by Sarina Bowen
That afternoon, Bridger texted me repeatedly. Are you back? Call me.
But I didn’t call him, because I was too freaked out. Bridger was the last person in the world who needed any of Azzan’s bullshit. And I’d suddenly become ten different kinds of paranoid. I had to keep him out of it, no matter what.
That night, Blond Katie was in a really terrible mood too.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her as she stomped around our room.
“I broke up with Dash,” she said.
It took me a second to remember that Dash was the name of her latest football player. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be too sorry. All he wanted was a fuck buddy. And if he weren’t a total asshole, I might have been okay with that.”
“Sometimes hot just isn’t enough,” Ponytail Katie said, from behind a copy of Vanity Fair.
Blond Katie pointed a bright pink fingernail at me. “You, Scarlet, are the one who has it all figured out.”
“Me?” Whose life is a freaking melodrama? “Yeah, I’ve definitely got it all figured out.”
“Well, don’t you?” Blond Katie asked. “You have a hot athlete who actually loves you. How’d you do that?”
I sank down on our secondhand sofa, bone weary. My life was a dark tunnel, and I had the sinking feeling that Bridger and I wouldn’t make it out on the other side. “Just luck,” was my answer. Bad luck.
“Does he have any nice friends?” Katie asked. “There’s a Christmas party coming up at the sorority that I’m pledging. But I can’t think of who to ask.”
“And you can’t just go alone?”
She looked gobsmacked that I would even suggest such a thing. “No way. You need a date, and it has to be an athlete. Preferably an upperclassmen.”
“Hmm,” I said. “How do you feel about basketball players?”
Her perfect little mouth frowned thoughtfully. “I guess I wouldn’t have to worry about towering over him in heels. Who is he?”
“His name is Andrew. He’s a junior in Beaumont.”
“Is he as hot as Bridger?”
“Nobody is as hot as Bridger,” I pointed out.
Ponytail Katie looked up from her magazine again. “What’s the team’s record so far this year?”
“The season just started,” I said quickly.
Blond Katie just shook her head. “Don’t buy tickets to the final four. Have you seen our basketball team?” She sighed. “He’s a nice guy?”
“The nicest,” I promised. “You should invite him.”
“Do you have his number?”
An hour later I got a text from Andy.
ANDY: Um, thanks?
ME: Um, you’re welcome? You don’t have 2 go, U know.
ANDY: Oh, I’m going. But there could B dancing. I dance like an epileptic turtle.
ME: Man up, Andy. This isn’t really about the dancing.
ANDY: UR just trying 2 get rid of me 4 the night.
ME: ***BLUSHING***
ANDY: Call Bridger before he gets any grumpier.
But I was still too panicked to know what to do about Bridger. I needed to put some distance between us. So instead of calling, I sent him the world’s least interesting text.
ME: Home now and hanging out with the Katies.
BRIDGER: So I heard.
I slept, very, very badly that night. For once, my nightmare changed. Instead of the puck falling into a hole, in this new dream it was my phone. I skated toward it as it skidded across the ice, never reaching the phone before it pitched into the darkness.
Eventually, I gave up on sleeping and spent the last predawn hour staring at the ceiling, worrying about Azzan’s intentions. I had to assume that he’d read every text and email on my phone. His threat had been creepier than my nightmare.
I worried all through breakfast, and then through my morning classes. So I skipped lunch to answer a question that had nagged at me all morning. Mostly, the idea made me feel like a paranoid lunatic. But as the saying goes, just because I was paranoid didn’t mean they weren’t out to get me.
The guy behind the counter at the Nerd Patrol was a Division One level geek — complete with vampire pale skin and toothpick arms. “Hello and welcome to the Nerd Patrol,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Hi,” I smiled at him. “I have a couple of strange requests.”
The geek rubbed his hands together. “Awesome. What are we looking at?”
I set my phone down on the counter. “Okay, this has been out of my control for a few days, and — this is going to sound weird — I wonder if there’s any way you can tell me if the phone’s been altered?”
“What do you mean altered?” the guy cocked his head at me. He had the darkest eyebrows I had ever seen on a human being.
“Well, the man who had my phone is kind of stalkerish. I just want to know if he added anything that I can’t see.”
“Um, that would be icky,” the geek said. “Let’s take a look.” He plugged my phone into his computer and began tapping on the keyboard. “When did you last have it to yourself? How far back am I searching, here?”
“I left it with him on Tuesday afternoon before Thanksgiving, and I got it back Sunday around noon.”
He tapped madly at the keyboard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then his face creased into a frown. “Well…”
“What?”
“And here I thought you sounded like a nut. But there is some weird software on your phone. It’s like a spy program.” He rubbed his chin with his hand.
“Seriously? What does it do?”
“Well, let’s Google the title of it.” There was more furious typing, and then he turned his monitor so that I could see.
He had pulled up an advertisement for something called iTail. “Instantly Tracks What Your Child Does and Where He Goes!” it read. “Quickly and Effortlessly!”
There was something about the cheery advertising copy that made my stomach turn. “So I’m not crazy? My phone is bugged?”
