Mira had been in the seat directly in front of me.
Jaq was in the table two rows up and one over.
Mark, Devan, and Hannah are also missing. Mark is out sick—we all saw him spew chunks in trig yesterday—and Devan spent all last week gloating about jetting off to Seattle to see his favorite band in concert this weekend. But Hannah had surprisingly dropped the class on Tuesday.
It’s the girls, I realize. Most of the empty seats are where girls sat on the first day of class. And now they’re gone.
Of the seven girls Mrs. K called in to tell us about the design scholarship, three of them are either out of the class permanently or have been removed for disciplinary reasons.
“No,” I gasp.
Jenna looks over at me. “What?”
“What?” I jerk back, realizing that I hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. “Oh, nothing. Just, um…” I wag my pencil. “Broke my lead.”
She shrugs and goes back to her shapes—today they’re stars. Star after star after star. No imagination.
I stare at the sketch filling my page. The empty seats where girls once sat. Where scholarship contenders once sat.
Could that really be why? Could the copycat incident not be about me at all, but about getting rid of the scholarship competition?
It seems ridiculously farfetched. Who would go to these lengths just to improve their chances to win a stupid prize? Farfetched, maybe, but it still makes more sense than someone targeting me specifically for whatever nonsense reason.
Okay, okay. I calm my thoughts. I have to think through this, work through the possibilities. Like a detective in a murder mystery, I have to consider the…suspects.
There are four girls left in the class.
Me. I obviously didn’t do it. Besides the fact that, well, I know I didn’t, I would have taken myself out of the running by pulling the copycat—or, in that case, repeat—Incident.
There’s Jenna. She’s weird, which is saying a lot at an art school, but she had a near meltdown last Thursday when her sketchbook turned up missing. I can’t be certain that’s part of the whole conspiracy—oh God, am I actually considering this possibility?—but she said it included a lot of the sketches she was going to submit for the competition. So I’ll mark that down as a yes for victim.
There’s Liza. Her computer got some kind of terrible virus and her entire portfolio was destroyed. Definite victim.
There’s Aimeigh. She… I struggle to think of anything bad that’s happened to her. Any design-related sabotage or trouble. Nothing. Of all the girls in Mrs. K’s class, only Aimeigh has been untouched by the bad luck curse.
Only Aimeigh is poised to present her best work and be academically eligible to enter the competition.
Is that…? Is that possible?
“Sketchbooks away,” Mrs. K says, calling the room to order.
My suspicions will have to wait until after class.
When the bell rings, I take off. I’m across the hall and hiding behind the door to the empty ceramic arts classroom before Aimeigh can catch me.
I wait impatiently as the AGD room empties. Aimeigh walks out in a group of guys, looking around like she’s searching for me. I can’t face her, not until I at least bounce my crazy theory off someone else. I duck deeper behind the door.
They walk on, and I hope she’s given up on me.
Still, I wait. Jenna is always last. Always has something to talk with Mrs. K about.
Normally I mock her brown-nosery, but today it works to my advantage. Everyone is long gone, the hall all but empty by the time she emerges.
“Jenna, wait,” I whisper-shout, jumping out from behind the door.
She smacks a hand to her chest, like I just startled the hell out of her. Which I probably did.
“Sloane,” she says, her voice tight. “Yes?”
“Sorry,” I say, mostly meaning it. “Look, last week when you warned me about trusting Aimeigh. Why did you say that?”
She frowns. Studies me like she’s evaluating a test subject.
Jenna seems way more in tune with a science magnet program than an art school. I wonder how she ended up here, on this path.
Then again, people might wonder how I ended up here. With parents who are corporate types and a brother who is a certified math genius—seriously, he has a certificate—I might seem like an unlikely candidate. But considering I have a rebellious streak a mile wide…maybe it’s not so unlikely.
So I suppose stranger things have happened than a science geek ending up in an art school.
“Why are you asking?” Jenna replies.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have time for this, Jenna.”
“All right,” she says. “I warned you about Aimeigh because she has burned people before.”
“Like who?” I move closer, like I’m physically approaching an answer. “In what circumstances?”
“Lots of people. She stole Vivian’s American history assignment freshman year.” Jenna ticks off the offenses on her fingers. “Planted a stolen test on Edgar Ross in algebra last year. Gave Megan the wrong study guide when she was TA in intro to art history. Flushed an entire group project—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, stopping her because it seems like she’s never going to end. “God, why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Jenna shrugs. “I tried to warn you.”
In the vaguest way possible.
“How did she get away with all of those things?” I ask.
How could I have been so wrong about her? I thought Aimeigh was my friend. I trusted her, I confided in her, and she was playing me. It doesn’t say much for my people-reading skills.
But Tru trusted her, too. Tru believed in her. I’m not the only one who was blinded by her game.
“She never gets caught,” Jenna says. “Everyone knows she did it, but there’s never any proof.”
Until now. Aimeigh picked the wrong girl to take on this time. Never pick a fight with a New Yorker. We know how to fight back.
“Come with me.” I clamp a hand around Jenna’s wrist and pull her down the hall.
“Where are you going?” she demands. “I have an advisory meeting with Principal Haverford.”
