Page 35 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

I flip through the rest of the book, scanning each page for her, although now queasiness distracts me. Mom was in the drama club—that’s the first picture I found. But I don’t see her again until the juniors are listed, and her maiden name in small print: Jessica Hansen.

There she is. Again. I’m going to throw up for real, but the important thing is that I’m not crazy—she was here. Now I just need to figure out if it connects to where she went.

eleven

sydney

This is my third Intro to Law class, and I’m not a hundred percent convinced it’s for me. The more we discuss how law works, and the many ways it seems to not work, the more I’m convinced the police will never help me find my mother.

I have the Emerald Cove detective’s number saved in my phone from when I reported her missing, but since then? Crickets.

My mind goes back to the yearbook photo. She was wearing the bracelet in it. If her stories are to be believed, it was handed down from her grandmother’s grandmother.

And now it’s somewhere in Oliver Ruiz’s house, if the paper trail is to be believed.

Breaking into his house seems a little insane at this point. It’s brought along no small amount of struggle. And there’s that saying: possession is nine tenths of the law. He, or someone in his family, bought the bracelet that has been in my family for generations.

“If whatever career path you go down doesn’t work, you could always become a confidential informant,” a voice says in my ear.

I shudder.

Penn sinks into the seat behind me, kicking the back of my chair. The lecture hasn’t begun yet, although he’s definitely late. He doesn’t seem to care. His black eye seems better. Almost gone, just kind of yellowish in a ring around the socket.

“Where’d you get the black eye?” I ask.

“Bar fight. Who hit you?”

I frown.

He stares at me some more, his green eyes looking almost blue in comparison to the yellow hue around the one.

“No one hit me,” I mumble.

“Uh-huh. And that girl who follows Andi Sharpe around like a Mindy doesn’t have two black eyes.”

“Does she? I haven’t seen.”

“Interesting.” He reaches out and presses on the back of my head. The bruised, tender skin.

I jerk forward, biting my tongue to keep from swearing.

“Like a headbutt,” he muses. “Something happen, princess? Want to report it to the authorities?”

“I had the opportunity and I didn’t,” I snap. “So just leave me alone.”

He chuckles. “I’m not talking about the scum in-campus security. I’m talking about me.”

I twist toward him fully. The professor is still unpacking his bag, for fuck’s sake. Everyone around us is conversing, too. I grab on to the back of my chair, but Penn is leaning forward. He’s practically in my face already.

“You’re the authority? Your bestie is the one who issued the order.”

His brows furrow.

“Maybe I’ll just transfer out of this class and take art or something. Especially if you’re here. You can’t call yourself an authority and be this thick, Penn.”

I shove my things in my bag, just as the professor calls the class to settle down. He makes a noise when I rise and head straight for the door.

“Ms. Windsor?—”