“I promise I won’t flip out, whatever it is.”
“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you this for a while now. I started thinking about it after we had what was officially our first date at Joe’s Pizzeria.”
I squeeze his hand. “Just say it.”
“Would you like to see my paintings?”
I squeal with delight and reach over to hug him. “Are you kidding? Yes, I would love to see your artwork. I knew it. You have a few stashed away in your dorm room, don’t you? Oh, I can’t wait.”
“Um, they’re not in my dorm room.”
“Oh. Then how will I see them?”
“Where I keep them. Home, at Bedford Hills.”
“Huh?”
A million thoughts run through my mind. What does it mean? Would my parents allow me to go? Did he run this by his parents?
“Abbie? Will you come? Please. Don’t leave me hanging off a cliff.”
“When?”
“New Year’s Eve. My parents throw a huge charity ball every year. The timing is perfect. My dad will be home because it’s the holidays.”
“Are your parents okay with this?”
“Yes. They think it means I’m finally growing up.”
“In that case, I’d love to.”
“Seal with a kiss?”
“How can I refuse such an offer?”
Somewhere between the kissing, and heavy breathing, I hear ringing. It gets louder. It’s my cell phone. I already hate whoever’s calling. I’m in no hurry to pick up. Christian eases back in his seat. Then the fog clears from my mind. Ty. I told him to call me. I should have been home by now.
“Aren’t you going to check to see who called?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll call back later.”
We make out some more, but I cut it short. I tell Christian I have to catch Mom at home to ask her about Bedford Hills before she goes back to the restaurant. It’s better if I don’t waste any time asking.
Both Mom and Miles are home. I make a quick apology and race to my bedroom where I dump my bag on the floor and don’t bother to take off my coat. I flop down on the bed and call Ty.
“Sorry,” I say when he picks up. “I got held up at school.”
“With school or with Christian?”
His question takes me by surprise. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Have you told him what’s going on?”
Guilt creeps up on me. Christian is part of my life now, and he has a right to know that his association with me is a trap that could spring at any time. I will tell him. I just have to figure out when and how.
“The Avenger wants $50,000. She says she will call with instructions.”
“So, all of this was to extort money from you. Why?”
“That’s what I don’t understand. Sidney, she has plenty of money of her own.”
“That is a mystery. What can I do to help?”
“You can loan me the money. I can’t access the trust my parents set up for me for another few months. I can pay you back once I turn eighteen.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? Paying, I mean.”
“I don’t know. I’m stalling until I can come up with a permanent solution.” I give Ty the rundown on my plan to remotely access Sidney’s computer.
“What about the text messages you promised to send me? I never got them.”
“That’s because they disappeared. I planned to retrieve them from my cloud backup until I realized she’s using an app that sets a time limit on how long I can view the message.”
Ty lets out a low whistle. “You’re dealing with a pro.”
“That’s why Sidney’s computer is a critical part of my plan. It might also reveal the identity of her accomplice. She’s making sure her calls to me can’t be traced.”
“I’ll get you the money. Call me the minute you have instructions. And you don’t have to pay me back.”
“Thank you. Wait, what?”
“I’ll do anything for you, Cooper. You know that.”
“Ty, that’s a lot of money.”
“It is, but I’m good for it. My parents were generous, and I play the stock market in my free time. It’s worked out well. For the most part.”
“I didn’t know you played the stock market. When did you start doing that?”
“Last year. Don’t worry about it; I want to do this for you. Consider it a gift.”
I know to argue with him would be pointless, so I give up.
After I hang up from Ty, my phone lights up: blocked number. That didn’t take long at all. Less than an hour from the time the text demanding money appeared. I click the green answer button, slide off the bed, and then walk toward the window. I pull the curtains aside and observe Mrs. Wilson, our neighbor from across the street pulling into her garage.
“You’re out of your mind,” I say. “I can’t come up with $50,000.”
“Boohoo. Poor Abbie. Aren’t you dating a billionaire’s son? I’m sure you can convince him to part with a few dollars?”
“You really are a sicko, you know that?”
“Wait a minute. He doesn’t know you broke the law, does he? Hmm. We have ourselves a conundrum. Oh well, your problem. As long as you solve it by Black Friday.”
“That’s next week. Are you nuts?”
“You’ll make the drop at Taylor Books in Framingham,” she continues, ignoring my protest. “These are one-time only instructions, so listen up. The money has to be in unmarked bills, nothing larger than a twenty. Put it in a plain, brown shopping bag, the kind with two handles. After you pack the money in the bag, add a plain, black scarf on top of it. Got it so far?”
“Yes.” My tone is flat and void of emotion.
“When you get to the store, an identical bag with the black scarf on top will be waiting for you. Make the swap. The other bag will have a bunch of shoeboxes in it. You don’t want to walk into the store with a bag and walk out empty-handed. You have to appear like you’ve been shopping all day and decided to drop by the bookstore.”