“It can wait.”
“But I need his approval—”
“Seriously, Jenna, don’t you want to help me catch the person who stole your sketchbook?”
That silences her protests.
Thankfully the halls are mostly empty. Half of the student body is probably eating, either in the cafeteria or in some secret spot around campus. The rest are in study sessions or advisor meetings. No one is there to see me physically drag Jenna out to the picnic table where Tru is waiting for me.
Assault. Kidnapping. Forced socializing at lunchtime. That probably wouldn’t look good on my permanent record.
We come up on Tru from behind, so he doesn’t see who I have in tow.
“Hey, what took you so—” He sees Jenna dangling at the end of my arm. “Hey Jenna.” He flashes me a confused look.
“I don’t think Jenna is the one who set me up,” I say.
“What? Me? No,” Jenna argues immediately. “Of course not.”
I ignore her. “I think it’s Aimeigh.”
“You think it’s…” His question trails off, and I can see him sliding the puzzle pieces into place.
Tru has known her longer than me. How can he not know what she’s done? He must have seen things, heard things. He’s just too good-hearted to want to think something so terrible of his friend.
“You think what is Aimeigh?” Jenna asks.
“But why?” Tru asks. “Why would she do it?”
“To get me out of the way for the scholarship competition,” I explain. I nod at Jenna. “To get us all out of the way.”
“You think it’s Aimeigh what?” Jenna repeats, as if changing her emphasis will get her an answer.
Maybe it does.
“Who spread red plastic all over the front of th
e school. Got Jaq suspended. Set up Mira for cheating.”
Jenna stares at me blankly.
Clearly I’m going to have to explain it closer to home.
“She stole your sketchbook.”
Jenna gasps and her jaw drops open. “I knew it!”
Yeah, clearly.
Tru’s brows draw together in thought, and I can only imagine what he’s processing. Aimeigh is his friend—as much as Tru has friends—so it must be hard to suddenly be asked to doubt her.
“We couldn’t go to Haverford with a guess,” Tru says. “Even if Aimeigh is guilty, we’re going to need proof.”
“I know,” I say with a shrug. And thus endeth my plan.
How do you prove someone did something when there is no evidence? Clearly she’s covered her tracks well, or someone else would have suspected her before now. She would have been expelled instead of Tru or me.
“Any suggestions?” I ask our little group.
Tru shrugs. “You’re the evil mastermind,” he says. “You come up with all the plans.”
I’m not sure whether to kiss him or punch him in the arm, so I settle for neither. I slide onto the bench next to him, letting my arm press against his. He presses back. We’re in this together now. All the way.
“We could confront her,” Jenna suggests.
Tru and I exchange a glance.
I ask, “Do you really think she’ll confess?”
“She’s too clever for that,” Tru says.
“You’re probably right.” Jenna smiles awkwardly. “Too bad we couldn’t catch her in the act.”
Tru nods. “Too bad there’s no one left to sabotage.”
“Yeah,” I say, starting to agree. “No, wait. Actually there is.”
They both look at me. I point at myself.
“Right,” Tru says. “She didn’t actually take you out.”
“Or Jenna either,” I say. “We may have had setbacks, but we’re still contenders.”
We all fall silent, presumably trying to think up a way to use this information. Thoughts are spinning in my mind like Dylan’s dead goldfish in the toilet bowl. Suddenly, the thoughts lock into place, and I know what we need to do.
Like Tru said, I’m the evil mastermind. I come up with all the plans. And this one is going to knock Aimeigh’s socks off.
“I’ve got it,” I say. “I know how we’re going to catch Aimeigh in the act.”
“How’s that?” Tru asks.
I flash him a diabolical smile. “By giving her exactly what she wants.”
She’ll never see it coming.
Chapter Twenty
We have all the details hammered out and are ready to carry out our plan between third and fourth periods on Friday. Right before senior seminar. Aimeigh and I walk together from Building E as usual.
She’s too smart to miss anything really out of the ordinary. Between us, Tru, Jenna, and I have the timing all figured out.
As soon as I settle into my seat in senior seminar, I reach into my bag. I dig around for a couple of minutes. Put the bag on the table and search through everything.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
Jenna walks in, right on cue.
“What?” Aimeigh asks.
How had I missed the tone in her voice before? She sounds almost delighted at my distress. Now that my new-girl blinders are off, I’m seeing her in a whole new light. And it’s not an attractive one.
“My tablet,” I say. “It’s not in my bag.”
“Bummer,” Aimeigh says, doing a fair approximation of actual sympathy.
Jenna takes her seat at the head of the table, making a big show of getting out her notebook.
This class session is supposed to be our first official meeting about the senior project, so of course she would have a bunch of things ready to present.
“I don’t know where I could have left it. I haven’t used it all day.” I dig through my bag again, as if certain that I must just not be seeing it in there. “It has all my new work for the scholarship portfolio on it. I haven’t backed it up yet.”
A lie, of course. But hopefully just the kind of bait Aimeigh is looking for.
Jenna doesn’t look up from her supplies. “Is it the one with the Roy Lichtenstein cover?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say. “Have you seen it?”
