She shudders next to me, snatches her phone and shoves it into her bag before lurching to her feet. “I never spoke to you,” she says.
“Betsy, wait.” I chase her, grab her arm and turn her around. She’s angry, looming over me, an Amazon of a girl with desperation in her face.
“If my parents find out, I can forget about basketball. If the school finds out, I’ll be off the team. No basketball, no college, Kit. My life will be over.”
“He set you up.” It has to be true. If she’s insisting she doesn’t know what happened, this has to have been planned. “What does he want from you?”
She shrugs. “Mr. Shute keeps drugs in his office,” she says, whispers. “Oxy, stuff like that. I’m supposed to steal it and give it to Tom.”
Supposed to. “You haven’t yet?”
She shakes her head. “Either way, I’m done, Kit. Mr. Shute trusts only me and two seniors with the key. He’ll know it was me. And if I don’t…” She turns her back on me. “Just stay out of Tom's way, Kit, if you can. And pray for me.”
I’ll do a lot more than that. I’m going to save her and everyone else at Rimtree High if they like it or not.
Who am I kidding? They’ll love it.
But, it’s Nina Porter’s confession that seals the deal for me. I find her in the library the next day, crying to herself, hunched over her phone. When I sit next to her and try to comfort her, she acts like nothing is wrong. I take her phone from her, nostrils flaring over the similarity of the image, the posed shot that looks almost exactly like Betsy’s.
“You realize this is against the law.” It is, I’m sure of it.
“It’s not,” she whispers. “I’m seventeen and so is Donnelly.”
Well, crap.
“What do they want you to do, Nina?” I open my notebook and jot her name next to Betsy’s. She hesitates, looking like she’s going to bolt. Her fingers drift over a thumb drive next to her computer.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Hmmm. Well, if they haven’t asked her to do anything yet, maybe she—
Nina bursts into tears and presses the thumb drive into my hands.
“I volunteer in the office,” she wails, low and hurt. “With Miss Nigel. She lets me use the computer.”
Well, that doesn’t sound so bad—
“Test answers.” Nina drops her forehead to the desk and raps it against the surface twice. “I’m going to be expelled.”
***
Chapter Nineteen
“I have all the evidence I need,” I say, munching around the edges of my granola bar, squinting into the sunlight as Jimmy leans away from me, devouring my sandwich. I’m careful to stare at the floor, though. The disgusting baggie of rotting revoltingness I found squashed into the bottom of my locker after first period makes me nervous. I can’t let Tom think I’m on to him. “I’m just not sure what to do with it.”
Jimmy’s thumb keys his iPod to a new song and the shrieking words of a fresh thrash tune reach me as a faint squeal.
“You’re right,” I say, setting down my lunch and scratching my cheek. “All I have is evidence against innocent people carrying out his orders. I don’t have anything really tying Tom to the images. Just Donnelly.” It would be great to bring Donnelly down, though. I keep myself tucked in as the hulking bully and his buddies stroll by two tables away. Mr. Carson is supposed to be on cafeteria duty, but he’s busy reading his book and ignoring the fact Donnelly and his fellow creeps—yes, I’m getting harsher about how I see others, a byproduct of embracing my crime fighting side—subtly torment other students, stealing food and mushing it into the hair of a boy who looks like he’s endured their attentions far too often.
“Still,” I say, “even if I can’t nail Tom, maybe if I take away his army…” I bite my thumb nail, finding it hard to catch an edge no matter how close I nibble. “But, doing so will reveal the students with blackmail pictures against them and I just can’t do that.” I sigh and drop my hands to my lap. “What do you think?”
Jimmy shifts on the bench and turns up the volume, answering my question succinctly.
“You’re right,” I say, gathering my things. “I need to turn the heat up on Tom and, to do that, I have to reveal what’s going on in this school.” I can’t believe I never noticed before how smart Jimmy is. “Thanks for the pep talk. You’re the best.”
