by Shana Silver
Now, gray clouds lurk behind the pitter-patter of heavy rain colliding with the sidewalk, sending water droplets splashing upward like dribbled basketballs. The crisp scent of moisture lingers in the air. I hunker outside on the ground floor beneath Principal Van Lowe’s window, which is located on the side of the school. The window faces the football fields, but the rain ensures they’ll be empty today. I lean close to the brick, catching bits and pieces of the persuasive argument Fake Dad makes through the cracked window (thanks to Natalie claiming she’s stifling). “… sizable donation … new school wing…”
Thankfully, the dollar signs popping in Principal Van Lowe’s eyes help persuade him to ignore any similarities to one of his most detention-happy students. “Registration is usually closed this late in the school year, but I’m sure we could find a spot—”
Just like they “found a spot” for Colin with a little monetary persuasion, I’m sure.
Fake Dad clears his throat. “We’re looking at several options. Any chance we could have a campus tour?”
“Of course. Right this way.”
Chairs scrape.
Now all I have to do is wait for the signal that the campus tour has taken them far away from the office.
In this case, the signal is a text from Natalie with a ghost cat emoji, which arrives a few minutes later.
I swipe my damp hair out of my eyes and slip on black fabric gloves, the kind used for elegant celebrity awards dinners and preventing fingerprints.
Rain pummels my legs, making them glisten like stolen diamonds. I’m soaked enough to enter (and win) a wet T-shirt contest. My eyes lock on a formidable challenge. Ivy curls around a steel-lattice trellis next to the window. The school feels it gives an air of history, but I view it as an invitation to upstairs. I push away the wet leaves and grip the slippery steel bars underneath, my feet finding purchase easily.
Fat raindrops pound against my face as I heave myself upward, the trellis rattling under my weight. I pause, squeezing my eyes shut until the shaking stops. The smart part of me itches to go slow and steady on the rickety structure, but the smarter part races in case Colin beats me to the punch and steals the grades as soon as the office empties.
A crunch of leaves makes my heart pound. I whip my head around, expecting to see my buzzkill rounding the corner. But only the wind gusts and plasters my drenched hair to my cheeks. Since the window’s cracked a tad, I easily slide it open all the way and spread out a towel on the floor. That’s the good thing about breaking and entering in the middle of the day: The alarms aren’t activated.
The air-conditioning turns my skin to ice as I shimmy inside. I strip off my soaked school uniform and replace it with a fresh one I folded neatly at the bottom of my purse to limit incriminating drips on the gray carpet. Stuffed at the bottom of my bag there’s a third set to change into before I rejoin my classmates in fourth period. There’s also a wig that’s a perfect replica of my blond hair to cover my soaked locks. The same wig Natalie wore a few days ago. Rule #7: Thieves must be good at packing in small bags. After removing my shoes and squeezing out the ends of my waterlogged hair onto the towel, I tie it back into a low ponytail and cross the room to Van Lowe’s computer.
I’m not a tech genius, but I know a thing or two about people who use passwords: They tend to forget them. I only need to lift up his keyboard to find the Post-it Note stuck to the bottom that reveals the sequence of gibberish that unlocks his files. My USB purrs when I drag the folder with the grades onto it. With a satisfied smile, I eject the USB, stuff it in my skirt pocket, and reverse my entrance until my feet land with a wet splat onto the grass.
Victory never tasted so sweet.
I spin on my heels to flee but run smack into Colin O’Keefe.
Beads of water stick to his hair and eyelashes, making it seem like he’s posing as the romantic lead in the climax of a movie. He blinks at me as though he can’t believe what he just saw. “I admit, I’m impressed.”
“Good.” I turn to leave, but he places one arm against the brick wall, blocking me.
“Tell me how you did it. I clearly could use some tips.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh that sounds almost endearing. Almost.
“I’m a better criminal. That’s how.” I wheel around to go the other way, but he falls into step beside me.
“Hey, wait. I’m serious. How did you manage to open the window from the outside?”
