by Rachel Shane
When I park the car, I hear a pop. Steam billows out of the hood. “That can’t be good.”
Sabrina touches the hood then snaps her hand back, wincing.
I put my arm around her. “Look on the bright side…at least the person in the Ford Focus won’t be able to follow our car anymore.”
She groans. “How are we going to get the rest of the clues?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“What if the Ford Focus drives around and spots your car? It’s not exactly incognito here.”
She’s right, and we could be here a while. I borrow the front desk phone from the librarian, dial 411, ask to be connected to a tow-truck company. I don’t have enough money to bail out my car and fix it, so I kiss it goodbye one last time and sigh in relief that we really may have accidentally outsmarted the silver Ford Focus.
Inside the library, I borrow a cable from the librarian to hook up the mp3 player. Because school is still in session, the place is quieter than usual.
After I connect the mp3 player, I double click the mp3 player icon that appears on the desktop, checking for hidden files or instructions. But only a single audio track exists on this storage device. What does that mean? Is the carpenter sounds the piece of info we need?
“Maybe Gavin just wants you to remember him?” Sabrina whispers.
“I can’t forget him.” Something catches in my throat so I clear it.
When the browser loads, I type May 19, 1994 into the search engine box. A few articles pop up from magazines published on that date. Nothing that seems significant.
“We’re searching too broad,” Sabrina says.
In the search box, I write Chuck Tully and May 19, 1994, just in case Sabrina’s wrong about the proposal. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
The screen changes, all text disappearing except for a single line that reads: Your search did not yield any results.
“Gavin was always doing these little rebellious things to go against your parents. But you didn’t start until your little boarding school scheme. What changed?”
Sabrina smirks. “Nothing changed. My good girl routine was just an act.”
“An act?” I try Josephine’s maiden name and her new name next. Then Gavin’s name. Nothing. “Guess the date doesn’t relate to your parents.”
“See, maybe we shouldn’t suspect them.”
I want to protest and mention the boarded up house, but I know she’s looking for anything to excuse her parents. I can’t relate; I would have held up a red flag the moment they told me I wasn’t attending boarding school. What was the reason they used again? A fire? “Maybe we should look for more information about that fire.”
She snaps her hand back from the desk. “Do you think Gavin had something to do with the fire?”
I groan and type Lockhart Academy newspaper into the search window. “There’s got to be an article about it if it happened this past weekend. So, what do you mean by an act?”
“I was there for all the fights Gavin had about taking after-school guitar lessons. I saw the silent treatments he gave my parents and how they reacted, how they punished him more.” She folds her knees to her chest. “I knew I had to get out of there, but I also didn’t want to upset them. I decided my best chance would be to become their ideal daughter and be so perfect they couldn’t come up with a reason not to send me to boarding school.”
Nothing comes up when we examine the articles. We even check the local papers in the surrounding areas. If there was a fire in the last few days, no one except the Tullys know about it.
She leans back in her chair, stunned. “It was just an excuse. I was never going to boarding school.”
“Yes, you were. You were packed. Leaving the next morning.”
“Yeah, but I was registered at Milf. I thought that was odd. They told me it was because they thought I’d change my mind, get home sick or something. I didn’t realize they never intended to send me there.”
“Maybe your parents couldn’t let go of you, their only daughter, so they lied about the school burning down instead of sending you?”
She nods. “I like that theory. I like any theories that don’t involve zombies.”
“I guess your plan didn’t work then. They found an excuse not to send you.”
“God, I hated wearing those conservative clothes.” Sabrina’s eyes move across the screen. “Look.” She presses her index finger on the screen, a smudge mark forming beneath the tip. “This article is about a renovation to a wing of dorm rooms.” Her finger trails across the room numbers, underlining them. 101A-113A. 201A-213A. So on and so forth.
“90C could be a dorm room then.”
“If Gavin paired this with the word evidence, maybe he’s trying to tell us there’s evidence in that room?”
“Evidence for what, though? And why would it be in this room now? You didn’t even go to Lockhart yet.”
Sabrina leans across me and tilts the keyboard toward her. “It could be from when my parents went there. Or it could have something to do with wherever Gavin went this weekend.” The letters appear one by one as she punches the keys. The google toolbar reads: Lockhart Academy. Room 90c. Telephone number.
“That’s ridiculous. That was twenty years ago. If your parents left something there, it’s gone now.”
Her face falls at this realization.
“It could be about Gavin though. I’ll give you that.”
The front desk number for Lyman Hall, where 90C is located, appears in the directory. We copy it down then head Sabrina borrows the library phone again. She presses it to her ear. “Hey, I was wondering if you could transfer me to room 90C.” She listens for a moment. “A school project. Yeah, I copied down the room number but not the phone number…Okay, thanks.” She smiles at me, it must be working.
She waits, rolling her eyes at me each time it trills in her ear, the faint sound of ringing echoes above the din of the room. Her eyes light up, and she listens for a moment, then laughs. “Is this room 90C? At Lockhart?” She twirls her hair as she listens. “What? Blueberry, I guess.”