I listen to the rest of the instructions in a trance. Black Friday is one of the busiest shopping days of the year. It doesn’t matter that this is supposed to go down at 9:30 p.m., thirty minutes before closing. How can I ensure that a customer won’t find the bag and call the store manager—or worse, store cameras capture the whole thing?
She says something about the magazine section, a bench, and armchairs. But my brain is focused on one thing and one thing only.
“I want something in exchange. The photo. Fair is fair.”
“Oh, Abbie. Do you really think you have any bargaining power here? Don’t make me laugh.”
“You’re desperate for money for whatever reason. So, yes, I have bargaining power. I don’t want the picture getting out, and you need $50,000. If you want your money, I need the photo in exchange—and the drive on which it’s saved.”
She says nothing, pondering my counter-offer.
“Okay, Abbie,” she says finally. “I’ll play ball for now.”
“How can I trust you? How do I know you won’t double-cross me?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”
“Call me back when you’re sure about whether or not I can trust you,” I snap. “Until then, you get everything you deserve. Nothing.”
I hang up on her. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I don’t know what came over me, why I hung up on her. Will she end this once she gets the money? I don’t know. It could be the beginning of something far worse.
Shoving the negative thoughts aside, I leave the window and pad over to my homework desk. I pull out the chair and sit. It’s time to get to work, so I boot up my computer and set up Keylogger. After I hit the send button on an email to Sidney from “Brooke Westerly,” I receive a new text message.
BLOCKED NUMBER:
You shouldn’t have hung up on me.
Another text follows
. A letter.
BLOCKED NUMBER:
Mr. Christopher Reston
Director of Undergraduate Admissions
Princeton University
110 West College
Princeton, NJ 08544
Dear Mr. Reston:
I wanted to bring to your attention an issue that has the potential to taint the reputation of the university if it’s not addressed right away. Abigail L. Cooper, an applicant from Saint Matthews Academy in Castleview, MA, has cheated to gain an unfair academic advantage—mainly use of the drug Adderall. Attached you will find photographic evidence of Ms. Cooper’s blatant disregard for the rules of fairness, school policies, not to mention the law. I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Reston that the use of Adderall without a prescription is a felony. As one of the gatekeepers of this fine institution, I trust that you will make the right decision with the information provided to you.
Sincerely,
A concerned citizen.
CHAPTER 20
I read the letter, repeatedly, in slow motion. Every time I do, the burning sensation tearing through my stomach intensifies tenfold, bringing me one step closer to total collapse. Sweat percolates at the tip of my nose and upper lip. My heart skips several beats. I force myself to inhale air. The letter is no hoax. Christopher Reston worked as Assistant Director of Admissions for five years. He was promoted to Director when his predecessor left last year to work for the Tuck Business School at Dartmouth. I still have the press release in my Princeton application file.
Any residual guilt I had left about spying on Sidney has vanished. She’s out to ruin me, and now, my options are limited: let her succeed or destroy her first.
Later that night, after my Dad goes to his study and Miles is shuttled off to bed, my mother and I sit at the kitchen table for a serious conversation over hot chamomile tea. I tell her Christian invited me to his home for New Year’s Eve.
She takes a sip of tea and with deliberate slowness puts the cup down on the coaster. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m happy that he asked. But I get the feeling you’re not.”
“That’s not it at all, sweetie. It comes down to more practical, parental concerns, like the fact that you’re still a minor. Your father and I don’t know the Wheelers. It’s an out of state trip, and—”
“And what?”
“I don’t want you getting into a situation you can’t control or one you might regret.”
“Is that your way of telling me don’t come around here with no babies?”
She makes a face at me, then chuckles. “It’s my job to advise you of all consequences.”
“It’s not even like that between Christian and me.”
“How long do you think that will last? Is it something you’re ready for?”
“He’s not pressuring me if that’s what you mean.”
“Good.”
“You don’t have to worry, Mom. I’m responsible. Haven’t I proven that time and time again? I’ll be eighteen in a matter of weeks. I can be resourceful if anything weird pops up, which it won’t.”
“What about Christian’s parents? Are they okay with this?”
“He says they are.”
“I’ll have to discuss this with your father.”
“I know you do. But I want to hear how you feel about it.”
Dad will say no, and I need Mom to work him over. She can get him to agree to anything.
“I understand. I was a teenager once. I know it’s important to you. My main concerns are your happiness and safety.”
“I invited Christian over for Thanksgiving. Sorry, I didn’t ask first.”
She picks up her cup of tea with both hands and holds it to her lips, not quite touching. “Well played, daughter. Well played.”
CHAPTER 21
I fire off a text to Lance Carter on my way to the student lounge.
ABBIE:
Need your help again. Nothing crazy, I promise.
LANCE:
Can’t.
ABBIE:
Why not?
LANCE:
Too risky.
ABBIE:
Not this time.
