Peter nods. “Sorry. What I meant was, I can see into anyone’s account. This person, though, had no name, and their password seems to be frequently changed. I imagine they use some sort of randomizer … But anyway, I can’t identify who it is that sends the messages from this account, nor can I access the files. There’s a lot of encryption that would take me days to crack. I can only see what gets sent out from the computer and the times the texts are logged.”
Aces is definitely way too smart to be any of the suspects I currently have on my list. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ruby use a computer before.
“Can I have a copy of all the things you found?” I ask, my mind racing. Peter looks like he wants to refuse, but reluctantly nods anyway.
“Should I print it out?” he asks.
“Email, I’ll be expecting it,” I say, before turning, grabbing Richards’s arm, and pulling him toward the door.
Richards pulls his arm away, and I turn to give him my death glare. Why is he being such a child?
“Whoever Aces is, from everything we know, it’s clear they’ve plotted this—whatever this is—meticulously. We need to think ahead and preempt what they’re going to do next,” I say. I can’t help but notice that Richards’s eyes are tinted pink, like he’s been crying all morning.
“So what do we do?” he asks.
“A stakeout, this Sunday—we are going to catch Aces as they set their next messages.”
“Then what?”
“We’ve got all their messages and Peter’s data as evidence, and after pinning down who they are, we don’t stop until they have nothing left. Expose them and everything they’ve done—to the school and every college they’re applying to. I will ruin their future like they tried to ruin ours.”
Devon nods. “I’m in.”
* * *
I have chemistry and find my seat next to Jamie.
I sit down heavily, taking my notebook out. I remember the simpler days, when I could just enjoy my favorite subject in peace. I should have treasured those moments.
“Pair up and follow the instructions on the sheet,” Mr. Peterson says.
I cringe inwardly. Now would be the perfect time for a change of partner. Anyone but Jamie. But partner changes don’t happen easily, plus with me not talking to him, and Ruby and Ava not speaking to me either, I’d rather not try my luck with anyone else.
I look over at one of the girls on the bench next to me: Clara. She’s always hated my guts, and now she can do so openly. She gives me a smug look, before turning away.
I go up to the side tables, getting a Bunsen burner and the materials.
“Belle broke up with me,” Jamie says when I get back to our table.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though I don’t mean it.
He sniffs, and my heart feels heavy.
“I just really liked her.”
There’s silence as I unpack everything, but I can feel him staring at me.
“Sorry for leaving you behind, not being there when you needed me.”
Why is he suddenly deciding to be all nice to me? I set the Bunsen up and separate the materials.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
“It’s not. I’m your best friend, and I left you when things got tough.”
I’m used to it, I want to say. I’m used to Jamie ignoring situations when things get tough or hard to speak about. Now I’m trying not to accept his crappy behavior.
“Here’s the list of elements we need to test,” I say—without stuttering, which I’m so happy about, because I can still feel Jamie’s eyes on me and it’s making me nervous.
“Okay,” he says. I hear whispers behind me, and at first I’m confused, until I hear the voices more clearly.
“I don’t know how Belle can hang out with someone like that…,” someone says. I look up. Jeremy smiles at me and waves and I smile back, waving with my middle finger up. His smile falters and he turns away.
“What a bitch, no wonder nobody likes her.”
Sometimes I really hate Niveus.
The best revenge right now is to not let my grades slip. I’m going to get into Yale, then med school, and then I’m going to be the best doctor in the state, whether they like it or not.
Jamie and I work side by side for the rest of the class. He even lets me do most of the Bunsen burner work. After we’re finished, he walks out with me.
“Do you want to come over to my place today, maybe go to the Waffle Palace or something?” he asks. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Whenever something happens, he always wants us to forget and move on, go back to being best friends. I don’t know if it’s Aces, Belle, or something else, but I’m finally seeing through the cracks in Jamie’s seemingly perfect demeanor.
I feel like I’m worth more than that.
“I’m busy,” I tell him.
“Oh.”
We walk and we get stared at but I keep my head up, heels clicking against the marble loudly. I imagine stomping on all of their glaring faces. I am not going to look weak.
“I could walk you home?”
I turn and say, “I have legs, Jamie. I can walk myself home, and I’m sure you can too.” I give him a tight smile, and then I walk out of the school, down the steps, and through the gate. Alone.
* * *
The house is empty when I get back.
I go upstairs immediately, opening my laptop and downloading everything Peter sent over.
The first sheet pops up. I scroll, watching as each message is traced back to the origin. Computer 17. Every message that was sent is there.
Just in. Looks like Chi’s not so sweet. Sources say she got caught trying to steal candy. Careful, Chi, don’t want a record Yale will see …—Aces
It’s been two weeks since it happened. Two Tuesdays ago. And I still can’t figure out how the candy ended up in my pocket. I wonder who these sources are. There were other people in the shop, but none I recognized as being Niveus students. Only Jamie. But it doesn’t make sense that he’d ruin his relationship with Belle by posting the later messages about us. None of this makes sense.
The next downloaded page comes up on the screen—the dates and times of the logged texts.
