“What if he’s done it already?” Shani whispered.
“He can’t have.” I fished the picture of the map out of the envelope. “Look. One of them is in Ms. Curzon’s office, and we know it’s locked and empty.”
“What about those two by the dorm? What are they?”
Lissa leaned in to look at the map. “That’s right outside Vanessa and Dani’s room. They’re on the ground floor.” She stood up. “Be right back.”
Less then a minute later, my cell phone rang. Mac jumped about a foot and looked as though she were going to burst into tears. Caller ID said it was Lissa. “Hey. That didn’t take long.”
“Carly,” she said in a whisper, though the likelihood of anyone being in Vanessa’s room to hear her on a Saturday night was nil. “You know that picture of the pipes all stacked up?”
I tried to push a word out, but it didn’t come. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yes?”
“I just took a picture with my phone. I’ll send it right now.”
“A picture of what?”
“A bunch of them are here under Vanessa’s window, sitting on the ground.”
“ALL RIGHT, HERE’S the plan.”
Gillian and Shani were the only ones hanging onto their cool. The rest of us were in hysterics. Mac couldn’t stop crying; Lissa had come back as pale as bleached muslin and couldn’t even hold a pencil, she was shaking so badly; and I’d already been to the bathroom to . . . well, anyway, I felt better now.
“Lissa and I will go and get someone from Security—anyone, we don’t care who—and show them the bombs,” Gillian told us. “Shani, you get Curzon’s assistant and force her to call Curzon back here. Don’t take no for an answer. Mac, you and Carly stay in this room and don’t move. The cops will want to talk to you about the e-mail messages and the photographs, and they’ll want that recording, too.”
“But he said not to tell anyone,” Mac protested, her voice wobbly and breaking. “He’s watching the school—he’ll see the police arriving.”
“We’ll tell them to go to the field house and take the rain tunnel.”
I stared at Shani. “The what?”
“The rain tunnel. You know, to get to the pool and volleyball courts without getting soaked. You mean you’ve been going around on the street all this time?”
How many days this past winter had I dashed through the downpour, wondering why on earth the Phys. Ed. facilities were so far away from the main buildings? Rain tunnel. Who knew?
“Stay on topic,” Gillian said impatiently. “Even if he is watching, he can’t see everywhere at once. Security can check all the red X’s inside the building. I don’t know what the blue circles are, but they can check those, too. He’ll never know.”
“Right.” Shani, still dressed to kill in a black Dsquared chiffon minidress and red stiletto heels, grabbed her Raven Kauffman evening bag and headed out. Gillian and Lissa followed.
The room seemed huge and empty and a little bit scary once my friends had scattered on their missions.
Mac slid her hand out of mine and walked into the bathroom. I heard splashing and when she came out, she went straight to her wardrobe.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You don’t need to change for the cops.”
“I need to wear something practical. These jeans and trainers, yeah? In case I have to bolt?”
I stared at her, my mouth falling open. “What are you talking about?”
Mac’s freshly washed face set into white determination. “You heard him. He’ll do whatever it is he’s going to do if I don’t go to that café. He’ll do it even if I go. But I have to try talking him out of it.”
“You’re not seriously thinking about going?!” My heart nearly stopped, then began to pound. “Mac, you can’t. He’s a lunatic. He’ll hurt you.”
“If I don’t go, he’ll hurt a whole lot of other people. You saw those pipe bomb things. They mean serious damage.”
“But Security will clean them out.”
“I can’t risk it. What if the cops take their time getting here? What if Security does nothing but give the girls another demerit? He said an hour, and we’ve taken up half of that. At least if I go, if I meet him and act like his long-lost sister, maybe I can talk him into calling it off.”
“You don’t really think he will.”
“What I think doesn’t matter. I have to try, anyway.”
“But what if he does something to you?”
She dragged a pair of sneakers out of the back of the wardrobe. “We’ll be in a public place. Besides, I know how to handle myself.”