He actually sounds sincere this time. I think back to when I first found Natalie, a lowly cosplayer capable of so much more. It only took the promise of fun, cold hard cash to fund her cosmetics obsession, plus a little bit of training with the methods my mother used on me to convert her. Maybe Colin could be the same: an ally instead of an enemy. It would be good to know someone with a connection to the FBI. He could spy for us.
I stop short, blinking against the pounding rain. “Tell me what your plan was first.”
He leans against the trellis, his white button-up turning see-through from the rain. My mouth goes dry at the way it sculpts against his abs. The same ones he was embarrassed about yesterday. I force myself to look away and cross my arms over my own see-through shirt.
“I was going to do it at night,” he whispers. He’s speaking so low, I have to inch toward him to hear. And even when I stand a foot away, I still have to come closer. I lean next to him on the trellis, both of our shoulders pressed into the metal lattice, facing each other in spite of the rain. “I already swiped Ms. Jensen’s keys and had a few feelers out to some electronics people I’ve heard about to help with the security alarm. Someone named Tig.”
“She wouldn’t have helped you,” I whisper.
He shrugs, clearly trying to downplay how utterly terrible his plan was. “But seriously. Climbing up the trellis was badass.”
My cheeks ignite, wet hair clinging to my torso. For some reason I want to duck my head and giggle—and I banned giggles from my vocabulary years ago. “Thanks,” I whisper back, surprised at the sincerity in my voice. Even though the pounding rain demands shouting, I keep my voice to trading-secrets levels.
“I’ve been thinking.” He scoots even closer. Our shoulders brush, sending crackles of electricity through me. “Maybe this challenge was a mistake. Maybe we can work together instead. Be a team. I have a few tricks I can show you, too.”
The way he says the last part makes it seem like his tricks have nothing to do with cons but rather his lips. And when he hits me with his spectacular grin, I suddenly understand how he captivated Olivia and Jessica so fast. I’m swooning, too.
I want to nod along to everything he says, but I force myself to respond. “I’m—I’m not sure.”
Colin tilts his head at me as if he’s just noticed something and purses his lips. “Hey.” He reaches out a hand toward me, hovering it in front of my face. “Can I?”
I nod to this, too, even though I have no idea what he’s asking until he brushes his fingers softly along my cheek and sweeps a wet lock of hair behind my ear. Tingles follow in the wake of his touch, and my eyelids flutter.
My own fingers instinctively reach up to push his matted-down bangs off his forehead. When his eyes briefly close and he sucks in a shaky breath, my hands keep going, fingers knotting in the hair at the base of his neck.
Following suit, he trails his hands down my neck, along my collarbone, wiping water away even as it sloshes right back. My mouth parts at the amazing feel of his touch. Friends, I think, then correct myself. More than friends.
He wraps one arm around my waist while his fingers continue their exploration down my sides. My hands interlock behind his neck. Bending down, he brushes his lips along my ear instead of the place I want them to land: my lips. My breath comes out shaky, but his voice sounds confident when he whispers, “When I told you my plan before, I lied. This was my plan.”
And then he drops his arm from around my waist. My arms fall to my sides in surprise. He backs away from me a few steps and flashes the USB drive at me, bec
ause of course Colin won’t do anything unless he can brag about it. I reach into my pocket to confirm, but I know the drive’s gone, stolen while Colin distracted me with something I didn’t know I wanted and definitely don’t want anymore.
A grimace tightens my lips. I launch myself at him, trying to grab it. He lifts his arm high in the air and keeps walking backward toward the side entrance while I try to swipe for it.
“By the way, does the number forty-seven mean anything to you? What about Hesiod?”
I freeze. The list of my mom’s clues: 11, D5, Hesiod, 2nd, 92.5, 47. We may not be able to discern the connection, but something tells me the expert code crackers at the FBI can.
“Nothing,” I snap. My pulse increases, limbs turning to Jell-O.
