by Kate Brian
“Okay, come on, Reed,” I said through my teeth, shaking out my hands.
I flipped to the next page in Ariana's planner and turned it over on the floor at my side. Taylor's theory had turned out to be both a boon and a curse. At first I had thought I would just check Ariana's birthday and see if she had anything written there. That was before I realized that I had no idea when Ariana's birthday was. So instead I had started to flip through page by page, figuring the special days would be obvious, that she'd have written Dad's birthday on a certain date, or Parents' anniversary somewhere in there.
I was wrong. Nothing was obvious in Ariana's planner, other
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than the fact that she was a doodler. A doodler and a jotter who brainstormed poems and titles in every available space on every available page. Yes, there were poem titles on some dates, but there was no way of knowing if the dates held any significance. So I had spent the last hour typing in pretty much every word I found in any given date square.
Pretty soon, my knuckles were going to seize up. Early onset arthritis. That was where this mission was going to get me.
I took a deep breath. I just had to keep at it for a few more minutes. Then I would call it a night and at least wipe down Noelle and Ariana's windows--which looked streak-free to me--so that they would think I had followed orders.
I was on April. April fifth had a single word in its square. I took a deep breath and started to type.
Rubber band. R-U-B-B-E-R-B-A-N-D. Enter.
Invalid password! the screen replied.
Okay . . . next. Slammed. S-L-A-M-M-E-D. Enter.
Invalid password!
I groaned. I scanned the calendar, looking for something even remotely intriguing, and my eyes fell on the last day of April. April 30. In big, red letters was the word home. Then, underneath that, in much smaller letters, the title of one of her more recent poems: “The Other.” That one had been published in last month's Quill.
I took a deep breath. My fingers were trembling. Okay. “The Other.” Two words.
T-H-E [space] O-T-H-E-R. Enter.
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Invalid password!
Somewhere nearby a door slammed. My heart was in my mouth. I closed the computer and was about to stash it away, but instead I froze. I froze and listened. Footsteps. Footsteps coming closer...
Oh, God, no. I scrambled to put everything back. I almost dropped the computer. I was never going to get it all in there in time....
And then the footsteps passed by the door. They were going back downstairs. I sat down hard on my butt and breathed. Everything was shaking. I should just bag this. Just bag it and start over tomorrow. But when was I ever going to get an opportunity like this again?
Slowly, I opened the computer again. I would just try this last one and that would be it.
Okay. Theother. One word.
T-H-E-O-T-H-E-R. Enter.
There was a beep. My pulse raced. The drive whirred to life, the screen went black, then came up with a blue sky background and the two sweetest words I had ever seen on a computer screen.
Welcome, Ariana!
Holy crap. I was in! Holy mother of-- I had done it! I wanted to jump up off the floor and scream and yell and improvise a dance of joy. But that wouldn't have been the best idea, what with the old creaky floors and the fifteen girls watching Orlando in rapt silence under my feet.
Deep breath, Reed. I scrounged in my bag and found the
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floppy disk I had brought along just in case there was anything worth copying. I shoved it in the slot on the side of the computer and tried to calm my heart. If it kept pounding that loud, it would drown out any noises from downstairs, and I couldn't get caught. Especially not now.
There were several file icons on Ariana's desktop, each marked with a year. I clicked open the most recent and there were nothing but Word files inside. Poems. Hundreds of poems. Some with titles I recognized from the Quill, most with ones I did not. But was one of these an incriminating file in disguise? Was one of these “poems” actually some kind of anti-Leanne rant that might prove Ariana wanted to hurt her in some way? Who knew? My heart filled with sick, frustrated desperation. I did not have time to click open and read a hundred or more poems.
I scrolled down in the window, looking for who knew what. At the very bottom was one single file icon. A file within the file. It was marked “projects.”
Okay. This could be something. I double clicked. Inside were several more Word documents, each with initials as their titles. EP, CS, IP, NL, TL, IM, and then LS.
LS. Leanne Shore.
My entire mind went blank. This was it. A file on Leanne. I suppose that part of me had always thought it was impossible. That Noelle and Ariana could never have gotten someone kicked out of school for no good reason. But here it was. I was about to have the proof.
Reluctantly salivating, I opened the file. A Word document
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popped up and filled the screen. At the top, the words Latin Studies. Then, Notes from 8/5. My whole body slumped and I almost laughed. Apparently, Ariana had spent her summer taking classes. In Latin. Studies.
Nothing to do with Leanne. Ariana was innocent.
I took a breath and closed the document. I listened for footsteps and heard nothing. Apparently Orlando was still doing his thing. I decided to check out the other initialed documents, just to satisfy my curiosity, so that I wouldn't have gone through all this for nothing. I opened EP. It was a list of women's names with “yes” or “no” next to each one and a total at the bottom, some kind of RSVP list. Maybe Ariana had helped her mom throw a party or something. Next up was CS. I opened it and my heart took a nosedive.
