Harper nodded.
“I’m not just saying that.”
“I know,” said Harper.
“Did something…happen…on the ski trip? Something bad?” If that Oliver Prince asshole had hurt Harper…
Harper shook her head. “Nothing bad. Just stuff I’m trying to work out for myself, you know?”
“I get that.” Elena frowned. What could possibly be so big or so bad that Harper would need to keep it this far under wraps? “But please know I’m here for you. No matter what.”
“Thank you,” said Harper. “That means a lot. Especially because of the feud thing.”
“Don’t even worry about that.” Elena leaned over to hug her friend again, but Harper swung up her arm with the phone, knocking Elena right in the jaw.
“There’s another Stash right outside!”
Harper rushed out the bathroom door, and Elena followed her, massaging her wounded chin. She was fighting a losing battle against Stash Grab and the Prince family.
The rest of the day was more of the same. Everywhere Elena went, the people she encountered were consumed by Stash fever. Before the start of eighth period, Katie Murphy, who worked in the principal’s office during her free period, handed Elena a note. “Mrs. Olsen wants to see you.”
A swirling sickness in her gut, Elena headed down to the principal’s office. It was never a good thing when the principal wanted to see you, was it? Not that she could remember doing anything wrong. Maybe she was going to be chastised for not playing Stash Grab like the rest of the sheeple in town.
Speaking of, Mrs. Olsen had the app open on her phone, which was sitting on her desk. She closed it when she saw Elena staring. “My son,” she explained. “He needs new skis.”
Elena shrugged. It was fine. The Olsens had always shopped at Prince’s anyway. They weren’t traitors like that Jimmy Shaw.
“Are you still interested in tutoring?” Mrs. Olsen said.
“Yeah,” Elena said immediately. “I’ve been waiting for the call all year. I will tutor anyone in any subject.”
“Fantastic, and I’ll ask you to remember that sentiment when you see who’s looking for help.” Mrs. Olsen pushed a sealed envelope across her desk. “While math tutors are a dime a dozen, there aren’t a lot of options for people who need assistance in Latin. This young gentleman’s grades are slipping, but with some help, I know he can bring them up. His parents are desperate.” She coughed. “Really desperate. They’ll pay you twenty-five dollars per session, plus a hundred if you can raise his grade to a B, and another two hundred for an A.”
“Wow,” Elena said, starting to open the envelope. “They’re serious.”
“And they’d like you to start as soon as possible, you know, assuming you want the job.”
Elena frowned. “Of course I want the job.”
“You say that now.” Mrs. Olsen furrowed her brow. “How about tomorrow after school?”
Elena started to say “That’s fine,” but she stopped when she pulled the name out of the envelope. She was going to be tutoring Oliver Prince.
…
Elena snapped her fingers in front of Oliver’s face. “The seven kings. Who were they?”
He sighed, slowly dragging his eyes away from the Santabucks window. He was not about to jump to attention just because it was what Elena Chestnut wanted him to do. The world on Main Street outside was much more interesting, anyway. Several of his fellow students—and a few of North Pole’s adult residents—were dashing through the snow, trampling decrepit, months-old Santa hats and Christmas wreaths, frantically catching Stashes. “I don’t know who the seven kings were,” he said. “Isn’t that why you’re tutoring me?”
“I want to be here as much as you do.” Elena’s brown eyes were hard, unflinching. She had put her long, dark hair up in a bun, which was held in place by a pencil. “I’m only tutoring you because your parents are paying me. I’m not doing this for my health.”
“At least you’re getting paid.” Oliver let his eyes drift again to Main Street outside. The little old lady who owned the diner on the edge of town—Mags Something-or-other—was jumping up and down over catching a Stash. The red ball of her stocking cap slapped her in the face. He, Oliver, had made that happen. He’d inspired an elderly woman to risk breaking a hip on an icy sidewalk. But he was being forced to give up control of his creation.
Elena handed him a stack of blank index cards. “Yeah, and the better you do, the more money I make. What do you get?”
He glared at her. “I get my life back.”