“Never mind, then.” He shrugs and wrenches open the school door during my momentary distraction. He slips inside and leaves me behind with nothing except resentment.
By the time I catch up to him, he’s already nudged the drive into the slats of Jessica’s locker, effectively stealing her and all my other clients in the process.
CHAPTER 7
“ I hate him.” I slam a curled fist against my dining room table that evening. Above us, the fluorescent light trapped behind a glass cylinder buzzes like a wasp caught in a spider’s web. “Any ideas how to create a forgery of him and replace him with a replica? Preferably one that doesn’t talk back.”
Natalie purses her lips, now sporting a delicate gold lip ring. A few other clip-on hoops line her ear, which has been shaped to pointy elf standards. “At least let me slip him some crushed-up laxatives first. It’ll make for a fun debate class!”
Only my best friend would view poisoning someone as a good thing.
“Girls.” Dad stops pacing in the dining room and pulls out a wooden chair across from me. “He doesn’t know anything. He saw a list of random things in Fiona’s notebook—”
“The notebook hidden under the guest room mattress,” I remind them. Colin must have clued in that I’d hidden something important when I went upstairs. He’s smart enough to know if I left him alone in the room, it wasn’t there. With only a bed and a dresser in the guest room, it probably didn’t take him long to find the notebook and thumb through it. I don’t know how he found that particular line of text hidden among a bunch of math problems and history notes. Either Colin knew what he was looking for … or he somehow knows me so well already to pick this line out.
Dad whirls on me. “Why would you leave him alone? Even for a second?” He shakes his head in shame at me, but it’s something I’ve been beating myself up about, too.
“The bottom line is he’s sniffing after Mom. Maybe blabbing everything he learned to his dad. And he’s won control of my turf.”
“Forget about the school cons for now.” Dad pushes the half-completed ancient-book project toward me. “Finish the important stuff so we can find the remaining clues and reunite with your mother. You’ve already taken things too far, and I don’t want anything else drawing the attention of Ian O’Keefe.”
His words sink in, and a renewed sense of purpose washes over me. Finding Mom is what’s important. Not getting revenge on the douchebag that one-upped me.
But still, it doesn’t need to be a choice. If I’m right, and Colin really is onto us, then I need to show him what happens if he messes with my family. He needs to know that if he goes after Mom, I go after him.
“Okay.” I paste on the sincerest smile I can muster. Dad can usually smell my bullshit from a mile away, but I take a cue from Colin here. To get someone to believe you, you have to convince yourself you believe it, too. And turn on the charm, of course. “You’re right, Dad. You always are.” I pluck one of my trusty paintbrushes from my stash and hover it over the book.
Natalie squints at me.
Dad rolls his eyes, seeing right through my bullshit. “We leave three days after school lets out. I need you focused.”
“I am focused. I want Mom back, too.” I nod to reinforce my resolve.
Dad studies me for one long second before letting out a sigh and walking away.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Natalie leans over. “Okay, how are we taking him down?”
“We’re not taking him down entirely, we’re just going to show him we’re capable of doing so.”
“A threat.” Natalie’s mouth practically waters. “I like it. But how?”
“You know all those favors Vance Whitford owes me? I’m about to cash in.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re at the mall one town away, next in line for Vance Whitford’s register at Mama Burrito’s fast-food kiosk. Vance may act the part of ritzy prep-school student with his expensive jeans (thrift store) and his bro-y accent (watching too many reruns of “The Californians” sketch on SNL), but his ticket to preppiness came complete with a tuition-free scholarship. He prefers not to announce that fact, though, because everyone knows good grades are a one-way path to Loserville.
“Vance! My man.” I slap my palm down on the counter. “Word on the street is you owe me a favor or twelve.”
His face drops at the sight of me. Wispy red hairs poke out of his blue-and-yellow ball cap. “I’m working,” he whispers through gritted teeth, as though I may not have noticed that fact. But what he’s really telling me is Not here.
“When’s your break? I can wait.” I gesture toward the empty table right in front of the burrito kiosk.