I give her my what gives? look, trying to figure out how blueberries could possibly be relevant to any sort of hello conversation.
“Maybe I will. Hold on a sec.” She cups her hand over the phone. “I have no idea what to ask him? I can’t just randomly say, ‘Hey, is there evidence in your room?’“
I gesture for her to give me the phone.
“Listen, I’m going to hand you over to my friend.” She glances over at me with a wink. “Yes, she’s cute.”
That did not just come out of her mouth.
“Yes. Yeah.” She giggles. “Okay. Hold on.”
I cup the speaker. “What was that?”
“Nothing. He was just really funny.”
“Hello?” I say into the phone.
“Ty’s shack of love. What kind of yogurt do you prefer?” Ah, a pick up line on the phone. How original. Now I know what she meant by blueberry at least.
“Has anyone by the name of Gavin Tully come to your room? A really tall kid with kind of flowy sandy-colored hair?”
“I don’t let dudes into my room.”
This kid is pissing me off. “Fine. But did he try to get into your room?”
“Only the ladies try. So…when are you coming over?”
“Did anyone call you maybe? Ask you weird questions?”
“Just you.”
I talk to him for another minute and every answer turns into some kind of pickup line. I tell him to keep a look out if any dudes try to step on his game, as he puts it. He’s also on high alert for any boarded up buildings or very tall adults prowling the campus. We’ll call him again in an hour and check in.
“So where to now?” Sabrina asks when I hang up the phone. “Do we go to Lockhart?”
“With what car?”
“Okay, what do you suggest?”
“Waiting until school’s over.” I glance
at my lap, the next words killing me to speak. “We need to talk to Isla for the next clue.”
“Isla?” She raises her eyebrow at me. “You want her in on this? Why the change of heart?”
“It’s not a change of heart. It’s a last resort.”
One-Month Ago
I sucked back my nerves as we followed the other bands through the backstage door of The Mermaid Lounge. My toes curled in anticipation and I pinched myself to make sure this was all real. The pumping music made my ears vibrate. Outside the holding area, Isla checked off names as bands brushed passed her carrying armloads of equipment. We only had Gavin’s laptop and my voice. I couldn’t help but think how we looked out of place at this club. I glanced over at the way he gripped his laptop case with white knuckles. Instantly, my pulse amped, his nerves catching on like a yawn passed through a classroom.
We spent the next twenty minutes in a mess of rattling legs and racing hearts. When Isla finally checked everyone in, she gripped Gavin’s forearm. “I’m so glad you could make it, Gav.”
He didn’t tell me the details of their phone conversation that led to this amateur gig, but from the evil glare she delivered me, I guessed she’d tried to persuade him to forget me once and for all.
“Do you need help with any equipment?” She glanced at his laptop case, brushing her breasts against his arm.
Gavin clutched it to his chest. “No, we’re good.”
She hit him with her most charming smile. “Since first impressions are so important and this is your first big show, I adjusted the lighting arrangement just for you. The lighting techs are going to shine a big old spotlight on you and the rest of the stage will be pitch black.”
A furious scream burned in my lungs. “You mean so I’ll be hidden in the dark?”
Isla gave me a sympathetic nod. “With your reputation—”
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
“We’ll just stick with the regular lighting, thanks.” Gavin moved past Isla into the holding area.
I tried to follow, but Isla held out her arm, blocking my path. “You should be nice to me. I could easily forget to announce your name. Dad gave me full control over the events tonight.”
Her words set my teeth on edge. I snapped my fingers and made my eyes wide. “Oh! So that’s how it works? You have to threaten people to be nice to you.”
A grimace tightened her lips and she checked her clipboard. “You’re on third. What’s your band name? Gavin didn’t know it when he called.”
“Backyard Rebels.” I’d suggested it as homage to the fact that he was rebelling against his parents in practically his own backyard.
Isla rolled her eyes. “Tell him I’ll find him later. I have some people I want to introduce him to.”
Conveniently, I forgot her message as soon as she walked away.
While the bands waited to perform, a bunch of guys challenged each other with complicated guitar riffs. A few girls removed pens from their purses and inscribed the walls with their signatures, adding to the thick graffiti. The floor was painted a deep black so glossy, the students loitering in the room looked like reflective web page icons.
The whispers started when two of the girls caught sight of me. Catcalls and unholy nicknames followed. By now I was so desensitized to it I almost didn’t notice, but Gavin glanced at me, not used to this cliché reaction from my peers. “Just ignore them,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking.
People sipped from red plastic cups that a bartender filled with soda from a tap. The sobriety impressed me for about a second until I caught a few guys spiking their cups with liquid from a silver flask they didn’t make any effort to conceal.
Since a couch was being used as a prop rack, we set the guitars against the wall and plopped onto the plush leather. Gavin clutched his laptop for dear life. “Do you know these people?” he asked.
“That’s Zack Bellinger. Isla’s ex.” I nodded toward a blonde-haired boy in a varsity jacket standing by Isla at the entrance, a guitar slung around his back. He leaned into her, I guess to get her attention, but she waved him away with her hand.
Gavin’s eyes flicked to Zack for a brief moment.