She frowned like she was tempted to ask him more about this, but she didn’t. Oliver gave her credit for that. “So,” she said, “this next quiz is as good a chance as you’re going to get to do that.” She opened the textbook in front of her. “It’s all history, no translation. There will be no Latin on the Latin quiz. Magister Parker just wants to make sure we have the background down before we start translating Livy’s words. What do you know about the kings of Rome?”
Oliver shrugged and folded his arms. “You’re the tutor. Shouldn’t you tell me? This would go a lot easier if you just gave me the answers.”
She sucked in a deep, calming breath of air, like she was trying to keep it together. “You’ll learn nothing if I feed you the answers.” She tapped on one of the notecards in front of him. “Write ‘Romulus’ on this side.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. This was such a waste of time. There were so many other things, better things, he could be doing right now. “You know, you don’t have to sit here with me. I am fully capable of learning this on my own.”
“Your grades and the fact that your parents felt the need to hire me as a Latin tutor would suggest otherwise.” She tapped her pencil on the notecards again. “And after you write ‘Romulus’ on this side, take out your notes from class today and write everything you know about him on the back.”
“I didn’t take any notes. And I don’t have a pen.”
Elena pulled the pencil out of her bun and tossed it at his chest. Her long, dark waves cascaded around her shoulders and her eyes flashed savagely, like she could eat Oliver alive and enjoy doing it. He, however, was saved by an actual bell when his sister, Stan Stashiuk, and Harper Anderson entered Santabucks.
Grinning, Regina and her entourage sauntered over to his table. “Hey, Ollie. On a date?” Then she noticed who the girl sitting across from him was. “With Elena Chestnut?”
“She’s tutoring me.” He scratched the name “Romulus” onto the back of his notecard.
“Your parents are paying me to be in his presence,” Elena said, “otherwise I’d be absolutely anywhere else.”
While Stash went up to the counter to grab drinks, Harper took the chair next to Elena and rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. “You’re helping him with Latin?”
“I’m trying to,” Elena said, glaring once again at Oliver. On anyone else, those burning brown eyes would be enticing, but on Elena Chestnut, they were grotesque. She was like a monster, a gorgon. How was that for a classical reference, Ms. Tutor?
“Do Mom and Dad know she’s the one tutoring you?” Regina asked. She locked eyes with Elena. “No offense or anything, they just…”
“Don’t like my family,” Elena said.
Regina winced. “Putting it mildly.”
“They were not happy about the situation, but they felt”—Oliver waved his hand up and down to indicate Elena—“was their last resort.” Actually, his dad had tried to put his foot down, but Oliver’s mom had overpowered him. She’d said, “What does it matter to you if the Chestnut girl is the one helping Oliver? Is there any reason why that would make you uncomfortable?” The way she said the word “uncomfortable” appeared to have been the last straw for Oliver’s dad. Trip had signed off immediately on Elena as Oliver’s tutor.
“Elena’s really smart,” Harper said. “You’re in good hands.”
“But I can’t work miracles,” Elena said.
Oliver watched his sister, who
waved at Stash as he dumped a mound of sugar into his coffee. What had she been doing since school let out an hour ago? Had she checked up on the game? Was she here to interview Stash for more questions? Oliver tried to play it cool. “How’s it…going?” he asked.
Regina raised an eyebrow as she took a cup from Stan Stashiuk. “How’s it…going?” She sipped her coffee. The way she did that was infuriating. It was the same “grizzled detective” way their mom sipped her tea. “It’s going. We’re picking up some stuff from Harper’s for Stash Cares.”
“Stash Cares?” Elena asked.
Who cares? Oliver thought. He wanted to be talking about the game, not about whatever Stan Stashiuk was up to.
“It’s my foundation.” Stash checked the lid on his coffee. “Kind of a big brother/big sister thing that uses sports to reach out to Minnesota kids in poverty, but particularly the Somali youth in and around the Twin Cities.”
“Stash is using hockey to save the world.” Regina beamed up at Stash the way Oliver used to gaze at his computer. “He uses a huge chunk of his endorsement money to fund the charity.”
“Go for the Bronze,” Stash said, rolling his eyes.
