see those books for yourself. Of course, we only have blackmail power. We can’t really say for sure what goes on behind closed doors over there. Not even my brother will tell me that. The fact of the matter is, in recent years, The Lab Initiative decided to mentor some of these people—girls and boys alike, and I guess some have evolved into something more.”
“So they’re taking advantage of these people.” My stomach turned. My father was taking advantage of these students.
“My understanding is that the people being mentored don’t have to do anything, but a lot of them end up actually falling for these men.” She paused. “And women.”
“The whole thing is disturbing.” I crossed my arms.
Now I understood why Logan wanted to be here when I learned all of this. Between the pictures of my father with Ella and then my father with those naked girls, it was all too much. I thought about my brother and what he must have thought of all of this. It wasn’t that Lincoln was Mr. Perfect, but he was definitely a stickler for rules and this was not something I could picture him condoning.
He obviously knew about Lana and dad. I’d seen those pictures of them arguing. But then Lana just disappeared. I looked at Nora again, trying to wrap my head around everything she told me.
“Did The Eight have anything to do with Lana’s disappearance?”
“No. Of course not.” Her eyes widened. “We talked about needing her to get out of here and not welcoming her in, but we would never . . . ” She paused, suddenly looking contrite. “Your brother was the last person to see her.”
Logan had said this to me already, but hearing it again felt like taking a blow to the chest. Could my brother have gone that far? Could he have hurt her? I checked my phone again. Still nothing from my family. I desperately needed him to wake up.
Chapter 37
The pep rally was a blur. Even as I snapped photos, I didn’t feel like I was actually there. Physically, yes. If you’d been in the stands or standing beside me, you would’ve been able to say that I’d been there taking pictures for the paper. A true Peter Parker, hiding my face behind an enormous camera lens. Mentally, I was elsewhere. I was with Lincoln, wondering if he had anything to do with the Lana thing. Maybe she’d been in the car with him when he got in that accident. Maybe she died and he didn’t know how to cope with it so he hid it? A shiver raked through me. Would Lincoln hide something that big? I thought of my father and his relationship with Lana, which I now confirmed was true. I had too much evidence to deny it. Would Lincoln hide it for dad’s sake? For The Eight? My hand itched. I reached up and grabbed the necklace around my neck. Nora had given me my own skeleton key to open the front door of The Lab, a way of officially welcoming me into The Eight. I’d been happy to accept it when she dropped me off at home, but the longer I stood there with it around my neck, the more it felt like a noose rather than a gift.
“Have you gotten any good pictures?”
“I think so.” I glanced at Max, who was standing beside me. “How many do you think I need? I’m dying to get out of here.”
“Too many people?”
“More like . . . not in the mood for this.”
“So you’re not going to the party tonight?”
“What party?”
“Just a keg party out in the main lawn.”
“That sounds exactly like everything I want to avoid tonight.”
“Come on, let’s stand on the other side where the actual media is.” Max laughed and tugged on the strap of the lanyard around my neck.
We shouldered our way through the crowd until we made it to the other side. Max let out a relieved breath.
“There are a lot more people here than last year,” he said. “It’s Fitz’s last year, so it was bound to be crazy.” He pointed to the other side of the arena, where we’d just been. I’d seen people waving something around, but I wasn’t paying attention. Now that I was on the other side, all I could see were huge foam gloves that said FITZ on the bottom.
“He’s not even the goalie.”
“I know, but Fitz’s Mitts.” Max nudged me. “It’s a Canadian thing, I gather. We call them gloves, they call them mitts, so yeah, Fitz’s Mitts. Get it?”
“No.” I frowned. Just when I thought I was getting the hang of hockey, these people threw something else my way. “I thought they were called gloves?”
“Those are his Canadian supporters,” Max explained. “They call people who have good stickhandling Nifty Mitts, hence, Fitz’s Mitts.”
“Oh. So they’re like . . . his groupies?”
“Fan base, but yeah.” Max laughed.
“Hm. It’s cute.” I repeated it in my head: Fitz’s Mitts. It actually was cute, though I wouldn’t say it aloud.