As I stand, I turn to find Tate behind me. Giant shocker there. Where did she come from? She knows she’s not supposed to talk to me. This could mean disaster if Tom finds out. I don’t want to draw his attention just yet, but I also can’t resist the hurt on her face, the way she seems to beg me with her blue eyes.
I open my mouth to speak, to offer her some comfort, only to have her lean in and hiss at me.
“Are you stupid? Or just a nutcase?” I’m floored by her attitude and her words as she goes on. “I heard you talking to your make believe friend here.” She jabs a finger at Jimmy who is smart enough to stay out of it. “He’ll destroy you if you try to go against him.”
“Sorry,” I say, brushing past her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her little hand hurts my arm, fingers digging into the flesh as she pulls me to a halt beside her. “You have no idea how bad it can get.”
Implying she does? “Why are you protecting him?”
Tate shudders and looks away. “I’m not,” she whispers. “I’m protecting you, Kit. Just, don’t be stupid, okay?”
I try a smile, a friendly smile. “I can’t just let him win.”
She shrugs. “He already has. And anyone who can’t see that will be a smear under his shoe.” She turns and walks away, leaving me there to watch her go, stare after her, though I know better. I turn away just as Donnelly notices my head is up and look down at Jimmy.
“Poor thing,” I say. “She’s so deluded.”
Jimmy stands up, grabs his bag, walks away. In the opposite direction of the office.
Is he doubting me all of a sudden? His path is a clear message he wants me to walk away, too. But wait, he talked me into going to the principal, didn’t he?
Guys are so contrary. He needs to make up his mind at some point.
Still, his indecision and Tate’s warning are enough to steer me back to my locker instead of to Mrs. Cradle’s office just yet. It’s Friday. She’s probably busy wrapping up the week and wouldn’t have time to see me anyway. As I climb on the bus at the end of the day, taking my seat next to Jimmy, I sigh. And realize I’m the one who talked myself out of acting. That fear still lives inside me.
Where am I going to get the absolute proof I need to shut down Tom?
My phone hums and I check the text. It’s from him, of course it is. Why am I not surprised? A little weekend gift from him, though it makes me snort to see the inside of my locker. I stripped it for the weekend. The bag of dog feces painting the inside might be gross, but at least none of my stuff will be damaged.
Joke’s on him.
***
I cross the threshold of M.’s office and knock on the open glass. Maybe I should wait to talk to her, but it’s been weeks and I can at least feel her out for what she might know or suspect.
“Kitalia.” M. looks up from a file she’s perusing, D. perched on the corner of her desk. “What is it?”
“Hoping I could have a minute.” I stand there, silent and waiting, while the two of them exchange a look.
“Come in.” She points a remote at the glass and it slides shut behind me. I ignore the fact she’s perfectly aware I could have done it for her and sit in the cushioned chair in front of her black desk. M. folds her hands in her lap as she sits back, face relaxed, almost kind, how I remember her looking before the mess started. “How is your new assignment?”
She had to bring that up. “Fine,” I say. No way will I reveal how much their doubt hurts. “But, I have some concerns.”
D. raises one dark eyebrow. “About?”
“If this is about Tatiana�
�” M. sits forward, brow creasing.
“Not at all.” I wave off her anger. Whatever protection M. feels for the new girl, she used to feel for me and that understanding hurts even more. “This is about another operative. I fear he’s working behind our backs.”
M. and D. exchange another look. “Who?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to accuse anyone just yet,” I say. “Without concrete proof.”
M.’s scowl makes me scowl in return. “Then why bring this to us? Kitalia,” she steeples her hands in front of her, elbows on her desk, “trying to deflect from your own issues won’t endear you to us, you realize that.”
I grit my teeth against the obvious answer. “I’m merely doing my job,” I say, knowing there’s a hard edge to my voice but unable to soften it completely before the words emerge. “Like you pay me to do.”
“Let’s not be hasty judging Kitalia’s motives,” D. says, deep voice mild. M. sits back again, crossing her arms over her chest while he smiles at me. “You’ve always been one of our most trusted operatives.” The way he says it makes me wonder how much has changed.
