“Jagger didn’t just follow the story,” I moan. “He applied—”
“And had no idea they’d choose him. He’s like that chick in the American history book. Nellie Something. The reporter who got herself committed to the insane asylum just so she could write about it.”
“I can’t believe you’re comparing Jagger to Nellie Bly.”
“Getting into MP was as much of a long shot as pretending to be crazy. As much of a long shot as airing the footage will be.” Raul’s face creases with worry. “One that could lead to a whole lot of trouble with nothing to show.”
“But it’s my choice, isn’t it? You’d go to the cops with Marci if I back down.”
“Back away, Val, not down. There’s a difference.”
Moment of truth. Whatever I choose changes lives. Good or bad, I’ll never be able to say I didn’t know what I was doing. Because if there’s one thing I learned over the last few weeks, watching tubes and machines keep Jagger alive, is that there are consequences to every choice we make.
* * *
Even though I know I should wait for Omar to boost the sound, I can’t help going to the outlaw corner during lunch. It’s a carbon copy of the last time, although the weather is colder. Kids hunch against the wall, each in their own world. The haters not only hate the rest of the school; they hate each other, too.
I’m in luck. Liam’s there, hand cupped around the smoke he’s trying to light. Without looking at anyone, I make my way to the wall. Take a spot close—but not too close—to him. I get a couple of sideways glances, but nobody says anything. I desperately want Liam to talk—I want to talk to him—but can’t figure out what to say. I can’t confront him without proof.
I never heard him speak. Last time, all he did was give Jagger the finger. I’m not sure how they know each other. Maybe he’s a skater. Along with outlaw, hacker, hater, skater, should double agent be added to the list?
Liam says something so softly I almost don’t realize he’s speaking to me. “You’re Voorham’s girlfriend, right?”
“No—well, yeah. I mean I was.”
“He okay?”
“Not really.” I lower my voice. “Do you know anything about it? What happened in Red Hook? Please tell me. I’ll keep it quiet….”
For several moments, Liam does nothing except finish his smoke. I don’t say another word. Don’t want to blow it….
He drops the butt at the same time the bell rings. All around us, kids reluctantly start to move. I grab Liam’s arm. “Wait—”
“Check your tape,” he whispers. “You got more than you think you do.”
“What does that mean?”
He shakes his head, pulls away. How does Liam know Jagger shot the initiation? Unless he’s the double agent. The hacker. If he’s good enough to change a computer’s IP address, who knows what else he can do?
Yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.
Seamus Heaney
MP LOG
I zoned out listening to the usual boring crap on Campus News until I heard someone say, “Right, Skeletor?” I glanced up. The TV screen was all black with two words stenciled across it: Listen carefully.
For the first few seconds, I was confused. I heard the others talking but still didn’t see anything. That’s when it hit. The initiation! I looked down quick so no one could see my face. My mind was whirling. I was trying to figure out what was going on and then I realized someone used their cell to record what happened in Red Hook.
Somebody in MP sold us out. Again. Phantom didn’t know anything about the second initiation so another person is to blame. Someone told that news bitch a few details about the initiation—but not everything. Because if they told her everything, MP would’ve been shut down by now.
Just as I was thinking that, she came on the screen and in her fake reporter tone said, “If you recognize any of these voices, leave a note in the Campus News box in the office or talk to me, Valerie Gaines.”
That meant I was right. She couldn’t name names. At least not now. That was good, but I wasn’t sure how long it would last. I snuck a look around, but no one was staring at me. Yet.
My blood boiled as I remembered the oath and how we promised to keep quiet. I’m pretty sure I know who the traitor is.
If I’m right, I can kill two birds with one stone.
31
At the end of the day, Raul waits by my locker. “Carleton’s looking for you.” I’d ducked out of class as soon as the broadcast began. “You have to talk to him sometime, Val.”
“I just want a couple days. The same time Marci’s giving me. Then I’ll confess.”
I twirl the combo and pull the door. A piece of paper, folded in half, sits on the top shelf.
Stay tuned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
Raul crumples the note in disgust. “Just the usual controlling MP crap. But I’ll walk you home in case it’s something more.”
Outside, the sky is what everyone calls 9/11 blue. Cloudless, sunny, crisp; the afternoon is more September than December. The year’s first major snowstorm is scheduled to blow in by sunset, though, so it’ll get cold soon enough.
“I hate this, Raul. Waiting for their next move.”
As if in answer, my cell vibrates. Raul’s does, too. He gets to his first.
“Omar got that section with the whispering kid boosted.” Eagerly, he holds up his phone, presses Play. “Let’s hope it’s Liam!”
The instant it plays, it’s obvious that it’s not. Raul’s face colors with frustration.
“It’s clearer,” he says, “but I don’t know who it is.”
It’s funny. He doesn’t ask if I can identify the voice. He must figure I’d say something if I do. The shock of recognition is so strong I’m literally stunned into silence.