As I Lay Dying, Faulkner, 1980.
Their Eyes Were Watching God, Hurston, 1987.
Invisible Man, Ellison, 1947.
It was a crib sheet. A list in a tiny font set on 3 x 5 paper. And from the looks of the information, it was a senior English crib sheet. Exactly the class Leanne Shore had cheated in. And what had the administration used as their damning evidence?
Crib sheets.
If these matched the crib sheets that had sealed Leanne's fate, then it was all true. Natasha was right. Noelle and her friends had framed Leanne. They had gotten her kicked out of school. But why? Just because she was a suck-up and she annoyed Noelle? Was that really a reason to mess with someone's life?
Dying to know more now, I opened the file marked IM. Sure
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enough, a file full of copied IM messages filled the screen. They were mostly between Ariana and Noelle. My eyes scanned the first messages. They all seemed mundane. Conversations about homework and parties--nothing out of the ordinary.
Then I saw my name and all the air rushed out of me. I stopped to read.
*Ariana*: so we're definitely doing this Noelle_l: DEFINITELY. We decided we wanted Reed
right? *Ariana*: yes. and lattimer is on board, kiran
got her a free pass at manolo 4 her silence. Noelle_l: PERFECT! Lattimer is 2 easy. So we're
ready to do it? You have the cribs? *Ariana*: all set. just tell me when and where. Noelle_l: TOMORROW. We'll get Reed in here by the weekend. And L out. Thank God! ?Ariana*: you are so bad! Noelle_l: And it feels SO GOOD . . .
I could not breathe. Couldn't move. Co
uldn't have even saved myself if the entire dorm had walked in at that very moment.
They had done it for me, to create a place for me in Billings. This had all happened because of me.
I heard a creak on the stairs and suddenly came to life. I didn't
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have time to think about this. Quickly I copied all the initialed files onto my disk, just in case there happened to be something more worth reading. I shoved the disk into the back pocket of my jeans, then shut the computer down and replaced everything as I'd found it. I was just closing the trunk when I heard voices downstairs. The party was breaking up. I shoved the trunk into the back of the closet, closed the doors, grabbed my stuff, and fled.
I knew everyone would be coming up the front, so I raced for the safety of the back stairwell. Once inside, I slumped down on the steps and struggled to catch my breath.
They had framed Leanne because of me. It was my fault Leanne had been booted. My fault Natasha was so upset she was willing to blackmail people and sneak around behind their backs. It was all for me. So that I could live here. So that I could be a Billings Girl.
It was sick. It was twisted. It was evil. But it was also for me. No one had ever done anything like this for me before. They had risked their own futures to get me into Billings and solidify mine. As disgusted as I was, I was also more than a little bit flattered.
And how had I repaid them? I had snooped through their rooms. Uncovered their most embarrassing secrets. For a moment I was overcome with shame. These were my friends, and I had betrayed them.
But I still had one question. Why were they my friends? Why had they brought me to Billings at all? What were they getting out of it? Why did they even want me here? Just so they could order me around? It didn't make any sense. None of this made any sense.
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A door slammed right above me and I was on my feet again, racing down the stairs fast enough to keep up with my pulse. I had to get back to my room anyway. Get back there and think. I had the evidence now. I had what Natasha needed. The question was, would I ever share it with her?
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SUSPICIOUS EYES
The next morning while Natasha was in the shower, I threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, tossed my hair into a ponytail, and snuck out, closing the door as quietly as humanly possible. I had risen early and had already redone all the first-floor windows in an effort to avoid being in the room when her alarm went off. Now was the perfect chance to bail before she could ask me if I'd found anything and before the other girls could strong-arm me into more chores.
It was a cool, cloudy morning and I shrugged into my coat as I quickly dialed Thomas's room on my cell phone. I hurried away from Billings, hoisting my bag over my shoulder as I held the phone to my ear. The campus was as silent as a graveyard. My breath made steam clouds in the cold morning air. The marigolds that lined the walk to Billings were bent from the weight of the frost that covered their petals. I struggled to button my coat with one frigid hand. Josh picked up on the fifth ring.
'“Lo?” he asked. He was still asleep.
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“Josh, I'm so sorry to wake you.” “Who is this?” he asked.
“It's Reed,” I said. Suddenly I felt as if someone was watching me. I paused at the intersection of the path to the girls' dorms and the path to the library and looked around. The quad was completely deserted except for a squirrel zipping here and there under one of the benches.
“Reed. What's wrong?” he asked me. “Is it Thomas? Did you hear from him?”
“No,” I said, squirming at the mention of the name. “I just have to talk to you about something. Can you meet me in the caf in, like, fifteen minutes?”
“Uh... sure,” he said. “I'll be right there.” “Thanks,” I told him.
