III.

By the time the dining halls opened for breakfast the next morning, news of the burned treehouse was on the tip of every Academy student's tongue. The arson had made the front page of the school's newspaper, and police cars had appeared on campus overnight.

Hanna woke up to a barrage of alerts, status updates inching closer and closer to nailing down a culprit.

She dialed Caleb's number so fast, her fingers hurt.

"Princess."

"Please tell me you've made some progress in our little mission from yesterday."

"I'm working on it." She could practically hear the smirk widening around his words. "You sound like you're in the middle of a heart attack. Should I leave you to it, or ―?"

"Caleb. The police are everywhere and I have a bunch of evidence sitting around in my room. A heart attack would actually be welcome at this point."

"Calm down, Goldilocks. The police aren't even blinking in your direction."

"How do you know?"

"Because," he said, "they already have a suspect."

Hanna paused. "Who is it?"

"Some guy from Hastings Hall," said Caleb. "They're calling him out on 'suspicious behavior.' A bunch of people spotted him hanging around the treehouse, going in and not coming out for hours. He's probably being questioned all day. You're not even close to being framed at this point."

"Do you know his name?"

"Demands, demands." Caleb laughed. "Luckily for you, my ears are always open. His name's Lucas. Lucas Gottesman."

The name danced around Hanna's head all morning until she heard it, loud and jarring, in her first block class. "Lucas Gottesman," the professor said, "you're expected at the Main Office."

And all the eyes in the room turned upward to watch the boy ― a dark-haired, awkward type ― stand, gather his books and shuffle out of the room.

Hanna caught a glimpse of his face and saved it to her memory. She would be seeing him later. She had a lot to discuss with him.

After surviving her four classes of the day, Hanna dropped off her books in her dorm and grabbed her purse. Shoving her laptop into the bag reminded her of something her mother told her before Hanna went off to the Academy. "The key to survival for any girl," Mrs. Marin had said, "is a purse large enough to hide her secrets."

Tucking the evidence into her bag, Hanna silently thanked her mother for these words of wisdom. She slung the purse over her shoulder and headed to East Dining Hall, where lunch was just being served.

Hanna had heard all the horror stories about cafeteria lunches ― mystery meats and grease-soaked fries, chicken that never truly tasted like chicken. But she knew that her high school situation was far from the norm. The food in the Academy's dining halls was real gourmet, award-winning stuff. Each time Hanna swiped her meal card, she imagined her mother's money swirling down a metaphorical drain. She often rationed herself, counting calories in her head as she decided between a turkey or ham sandwich, and whether or not to spring for that bowl of pudding.

Hanna decided on the turkey sandwich and said no to the pudding, throwing together a fruit salad instead. She surveyed the dining hall for a glimpse of that dark hair, those hunched shoulders from earlier.

Then she saw him, sitting in a both in the farthest corner of the room. Lucas Gottesman, shoveling vegetables into his mouth as though lettuce and tomatoes where the only things keeping him alive.

Hanna took a deep breath and crossed the dining hall to sit with him.

"Lucas?"

He looked up slowly, meeting her eyes. He swallowed a mouthful of salad. "Yes?"

"I have a few questions for you and you're not going to like them."

Lucas sighed, taking a sip of cranberry juice. "It's funny how every conversation I've had today has started out more or less the same way."

"Sorry."

"Go ahead." He shrugged. "You can ask me whatever you want to know. I didn't set the stupid treehouse on fire."

"Any idea who might have?"

"No clue."

"So why are the police so sure that you did?"

Lucas smirked. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were an undercover cop. A pretty one, but a cop nonetheless."

"Nope. Just a curious student." Hanna smirked and flashed her card. "I've got my ID to prove it."

Lucas laughed. "I don't know. You seem a little more than curious. Like you're digging for something." He shrugged. "You're probably better off just telling me what you want to know."

Hanna had to admit: this kid was sharper than he looked. Underneath the scruffy black hair, she could practically see the gears turning, his system letting him know that she wasn't exactly dangerous, but she couldn't be trusted. Not entirely.

"I know what it's like," Hanna explained, "to have the finger pointed at you for something you didn't do."

"So. You don't think I did it?"

"I don't."

Lucas nodded. "It's pretty hard to argue with the evidence stacked against me. I was practically living in that treehouse for the past couple of months. Most people don't even know it exists. And suddenly, it's burned to the ground. I'd blame me, if I were in your shoes."

"Well, I don't," Hanna said. "So what was so important about that treehouse that you basically set up camp there?"

"It's nothing." He shrugged. "My grandfather built it, that's all. Back when he was here at the Academy. It was his fourth-year project. He had some old pictures in there. Some journals. Sentimental stuff."

"So all those pictures and journals ..."

"Nothing but dust now. I checked."

Hanna bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

"Is that really all you wanted to get out of me?" Lucas smiled, but it was watery. "A sob story?"

"I wanted to give you something, actually," she said. "A chance to get even."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "I'm working on figuring out who really burned down the treehouse."

"That's great. But, um."

"What?"

Lucas eyed her. He couldn't quite tell what to think of her. "What's in it for you?"

"Believe it or not, I think finding out who did this will help me out just as much as it'll help you."

"And why is that?"

"Because." She opened her bag, revealing the evidence. "I'm being framed for it."