I shrug. “I’m here to ask you how you want me to proceed.”
M. snorts, smiles, softening again. “That’s a first. Kitalia Ore asking for direction.”
I grin. I can’t help myself. “Being a good girl these days, just like you wanted.”
D. laughs. “Can’t fault you on that, Kitalia.” He stands, hands in his pockets. “You need proof to accuse a fellow operative, something air tight.”
I nod. “Do I have permission to hunt for that proof?”
They look uneasy, but M. nods. “Just be discreet.” She rolls her eyes. “If that’s possible.”
D. laughs again. “It seems, with this new Kitalia, anything might be possible.” He winks at me.
Maybe he’s still on my side after all.
I stand and turn to leave.
“Keep us posted,” M. says. “And stay out of trouble. Your formal hearing is coming up and we don’t want more mess to explain to the big bosses.”
If that’s what she truly cares about, so be it. It’s impossible to slam the glass doors, since they are on auto, but I do my best.
***
Now I’m back to myself, Mom and Dad’s insistent and not-so-subtle grilling every night at dinner just makes me tired.
“You’re sure everything’s okay?” Mom hands him the bowl of mashed potatoes. Dad takes it, eyes on me. “That egging the other night—”
“Mom!” I push back from the table, surprised at my own irritation. “I’m fine. Please, will you two stop being so weird.” My socks slip on the stairs as I retreat to my room, feeling more than a little huffy and wishing they would go back to just ignoring me or something.
No, not fair. But, the twins were always the ones who took the limelight. And I’m okay with that. If only they’d come home so I could return to being the girl I used to be.
I sigh as I sink to the end of the bed and shake my head. I’m not fooling anyone, least of all me. The girl I used to be is long gone. I left her behind on the first day of this school year, whether I knew it or not. I’m not sure if I like the harder-edged and less optimistic person I’ve become, but at least I have my happy back. Mostly.
My big problem is, as it’s been all along, proof. What if I can convince some of the kids to go to the principal with me? Sure, it’s their word against Tom Brown’s, but if enough speak up… no way. I can already tell that plan won’t pan out. Not from the way they all seemed so scared.
Maybe the police, then? Cyber bullying is a crime, I’m sure of it, no matter what Nina said. If they can trace the images back to Tom…
But they won’t, will they? The images were taken on the victim’s own cameras. He has copies, I’m sure of that, but there’s no way to trace them unless he actually follows through with his threats and shares them. So far, I guess everyone has done as he’s told them because I haven’t heard of any showing up.
I’m still rolling the conundrum of victims and victimizers in my head when my phone buzzes. Maybe I should be nervous to check it these days, but there’s a certain thrill of victory inside me every time I look, like he can’t bring me down no matter what.
It’s not Tom. Takes me a second to realize the person who sent it is the last one I expected to hear from.
Hey, Kit. Tate—going to a party, want to come?
I sit back, reading the text like I took a blow. A party? I’ve never gone to a party. I have never been invited to a party. Okay, well, that’s not true. I’ve been to lots of birthdays and stuff. Nothing lately or anything. Everyone my age has totally outgrown that kind of thing. And Clare and Calvin would never take me to the ones they went to.
A party. Not only am I chuffed Tate is finally coming around, but here’s my chance. If Donnelly and his boys are up to their shenanigans, I might be able to take some incriminating photos of my own. And turn it around on them.
Thanks, I text back, fingers shaking, grinning. Love to.
She sends me the address right back. It’s a few blocks away, at Abigail’s house. But, didn’t Abigail just tell Clancy at the bus stop this morning her parents are gone to Cleveland for the weekend? Her older brother, Charlie, must be chaperoning.
I don’t bother asking Mom and Dad. They’ll say yes, especially if I tell them in my most excited voice. They’re always so worried about me not hanging out with my friends.
Tonight, I get to do just that and maybe put an end to this reign of corruption once and for all.