At my side, Raul babbles on. “…hospital and ask Mrs. Voorham to listen. What do you think, Val? Maybe she’ll know who it is.”
“Um, sure. Okay. But you’ll have to go by yourself. I want to stay home in case ‘stay tuned’ means MP is planning to contact me there.”
“Let me know if they do.” Raul waves his phone. “This didn’t work out the way we thought, but we’re close. Something’s going to break. I can feel it!”
He waits until I unlock the front door before hustling down the street.
The house is quiet. Taking the steps two at a time, I burst into the bedroom. Bethany’s not home yet. Quickly, I check email. Nothing from MP, although Omar sent the audio in a file so I could listen at home.
With pounding heart, I press Play in the dim hope that from the computer’s speaker, it will sound different. Be different.
It’s done. Can we get him down—
The voice hasn’t changed because the person’s the same. Bethany Ann Gaines.
My world spins crazily, a kaleidoscope of confusion. My own sister’s a member of MP? It doesn’t make sense. She wouldn’t leave Jagger in the warehouse. She couldn’t. She’s in love with him. Sinking onto her bed, I take a couple of deep breaths. Try to think it through step by step.
As much as I fight it, the logic is undeniable. The secret emails that came from this very computer. It wasn’t some sort of genius hacker trick; it was Bethie, sending them to me when I wasn’t home.
Making me go to Promenade Park first and then leaving notes all over the Heights. She had to do that so she’d get home before I did.
>
I also figure out how she changed her voice to make me think the double agent was a guy. It wasn’t a phone app. Grandma bought the twins a microphone toy last year. It shifts tones higher or lower. The boys played with it for weeks until they got bored. Left it lying in the toy chest….
A fury unlike anything I’ve ever felt runs through me. I wham Bethany’s pillow against the mattress. Over and over and over again. It isn’t until a piece of paper falls out of the cotton pillowcase that I stop. My combo! She freaking stole it from my backpack! That’s how MP got into the locker to hang the bird.
I’ve been such a fool. Blind to everything. She’s the double agent, not Liam. But what I can’t figure out is why she didn’t tell me straight up when she wanted to get out of MP. It’s not like we’re the closest of sisters. Still—we are sisters. Why go through all the double agent B.S.?
The answer hits seconds later. Bethany’s terrified. Afraid of what’ll happen to her if Taneisha talks. If MP gets caught. If Campus News breaks the story. She got in over her head and then couldn’t find a way out without owning up to what she did.
The plan for Jagger’s initiation freaked her out. She kept giving me clues, hints—hoping, praying I’d talk him out of joining. She didn’t actually want me to find out she’s in the group because she’s as guilty as the rest of them. What she hoped was that the initiation would end before it began.
An all-too-familiar feeling of guilt hits. Big Sister couldn’t do the one thing Little Sis asked.
Something else occurs to me. I move to the computer. To my dismay, this last piece of evidence proves it once and for all. The footage Raul and I downloaded from Jagger’s camera is gone. There’s only one explanation. As soon as Bethany saw it on Campus News today, she snuck home and deleted it. Perhaps she hoped it was the only copy. If it’s gone, we can’t do what we said—play another section during the next broadcast. But Bethany has no idea I did it without telling Carleton. That I might never be able to show anything again—because as of Monday, there’s a good chance I’m off the team.
Somewhere in the house, something creaks.
“Bethany?” I scoot across the floor and step into the hall. Complete silence. “Bethany! Are you home?”
No answer. I clatter down the steps. Her coat’s not hanging in the entranceway. I check the kitchen, although I’m pretty sure she’s not there. I’d hear the fridge opening, milk being poured, the crinkling of the cookie package. My sister isn’t in the living room, either.
I could have imagined the sound. Or the top-floor renter moved a piece of furniture. As soon as I’m back in the bedroom, I look around. What am I missing? Nothing’s out of place. Nothing’s gone. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. Bethany really should be home by now.
My gaze focuses on the corner. The closet! Perhaps that’s where the noise came from. Is someone inside? Waiting to spring out…?
With pounding heart, I tiptoe across the room, jerk the doorknob. No one’s there.
My cell rings.
“Bethany! Where are you—”
“Maritime Park,” she whispers. “Come right now. Alone. No cameras. No tape recorder. Don’t tell anyone or I’m screwed.”
“Wait. What’s—” The only sound that comes from the phone is the hum that signals a broken connection. I call her back. Text twice. No response.
Oh, man. I never want to set foot in that park again. The garden, the flagpole, the benches next to the river. Just thinking about it makes my hand shake. Why does she want to meet there? Unless Bethany has proof that outs the rest of MP—and gets her off the hook.
My stomach tightens as I check the time. Not yet four o’clock. If I hurry, I might be able to get there before both the early December nightfall, and the promised snowstorm, arrive.