He shook his head. “It can’t hear you talking. But it tracks your location, the phone numbers of calls made and received, email messages, texts…” he scrolled down the screen. “It uploads all that information to a site where your stalker can browse it remotely. Luckily, it will only take me three minutes to uninstall.”
“Wait…” I put my elbows on the counter. “I think I need to leave it on there. At least for now.”
The geek’s eyes got big. “Sneaky!”
“Can I ask you something else?” I pressed. “Is there any way for me to make a recording of the calls I make on my phone?”
“Well, yes and no,” my geek said, tugging on his sideburns. “You want to record the call without the other person knowing, right?”
I nodded.
“I know a trick, but it isn’t, um, a sanctioned operating procedure.” He looked around the room to see who might be listening. Then he looked at his watch. “My break is coming up in ten minutes. I’ll look something up real quick, and then maybe I could tell you what I know over a cup of coffee?”
“Okay…” I wasn’t sure if the geek was hitting on me, or if he really wanted to help. “I’ll meet you outside in ten.”
“My name is Luke, by the way,” the geek said, holding out his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Luke. I’m Scarlet.”
“I’m a computer science major, in case you didn’t figure that out,” Luke said.
“I would have never guessed.”
By the time I realized he was steering us into Bridger’s coffee shop, it was too late. When Bridger lifted his eyes to mine, my heart did the same excited skitter that it always did when I saw him. For about a nanosecond, I was completely happy. And then I remembered what Azzan had done to my phone, and my stomach clenched.
“Hi,” Bridger said, his voice tight.
“Hi.”
“Thanks for letting me know you got back safely last night,” his green eyes flared accusingly.
My mouth op
ened and closed like a fish. “Sorry.” We really couldn’t have this conversation here.
“What can I get you?” Bridger asked. “Since it’s obvious you’re just here for the coffee.”
“I’d, uh, love a tall latte,” I told him. “And this is my friend Luke,” I said. “I’m treating him as payment for a technical glitch he’s helping me work out.”
“Okay,” Bridger said, punching numbers into the cash register. “Your friend Luke drinks a triple shot cappuccino with a blackout cookie on the side.”
“I’m so predictable,” Luke sighed as I handed over a ten. “Thanks, Scarlet.”
When Luke walked to the end of the bar for our drinks, Bridger handed me my change. And then he grabbed my hand in his. “Scarlet, what is the matter? When are you going to talk to me about your trip home?”
I closed my eyes and just let myself feel the warmth of his fingers over mine. “I’m not sure I can, Bridge. I think I have to handle this myself.”
He squeezed my hand. “I’m out of my fucking mind with worry over you. Is that what you want?” His green eyes burned me.
“No. That is not at all what I want.”
There were customers behind me then, making impatient noises. “Can I get a double mocha latte with caramel?” a voice called out. Defeated, Bridger gave me one more upset look. And then he let go of my hand.
I found Luke at a back table, breaking off a bite of the cookie. “Have some,” he offered.
“Yum.” My stomach rumbled to remind me that I’d skipped lunch.
“Please tell me your pissed off boyfriend over there didn’t bug your phone.”
I shook my head. “Nope. He’s one of the good guys. And he’s worried about me because of the bad guys.”
“Do you promise?”
I held up a hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise.”
He sighed. “And now you want to record phone calls?”
“Maybe. I’m trying to think of a way to beat them at their own game.”
He grinned. “You didn’t get this from me, okay? I need to keep my job.”
“I understand.”
“All right, I’ll tell you what I know. If you search the app store for ‘record phone calls,’ you’ll find several choices. The app you want is ten bucks, it’s called Red Wolf, and the icon looks like… wait for it!”
“A red wolf,” I supplied.
“Right. But wait, there’s more,” Luke said, sipping his coffee. “All these programs work using the conference call mechanism. After your call starts, you hit the app and it actually dials another phone number which is really just a recorded line. And that takes ten or twenty seconds, so there’s a lag when you can’t record. So you call whoever and then stall.”
“Tricky.”
“That’s not even the tricky part. In order to stay legal, these programs make an announcement after you hit the ‘record’ button on the app. A voice will say ‘this call is now being recorded,’ which your caller will hear.”
“Well that sucks.”
“Right. But there’s a way around it. When you’re setting up the app, there’s a choice for which language you want your announcement in. And you’re going to choose Tagalog.”
I stared at him. “Seriously? Tagalog?”
He nodded. “The blogs I’ve read say that one is actually silent. Try it. It’s a ten dollar experiment. I bet it works.”
“Luke,” I said. “You have a future at the CIA.”
He beamed. “I have a couple other tips for you, okay?”
“I’m listening.”
“If your stalker is someone who can read your credit card bill, then buy this app with a gift card. And pay cash.”
“Crap. Can they tell from the spy software that I bought the app?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so… but I can’t guarantee it. What if you bought a whole bunch of apps at once? Try a new video game or two — or some productivity note-taking thing. Make it look like you’re just bored and doing some shopping.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me just a little bit with this spy stuff. Damn, dude.”
Luke twirled his coffee cup around in circles to stir its contents. “Your guy is shooting us dirty looks right now. He wouldn’t hurt a geek for having coffee with his girl, would he?”