Without another word, I hurried into a pair of Citizens of Humanity cargo pants, snapped up on sale because the bigger sizes always go last.
“What are you doing?” Mac demanded.
“I’m going with you.”
“Carly, you can’t. He said I was to tell no one. It’s all very well for Security to go sneaking about, but if he sees you walk in with me, he’ll know I’ve told.”
“He doesn’t have to see me.” I pulled on a black T-shirt and hunted through my own wardrobe for my jean jacket. “The Cow Hollow Café is a block from where I work. I’ll take the bus and double back.”
“And do what?”
“Watch out for you. When you get there, call me and then hide your phone in a pocket or something. I’ll be able to hear what’s going on.”
I slipped my wallet and all the money I had on me into my jacket, and dropped my cell phone into a leg pocket, along with my tiny emergency kit containing thread, needles, nail scissors, Band-Aids, Advil, a PowerBar, and a spare lip gloss. It usually lives in my handbag, but I didn’t want to have to worry about keeping track of that tonight.
“What if he sees you? What if he recognizes you?”
“He won’t.” I pulled my hair back in a ponytail and stuffed it through the back of a ratty ’Niners cap I’d lifted from Antony’s bureau to get him back for some prank he’d pulled on me. Then I scrubbed off all my makeup. Without that, and without heels and my normal dress-to-impress clothes, I looked about twelve years old. I looked . . . anonymous. Like a thousand other girls that no one would give a second glance as they passed on the street.
“Point taken,” Mac said, and grabbed her handbag. “I’ll call a cab when we’re off the grounds. Let’s go.”
Chapter 17
UNLIKE ME, MAC knew where the entrance to the rain tunnel was: a nondescript door in the corridor behind the dining room. I didn’t want to know who had shown it to her. Brett, probably, or Vanessa. I had no doubt the people on the A-list knew every secret passage and unmarked door Spencer Academy could boast. In a place where privacy was at a premium, you’d need to find somewhere for your romantic moments, wouldn’t you?
We jogged along the concrete tunnel for what seemed like twenty minutes, emerging next to the boys’ changing room by the pool. This meant I’d have to backtrack the long way around the edge of the soccer field to the street where the bus stopped, but at least Mac would be out from under her half brother’s surveillance—if he were even watching.
She called a cab from the vestibule of the field house and I leaned on the glass door, my breath fogging it as I whispered to God. “I hope this is the right thing to do, Father,” I said softly. “Please go with us. We need Your protection tonight.”
The silence in the vestibule made me turn. “Who are you talking to?” Mac asked as she slipped her phone into an inside pocket in her tweed bomber jacket.
“God,” I said simply.
“Again?”
“Just reminding Him we need help.”
“Well, I don’t suppose it can hurt.”
Which, considering her attitude toward anything to do with Christianity, was quite a concession. “Please be careful, Mac,” I said. “If something goes wrong, I’ll make like I just happened by, and come and join you. Then we’ll leave together.”
She nodded. “If it’s in a public place he can’t do anything. I’ll be o
kay. And I’ll phone you as soon as I get there.”
The cab, which couldn’t have been more than a few blocks away, pulled up to the door. Or, more likely, Spencer had the whole company at the students’ beck and call.
“Maybe I’ll even ask the driver to wait,” she said as she got in. “Then we can get out of there together.”
“Good plan.”
I watched the taillights disappear over the hill, then began to jog down the street to the bus stop. I made it to the corner just in time to see the Muni bus pull away and roar down the hill, blasting diesel exhaust into the atmosphere.
“Wait!” I screamed, running full tilt after it. “Wait for me!”
No luck. “Aughhh!” Why did I have to miss it now, of all times? Clutching my cap in frustration, I debated whether to wait at this stop or walk to the next one—at least I’d be doing something to get myself farther downtown. Meanwhile, Mac was probably already getting out of the cab, thinking I was somewhere close to help her if she needed it.
