by Lisa Lutz
“I won’t do anything. I promise,” I said.
Sometimes you have to lie to adults for their own good.
* * *
—
After two weeks of nature walks and PBS, I was ready for 2010. I missed my friends and allies. And, honestly, I missed the thrill of the fight. I was ready to finish this thing.
Jonah came back to Stonebridge a day early so we could be together. With all of Dick House vacated, we could hook up in his room. We tried to get comfortable in that twin bed, but we fit together like pieces from two different puzzles. Jonah got a cramp in his shoulder, and my leg started falling asleep. I got up and dressed.
“How was your Connecticut-slash-Hoboken holiday?” he said.
“Nothing special,” I said.
I was trying to keep my lies to a minimum.
“I know, Gemma. I know you were here over the holidays. I know you’re an orphan.”
“Actually, not an orphan anymore,” I said.
Jonah was the first person I told about the adoption. I think he was happier for me than I was. I felt so good in that moment that it scared me. It never lasts, that feeling. Never. It wouldn’t last more than five minutes.
Since I was being all confessional, I told Jonah about stealing Adam’s files. Well, I started to tell him. But then Jonah got all weird. He wasn’t happy anymore. He said he didn’t care. He didn’t want to talk about it.
“Adam has to pay for what he’s done. They all have to pay,” I said.
“An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind,” Jonah said.
“Where’d you get that gem?”
“Gandhi.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “I hate quoters. If you have something to say, say it in your own words.”
“Okay,” Jonah said. “You’re like a cartoon villain. Get over yourself.”
“When you were home over the holidays, did you ask your brother why he started Dulcinea?”
Jonah didn’t react. He wasn’t surprised by the information or the fact that I had learned of it.
“You knew,” I said.
“Norman told me a few weeks ago,” Jonah said.
“He named it after Claudine Shepherd,” I said. “Did you know that?”
He didn’t know that part. Though he wasn’t all that surprised.
“Gemma—”
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I said.
“I found out when you did,” Jonah said. “Look, my brother was a complete douche. But he’s my brother and he’s not at Stonebridge anymore. There’s nothing I can do.”
“You could help extinguish his legacy.”
“I did that already. No one else needs to get hurt,” Jonah said.
“That’s where we disagree,” I said.
I gathered my things and left. I didn’t even know if Jonah and I were together. If we were, we had just broken up.
* * *
—
Greg had left that afternoon for Manchester. The board of advisers scheduled an emergency meeting to discuss the case against Witt and my written testimony about Shepherd. I told Greg I could get pictures if he needed them.
“You have pictures of Adam and Ms. Shepherd together?” Greg asked.
“No. I have naked pictures of Shepherd that Adam took,” I said.
“Photos that you are now in possession of?” Greg said.
“They’re on a USB drive,” I said.
Greg didn’t look well. I was worried that I was causing him too much stress.
“I’m not sure what that would prove and I certainly do not feel comfortable presenting such material at a board meeting,” Greg said.
“You believe me, right?”
“Of course I believe you,” Greg said. “But I am concerned about your methods.”
I asked Greg what was going to happen to Ms. Witt.
“I’ll make sure we clear her name,” he said.
“So, you think she’ll come back?” I asked.
Greg shook his head. “No matter what happens, she won’t come back.”
* * *
—
While Greg was meeting with the board, I summoned the group—the new group, the five—into my office to orchestrate a plan.
Everyone was distracted. Emelia had just learned that New Nick would not be returning.
“I wanted to show him my ax,” Em said, swinging her shiny new weapon. Her mother had apparently given her one for Christmas. Then Mel grabbed Kate’s wrist and said, “Did you get a tattoo?”
Then everyone huddled around Kate as she showed off her ink. It was just a simple line drawing of an ax, but everyone wanted one after that. If Lowland had a tattoo parlor, everything might have gone differently. Instead, Emelia drew axes on everyone’s wrist. Linny showed up uninvited. I told her she had to leave. She had two more years at this school. If there was any fallout from our actions, I wanted to keep her out of it.
I opened my desk drawer and removed a thick folder. It contained a compilation of Adam’s secret files. I shared them with my allies.
Tegan wanted to know how long Adam and Shepherd had been fucking.
Mel asked how many other boys the librarian had been with.
Emelia couldn’t take her eyes off the pictures of Ms. Shepherd. She was naked, looking into the camera. The photos weren’t taken on a whim. It was like Adam knew this day would come.
“He’s just like J. Edgar Hoover,” said Mel.
“Who?” said Tegan.
“He’s sick,” Emelia said.
“She’s sick,” Kate said.
“They’re both sick,” Mel said.
“Adam was abused. Something with his stepmother,” said Emelia.
“Oh my God,” said Tegan.
“We can use that,” said Kate.
“No,” said Emelia. “He told me in confidence.”
“Who gives a shit,” said Kate.
“We’re not letting him get away with what he did to Witt,” I said.
“Agreed,” said Emelia. “But that part stays with us.”
