“What?” She snickered, looking back at him incredulously as she stood between the rows of desks. She hadn’t meant to laugh, but she didn’t miss answers on her homework. She always made hundreds.
“See me after class.” He nodded, turning and directing the students to the new lesson. Now there weren’t any chairs moving or desks squeaking. She’d been asked to stay after class. Because she’d missed a problem on her homework?
She’d missed a problem on her homework? One that she’d obviously known how to do? That was a mistake. It had to be. Math was her—thing. She’d always been a strong math student. She’d been a professional accountant for God’s sake. She reeled over the missed problem until class ended, and she suddenly wished everyone would stay in the room.
The last girl left, leaving the classroom large and empty feeling as George remained seated at her desk and messed with the papers in her notebook.
“It’s okay, come on up here.” Her professor smiled kindly, sitting at his large oak desk in the front corner of the classroom.
Why in the hell was she so scared? She rolled her eyes at herself as she stood up and stumbled towards his desk. She’d faced some of the most hostile people in the world and had barely escaped with her life on many occasions. She’d even been shot once. How come she could barely make her legs carry her to his desk?
“You showed your work, it was all correct, and then you wrote down the wrong answer,” Dr. Thomas said, looking at the notebook page.
George snatched it out of his hands and studied it herself. This wasn’t right. There was a mistake. How could she have written down the wrong answer?
“I,” she began, shaking her head as she looked at her homework carefully. “This… it’s just human error. I mean, you saw that I know how to do it. I showed you, on the board.”
“Calm down, Jane,” he said, holding up his hand as he stood out of his chair.
She instinctively stepped backwards. “No, but, this doesn’t count, right? What matters is that I showed my work and I know how to calculate the correct answer. Right?”
Why was she getting so worked up about this? It was just one stinking problem. And fake high school for her.
He exhaled as he scratched his head and looked at the hardwood floor. She was right, and he was entirely against this new policy the faculty and administration had established over the weekend. He never really supported many things they passed in those meetings anyway, but he always operated as they told him. After keeping closer tabs on each student’s grades, the faculty was also required to get more involved in their lives after class ended. This included any and all extracurricular activities, but Dr. Thomas already attended almost every home sporting event to support his kids. He really did love his job.
Back to Jane. She had fallen short of her one hundred average, even though it wasn’t fair to punish kids for slightly straying from perfection.
Then she looked up at him with helpless, big blue eyes. God, he couldn’t stand it.
“All right,” he sighed, sitting back down in his chair. “You’re new, so you’re off the hook, again.”
George relaxed a little bit but still frowned over at him. “But this is the first time I messed up on my homework.”
“And it’s going to be the last,” he said, turning to a stack of papers. “I was talking about your phone call in your skull and cross bone pajamas.”
Her mouth dropped open as she thought back to Saturday. That was him? She quickly shook her head and tried to smile.
“No more screw ups, sir. I promise.”
“Good,” he nodded. “Go on back to your dorm. No phones and no missed problems tonight. I know it’s not fair, but you’ve made hundreds up to this point and the powers that be insist you don’t score any lower from now on.”
“Yes, sir!” she called, running out of the room as quickly as she could.
He sat at his desk momentarily, wondering why he was so intrigued by her, then stood up and went to the large-paned windows on the south side of the room. Maybe it was those big blue eyes that looked packed with secrets. Maybe it was the fact that she so ardently defended her point. He watched her bound out of the arched arcade between buildings, glance right and left, then make a b-line for the south corner of campus. Penway Pond. He shook his head and turned away, then turned back. He couldn’t help but be curious. No one went over there anymore. Penway Pond was where Ross Quinton had been found at the beginning of the school year, face down and dead.
* * *
Conrad Thomas was a second year medical student when he enlisted as an army medic and went to Iraq. It only took a year for him to realize that he was not cut out for that sort of business, and promptly returned to the US to pursue a doctorate in Applied Mathematics. Before medical school he’d gotten a Master’s Degree in Finance, thinking that maybe he could be a Wall Street wizard. That didn’t pan out, either. He finally settled on teaching.
He loved enlightening the young minds of the future, sure, but teaching also allowed him plenty of time to write. He’d written one successful book about a young fictional doctor and the horrors of war in foreign countries and on the home front. His publisher gave him a two-book deal, so the pressure to produce something even better than the first was on. He was playing with the idea of writing about a junior in high school who died of an overdose and the repercussions that followed, but it wasn’t as interesting as he’d wanted it to be. And the administration was very tight-lipped about the incident. Most faculty members barely had any details about the death of Ross Quinton.
Observation was one of the greatest foundations for good writing, so he’d taken to storing binoculars near every window of his on-campus house as well as in his classroom. As a result of so much spying, he’d also learned how to read lips. Of course, he didn’t think of it as spying because the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt anyone around him, but his sister had clarified many times to him the difference between observing and spying.
He adjusted the binoculars as Jane George came into focus by the pond. This was unquestionably spying.