***
Chapter Twenty
I stop at the driveway, adjusting my pink miniskirt over my black sparkle leggings. I may not have had my boots any longer, but the cute little patent leather flats with the giant gems on the toes Mom got me in sympathy for the loss would do just fine. They make my feet look slender and adorable and I love the way the big jewel sparkles when I walk, catching the light.
Two girls brush past me on the way by, one looking me up and down with a grin.
“Nice sweater.” Her friend laughs and I grin back. I don’t know her and figure she must be from another school, so I wave.
“Thanks!” I love it, too, with the brushed cat face on the sleeve and giant paw prints on the back. My pale pink tank top finishes off the outfit, though I wish I’d had more time to trim my bangs. I’ve been neglecting them lately and not having them perfect makes me feel self-conscious.
I raise my hand at the door to knock, but it whips open before I get the chance and, to my delight, Tate is standing there. She smiles back, though she seems uncomfortable, and waves me inside.
“Hi, Kit.” She looks at my shoes. “Nice.”
“Thank you.” I try to find something to compliment her on, but she’s dressed as plainly as ever, almost frumpy, her blonde hair messy at the nape of her neck, stretched out t-shirt baggy around her hips. I could turn her into a vision of awesome if I could get my hands on her. “You look…” I fumble for words. “Cute.”
She shrugs and leads me inside, past a row of people laughing, holding plastic cups in their hands. I was so excited to see her, I missed the pounding beat coming from the kitchen and, as we enter, almost plug my ears from the pressure of the bass emerging from the speakers. I have an issue with sound ever since I was little. Too loud and I can get a little cranky.
I’ll have to get out of the kitchen ASAP. I turn and find Tate standing next to me, holding out a glass. Her lips form a word that looks like, “Here,” but when I smell the contents, I shake my head and hand it back.
“No thanks,” I shout, though I know she can’t hear me. “Did you know that’s beer?” We’re underage. I turn and see a large number of glasses just like mine and frown. I know most of the people here. And they are all under twenty-one. All of them.
Tate looks a little desperate. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. She turns away from me, leaving in a jerking motion. Good, it’s an opportunity for me to do some snooping. I’m g
lad she asked me here, but I need time to look around and see if I can track down Donnelly and his crew.
I spot them in the living room. It’s a big house, really nice on the inside. I’ve been here once, a long time ago, when Abigail was eight. For one of the aforementioned birthday parties, I think—
Her pale, blue eyes smile at me while she points and laughs—
I jerk to a halt and press my hand to the wall paper of the hall, shaking my head. Yes, I have been here before. A party, with a bunch of little girls, like me.
Why do I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach?
Raucous laughter cuts through the music and I jerk upright, my eyes seeking the owner. Donnelly laughs at a young woman who downs a glass of the contraband beer. I don’t know her, not personally. She’s one of the girls who said she liked my sweater. I don’t have time to warn her not to get involved with him. Maybe I can catch him in the act of photographing her before it goes too far.
My gaze flickers to the right settling, to my utter shock, on Jimmy. He stares back at me, frowning, but makes no move to come toward me. Instead, he looks deliberately away. Incognito, got it. Whatever he needs. But, at least I know he has my back.
Love that about Jimmy.
Feeling more secure with him there, I don’t jump—much—when Tate reappears at my side with a glass in her hand and shoves it into my grip.
This time when I sniff it’s soda and I smile at her. “Thanks!” She smiles back, weak and frail. I feel so bad for her, she’s obviously not having a good time. She seems so nervous, like a tiny mouse waiting to be pounced on. I resist my mind’s attempt to convert her human form into furred and whiskered.
She stares at the drink in my hand. Right! She went to a lot of effort to get it for me, I shouldn’t be rude. I take a sip and salute her with it. She looks ill suddenly, then turns and walks away.
Well, that was ruder than not drinking her flat, salty pop. I’m about to set it aside when someone takes my arm and guides me around the living room. I just have a second to realize it’s Tom Brown himself when he pushes me through a door and closes it behind him.
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