We didn’t need that detail anyway. The files themselves were all we needed to destroy Adam’s role as King Dickhead.
Kate, fully engrossed in the files, was in the first stage of shock. I remember it well. She would turn one page after the next, saying, Oh my God. Repeat.
It was an impressive collection for a guy who was only seventeen. Anything you might want to keep hidden, Adam would add to your file. His muckraking ran the gamut from inconsequential to darkest shame. Carl Bloom suffered from hemorrhoids; Sandra Polonsky had a third nipple; Bethany Wiseman took lithium; Hannah Rexall had been arrested four times for shoplifting; Norman Crowley attempted suicide at age fourteen. Rachel Rose, despite her claims to the contrary, never fucked Finn. Although there was a grainy shot of them kissing.
The list goes on.
Adam’s cohorts, the editors, his so-called friends, were spared the least. Smythe had a micropenis; the browser history on his computer was positively hysterical. Mick was molested by a priest when he was eleven. He even testified against that priest in court a few years later. Nick’s file contained love letters between Nick and his stepsister Chloe. In fact, Nick’s arrival at Stonebridge was his parents’ attempt to separate the two. Jack Vandenberg’s file was no surprise at all. Two girls, ages eleven and twelve, had accused Jack of sexual assault when he worked as a camp counselor in upstate New York two summers ago. Mr. and Mrs. Vandenberg somehow managed to quash any official police report.
Some of the information that Adam had amassed was in the form of a memo from a private investigator named Gus Moody. Even without Moody, Adam had an aptitude for investigation way beyond his years.
I should also mention that I was not spared. Adam’s PI had assembled
a report on me not long after I arrived at Stonebridge. It might have been one of his meatier files.
I wasn’t all that surprised Adam had figured out where I came from. Some of it is public record. He also had a newspaper clipping from eight years ago when our house exploded. There were a few copies of reports from my social worker. He had one thing that might have derailed my resolve at another time. Handwritten in the margin of one of the memos, I saw this: 11/5/06. Prost Arrest. MA.
It was only the second time I’d tried to make some extra cash. After the arrest, I found other ways. I didn’t like the reminder of things I’d rather forget, but I was done keeping secrets.
We had a plan. It was a good one, I thought. We’d destroy Adam’s credibility and hobble every single editor with one solid swing of the proverbial ax.
But before we could release the information, Adam discovered that his files were missing. I had considered putting them back before he returned to campus. But then I changed my mind. I wanted Adam to know they were gone; I wanted him to experience that moment when you feel like the earth beneath you isn’t solid anymore.
I couldn’t have anticipated his retaliatory move. And I still don’t know how he convinced the editors to go along with it. It’s not like they knew about the files.
Maybe if Ms. Witt had stayed, she could have helped us see a peaceful way out. But she wasn’t there, and we didn’t want peace anymore.
Norman Crowley
Jonah got a text from Carl Bloom, whose room is next door to the lounge. I was impressed that Carl decided to rat on Adam and his mates. Jonah and I found Carl holding a glass to the wall. I didn’t bother telling Carl that you could hear everything without the glass.
We all leaned against the wall, listening in.
“Tell us what you know about the Darkroom breach,” Adam said.
“The darkroom?” Linny said. “Isn’t that a place where you develop photographs?”
It was surprising how cool and calm she sounded. I sent Mel a text.
Norman: Editors have Linny in lounge. What’s going on?
Mel: Hostage sitch. Gemma took something from Adam. So A took from G.
“Linny, we know you know. Just tell us and we’ll let you go,” Adam said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Dude,” said Jack, “just hold her hand over a candle or something. I promise you, she’ll talk.”
“Jack, my friend, we shall treat this prisoner of war according to the Geneva Conventions. Understood?” Adam said.
“Most appreciated,” Linny said.
“Get the girl something to drink,” said Adam.
“No thank you,” said Linny. “I never drink beverages served by sketchy men.”
“What is she even doing here?” Gabe said. “I mean, all the Darkroom stuff was Gemma and her crew.”
“There’s more information to be had,” Adam said.
Adam was stalling. I didn’t know what Gemma had, but it must have been important to him.
“Right,” said Jack. “Like who fucked with the showers. We never caught that bitch.”
“You wouldn’t consider untying my wrists, would you?” Linny said.
Jonah closed his eyes and rested his head against Carl’s wall when he heard that part. He looked beat. I texted Mel again.
“Don’t rile them up,” Jonah said. “That’ll make it worse.”
Carl Bloom, meanwhile, was trying to track down Finn or whatever adult was supposedly supervising this house of miscreants.
“Finn’s phone is off,” Carl said. “Dean Stinson isn’t answering his home line. Should I contact Ms. Primm?”
Jonah and I shouted in unison: “No.”
“Quid pro quo,” I heard Mick say from the other side of the wall. “Give up the shower terrorist—if you know who it is—and we’ll untie your wrists.”