Like Peter said, they all happened around ten o’clock.
22:06
22:13
21:57
All on a Sunday or Monday night. Who would have access to the school at that time? The janitor? The teachers? Anyone could steal a key …
My phone buzzes and I jump.
Is it weird that I’ve never watched The Notebook before?—B
I smile down at her message, feeling guilty for being happy that she texted when Jamie is still obviously upset. A good friend would try to fix his relationship with her … But I don’t have to be a good friend to someone who isn’t one to me.
Yes, really weird, you should change that soon.
I look down at my phone, waiting for her reply.
Maybe I was too forward.
I don’t want her to think I was suggesting she come over and watch it, even though that’s what I was suggesting.
I’m regretting sending it.
Are you free now? I have it on DVD.—B
I look at my laptop’s screen as another download pops up.
Logged at 22:04 on Sunday … That can’t be right.
I scroll, zooming in on the page and details. My heart picks up.
How is it possible that Aces knew I would be accused of stealing candy on Tuesday, when they logged it on Sunday night at 10:04 p.m.?
My mom’s making pancakes too …—B
I look down at her message. The sense of impending doom in my chest makes me feel like someone has wrapped their hands around my neck, blocking my air supply.
Blond hair. Blood. Tarmac.
At any moment, Aces could release more lies or more truths. The police could come knocking on my front door, lock my wrists together in handcuffs, and drag me away while the disappointment on my parents’ faces
burns into my mind forever.
I need to go through all of what Peter has sent over, make sure I have an airtight plan to take back to Devon tomorrow.
Sorry, something came up.
I was just starting to have a real friend, and, like everything else, Aces is ruining that too.
21
DEVON
Wednesday
“And?” I ask as Chiamaka holds up sheets of paper with words and numbers I don’t understand. Her bright-pink Prada bag is a little distracting.
“This was logged before I was accused!” she whisper-shouts.
I look back at the pages, trying to understand her with absolutely no context. I can see rows of numbers—times, some before ten o’clock and some after.
“What was logged?”
She sighs loudly. “Oh my god, for someone up against me for valedictorian, you really are slow.”
“Maybe if you explained yourself, I’d understand,” I spit back.
She gives me a tight, sarcastic smile.
“Peter sent me the documents yesterday afternoon. I found the times linked with the messages sent, and the times they were scheduled and logged on this mysterious computer 17. The time my supposed theft was logged was two whole days before it happened—do you get it now?”
Shit.
“So, it was a setup?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”
I turn to face her properly now, moving away from my keyboard.
“Who would set you up?”
She shrugs, shaking her head like even the thought of it is making her distressed.
“My … friend Jamie was with me in the shop at the time.”
“Would he do it?”
“No! Of course not,” she says, not sounding convinced.
“Who else was in the shop?”
“I didn’t see clearly—but we’ve got four days until Sunday, when we can catch them. Or at least catch whoever Aces got to do it. In the meantime, I’m going to ask the janitor about that power outage.”
I nod. I’ve been able to breathe a little more, as Aces has been quiet for a few days. But I’m still on edge; I hate not knowing what might happen next—and I want to know who is behind this.
“I’ll give you updates when I can.” She pauses and gives my keyboard a look, like it’s beneath her, which reminds me of why I don’t like her. “Bye.”
Chiamaka’s clicking heels echo as she walks down the hallway. I turn back to my keyboard and grab the sheet of music I was writing on before she came in and disrupted my flow. I hope she doesn’t make a habit of visiting me in my happy place. Too many people are ruining it lately.
I don’t know what our regular chats make us, but I know for sure that we are not friendly enough to ruin each other’s happy places. I don’t go into her labs without warning, but I guess she doesn’t have the same courtesy. I almost mentioned Terrell’s race theory, but stopped myself because 1) I don’t know if she’d buy it, and 2) the thought of some racist student doing this because I’m Black—we’re Black—is too sickening to even make it a prime possibility.
I stare down at the sheet, and I touch the keys with my left hand, trying to make sense of the rhythm, trying to make it perfect. Right now it sounds so clunky and disjointed. Juilliard would reject it in a second.
I rub my eyes and move away from the keyboard once again. I can’t work or play when I’m this frustrated, so I text Terrell, hoping he doesn’t find it weird that I’m texting him during school.
Want to hang after school?
My phone buzzes right away.
Sure, how’s your day going?—T
My lips stretch as I look down at the message. That’s something I really like about Terrell—he always answers.
It’s going … Trying to write and make this song better, but I can’t. How’s your day?
Buzz.
My ears are always available, so bring it with you when you come later. My day is pretty chill, didn’t feel like school so I’ve just been at home.—T
I wish I could not feel like school without being all guilty for wasting Ma’s money. But my attendance is perfect, even if I’m in the music practice room more than classes these days. One day off from school won’t ruin that, right?
I’ll bring it over with me, thanks:)
See you later:)—T
I switch off the keyboard, shove all my things into my bag, and rush out of the practice room and down to the school office.
“I’m ill and need to go home,” I tell the woman at the desk.