Natalie taps her lip. “Yeah, it’ll probably take me that long to decide what to order anyway.” She grins at him. A challenge.
“Um.” He tugs at his collar.
The girl at the register next to him eyes me up and down and then flicks her eyes toward Vance, a small smile playing on her lips. She clearly thinks he’s tongue-tied over me and not, you know, terrified about what I’m going to ask him. “You can go now. I’ll hold down the fort.” She juts her chin toward the last straggler in line.
With a sigh, Vance unties his apron and exits through the side door. He doesn’t wait for us as he traipses straight through the food court, out the front exit, and then over to a small alcove guarded by large garbage bins. Even he knows more about stealth than my mortal enemy.
The rain from earlier has subsided, but dark clouds lurk in the sky like eavesdroppers, setting the mood a dreary gray. My long hair whips around my face.
“Whatever it is, just please don’t tell anyone I work here, okay?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, biting his lip.
I hold up a palm. “Secret’s safe. As always.” The only reason I know he works here in the first place is because one time I offered him a deal: He tells me a secret in lieu of payment for a forgery. You never know when blackmail might come in handy later. Like today!
“What do you need?” He ducks his head as though he needs to brace himself.
“This one’s just as much for you as it is for me. I know you’re still upset about the ban on leaving campus for lunch, so I want you to hire Colin for just that. Ask him to sneak off campus during lunch on Monday and buy you as many burgers from In-N-Out as he can get his slimy little paws on.”
Natalie rolls her eyes at my theatrics. I didn’t even get to my evil mwuahaha laugh yet.
“Just ask him to get you one or two burgers, okay?” she clarifies. “And you can’t brag about it. You have to eat them in private.”
Vance blinks at me, waiting for the punch line. “I mean, that sounds delicious, but I don’t get why you need me to do this. Why can’t you hire him?”
“If he knows the burgers are for me, he’ll never agree. Plus, he already knows you want them.”
Vance bites his lip. “I’m not going to get in trouble, am I?”
“You?” I wave my hand dismissively. “Nope. Promise you won’t get in trouble at all.”
Can’t say the same for Colin, though. The standard infraction for breaking a school rule like sneaking off campus is an automatic three-day suspension. Three full days where Colin will stew over how I did this to him …
and how if he messes with Mom, I can do so much more than just get him suspended.
* * *
On Monday, I linger in the hallway, pretending to riffle through my locker, while I watch Colin in my mirror as he talks to the security guard. With lunch starting in less than a minute, the hallway’s almost empty. I’m not exactly discreet, but neither is Colin’s choice of location. Or the fact that he continually flicks his eyes toward me as though he wants me to overhear how great he is at subterfuge.
“Smokers,” Colin says. “Heading toward the woods. I think they’re seniors.”
Mr. Porter’s face blanches. “How many?”
Colin shrugs. “A bunch. Five? Fifteen?”
“Wow.” Mr. Porter rakes his hand over his mostly bald head. “Thank you. Really appreciate the tip.”
Colin shakes his hand and grins. “Happy to help keep the students safe. My grandma died from lung cancer,” he adds unnecessarily, but Mr. Porter’s face turns even more grave, as though he totally understands why Colin cares so much.
He waits until Mr. Porter exits through the back door and hustles toward the woods before he twists around and winks at me.
I respond in the only way that seems appropriate. I wink back.
Unfazed, he lopes outside, heads straight past the picnic tables near the parking lot, and proceeds to get into his car and zoom onto the main road without the threat of a security guard to catch him.
I turn on my heels and head in the same direction as Mr. Porter. Thankfully, I’m in shape and he’s … not. I catch up to him near the entrance to the grand woods that expand behind our school. A year ago, a few students got expelled for being caught in the center of the woods, over a mile from the school, smoking in the middle of the day. I guess that was Colin’s entire plan: send Mr. Porter on a wild-goose chase that could last miles and keep him away from the parking lot for the full forty-five-minute lunch period.