I shook my head. “All those dirty looks are for me.”
He knitted his dark eyebrows together. “Promise me you’ll be careful? Because if I read in the newspaper next week that your mutilated body was found in a dumpster, I’m going to feel terrible that I didn’t report this craziness to the someone.”
“Thanks for the visual, Luke. But that won’t happen. The people who bugged my phone work for my parents. They’re jerks, but they don’t want me dead.”
“Yikes. Still, if you need anything, I’m the only Luke in Spanner House, and my number is in the student directory.”
“Awesome. You’ve been a huge help.” I slid out of my seat. “I have Italian class.”
“Grazie per il caffè!” Luke called as I walked away.
“Prego!”
I walked around for the rest of the day feeling Azzan’s eyes on me everywhere I went. Sitting in the dining hall with the Katies, I pictured Azzan staring at a dot on a screen. A dot that was struggling to finish her macaroni and cheese on account of the pit of fear in her stomach.
“Grumpy much?” Blond Katie asked.
“Sorry,” I sighed.
“Man troubles?” she guessed.
“Well…” I swallowed. “Bridger’s pissed at me.”
“Shit!” she swore. “I’m so sorry. Did you cheat?”
“No!” I shook my head. “We’ve both just got a lot to handle right now, and… I haven’t been very accommodating.”
“Sounds like all is not lost,” Ponytail Katie put in. “Maybe call him?”
I put another forkful of pasta into my mouth and thought it over. It occurred to me, even in the depths of my panic, that my spies would notice if I quit Bridger cold turkey. And I didn’t want them to think that I knew about iTail. So I should call him, at least one more time.
Even though it would hurt.
After dinner, I found a missed call and a voicemail on my phone. Walking towards the dorm, I listened to it. “This is assistant district attorney Madeline Teeter for Scarlet Crowley. Scarlet, I’m going to be in your area later this week, and I’d like us to sit down together. It will only take a half an hour. Please call me back to set up a time.”
Crap!
My pulse flew, because I realized I had to comply with Azzan’s instructions right away. He would know if I didn’t. Shakily, I found his number in my contacts and dialed him. He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“It’s Scarlet,” I said. “You told me to call if I heard from the prosecutor?”
“Yeah, Shannon, did they call?”
“She did. Sometime in the last hour. A 603 area code. Her name was Madeline something, and she said she would like it if we could sit down together.”
“Don’t call them, Scarlet.”
“I won’t. I’m just telling you, because you asked me to.”
“Good girl. If she calls again, or shows up, I want to hear from you right away.”
“Fine.” I hung up.
Good girl, he’d said. But every day it got a little harder to figure out what that meant. Did a good girl help the prosecution, or duck them? Did a good girl lie to her boyfriend to keep his little sister out of harm’s way?
Everything was just a mess. And I didn’t have the first idea how to untangle it.
Chapter Fourteen: Hester Baby
— Bridger
My phone vibrated around nine thirty. As silently as possible, I rose from my desk and tiptoed into an uncomfortable position on the closet floor. Sealing myself into a makeshift phone booth, I answered Scarlet’s call. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she breathed. “Can you talk?”
“Quietly,” I said. “I’m in my closet.”<
br />
I heard her laugh through the phone, and the sound of it made me ache from missing her. “Sounds cozy.”
“Yeah, it’s terrific. But I need to talk to you, and she’s asleep, so…”
“How are you, Bridge?” she cut in.
“Not good, because you have me worried. What do your father’s people want you to do?”
She sighed. “It’s nothing illegal. They want me to testify, and I don’t want to. And I’m supposed to sit in the courthouse when the trial starts after New Year’s.”
“You don’t want to go, do you?”
“No.” Her voice was low.
“Scarlet, did they ask you to lie?”
I could hear her hesitation coming through the ether. “I can’t talk about this with you. It isn’t as bad as you think, though. As long as I show up exactly when they want me to, and smile on cue, it will all be okay.”
But there was something evasive in her voice. “Nobody should lean on you for anything. I don’t like it at all.”
“Do you trust me, Bridger?”
Well, shit. “Of course I do. But…”
“Then you need to let me handle this.”
“It feels like you’re keeping things from me. Bad things.”
“Bridge…” her voice cracked. “I can’t talk about this.”
There was a long silence on the phone. It was the sound of two people moving away from each other, and it made my chest ache. “Scarlet?”
“Yeah?”
“How did you choose your new name?”
“Oh, Bridge,” she sighed. “I love that you asked me that.”
“Tell me.”
She sniffled. “The Scarlet Letter is one of my favorite books. The main character is so brave, and everyone hates her anyway.”
“Wow.”
“It’s a tad melodramatic.”
“No, it’s awesome,” I told her. “But… what was the woman’s name in the book? She wasn’t called Scarlet.”
“She was Hester Prynne. But I just couldn’t do that to myself. Hester is just so… not sexy.”
Even as stressed out as I was, I laughed. “Hottie, I would have fallen for you anyway. Let’s try it out.” I dropped my voice to a growl. “Oh Hester, baby. Ride me, Hester.”
