The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

I leaned one shoulder against the wall and checked my watch. Vee had told me to wait for her signal. She said it would be obvious.

  Great.

  The phone in the front office rang again, and the secretary picked up.

  Chewing my lip, I stole a second glimpse at the door labeled STUDENT RECORDS. There was a good chance it was locked. Student files were probably considered high security. It didn’t matter what kind of diversion Vee created; if the door was locked, I wasn’t getting in.

  I shifted my backpack to the opposite shoulder. Another minute ticked down. I told myself maybe I should leave. . . .

  On the other hand, what if Vee was right and he was stalking me? As his bio partner, regular contact with him could place me in danger. I had a responsibility to protect myself . . . didn’t I?

  If the door was unlocked and the files were alphabetized, I would have no trouble locating Patch’s quickly. Add another few seconds to skim his file for red flags, and I could probably be in and out of the room in under a minute. Which was so brief it might not feel like I’d entered at all.

  Things had grown unusually quiet out in the front office. Suddenly Vee rounded the corner. She edged down the wall toward me, walking in a crouch, dragging her hands along the wall, stealing surreptitious glances over her shoulder. It was the kind of walk spies adopted in old movies.

  “Everything is under control,” she whispered.

  “What happened to the secretary?”

  “She had to leave the office for a minute.”

  “Had to? You didn’t incapacitate her, did you?”

  “Not this time.”

  Thank goodness for small mercies.

  “I called in a bomb threat from the pay phone outside,” Vee said. “The secretary dialed the police, then ran off to find the principal.”

  “Vee!”

  She tapped her wrist. “Clock’s ticking. We don’t want to be in here when the cops arrive.”

  Tell me about it.

  Vee and I sized up the door to student records.

  “Move over,” Vee said, giving me her hip.

  She drew her sleeve down over her fist and drilled it into the window. Nothing happened.

  “That was just for practice,” she said. She drew back for another punch and I grabbed her arm.

  “It might be unlocked.” I turned the knob and the door swung open.

  “That wasn’t near as much fun,” said Vee.

  A matter of opinion.

  “You go in,” Vee instructed. “I’m going to keep surveillance. If all goes well, we’ll rendezvous in an hour. Meet me at the Mexican restaurant on the corner of Drake and Beech.” She crouch-walked back down the hall.

  I was left standing half in, half out of the narrow room lined wall-to-wall with filing cabinets. Before my conscience talked me out of it, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, pressing my back against it.

  With a deep breath I slouched off my backpack and hurried forward, dragging my finger along the faces of the cabinets. I found the drawer marked car–cuv. With one tug the drawer rattled open. The tabs on the files were labeled by hand, and I wondered if Coldwater High was the last school in the country not computerized.

  My eyes brushed over the name “Cipriano.”

  I wrenched the file from the crammed drawer. I held it in my hands a moment, trying to convince myself there was nothing too wrong with what I was about to do. So what if there was private information inside? As Patch’s biology partner, I had a right to know these things.

  Outside, voices filled the hall.

  I fumbled the file open and immediately flinched. It didn’t make any sense.

  The voices advanced.

  I shoved the file randomly inside the drawer and gave it a push, sending it rattling back into the cabinet. As I turned, I froze. On the other side of the window, the principal stopped midstride, his gaze latching onto me.

  Whatever he’d been saying to the group, which probably consisted of every major player on the school’s faculty, trailed off. “Excuse me a moment,” I heard him say. The group continued hustling forward. He did not.

  He opened the door. “This area is off-limits to students.”

  I tried on a helpless face. “I’m so sorry. I’m trying to find the nurse’s offi ce. The secretary said third door on the right, but I think I miscounted. . . . ” I threw my hands up. “I’m lost.”

  Before he could respond, I tugged at the zipper on my backpack. “I’m supposed to register these. Iron pills,” I explained. “I’m anemic.”