While I stood on the sidewalk, wavering, a sleek vintage car rumbled up to the curb.
Brett Loyola, driving what looked like a healthy version of my Tío Miguel’s 1968 Camaro and looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine, shoved the gear shift into park. He leaned over and rolled the passenger window down.
“Hey, Carly. You okay?”
Any other time I would have been like, Ooh, he recognized me even in jeans and a ball cap. Now I just felt a sinking in my stomach. If Brett had spotted me, that meant David could probably recognize me at a glance, too. And our nice little plan would be unusable.
“Sure,” I finally said, leaning down to talk through the window since it was clear he wanted an answer and wasn’t just being polite. “I’m just waiting for the bus.”
“The bus?” Had he never heard the word before?
“Some of us don’t have cars here.” Some of us don’t even have cars. Surreptitiously, I glanced up the street. Come on, bus, come on. Had it been fifteen minutes yet?
“Do you need to go somewhere? I can drop you.”
Suddenly he had my full attention. “You can?”
“Sure. Hop in.” He pushed open the passenger door and I got in. Fell in, more like. Camaros are very low to the ground.
He flipped an illegal U mid-block and headed down the hill. “Where to?”
“Do you know where Piccadilly Photo is in Cow Hollow?”
“Uh, no. Why would you want to go there at nine o’clock at night?”
I thought fast. “Because it’s payday and my boss wants me to pick up my check after he does the reconciliation.”
Silence while he tried to stare at me and watch the traffic at the same time.
Carly, as Gillian would say, you’ve just blown your cover.
Well, guess what. I totally did not care.
Brett shook his head. “Let me get this straight. You work at a photo shop?”
“Yes. Can you go any faster?”
“Not without hitting that guy in front of me.”
As it was, we passed the bus a few seconds later, and the bubble of urgency under my breastbone eased a little.
“But why?”
Focused on counting the blocks, I’d lost the thread. “Why what?”
“Why work? And how? Classes and extracurrics and the rowing team wipe out my schedule. Where do you fit a job in?”
“In the slot where the rowing team goes, I guess. I’m not much on team sports.”
“But . . . a photo shop? What does that buy you? I can see interning someplace you want to work after college or someplace you can buy stuff, but . . . a photo shop?”
He had clearly never had to hit the sidewalks himself and see exactly how little there was out there for the teenage workforce that didn’t involve french fries. “I needed something now.”
“What for?”
I took my gaze off the shop fronts long enough to raise my eyebrows at him.
“Sorry. None of my business. It’s just not every day that you meet a Spencer kid who does everything and holds down a job, too. I figured there had to be something in it for you.”
“A fifteen percent employee discount if I want a digital Nikon or a Sony videocam.” We passed the Cow Hollow Café on the left and I pointed to the next corner. Piccadilly Photo’s neon sign was still lit, which meant Philip was still there, probably cashing out. “Can you drop me there, please?”
“Oh, no. Curb-to-curb service. Only the best for you.”
I gritted my teeth. Since the photo shop was also on our left, it took agonizing seconds for us to go to the next intersection and turn around, then parallel park in front of the shop.
“Thanks, Brett.” I pushed on the handle. “I really appreciate this.”
“Never stand between a woman and her paycheck,” he said cheerfully. “Hey, Carly, before you go . . .”
I had the door open and one foot on the curb. “Yes?”
“Want to go somewhere after?”
“After what?” Come on, come on.
“After you get your check. We could catch a movie or something.”
You have to be kidding. If you’d asked me this a month ago, I’d have fallen to my knees, weeping in gratitude. But I’m not that girl anymore. “I can’t, Brett. I—I have plans. But thanks.”
He gave me a girl-melting smile. “I know, lousy timing and no notice. But think about it. Maybe next weekend, okay?”
By which time he would have forgotten this whole little interlude. “Sure. I have to go. Thanks again.”