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Name?”
“Devon Richards.”
Her long red-nailed fingers tap away on her computer keyboard. She glances up at me, all haughty as she surveys me, then back down at the screen. She stops typing as the printer slides a form out.
The scratch of her signature permanently inking the page makes me cringe.
“Sign here, and you’re free to go.”
Senior privileges mean parents aren’t involved when it comes to calling in sick—which I don’t ever do, because for some reason I’m never sick—and when I used to try to pretend, Ma always knew I was faking. I sign the sheet, trying to push the guilt away.
I’m always in school, this is nothing.
I repeat it to myself over and over as I rush through the hallway, freeing myself from the prison behind the double doors and tall black metal gates.
I almost feel invincible.
* * *
I approach Terrell’s bright front door, with a pounding in my chest and sweaty palms. I’m high on adrenaline and happy to step away from music, give my mind a break. I step over some of the weeds tangling by the entrance and smooth my uniform before knocking.
I don’t need to overthink this. I don’t know why I’m overthinking this.
Soon enough, he answers, looking surprised and not exactly ecstatic.
“Hey, I was let out of school early so I just thought I’d come here,” I say.
Terrell looks at me, then looks back in his house.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here for a few hours…” He pauses. “Now’s not really a good time.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah, my sister is here. She’s not doing so well, so I’m just watching out for her while Ma’s at work.”
I see a black furball slink out of Terrell’s doorway. It meows, then walks past me. Terrell glances at it briefly, then looks back at me.
“Later?” he says, like his cat didn’t just run away.
I nod, feeling like an idiot.
Unexpectedly, his arms wrap around me in a hug, and then the door’s closed and I’m standing here, unsure of where to go now.
I walk away from his place, back toward Niveus—toward the side of town with unbroken picket fences, pretty front lawns, and happy families who never have to worry about their next meal or their college funds or their family being evicted.
I end up in the park Terrell and I went to. Dropping my bag on the ground, I climb the steps of the jungle gym and settle into the purple tube.
I close my eyes and at first all I see is darkness. I try to imagine waves, anything to calm me, make me forget everything that’s going on, and soon enough I’m swimming, but then I feel warm hands. I feel his hands around me again. Kissing me, holding me, warm and soft, skin against skin, water hugging us, lungs on fire as our lips finally connect—
Then I open my eyes and I’m met with the darkness of the tube, out of breath and disoriented.
It’s so quiet, I almost think I imagined it. The sound, a click. Like a photo being taken.
I sit up quickly, noticing a hooded figure in the corner of the park, turned away from me. I watch them closely as I start moving slowly out of the tube, trying to climb down without them hearing me. The figure turns a little and I see the edge of something covering their face. A mask?
My gaze drops down to their hands. They are flicking through pictures on a large
camera. My breaths turn shallow. Aces?
I take a step forward, once again not realizing that there’s nothing but air in front of me, and I stumble off the jungle gym, landing smack on my knees. I groan loudly, which alerts the figure, and I hear them take off.
I get up quickly, dusting the dirt off my knees and running in the direction they went. But when I get through the park gates, I look out along the long road and no one is there.
There are no streets that they could have turned into that quickly, just rows and rows of giant gated houses.
It’s as though the figure vanished into thin air.
22
CHIAMAKA
Wednesday
It becomes apparent as Ward hands me my labor tools—a toothbrush and a bucket of soapy water—that Richards isn’t coming to detention. As soon as Ward leaves, I text him.
Where are you?
A purple plastic tube.—D
There’s no time for sarcasm. We need to make sure our stakeout goes perfectly on Sunday, and I want to update Devon. The janitor said there wasn’t a power outage but that there have been a lot of “weird electrical issues” throughout the school of late, which is why they’re having the maintenance day. It’s not a coincidence, that much I know.
This time next week, I’ll be able to focus on Yale and convince Headmaster Ward to restore my position as Head Prefect. This time next week, I’ll be getting ready for the Senior Snowflake Charity Ball. At Niveus, the Snowflake Ball is the most important event of the year. And it’s not just Niveus students; the headmaster invites the biggest donors and Niveus alumni to watch as the Snowflake King and Queen are crowned—and marked as the students that everyone needs to know as they graduate.
Last year’s Snowflake Queen got into Harvard, with one alum’s very powerful recommendation. That crown could be the thing that gets me a guaranteed spot at Yale.
Why aren’t you in detention?
I got sick.—D
Sure he did.
Well when you’re “better,” we need to visit Morgan Library.
Okay.—D
Boys are infuriating.
The Sunday plan is not perfect yet. I’m still not sure whether coming in at nine in the evening is too early, nine thirty is too close to when they might arrive, or ten o’clock is too late. I’ll pay the janitor, but then what—we roam around the school like people with no scheming bones in their bodies? We need an agreed place to hide that is close enough for us to enter the library soundlessly. We need an easy getaway. And I want proof—visual proof—of whoever sits at that computer. I can do most of it on my own, but I need to know that Richards isn’t going to mess up. Or lie about his health again.
Ace of Spades Page 17