  He studied me for a moment, his brow creasing. I thought I could see him weighing his options: stick around and deal with me, or deal with a bomb threat. He jerked his chin out the door. “I need you to exit the building immediately.”

  He propped the door wide and I ducked out under his arm, my smile collapsing.

  An hour later I slid into a corner booth at the Mexican restaurant on the corner of Drake and Beech. A ceramic cactus and a stuffed coyote were mounted on the wall above me. A man wearing a sombrero wider than he was tall sauntered over. Strumming chords on his guitar, he serenaded me while the hostess laid menus on the table. I frowned at the insignia on the front cover. The Borderline. I hadn’t eaten here before, yet something about the name sounded vaguely familiar.

  Vee came up behind me and flopped into the opposite seat. Our waiter was on her heels.

  “Four chimis, extra sour cream, a side of nachos, and a side of black beans,” Vee told him without consulting the menu.

  “One red burrito,” I said.

  “Separate bills?” he asked.

  “I’m not paying for her,” Vee and I said at the same time.

  After our waiter left, I said, “Four chimis. I’m looking forward to hearing the fruit connection.”

  “Don’t even start. I’m starving. Haven’t eaten since lunch.” She paused. “If you don’t count the Hot Tamales, which I don’t.”

  Vee is voluptuous, Scandinavian fair, and in an unorthodox way, incredibly sexy. There have been days when our friendship was the only thing standing in the way of my jealousy. Next to Vee, the only thing I have going for me are my legs. And maybe my metabolism. But definitely not my hair.

  “He’d better bring chips soon,” said Vee. “I’ll break out in hives if I don’t eat something salty within the next forty-five seconds. And anyway, the first three letters in the word diet should tell you what I want it to do.”

  “They make salsa with tomatoes,” I pointed out. “That’s a red. And avocados are a fruit. I think.”

  Her face brightened. “And we’ll order virgin strawberry daiquiris.”

  Vee was right. This diet was easy.

  “Be right back,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “That time of the month. After that, I want to get the scoop.”

  While waiting for her, I found myself concentrating on the busboy some tables away. He was hard at work scrubbing a rag over the top of a table. There was something strangely familiar about the way he moved, about the way his shirt fell over the arch of his well-defined back. Almost as if he suspected he was being watched, he straightened and turned, his eyes fixing on mine at the exact same moment I figured out what was so familiar about this particular busboy.

  Patch.

  I couldn’t believe it. I thought about slapping my forehead when I remembered he’d told me he worked at the Borderline.

  Wiping his hands on his apron, he walked over, apparently enjoying my discomfort as I looked around for some way to escape, finding I had nowhere to go but deeper into the booth.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Five days a week isn’t enough of me? Had to give me an evening, too?”

  “I apologize for the unfortunate coincidence.”

  He slid into Vee’s seat. When he laid his arms down, they were so long, they crossed into my half of the table. He reached for my glass, twirling it in his hands.

  “All the seats here are taken,” I said. When he didn’t answer, I grabbed my glass
back and took a sip of water, accidentally swallowing an ice cube. It burned the whole way down. “Shouldn’t you be working instead of fraternizing with customers?” I choked.

  He smiled. “What are you doing Sunday night?”

  I snorted. By accident. “Are you asking me out?”

  “You’re getting cocky. I like that, Angel.”

  “I don’t care what you like. I’m not going out with you. Not on a date. Not alone.” I wanted to kick myself for experiencing a hot thrill upon speculating what a night alone with Patch might entail. Most likely, he hadn’t even meant it. Most likely, he was baiting me for reasons known only to him. “Hang on, did you just call me Angel?” I asked.

  “If I did?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  He grinned. “It stays. Angel.”

  He leaned across the table, raised his hand to my face, and brushed his thumb along one corner of my mouth. I pulled away, too late.

  He rubbed lip gloss between his thumb and forefinger. “You’d look better without it.”