When I enter the lounge and grab a seat, he still hasn’t responded. I unload all my paperwork and spread them out on the table in front of me. A few students are on their laptops, and others are playing foosball. I pick up a pen and begin the tedious process of reviewing my essay for Duke, line-by-line, looking for errors or sentences that need clarity. My cell phone alerts me that I have a new text message. I pick up the phone in a hurry and read the text.
LANCE:
Where are u?
ABBIE:
Student lounge.
LANCE:
Be there in a few.
I’m relieved that he’s come around. I continue with my essay, but I can barely concentrate. In less than five minutes, he plops down in the seat across from me.
“So, Mama, what’s cooking?”
“Voice analysis.”
“I’m listening.”
“Some random girl is harassing me over the phone. It has to do with that locker situation. She calls me at odd times. I want to compare her voice to the person I think is doing it.”
“Easy.”
“There’s only one problem. I don’t have the voice sample from subject B yet, the girl I think is behind it.”
“How soon can you get the sample?”
“A couple of days. I need the analysis done before Thanksgiving.”
“You’re squeezing me, Mama.”
“Please, Lance. I really need this.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Email me the audio file for subject A. You have to work fast on subject B.”
“I’m on it.”
After Lance takes off, I lean back in the seat, contemplating the best way to bait Sidney into a verbal smack down so I can record her voice. The answers don’t come easy, so I wrap up my essay editing and head to the girls’ bathroom.
I hear incessant sniffling in one of the stalls, followed by the sound of retching and finally puke hitting the water in the toilet bowl.
“Are you okay in there?”
“Shut up,” she yells. “Mind your own business.”
Sidney. She doesn’t sound right, but she told me to buzz off. I pull out my phone before she exits the stall. I tap the voice memo icon, hit the red record button, then slip the phone back into my bag in the nick of time. She flushes the toilet and comes out of the stall seconds later, looking like a troll. I gasp at her appearance. Sidney takes pride in her upkeep, and nothing less than perfectly coiffed hair, flawless makeup, and a killer wardrobe will do. The girl standing before me with defiance radiating off her is a hot mess. Her hair looks like a flock of birds decided to make it their permanent home. Her pupils are dilated and bloodshot. She swipes her finger under her nose.
“Should I call someone?”
“What part of mind your own business don’t you understand?”
“I just thought… well, it sounds like you need help.”
“Not from you. Now, go away and stay out of my face, you stupid cow.”
I back up slowly.
She splashes water on her face.
“That really hurt my feelings, Sidney. Was it necessary to go there?”
She gives me the finger over her shoulder.
I turn on my heels and exit the bathroom. I wonder how long Sidney can keep this up.
Part Four
THE DROP
CHAPTER 22
Our house is filled to the brim with laughter and chaos. It’s the day before Thanksgiving. Just for the next forty-eight hours, I’d like to forget about my problems. Before the break, I texted Lance and told him I couldn’t come up with the voice sample before our agreed timeline. I just couldn’t do it. What I saw in the bathroom did something to me. School let out at noon today. Christian, Miles, and Trevor are in the family room, playing video games. I’ve never heard such trash talk in my life. Dad is on hi
s way home.
Every inch of available counter space in the kitchen is taken up with fruit, vegetables, meats, and baking ingredients. The girls and I are helping Mom with various tasks in preparation for the big meal.
“Why don’t you kids go relax? You’ve helped me a lot. I think I’m all set for now.”
“Mom, are you sure? There’s a lot of work still left, and you need to relax, too.”
“I will. Later, with a glass of wine and your dad to help me unwind.”
“Mom, stop it. You’re embarrassing me.”
Frances and Callie giggle. Then the doorbell rings. We look at each other.
“I wonder who that could be?” Mom asks. She leaves to answer the door.
Frances and Callie gather around me.
“How are you going to handle this?” Frances whispers.
“Improvising. I have no idea how I’m going to move fifty grand from his car without arousing suspicion. Remember, act surprised.”
Ty appears in the kitchen in a fleece pullover and a smile as bright as a lightbulb.
“Surprise,” he says.
“Ty, what are you doing here?” Frances asks, sounding sincere.
“I wanted to see the Coopers before I catch my flight out of Logan.”
He walks over to where I’m standing and pulls me into a hug. Mom chooses that moment to return to the kitchen, with Christian at her side. His semi frown makes me feel all kinds of guilty. Frances clears her throat while looking in their direction. Ty lets go of me, and then turns around. He says hello to Christian and Christian nods back.
“Abbie, can I borrow you for a minute?” Christian asks.
Ty wants to say something. Instead, he remains quiet with his hands fidgeting at his sides. As I follow Christian out of the kitchen, Frances asks Ty what he’s been up to these days.
We’re in the library on the main floor of the house. A large, mahogany bookcase is the main attraction. Luxurious carpeting, a brown leather sofa, and a variety of photos and paintings on the wall gives the room a cozy feeling.
Christian leans up against the bookcase, arms folded with me facing him. “Did you know he was coming?”
Game of Fear Page 12