Regina giggled and nudged him in the side.
“And my dad is donating a bunch of basketball equipment,” Harper said. “That’s what we’re dealing with today.”
“Okay.” Oliver winced. He could be such a dick sometimes. “That’s, like, legitimately awesome, Stash. If you need any more help, let me know.”
“Me, too,” Elena added. “Maybe Chestnut’s can donate some stuff.”
“I know Prince’s definitely can,” Oliver said. Elena Chestnut would not one-up him on this. “Just let us know how we can help.” Then he asked Regina, “And how’s the game going?” He shrugged, hoping to give the appearance that he couldn’t care less how things were playing out, like it didn’t matter to him at all that he had been banished from monitoring his creation.
Regina shook her head. “I’m not getting in the middle of this. Mom and Dad put me in charge, and I’ve got it. I can handle it. Your part was done anyway. I’m just placing Stashes and coming up with questions.” She nodded toward Stan Stashiuk. “Your job now is to get your grades up.”
Oliver clasped his hands together. He would’ve gotten down on his knees if he weren’t in the middle of a coffee shop. “Just keep me in the loop. Please.”
She shook her head. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I am trying to stay on Mom’s good side. I’m the angel for once.” She grinned, sticking a finger in her dimple. “And you, buddy, here’s the perfect chance to expand your horizons, make some new friends.” She nodded to Harper and Stash. “Let’s give these two some room.”
The three of them left for Harper’s house, while Oliver remained in Santabucks with Elena Chestnut and a bunch of dead monarchs.
Elena pointed again to the index card. “Romulus,” she said. “Do you want me to spell it?”
“Bite me,” he said.
She leaned back in her chair and tied her hair back up in that bun. “Oh no, no, no, my friend. Your entire existence, Oliver Prince, rests in my hands.” She nodded toward the table. “I think, from now on, you’ll do as I say.”
Chapter Four
“Are you going to buy anything, Craig?” Elena shouted as he opened the door to leave Chestnut’s.
Craig turned around, phone in hand, the infernal Stash Grab music blasting from his headphones. He pulled out his earbuds to speak to Elena. “Uh…I’ll be back,” he said.
“Sure you will,” Elena shouted from behind the cash register. “Sure, you’ll be back. Once this stupid game is over.” She hurled a foam football from the impulse buy bin on the counter. Craig escaped through the front door before it could hit him.
This had been happening all day. Some evil, sadistic member of the Prince family—that jerk Oliver, no doubt, angry at her for making him learn things—had put a Stash inside Chestnut’s, right next to their ski display. People had been filing into the store in a near-constant stream, pretending to shop while really waiting for the Stash to reappear. Mayor Sandoval had come in, and Marley Ho and Danny Garland and Star Lyons. Harper and Ms. White had stopped by. Ms. White had bought a tube of lip balm, at least. A sixty-five-cent thing of lip balm. That was the only sale Elena had made all day.
And, to add insult to injury, she actually knew the answer to the dumb question in her store: What was the middle name of Stan Stashiuk’s great-grandfather, Steven? The answer was “Gregory,” same name as Stash’s dog. She knew that because her grandmother, before she died, used to run a pet grooming service out of her house. Stan Stashiuk had been one of her customers. It was like the game itself was taunting her—You should be playing, Elena. You could be winning.
When the question popped up again an hour later, she was not alone in the store. Dinesh was there, pretending to examine the ski boots. So were a few kids from school—freshmen—and a couple other locals. Frank, who owned Santa’s Workshop, the hardware store, didn’t even pretend like he was doing anything but hunting Stashes. He just stood in a corner, in his overalls and red and green plaid flannel, watching his phone. Dolores Page, the sweet old lady who washed linens for the church, hovered near Elena at the counter.
“Are you playing, Dolores?” Elena asked.
“You betcha,” said Dolores, eyes down on her phone.
“You have a smartphone?” Elena tried to remember which birthday the town had recently celebrated for Dolores. Was it eighty or eighty-one?
With a withering air, Dolores glanced up at Elena. “Of course I own a smartphone.”
“It’s here!” shouted Dinesh.