“He’s a star lacrosse player. Junior prom king last year. You know the type.” I pointed out more students to him. Each kid was easy to label with a two or three word phrase, and I wondered what mine would be. Freaky outcast. Future stripper. Or maybe just Krystal’s daughter. It said so much without saying anything at all.
Hope floated in my chest. Would tonight change my classmates’ perception of me?
“What if we suck?” Gavin opened his laptop and fiddled with the keyboard to cue everything up.
“Our music will speak for itself.” Besides, if anything went wrong, they’d blame me and he wouldn’t suffer any backlash.
Becca trailed into the room, heading toward Isla with a clipboard clutched to her chest. Marching through the crowd, she made sure everyone knew their performance order. She jotted down the cover songs we all planned to play. Originals weren’t allowed on amateur night, so we’d chosen to sing Take Me To Church by Hozier, partly ironically for Gavin but also because it was an awesome song.
And then Becca whisked the first band, Zack’s, onto the stage to start the performances.
Isla stole a glance at Gavin, but I intercepted it. She scowled when she realized his eyes were trained on his computer screen. Every now and then the rowdy boys busted out in a mosh pit of actions. Some toppled onto us on the couch, others dumped soda on each other’s heads, one smashed a guitar over a chair by accident, but then played it off like he’d done it on purpose. Isla and Becca sidestepped between the obnoxious boys, pressing their skirts close to their bodies as hands crept out to cop a feel. I felt a mix of relief and disappointment that the boys centered their attention on them and not me.
The first band made their way onto the stage, greeted by high-pitched screams, clearly stemming from the rest of the girl population from Milford Brook.
I twisted in my seat, scanning the room, my gaze bouncing off excited faces and animated bodies. Either I was the only one nervous, or everyone else managed their fear way better than I did.
Becca opened the door and called the second band, “The Paparazzi Hunters.”
I stiffened. Already? Didn’t the first group just go on?
Isla appeared next to us, holding two cups of soda. “Hey, Gav. Got this for you.” She held one cup out to him.
As the first band returned, spearheaded by Zack Bellinger and his spikey-haired friends, they slapped the hands of the second band in a soccer handshake gesture. But Zack was drunk and lost his balance, careening into Isla. She couldn’t regain her balance in time and landed on top of me. The soda spilled all over Gavin’s laptop.
The room went silent, allowing the hiss of the fizz to be heard as the soda seeped into Gavin’s keyboard. I gasped, covering my mouth with a cold palm.
“Oh, no!” He stood, tilting the laptop at an angle so all the soda dripped onto his jeans. Isla jumped from her fall and apologized profusely to Gavin. I dismounted from the couch and shoved through the crowd to get some paper towels, my blood pounding in my ears.
The bartender handed me the roll, and I muscled my way back only to have Isla rip the paper towels out of my hand. She tore off a wad, braced her hand on Gavin’s back, and rubbed at the computer in a suggestive way.
When the paper towels came up clean, Gavin sat down and tried to restart the computer. Isla flopped next to him, leaning practically in his lap as she watched. “It should work, right Gavin? Your laptop looks good quality.”
I nibbled on my cheek as I watched him.
His face drained of color and he slammed the screen shut. “It’s dead.”
An anvil tore through my stomach. What would Gavin tell his parents? From the horror on his face, I knew he worried about the same thing.
“The Mermaid Lounge will reimburse you,” Isla said. “This kind of stuff is covered by our
insurance.”
The word “insurance” somehow caught Becca’s attention from her post a few feet away. After getting all the details, she bounded off to speak with Harry, Isla’s father who owned the club.
“There goes our debut.” Gavin buried his face in his hands. I couldn’t let his first real shot at independence end because his computer crashed.
Just then, the second band came in, sweaty and excited, with arms raised in celebration.
“I’ll go get the fourth band.” Isla stood. “Star Monkey?” she shouted.
“We can play again!” Zack yelled from the back of the room. Isla ignored him and asked for Star Monkey a second time and the band headed for the stage.
I put my arm in front of her, blocking her path. “We’re going on after them.”
Gavin winced, shaking his head.
“We can do this. I know you have cool arrangements on your computer, but do you think you can play it on a keyboard instead?”
“I didn’t memorize any of sheet music because it would have been pointless with the computer. Plus the found sounds would be impossible to recreate on a keyboard. But…”
I waited, my breath stilling in my lungs.
“I might be able to figure out the notes. I hope I can.”
I put two fingers into my mouth and whistled. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to me. “Excuse me! Does anyone have a keyboard we can borrow for our set?”
Some guy yelled, “Yeah, right.”
Isla looked at the floor and whispered, “I do. But you can only borrow it on one condition.”
I swallowed hard, waiting for her to demand a date with Gavin.
“I’m playing with you.”
We stood on the side of the stage and waited for Isla while Star Monkey. Wooden carvings of mermaids in various poses lined the walls. A large net filled with fake fish and glittery seaweed stretched across the ceiling from one end of the stage to the other. Lace curtains hung on the sides of the stage, giving the place a shabby chic look.