James Clancy walked into his line of sight, and he saw the pair talking underneath the shade of a tree. This couldn’t be good. James was one of Ross Quinton’s friends and the two of them always seemed to be getting themselves and everyone around them into trouble. What was Jane doing talking to him? He wanted to go out and stop them, but he decided to wait it out. If anything, it was good material.
“This place sucks,” George sighed, glancing up at James and handing him the slip of paper he’d given her earlier. “I had to stay late in math class for missing one problem on my homework. One fucking problem.”
“It doesn’t have to be all bad,” he sighed, leaning against the tree.
“So how can you make it more—pleasant?”
He glanced behind him at the large school buildings across the field, then at the sun reflecting off of the pond. “How about a nickel bag?”
“It’ll get me through the weekend,” she sighed, handing him a crumpled bill and taking the bag, squinting in the sunlight around her and making sure no one was around. Everyone was preoccupied with their after school activities, so she was safe. She opened the little baggie and took a big whiff.
He pulled out a lighter, but she shook her head.
“Not here.”
“Don’t you want to try it?” he asked, looking at her suspiciously as he glanced over his shoulder again.
“I’ve still got leftovers from my guy in Texas.” She smirked, patting his arm like his weed was pathetic. “But if I like what you gave me, I’ll buy again. Smells a little grassy, I have to tell ya.”
“Yeah, it’s marijuana.”
Wow, if she had been wired this kid would have been toast. She rolled her eyes. It did smell grassy, which meant it had been harvested too early. It should have smelled like a pine tree or skunky, but not grassy. Someone either didn’t know what they were doing or they were just trying to punk the kid. She figu
red it was the latter since he seemed a little dense.
“Whatever. It’s fine.” She smiled.
“Okay. See ya, new kid,” James nodded, turning to leave.
“Wait,” George said, stepping forward. “How do I call you if I run out before Sunday?”
James exhaled loudly and looked down at her. “Call your guy in Texas.”
“Come on.”
“No cell phones.” He shrugged.
“Come on,” she mumbled, leaning forward and holding his arm.
He pressed his lips together in thought, not sure if he could trust her, then sighed and took a pen out. He scribbled his number on the slip of paper and gave it back to her.
“Emergencies only,” he said, turning and leaving quickly.
She swiftly memorized the number, then started strolling back to her dorm. As she walked, she carefully shook most of the contents of the bag out into the grass, watching the whole way to make sure no one saw. Then she dumped the slip of paper with the number into the trash and headed back to her dorm.
* * *
“Contact,” she huffed, leaning over on her knees and catching her breath.
“Have you been running?” Nelson asked, obviously on speaker in her office.
“Yeah,” George panted, grabbing the leg of her pajama pants as she leaned against the administration building. No one would be out there at this late hour on a Monday night.
“Who did you make contact with?”
“Kid named James Clancy. He… he was associated with the dead kid.”
“What’d he have?”
“Nothing but marijuana, but he has to get to know me before we move on to the harder stuff. I sent a package to the lab with a small sample of what I bought off of him. It’s marked to Georgetown Admissions, wait.”
She held the phone to her chest and stood up straight, completely silent. She heard the rustling around the corner of the building again.
“Call you tomorrow,” she quickly said, clicking the phone shut and sprinting for her dorm. She thought that maybe she’d seen a figure on the opposite side of the building, but she ran for it anyway. She circled the dorm once to confuse whoever was following her, if they really were following her, then dove through her open window into the dark room and sat still on her bed.
She really wished she could make all of her calls from the safety of her room, but of course she didn’t get any bars in there. She’d have to find a better way to communicate with Nelson. And she’d have to ask around about James Clancy and the dead kid. She’d only gotten bits and pieces so far.
* * *
“You three look more exhausted than I do,” George said at breakfast the following day.
Robbie, Kim, and Ashton melted into their seats and slowly ate.
“We’re on the United Nations Youth Council,” Ashton sighed. “It means that when we aren’t doing homework, we’re linked up to other kids in other countries on the web cam.”
“Really?” she asked. That sounded a lot better than the World Affairs Council she had been on in her own high school. They met once a month and talked about Africa. Every time.
“Yeah, we’re supposed to debate world issues and stuff.” Kim yawned.
“And now that it’s October we have to go to New York City every weekend,” Robbie said, rubbing her eyes.
“Sounds serious,” George replied.
“It’s way serious.” Ashton nodded. “We have debates and negotiate treaty terms. It’s all really to help us with jobs after college. But damn. It’s exhausting.”
“I can tell,” George agreed. “So, I guess we won’t be hanging out much then.”
“Not until after Thanksgiving and we take our final exams.”
George nodded as she cursed herself in her head. Had she just wasted two weeks making friends with these girls for nothing? Would she even be able to link them or their friends to Clancy? They were going to be totally preoccupied all of the time now. She had to at least get something out of them.
“So,” she said, trying to act detached from the subject. “I heard a rumor yesterday.”
They all kind of perked up a little. Gossip always seemed to change the mood. It was like crack to a teenage girl.
