Tristan had snuck out of the house in the early hours of the morning. We had fallen asleep on the couch, but he didn't leave until telling me what was decided between him, Uncle Luke, and Brian regarding The Underground.

It was apparent from the beginning that lawyers were a non-option as the club operated as a speakeasy of sorts. It was also clear that Brian technically still owned the The Underground and was now in a position to resume his involvement. A formal contract was put into place when Tristan was ten, stating the terms of his ownership in the event that Brian was incapable of running the club. Tristan, being too young to understand all the clauses, had signed it unbeknownst to him that he was just a placeholder.

Brian hadn't anticipated being away for so long, Tristan taking a real interest in the club, and it being so close to his eighteenth birthday when all of this would actually take effect when he made the contract. His big ego got in the way of his decision making, prompting him to lure his son into signing with the promise of owning a business once he was an adult. Brian had no real intentions of actually handing over The Underground to Tristan; he even had a line-up of other successors in mind once he no longer could claim ownership.

That's when Tristan punched him again.

Uncle Luke had to pull him off of Brian and try to calm the situation down to reach some sort of agreement, even temporary. They had the board Tristan put together on a conference call, helping to vote on a decision. Until Brian could maintain a permanent residence, as well as stick to his parole obligations, Tristan and Uncle Luke would remain in their current positions. Brian, however, according to the contract stating he is still the owner, is allowed to contribute ideas as well as veto ones he does not approve of. If Brian fails to comply to the terms the board has put forth before Tristan's eighteenth birthday, which happens to fall on Thanksgiving, then The Underground goes to Tristan as per the contract's successor clause.

I thought this was fair, however Tristan disagreed. I tried to tell him last night that there is no way his father, being the way that he is, could complete the terms before his birthday. Tristan reminded me that it's not even Halloween yet and and his father has plenty of time to find a permanent residence, abide by his parole, and keep up the facade of being a changed man before Tristan's birthday.

I tried to lift his spirits, but that plan seemed dim. Eventually, I gave up trying to be positive and let Tristan leave so we could get some more sleep before school. Sleep didn't seem to ever reach me, though, since here I am chugging the third travel mug of coffee of the day and it's not even noon yet. Tristan, also not getting enough sleep, came prepared when he picked me up, a takeout party-sized coffee dispenser in the passenger seat and two travel mugs ready to be filled and re-filled multiple times.

Nicole and Nate could tell something was up, but held back on trying to get information out of us. I think it must have been the defeated looks on our faces from the minute we stepped into the school that told them today was just not the day for questions.

What they did do, however, was try to distract us by talking about the fundraising carnival. I almost forgot that was tomorrow and we had made plans to go; a whole lifetime has passed since Nate first announced he got us all tickets just yesterday. It seems pretty useless to try and be normal with everything that is going on, but I try to act interested. Maybe I'm wrong and the carnival will do our little group some good.

Or maybe that ominous feeling I have in the pit of my stomach is right and something else is coming.

I try to shake it off me as I walk down the hall to grab my lunch. I pass Katy's locker, cold and unopened since the day she attacked me. She hasn't been back to school since, nor spotted at any of her normal hang out spots in town. The rumor mill has been working overtime, circulating theories ranging from her starting college early to Ms. Perfect getting knocked up and running away. Other than Tristan and Nicole, no one else knows about how she attacked me out of nowhere in the middle of the night. At this point in time, that information would just add fuel to the fire and who knows what might happen if Katy ever does come back to town. That is, if she ever left in the first place.

The hallway empties out as all the seniors head to the cafeteria to eat. I dial my locker combination and yank the metal door open. A piece of scrap paper flutters out and onto the floor. I reach for it and shove it into my backpack.

Wait.

I pull out the piece of paper again. I thought it was just a loose page from my notes, but the paper isn't lined. It's printer paper. Quickly, I open the crumbled paper and stare in shock at it's contents.

See you tomorrow.

Written in Carter's handwriting. The tiny loops at the tops of the "o"'s and sharp point trailing off the bottom of the "w" are unmistakable. He wrote this. He put this in my locker. He was here.

My heart rate picks up and I can feel a thin, cold sheen of sweat form across my forehead. I lean against the wall of lockers to steady myself before my knees completely buckle out from under me. Sitting on the floor of the empty hallway, I clutch the note tightly in my fist trying to make it as small as possible. Maybe it'll disintegrate and disappear altogether.

I take deep breaths to try and calm myself, but they still end up shaky. The rational side of my brain kicks into overdrive, attempting to make sense of this.

How could Carter get into the school without being stopped by one of the staff members. It's a small town and a new face in a school would definitely set off alarms. I know I did when I first arrived.

Even if he somehow got into the school, if he really wants something from me he would have just come found me. If there's one thing I know, it's the type of person Carter is. He has always been extremely direct, saying and doing whatever the hell he wanted.

Or maybe he's not that direct. He pre-planned my assault for some reason. He's been sending me emails with cryptic messages instead of just saying what it is he is looking for.

Ok fine, leaving a note might be more his style now. But that still begs the question of what the hell he is doing here. And see me tomorrow? Is he going to show up at school again? My house?

The carnival. Fuck.