Almost with relief, I swung the car’s heavy door shut and dashed toward Piccadilly Photo just as Philip approached the door with his jingly key ring.
“Carly,” he said in surprise. “Didn’t I say good-bye to you earlier?”
“I’m back.” I slipped past him and into the shop. “Philip, I’ve got trouble and I need your help.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A girl in mufti, a Saturday night, and a little derring-do. There’s life in the old boy yet. What can I do for you?”
Take that, David Nelson, I thought, and had just enough time to sketch out the important details when my cell phone rang.
CALLER ID SAID it was Shani, not Mac. I tried to calm my galloping heartbeat and answered it.
“Where you parlayin’, girl?” she demanded. “You off getting your nails done, or what? You were supposed to stay in the room!”
“I couldn’t stop her. Mac’s down here at the Cow Hollow Café, meeting him, and I’m watching her to make sure nothing bad happens.”
“I knew you guys wouldn’t stay put. Here’s the sitch,” Shani said, calming down and moving on in her practical way now that there was nothing she could do about it. “Lissa and Gillian freaked. But at least Security’s awake now, thanks to the screaming, and the cops are on their way. Whatshername, Curzon’s assistant, basically threw me out of the office.”
“What is wrong with that woman?” I demanded. “Does she want to be blown up?”
“She’s been in public administration too long. Anyway, while she was yelling, the name of the restaurant slipped out, but I don’t think she realized it. I’m in a cab right now, headed downtown.”
“Great. Tell the others what we’re doing, but don’t call me back. Mac’s going to call me and hide her phone while she and David talk, so I can listen. Then we’re coming back together.”
“Call us as soon as you’re safe.”
I snapped the phone shut and realized Philip was staring at me with an expression that clearly said, “Can this be real?” By the time I filled in the blanks for him, it had changed to one of those parental looks where you just knew the next words would be, “Go to your room and let me handle this.”
“We’ve already brought the police in,” I said, though there wouldn’t be anyone in Room 317 to interview at the moment. “Shani is going to get the headmistress, Lissa and Gillian are managing Security, and Mac is at this moment meeting with her half brother, trying to talk
him out of whatever he’s planning.”
“The girl’s either recklessly brave or a fool.”
Whatever. “The point is, she was supposed to have called me by now so I could listen to them through her phone.”
“That’s very James Bond of you. But she hasn’t called?”
Maybe she couldn’t get cell reception down here. Or maybe he’d surprised her and was already there. “That’s where you come in. I want you to take me to the Cow Hollow Café. Pretend to be my abuelito—my grandfather. We’ll get a table close to them so we can hear what they’re saying, and Mac will know she’s got friends with her.”
He leveled his austere gaze at me. “You know you should wait for the police.”
“There isn’t time.” As every second ticked by, something we hadn’t planned for or expected could happen to Mac.
“All they need is a bunch of girls galloping about the city, mucking things up.”
“Maybe not, but we’re all we’ve got. Don’t you see? None of the adults would listen before. We had to do the best we could. Now, are you going to come with me?”
“Hold on.” He put a hand on my arm. “You say this boy dropped off his pictures here. He’s going to recognize me. I helped him at the counter.”
“He might recognize me, too. But we have to risk it. We can’t leave Mac in there all alone.”
“It would be foolish to risk him knowing she’s told someone, all the same. I don’t see that you have a choice, unless we settle for loitering on the street.”
It hadn’t been much of a plan from the beginning. James Bond would laugh—so would Gillian, for that matter. But it was all I had.
Lord, I am way out on a limb here, and I really need Your protection and help. Keep us safe. Help Mac convince David he doesn’t have to do this. Give me courage to do what I have to and to recognize Your will when I see it.
Philip looked down at me curiously and I forestalled him. “Don’t ask. I’m praying, okay?” He nodded and would have said something else, but at that moment my cell rang again. I sucked in a breath when I saw the display. “It’s her.”
“Ah.” I don’t know whether he was responding to the first answer or the second one.
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