The moment I hung up the phone, I felt a chill down my back. I whipped around and my heart rocketed into my throat. I gasped, startled, and then choked. Detective Hauer was three feet behind me. His brow creased as he approached me, his black trench coat billowing behind him.
“Are you all right, Miss Brennan?” he asked me. I pounded on my chest with my free hand and tried to get control of my cough. Miss Brennan. He'd remembered my name. He'd met about five hundred kids over the past two weeks and he'd remembered my name. That could not be good. “I'm fine,” I said. “Fine. You just scared me.” “Sorry,” he replied, though he didn't look it. “I like a stroll in the morning. Clears my head.”
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He looked like he was waiting for a response, so I gave him one. “That's .. . nice.”
“And you?” he said.
“And me what?”
“What are you doing out here so early?” he asked. “It was a long time ago, I admit, but I sort of remember liking my sleep as a teenager.”
“Yeah, well, I'm an individual,” I said with a laugh, throwing my hands out. I was acting like a derranged scarecrow.
“Who were you talking to?” he asked, eyeing my phone. He rubbed his hands together and blew into them.
“Oh, uh . . .” There didn't seem to be any reason to lie. “Josh. Josh Hollis. He's meeting me at breakfast.”
“Thomas Pearson's roommate?” he said, raising his bushy eyebrows. “That Josh Hollis?”
Why did he have to make it sound suspicious? What the heck was wrong with me meeting Josh?
I shrugged. “He's the only one I know.” Then I made an elaborate show of checking my watch. “Ooh. I gotta go. I'm gonna be late,” I said, backing up. “Enjoy your walk.”
He nodded, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
“I will! Thanks!” I replied, trying my hardest to seem unaffected.
It didn't work. I could feel him watching me all the way across the quad and it was all I could do to keep myself from turning around and checking to see if I was right. But when I
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finally reached the cafeteria, sweating from exertion and nerves, I couldn't take it anymore. I paused and pretended to search through my bag for something. As I did so, I glanced out the corner of my eye. There was Detective Hauer, standing alone in the center of campus. Watching me.
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* * *
For the first time in days I was able to go through the breakfast line and get what I wanted and only what I wanted. I knew that as soon as the Billings Girls arrived I would be back up here, filling their orders, but for now I was going to enjoy the freedom. I deserved it after everything I'd been through this morning.
Two pieces of bacon, one slice of peanut butter toast, and a bowl full of Apple Jacks later, I emerged from the line and walked over to our usual table. I started with the toast, hoping to calm my uneasy stomach before moving on to the sugar and the grease. The cavernous cafeteria was so undisturbed, I could see the individual dust particles dancing in the shafts of sun coming through the skylights. I watched Josh enter through the front door, stick to the wall on his way to the line, and emerge moments later with coffee and three doughnuts.
“So, I'm intrigued,” he said, sitting down in front of me. He chomped into a cinnamon doughnut, spraying the brown powder everywhere. His curls were mashed on one side and stuck straight
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up on the other, reminding me that just a few minutes ago he had been curled up in his bed, warm and cozy, and that he'd hoisted himself out of his slumber for me.
“Okay, hypothetically...”
Josh dropped the doughnut. “I lov
e a good 'hypothetically,'” he said, leaning his elbows on the table.
I laughed. “Hypothetically,” I repeated for his benefit, “if you found out that one of the guys in your dorm had broken the honor code . .. would you tell?”
Josh raised his eyebrows, then looked down at his plate and blew out a breath.
“I mean, I know you're supposed to tell, but, in reality... would you?” I asked.
Josh nodded once and lifted his head. “Definitely.”
“Really?”
The double doors opened and a clump of students filed in. We wouldn't be alone for long.
'Yes. No question,“ Josh said, sipping his coffee. ”You signed a contract. We all did. I know it's probably not cool or whatever to say this, but that actually means something to me. When you commit to something, you don't go back on your word. Besides, it's the right thing to do. If someone does something wrong, they should be called on it. Case closed."
Damn. Boy took his hypothetical very seriously. For some reason, his conviction made me squirm. I dropped the toast and pushed my tray away.
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“Tell me how you really feel,” I joked, trying to lighten my own mood.
“How he really feels is idiotic.”
Startled, we both looked up to find Whittaker hovering at the end of the table. Where had he come from?
“No offense intended,” he said to Josh.
“Uh . . . none taken,” Josh said facetiously. He jumped his chair forward until the table constricted his chest so that Whittaker could get by. Whit pulled out the chair next to Josh and settled in. He took a long sip of his grapefruit juice and smacked his lips.
“I didn't intend to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhearing,” Whittaker began, resting his wrists on the edge of the table like a well-mannered boy. “Reed, if there is, in fact, someone in Billings who has cheated . . . you cannot, under any circumstances, turn them in.”
“What?” Josh blurted.
'Your opinion is kind of naive, don't you think?“ Whittaker said, picking up his fork and toying with the eggs on his plate. ”Not to mention hypocritical."