That hope is soon dashed. Standing impatiently inside the glass bus shelter, staring mindlessly at perfume and clothing advertisements, I text Bethie: Waiting for the bus. Be there as soon as I can.
No response. Why doesn’t she get back to me?
Ten minutes later, I get a text, but it’s from Raul: Important. Have to talk.
I shove the cell into my backpack as the bus finally pulls up. I can’t tell Raul what I’m doing because I’m not about to sell out my sister. Not without talking to her first.
By the time I get to Coffey Street, thick clouds cover the dying rays of the sun. Yet again, I find myself making a nightmare run. Only this time, it’s toward the park. Just as I reach the flagpole, my cell buzzes. Bethany must be someplace she can spot me, although I don’t see any sign of her.
Wrong. It’s not my sister but Raul. Ignoring the call, I shout, “Bethany? Are you here?”
Like a scene in one of those end-of-the-world movies, the park is eerily empty. The first snowflakes, drifting from gray clouds, look as forlorn as I feel.
A clanging sound atop the flagpole gets my attention. Please, no! With a mounting sense of dread, I glance up. Let out a breath. No one’s painted a message on underwear; nobody hangs from a rope.
A flash of movement. A trio spills out of the garden. My heart lurches. All three wear Halloween masks. Frankenstein. A zombie. The Ghost Face from Scream. None of them is Bethany. I’d recognize her coat, her shoes…her whole being.
“Where’s my sister?”
The answer is a laugh.
“Where the hell is Bethany?” A rough push is the response. “What did you do to her?”
“Start walking,” commands the voice behind the Frankenstein mask.
He attempts to shove me past the flagpole, but I grab the back of a bench. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where Bethany is.”
“Shut up, bitch! We’re taking you to her.”
With no real choice, I release the bench and allow them to guide me past the grassy area. The lights of the Verrazano Bridge are directly ahead of us. We’re heading west. Not that I know if that’s important, but the knowledge is something I can cling to.
“Who are you? Where are we going?” The questions are automatic. Nervous instinct. I don’t expect an answer—nor do I get one.
The hill begins to slope downward—straight for the waters of New York Harbor. Red Hook is the spot where the ocean mixes with the East River. Dangerous currents. Deep eddies.
To my left, a hulking building looms. Another abandoned warehouse. No way do I want to be forced into that building—but how do I know Bethany isn’t there? That they haven’t done something terrible to her?
My knees buckle at the thought of my sister hanging from a rope.
“Watch it, clumsy,” Ghost Face says.
A few steps farther and it becomes clear that the building isn’t where we’re headed. Instead, I’m pushed toward the fence separating the warehouse from the edge of the water. It’s supposed to stop people from getting to the river. Problem is, the chain link is no more than shoulder high.
“Climb,” the kid wearing the zombie mask tells me.
Are they planning to throw me into the river? In December? No one would last more than a few minutes.
“And if I don’t?”
My answer is a finger point. Through a thin curtain of snowflakes, and the dimming of light as dusk descends, I can make out an old dock. At the far end, broken-off posts, like sharpened daggers, rise from the water. Two people wait. One is my sister. Even at a distance, her slightly hunched silhouette is unmistakable. I have no idea who’s with her; he’s too far away for me to
recognize.
Silently, the three MP members and I climb the fence. Scramble across a rocky barrier. The uneven stones, slick with a glazing of snow, make getting to the dock hard.
The wooden wharf creaks as soon as the group steps onto its weather-beaten boards. A terrifying vision flashes before me: the entire dock collapses and everyone ends up in the water. In the dark. During a storm.
About halfway down, we stop. The guy standing next to Bethany wears a skeleton death mask. A flash of blue hoodie peeks out from underneath his jacket. Skeletor. The kid at Omar’s party who gave me the finger. Probably the dude who set the fire—
“Move it, News Girl!” he yells.
Frankenstein shoves me. “You heard him.”
“You do everything he says?”
“Yeah. If you’re smart, you will, too.”
He pushes me once more. Carefully, I move forward, stepping across cracks and holes in the old wooden planks. At the end of the dock, Bethany shivers like crazy. That’s not surprising since the wind picks up speed as it crosses the harbor. It’s at least ten degrees colder here than on land.
I also can’t discount the fact that she’s terrified.
“Bethie, are you all right?” No response. “Bethany! Say something.”
“Shut up!” Skeletor yells.
He’s obviously talking to me because my sister hasn’t said a word. I stop moving and give him what I pray is a steady, I’m not afraid of you stare. “How about we get to why I’m here so we can go home? It’s freezing.”
The guy takes his time. “How many copies of the tape did you make?”
“Excuse me?”
“The tape your sister shot. The one you played at school.”
“She didn’t shoot it.” Confused, I stare at Bethie. “Why would you say…”
The group bristles. Everyone starts talking at once. Skeletor yells, “Zip it!”
Circle of Silence Page 22