  I tried to remember what we’d been talking about, but not nearly as hard as I tried to appear unmoved by his touch. I tossed my hair back over my shoulder, picking up the tail of our previous conversation. “Anyway, I’m not allowed to go out on school nights.”

  “Too bad. There’s a party on the coast. I thought we could go.” He actually sounded sincere.

  I could not figure him out. At all. The earlier hot thrill still lingered in my blood, and I took a long pull on my straw, trying to cool my feelings with a shot of ice water. Time alone with Patch would be intriguing, and dangerous. I wasn’t sure how exactly, but I was trusting my instincts on this one.

  I affected a yawn. “Well, like I said, it’s a school night.” In hopes of convincing myself more than him, I added, “If this party is something you’d be interested in, I can almost guarantee I won’t be.”

  There, I thought. Case closed.

  And then, without any warning whatsoever, I said, “Why are you asking me anyway?”

  Up until this very moment, I’d been telling myself I didn’t care what Patch thought of me. But right now, I knew it was a lie. Even though it would probably come back to haunt me, I was curious enough about Patch to go almost anywhere with him.

  “I want to get you alone,” Patch said. Just like that, my defenses shot back up.

  “Listen, Patch, I don’t want to be rude, but—”

  “Sure you do.”

  “Well, you started it!” Lovely. Very mature. “I can’t go to the party. End of story.”

  “Because you can’t go out on a school night, or because you’re scared of being alone with me?”

  “Both.” The confession just slipped out.

  “Are you scared of all guys . . . or just me?”

  I rolled my eyes as if to say I am not answering such an inane question.

  “I make you uneasy?” His mouth held a neutral line, but I detected a speculative smile trapped behind it.

  Yes, actually, he had that effect on me. He also had the tendency to wipe all logical thought from my mind.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “What were we talking about?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Your personal life.”

  I laughed, unsure what other response to give. “If this is about me . . . and the opposite sex . . . Vee already gave me this speech. I don’t need to hear it twice.”

  “And what did wise old Vee say?”

  I was playing with my hands, and slid them out of sight. “I can’t imagine why you’re so interested.”

  He softly shook his head. “Interested? We’re talking about you. I’m fascinated.” He smiled, and it was a fantastic smile. The effect was a ratcheted pulse—my ratcheted pulse.

  “I think you should get back to work,” I said.

  “For what it’s worth, I like the idea that there’s not a guy at school who matches up to your expectations.”

  “I forgot you’re the authority on my so-called expectations,” I scoffed.

  He studied me in a way that had me feeling transparent. “You’re not cagey, Nora. Not shy, either. You just need a very good reason to go out of your way to get to know someone.”

  “I don’t want to talk about me anymore.”

  “You think you’ve got everyone all figured out.”

  “Not true,” I said. “For example, well, for instance, I don’t know much about . . . you.”

  “You aren’t ready to know me.”

  There was nothing light about the way he said it. In fact, his expression was razor sharp.

  “I looked in your student file.”

  My words hung in the air a moment before Patch’s eyes aligned with mine. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” he said calmly.

  “Your file was empty. Nothing. Not even an immunization record.”

  He didn’t even pretend to look surprised. He eased back in his seat, eyes gleaming obsidian. “And you’re telling me this because you’re afraid I might cause an outbreak? Measles or mumps?”

  “I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I know something about you isn’t right. You haven’t fooled everybody. I’m going to find out what you’re up to. I’m going to expose you.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  I flushed, catching the innuendo too late. Over the top of Patch’s head, I could see Vee weaving her way through the tables.

  I said, “Vee’s coming. You have to go.”

  He stayed put, eyeing me, considering.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I challenged.

  He tipped forward, preparing to stand. “Because you’re nothing like what I expected.”

  “Neither are you,” I countered. “You’re worse.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I WAS SURPRISED TO SEE Elliot walk into first-hour PE just as the tardy bell sounded. He was dressed in knee-length basketball shorts and a white Nike sweatshirt. His high-tops looked new and expensive. After handing a slip of paper to Miss Sully, he caught my eye. He gave a low wave and joined me in the bleachers.