Everyone in the store opened their apps and tried frantically to catch the Stash. Frank got it right away and ducked quickly out of Chestnut’s. Dolores was only a few seconds behind him. Dinesh, a few beats after her.
The freshmen stared at their phones, dumbfounded, the poor babies. “You don’t know the answer?” Elena asked.
“No,” said one of them, a girl. Probably one of the Joyce kids, Elena thought, because the girl was wearing one of the moth-ridden Christmas sweaters the family sported all winter long—from November until deep into March. “Do you know it?”
Elena hesitated. What was it to her if she gave away the answer? She wasn’t playing. Plus, it could be a good marketing strategy—community outreach to make people feel more loyal toward her store. Come to Chestnut’s! They’re nice there and they’ll give you Stash Grab answers.
“It’s Gregory,” she said, seeking nothing in return. This was her good deed for the day.
“Cool!” said the Joyce girl, before she and the rest of the kids stormed toward the exit.
“Where are you going?” Elena shouted.
“This Stash won’t be back for an hour at least,” the Joyce girl said. “We’re off to find others.” They dashed across the street, nearly getting taken out by Sam Anderson’s rusted-out pickup truck.
“Ingrates,” Elena mumbled.
It was January, close to ten below with the wind chill, but Main Street was crawling with North Pole townies. They were everywhere—standing in front of fire hydrants, hovering in stairwells, checking out gangways. There were more people on the street today than on any gorgeous day in summer. Craig Cooper high-fived Dottie, the girl with the bright red hair who worked in the bakery. Kevin Snow gave Dinesh a noogie on his head. People hurried up and down the street with hot chocolate and apple cider sloshing onto their mittens. They were having fun. They were acting like a community.
And Elena was stuck inside this empty store with one virtual Stan Stashiuk. She was Sisyphus, or some other Greek sad-sack, being punished for a crime she didn’t remember committing. She was the butt of a joke. She glanced across the street to Prince’s. This wasn’t a coincidence. There was no way it was an accident. Someone—she was pretty sure she knew who—had put one of the most valuable Stashes inside her parents’ store. This had been done on purpose. This
was done to rub it in—sending people into the store all day long with no intention of buying anything. A deep hatred filled her blood. It pumped through her veins. This feeling, this was how one stupid feud could last for five decades.
She plopped down on the stool behind the counter and searched for the app on her phone. There it was, ready to be downloaded. What if she just joined, started playing the game like everyone else? It was stupid for her to be sitting here, right next to one of the more valuable Stashes, letting everyone pass her by. She could actually win this thing. She could get the plane tickets. If she coupled those with the money she was making from tutoring, she might actually be able to go on spring break with Harper this year.
And, on top of all that, it’d be sweet, sweet vengeance if she, a Chestnut, were the one to win a contest sponsored by Prince’s Sporting Goods. Trip and Oliver would crap themselves.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she downloaded the game and created a profile for herself. She was now “proud_hoser,” her avatar looked like Harper, and she was down at the bottom of the leader board with a whopping zero points.
But not for long. She clicked on the name at the top of the list—StashIsMyCopilot—and composed a message, a heckle. “You’re going down, my friend. You have no idea.”
…
Oliver lay on his bed and held an index card up to the ceiling. “Tarquinius Superbus. His name means Tarquin the Proud. He tossed his father-in-law, King Servius Tullius, down the steps of the senate-house. His wife, Tullia, drove over her father’s body with her carriage.”
He turned the card over and read the rest of the information. Then he held the card to his forehead, like he was trying to learn the facts by osmosis. “And he refused to bury his father-in-law. His son assaulted a woman, causing an uprising and the end of the monarchy. That was in 509 BC, which marked the start of the Roman republic.”
There was a knock on his door. “Come in!” he said.
Regina entered and perched on Oliver’s desk chair. The desk itself was almost empty now, since his parents had taken away his computer, laptop, and tablet. His phone was his only connection to the outside world. And even if he’d wanted to use that to make changes on the Stash Grab game, he couldn’t. His dad and sister had changed all the passwords. He was a prisoner in his own house.
Any Boy but You (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 4