“I heard,” she said, leaning in, “that some kid like, died here this year.”
The three girls nodded furiously as they quickly glanced over their shoulders and leaned in.
“Yeah,” Kim whispered, gripping her orange juice bottle, no yellowy tint to her fingers. “A junior, Ross Quinton, died a few weeks before you got here. We’re forbidden to talk about it.”
“I heard he drowned in the pond,” Robbie muttered.
“I heard it was suicide.” Ashton nodded.
That was a little strange. The administration had taken absolutely no measures to warn or even try and educate the kids about illicit controlled substances. She was amazed that they’d even managed to cover up the cause of death. She returned her attention to the girls.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.” Kim sighed.
“Hello, ladies.”
“Hi, Dr. Davis.” They all smiled and greeted him in unison, briefly sitting up a little straighter. The brown-haired professor walked past in his typical dark suit and they all huddled in again.
“Ross’s parents are trying to sue the school, last I heard,” Robbie whispered, chewing on a piece of bacon.
“For what?” Kim asked.
“Money.”
“No kidding.” Kim smirked. “I mean, what’s their basis? What’s the argument?”
“Wrongful death.” George sighed, placing her banana peel on her tray and wanting to just reach over and grab Robbie’s crispy bacon.
The girls all looked over at her skeptically, but their eyes were immediately averted to the person whose voice boomed from behind George.
“Good morning, ladies.”
“Hi, Dr. Thomas!” they blurted, in more of a scream than a genuine greeting.
George wondered if Director Nelson could get her hands on this alleged lawsuit and then maybe they could find out more about who Ross Quinton was associated with. She’d have to call and see during business hours so that Nelson could get an insider working at the courthouse to help them. She looked back up at the girls to ask another question, but they were still ogling the professor as he walked by with his shaggy hair and loosened neck tie.
“Well, I guess I’ll see ya’ll when you aren’t busy with the UN stuff,” George said, standing up as they completely ignored her. She swore that Ashton was actually salivating. “Uh, good luck.”
“Yeah,” they all mumbled, minds in an entirely different realm.
She made it until lunch, but had to get that call into Nelson before her afternoon classes began. She stood behind the custodial building, lit a cigarette, and dialed the number.
“That’s great, I’ll get someone on it,” Nelson said, after hearing about the lawsuit. “I checked this Clancy kid out. He’s been busted for possession but nothing really beyond that. His parents seemed to have gotten him out of a few more situations that I’m having trouble accessing.”
“Let’s just focus on known associates of the Quinton kid, then,” George said, exhaling a stream of smoke. “That lawsuit will have to be our backup after I crack James Clancy.”
“Do you have any clue as to how you’re going to do that?”
“I’m not going to do anything illegal in the eyes of Virginian authorities, if that’s what you mean.” George huffed, stuffing the cigarette into the brick wall.
“He’s not your type, I know,” Nelson chuckled.
George rolled her eyes and grinned. She was enjoying the way their relationship was turning. It was like Nelson was her handler again, not her stressed out, over-worked boss.
“Type this.” She sighed.
“Right, right. Just get your job done.”
“Got it.”
* * *
Dr. Thomas was beginning to realize that Jane Georg
e was not quite like the other girls at the school. He was acutely aware that every time he walked past them, whether it was one girl or twenty, they would stare unabashedly and whisper blatantly. In all five of his classes, the guys leaned over their notes or stared out of the window. The girls, however, spent the majority of the hour either staring at him or trying to come up with questions so that he would talk to them. He didn’t mind in the least. As long as everyone was learning, they could act however they wanted.
And then there was Jane. She never stared at him. She hardly even looked at him. She was quiet and focused, seeming to be truly absorbed in her schoolwork. She just didn’t seem like the type to be hanging out with James Clancy’s crowd. He’d seen her exchange something with him by the pond, only to later dump out whatever she’d bought on her way home. He’d spotted her running in those black pajamas to the administration building the night before, but by the time he’d run up around the corner she’d taken off again. He tried approaching her table at breakfast, but her friends all stared at him, but she hardly noticed his presence at all, staring thoughtfully out of the window.
Then, as he was walking towards his office he saw her little red pea coat clandestinely snaking through the buildings, and decided to follow her. He’d just made it around the opposite side of the custodial structure to hear something about not doing anything illegal and typing something. He was trying to piece it together when she rounded the corner and practically knocked the papers out of his hands.
“Oh!” she jumped, scaring herself more than him. What in the hell was he doing there?
He raised a brow, reached down, and grabbed her cell phone. “Jane.”
“But,” she began, looking like she had a million things to say. “I need that.”
“Use the phone in the social room,” he said, putting his hand on her back and leading her back around the building.
She huffed as she conceded, knowing that she had yet to receive any more phones from Nelson and would have no communication until the others were shipped. How did Dr. Thomas always know where she was? He escorted her the entire way to her Political Science class, noted briefly that they would speak after his class, then left.
The Widow: Federal Hellions Book 1 Page 4