  “I was wondering when we’d bump into each other again,” he said. “The front office realized I haven’t had PE for the past two years. It’s not required in private school. They’re debating how they’re going to fit four years’ worth of PE into the next two. So here I am. I’ve got PE first and fourth hours.”

  “I never heard why you transferred here,” I said.

  “I lost my scholarship and my parents couldn’t afford the tuition.”

  Miss Sully blew her whistle.

  “I take it the whistle means something,” Elliot said to me.

  “Ten laps around the gym, no cutting corners.” I pushed up from the bleachers. “Are you an athlete?”

  Elliot jumped up, dancing on the balls of his feet. He threw a few hooks and jabs into the air. He finished with an uppercut that stopped just short of my chin. Grinning, he said, “An athlete? To the core.”

  “Then you’re going to love Miss Sully’s idea of fun.”

  Elliot and I jogged the ten laps together, then headed outdoors, where the air was laced with a ghostly fog. It seemed to clog my lungs, choking me. The sky leaked a few raindrops, trying hard to push a storm down on the city of Coldwater. I eyed the building doors but knew it was to no avail; Miss Sully was hard-core.

  “I need two captains for softball,” she hollered. “Come on, look alive. Let’s see some hands in the air! Better volunteer, or I’ll pick teams, and I don’t always play fair.”

  Elliot raised his hand.

  “All right,” Miss Sully said to him. “Up here, by home plate. And how about . . . Marcie Millar as captain of the red team.”

  Marcie’s eyes swept over Elliot. “Bring it on.”

  “Elliot, go ahead and take first pick,” Miss Sully said.

  Steepling his fingers at his chin, Elliot examined the class, seemingly sizing up our bat
ting and fielding skills just by the look of us. “Nora,” he said.

  Marcie tipped her neck back and laughed. “Thanks,” she told Elliot, flashing him a toxic smile that, for reasons beyond me, mesmerized the opposite sex.

  “For what?” said Elliot.

  “For handing us the game.” Marcie pointed a finger at me. “There’s a hundred reasons why I’m a cheerleader and Nora’s not. Coordination tops the list.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Marcie, then made my way over beside Elliot and tugged a blue jersey over my head.

  “Nora and I are friends,” Elliot told Marcie calmly, almost coolly. It was an overstatement, but I wasn’t about to correct him. Marcie looked like she’d had a bucket of ice water flung at her, and I was enjoying it.

  “That’s because you haven’t met anyone better. Like me.” Marcie twisted her hair around her finger. “Marcie Millar. You’ll hear all about me soon enough.” Either her eye twitched, or she winked at him.

  Elliot gave no response whatsoever, and my approval rating of him shot up a few notches. A lesser guy would have dropped to his knees and begged Marcie for any attention she saw fit to toss.

  “Do we want to stand out here all morning waiting for the rain to come, or get down to business?” Miss Sully asked.

  After divvying up teams, Elliot led ours to the dugout and determined the batting order. Handing me a bat, he pushed a helmet on my head. “You’re up first, Grey. All we need is a base hit.”

  Taking a practice swing, and almost nailing him with it, I said, “But I was in the mood for a home run.”

  “We’ll take one of those, too.” He directed me toward home plate. “Step into the pitch and swing all the way through.”

  I balanced the bat on my shoulder, thinking maybe I should have paid more attention during the World Series. Okay, maybe I should have watched the World Series. My helmet slipped low on my eyes, and I pushed it up, trying to size up the infield, which was lost under ghoulish wisps of mist.

  Marcie Millar took her place on the pitcher’s mound. She held the ball out in front of her, and I noticed her middle finger was raised at me. She flashed another toxic smile and lobbed the softball at me.

  I got a piece of it, sending it flying into the dirt on the wrong side of the foul line.