“Untie my wrists and then I’ll tell you,” Linny said.
Jonah stepped out of Carl’s room and tried to open the doors to the lounge. They were secured from the inside. They’d probably stuck something through the thick chrome handles. Jonah banged with his fist. “Let me in, guys. I need to tell you something.”
“Get lost, Jonah,” shouted Adam from the other side.
“I’m listening,” said Mick—to Linny, I think. “Who did it?”
“It was me, you dimwitted degenerates,” Linny said.
“Fuck,” said Jonah.
Jonah and I returned to Carl’s room and continued listening in through the thin walls.
“Who put you up to it?” Adam said.
“Non ducor, duco,” Linny said. I think.
“What?” said one of the guys.
“Non ducor, duco. I am not led. I lead,” Linny said.
“Fuck me,” said Jack.
Then there was silence. I felt sick.
Suddenly, Jack burst through the doors with Linny tossed over his shoulder like a rag doll. She was screaming something. In Latin.
“Come on, dude, let her go. I’ll get your stuff back,” Jonah said, exiting Carl’s room, chasing Jack down the hall.
“What are you going on about?” Mick said to Jonah.
“Linny is the shower terrorist. She needs to be punished,” Adam said, before Jonah could respond.
I heard a rush of water, then Linny’s screams. Jonah started running down the hall. Gabe tripped Jonah with his crutch. Then Mick and Adam restrained him. Linny finally stopped screaming, which was so much worse.
I looked at my phone. I texted Finn. Then I called Dean Stinson’s house and then I texted Ms. Witt. I started to back away, thinking I could slip into the stairwell undetected and track down any person of authority who could get this mess under control.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Adam said.
He was different, this Adam. His weird, too-pleasant armor was gone. Before I knew it, he sucker-punched me. Although any punch from Adam is a sucker punch. My neck snapped back and I lost the grip on my phone. I felt woozy and crumbled to the floor. Adam seized my phone and shoved it in his pocket. My forehead felt like someone was holding a torch to it. Carl Bloom quietly shut the door to his room, securing the deadbolt.
“Norman, you’re such a little snitch,” Adam said.
I heard Linny screaming again.
Aut neca aut necare.
Gemma Russo
Adam sent me a text with a picture of Linny gagged and tied to a chair.
Adam: My files for your girl.
Adam’s files were his superpower. Without them, he was Clark Kent standing next to a stockpile of kryptonite. Maybe even dumber than taking Adam’s files had been stealing the champagne. One look in his closet and he knew that there was a breach. He might not have looked in the file cabinet for days or weeks. But when he saw the missing champagne, he checked. And then he knew what I had done.
I honestly didn’t think he’d take it so far.
* * *
—
“Norman says they got Linny tied up,” Mel said, looking up from her phone.
“I know,” I said, showing her the photo.
“So let’s get her back,” said Mel.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Emelia said.
Then I received a text from Jonah.
Jonah: Don’t escalate.
Gemma: I won’t.
Jonah was right, this time. My priority was getting Linny out.
“This is between Adam and me,” I said. “He wants his files back. That’s all.”
“What can we do?” Emelia said.
“Go back to Woolf and keep watch from the room. Text if you see Linny.”
Emelia and Tegan took off. I began loading the files and flash drives into a paper shopping bag.
Kate stood by the door, che
cking that the hallway was clear.
“I think I should go to the library and send an email, don’t you?” said Kate.
Mel and I exchanged a nod.
“Yes. It’s time,” I said.
“See you on the other side,” Kate said on her way out.
While Mel double-bagged my files, rambling about a handle breakage being a sign of weakness, I sent Adam a message.
Gemma: I have your files. Release Linny.
Adam: 5 min. Bench across from Dickens. Files first.
Gemma: Same time.
“Ready?” Mel said, handing me the bag.
“Ready,” I said.
“Once we get Linny back, we stop. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m tired,” Mel said.
I was tired too.
Mel and I left Headquarters and parted ways at the edge of Flem Square. Mel took watch inside Tolkien Library while I waited on the bench outside of Dick House with the paper bag by my side.
Within a minute, I saw Adam walking toward me. He was bundled in a high-tech down jacket, like he was about to scale a mountaintop. What a pussy. He sat down next to me, but we spoke like spies, staring straight ahead.
“Gems,” Adam said, in that light, friendly way he had. “You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?”
“And you’ve been a sociopath,” I said.
“We used to be such good friends. What happened?”
“We realized that we wanted different things,” I said.
He smiled. “We grew apart. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
“Nice play, throwing me into the contest,” I said.
“I was just having a little fun, Gems. Lighten up.”
I placed the bag on the bench next to Adam.
“If Linny doesn’t come outside in five minutes, I’ll send an email with the highlights from your files to the entire student body,” I said.
“That’s one hell of a threat. Will you include your own biographical details? I have to say, Gemma, most orphans with your history struggle to stay out of juvie. Landing at Stonebridge was quite an impressive feat.”