She smiles absently. “I found it on the counter in Mr. Danziger’s room. I put it on the file cabinet next to the door.”
“Oh great,” I say, starting to push to my feet.
For a second I don’t think Aimeigh is going to bite. She’s going to let me get up and retrieve my not-really-forgotten tablet without a hitch.
For a split second I have doubts. What if I’m wrong? What if Aimeigh isn’t the culprit? What if—
“Hey, wait,” she says, grabbing my arm before I can move away from the table. “I left my seminar notebook in my locker. I can grab your tablet on my way back.”
I smile with relief, inside and out.
“Great,” I say. “Thanks.”
As soon as she’s out the door, I exchange a look with Jenna.
She pulls out her laptop and flips up the screen as I drop into the seat next to her. Her browser is open to the webcam feed that Tru set up. He’s monitoring it from the supply closet in the chemistry classroom.
Jenna and I watch the screen, waiting for Aimeigh to appear. When she does, I literally hold my breath. What if we’re wrong?
I have to admit, part of me wants to be wrong. The part of me that was grateful for the easy friendship she offered wants her to prove me wrong. Even if that means going back to square one in the hunt for the copycat vandal, it would be worth it to know that she really was my friend.
I stare at the screen, hoping she just grabs the tablet and brings it to me.
But she doesn’t.
Aimeigh snatches the tablet from the counter where Jenna placed it earlier. She turns her back to the door, shielding herself from the view of anyone walking by. Completely unaware of the webcam capturing her every keystroke from above.
I watch, horrified, as she flips open the tablet and pulls up my CloudFile app. Locates my portfolio folder. And promptly deletes it.
She even goes to the trash folder and empties that, deleting the files permanently.
The camera catches every detail.
“That bitch,” I mutter.
Jenna smiles. “Told you.”
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go confront our saboteur.”
“Saboteur?” Jenna asks, amused.
I shrug. “I’m feeling very French spy today.”
She smiles. “Me too.”
I smile back. Jenna may be a bit of an odd duck, but she has a good heart. And that counts for a lot.
We meet Aimeigh on the sidewalk between Buildings D and E. At first she looks surprised to see us—maybe shocked to see us together—but she recovers quickly.
“Hey, found it.” She waves the tablet up for me to see. “I was bringing it to you. You didn’t have to meet me.”
“I thought we were friends,” I accuse.
She jerks back. “We are.”
“Then we have very different definitions of what that means.”
“Sloane, what’s going on?” she asks, her fake concern almost believable.
“Cut the crap, Aimeigh,” I say. “We just watched you delete my portfolio from my tablet.”
“What?” She sounds stunned. “No, I—”
Jenna opens her laptop, holds it facing out so Aimeigh can see the screen still open to the webcam. Still transmitting the very spot where she just committed her act of sabotage.
She scowls. “What is this?”
“This,” Tru says, walking up behind her from the other direction—with Principal Ben at his side, “is getting evidence that you’re the one who set up Sloane.”
“That you stole my sketchbook,” Jenna adds.
“And got Jaq and Mira booted.” I can’t believe I actually trusted her.
“Heck, you probably gave Liza’s computer a virus and convinced Hannah to drop out of class, too. Did you blackmail her?”
“You guys don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aimeigh says, her voice high with desperation. “Principal Haverford, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with any of that.”
Principal Ben gives her a disappointed grimace. “I watched the feed, Aimeigh. I saw you delete Sloane’s files.”
She stands there, shocked and affronted-looking. Then something cracks. Her demeanor changes instantly from wrongfully accused to crying out for sympathy.
“You don’t understand,” she says. “I need that scholarship. There’s no other way I’ll be able to afford college. I’m desperate.”
Is that even the truth?
Tears start down her cheeks and, if my eyes weren’t wide open, I might have thought they were believable. But now I can see the real Aimeigh lurking beneath the pathological surface. Even if it is true, even if she is sorry and desperate, that doesn’t excuse what she did.
“It doesn’t give you the right to ruin someone’s life.” I shake my head.
She turns to me. “What’s the harm?” she cries. “You didn’t get in any real trouble.” She flicks her gaze at Tru. “Either of you.”
Beneath the tears and the desperation, there is a shadow of bitterness. Of jealousy. Almost like she believes we deserved to get in trouble. Almost like she’s angrier that we didn’t than that she got caught.
How had I not seen this? Had I been so glad to have a friend that I didn’t see what lurked beneath her surface?
I won’t make that mistake again, either.
“Other girls got in trouble,” I say. “Other girls got hurt.”
“Aimeigh, you’ll have to come with me,” Principal Ben says.
She turns to him, gets a bit of a wild look in her eyes, like she wants to bolt.
“Please,” he says, “don’t make me get security.”
All of the fight drains out of her.
We stand there, watching, half in shock, as she follows Principal Ben toward Building A. This whole experience is kind of surreal. Like a bad movie.
“Did that just happen?” I ask.
“I can’t believe she went for it,” Tru says. “How did you know she would?”
I shrug. “If she really was guilty, she would have seen our setup as the chance to get rid of two birds with one action.”
Ten Things Sloane Hates About Tru Page 18
