“‘Innocuous’ means innocent, nonthreatening,” Blake says. Then we hear the sound of a page turning.
Amber rolls her eyes and mouths something that looks like They’re such nerds.
Totally nerds. I mean, they’re not even kissing yet. Not that I want them to. Thinking about kissing makes me start to think about James. Which makes no sense. Because I don’t like him. Not even a little bit. I mean, he’s—
And then I realize what Amber was saying. They’re practicing SAT words.
Oh. How lame.
And we proceed to listen to them do exactly that for the next two hours, until it’s two o’clock in the morning and we’re so tired we can barely keep our eyes open. We pass the time by quietly eating snacks and writing notes. But it’s very nerve-racking, since we have to be überquiet. Plus, the night security guard, Jasper, keeps walking by the window right over our head. Usually he’s whistling. One time he seems to be eating something, and one time he gives a large burp.
When two o’clock rolls around, Karli and Blake decide to pack it up. Amber and I wait until they’re gone, then clear up the granola bar wrappers and empty juice cans that are littered around us. Amber looks kind of the way I feel—very tired and disheveled.
And then something horrible happens. When we go to climb back through the window, we realize that although we could get IN by lowering ourselves down, we can’t get back up. It’s too far off the ground, and even when we move a chair over to stand on, neither one of us has the upper body strength to pull ourselves up and through. We realize we’re going to have to sneak through the side door, which is locked from the outside, but not the inside. Which would be fine, except the side door empties right out onto the sidewalk. And so we have to time our escape perfectly, so Jasper doesn’t see us prowling around.
“Quick,” Amber says, pushing me through the door. We run up the sidewalk and use our key cards to get back into the dorm.
When I get back to my room, Crissa doesn’t stir, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I slip between my sheets. I hadn’t really stopped to think about what would happen if Crissa woke up when I got back. Would she have asked me what I was doing? Would we both have pretended she didn’t know where I was? What if she could tell I knew the truth? I’m not sure if I’m that good of an actress.
I don’t have too much time to contemplate it, though, because my eyes close as soon as I hit the pillow, and I’m asleep about two seconds later.
The next morning, here’s what I write to James:
Dear James,
Okay, I did it. I snuck into the library. My friend Amber came with me, which was very nice of her. Anyway, Karli does meet her boyfriend there, but all they do is practice SAT words. That’s very lame. But not as lame as meeting someone in a bookstore, lying about who you are, and blackmailing them. I’m looking forward to getting my next two tasks, getting this over with, and never having to speak with you ever again in my life.
Sincerely,
Scarlett Northon
On Thursday, I get two letters back.
The first one says this:
Dear Scarlett,
I know Karli’s boyfriend. His name is Blake Henderson, and I’m not surprised that they practice SAT words. He’s kind of wimpy. You’d think that since they’re both risking getting caught that they’d do something a little more fun.
When I get a car, I’m going to do something way more fun than drive out to BAFG just to practice SAT words. And I will most definitely not charge anyone by the minute.
Anyway, I’m sending your task in a separate letter. I’m glad you only have one more left after this. Also, I understand you’re still mad at me. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? I’ll be at the Brookline social. Maybe we can talk in person. I’m sorry. I should never have gotten involved in this.
Talk to you soon,
James
Here’s what the second letter says:
Dear Number Seventeen:
For your next task, you must figure out if the following is true or a lie.
HANNAH WILCOX GOT BUSTED OVER THE SUMMER FOR SHOPLIFTING, AND ALMOST WASN’T ALLOWED BACK IN SCHOOL.
You have the weekend to figure this out.
Good luck.
From,
Number Seventeen
My cheeks are flushed. Does he really think I’m that easy? That I could just forgive him? No, there’s nothing he can do to make it up to me! Not to mention the fact that he’s still obviously so hung up on Crissa. What nerve! Sending me a letter suggesting we meet up at the dance when he knows I hate him. I probably should burn it or something. Instead, I slip it in my bag and read it about three million times before lunch.
Lunch. I’m trying to tell Amber about the nerve of James McFayden, but for some reason, she can’t get over the fact that Hannah Wilcox might be a thief.
“She’s so quiet,” she muses, sticking a straw in her milk. Amber’s always drinking white milk. She claims she likes it, which I find very strange. Who likes white milk? Especially when there are chocolate milk and juice to be had.
“Yeah, well, she quietly might have shoplifted,” I say. I take a bite of my goulash. Eww. Kind of rubbery.
“I’ll bet that’s the lie,” Amber declares. “There’s no way. She’s like the most normal, most quiet—”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “There’s no way that Crissa would give me the lie now. She wants to inflict as much pain as possible. She wants to really make sure I suffer. She’s going to save the lie for the very last one.”
“You just never know about people’s secret lives,” Amber says, glancing over at Hannah Wilcox, who’s sitting by herself in a corner, eating a peanut butter sandwich and glancing through a supplemental.
“Ain’t that the truth,” I say. “Anyway, enough about Hannah. Let’s talk about the total and complete nerve of that loser James McFayden.”
“He has some nerve,” she says. “That loser James McFayden.”
I nod. “I’m not going to even dignify his whole dance comment with a response. In fact, I’m not even going to write him back until I figure out if Hannah really did shoplift.”
“How are you going to do that?” Amber asks.
“I’m just not going to write him back.” I shrug. “I have very good self-control.” This isn’t exactly true, but I can if I want to. “Not that I need self-control to not write him back. I mean, I don’t even want to write him back, he’s completely—”
“I mean, how are you going to find out about Hannah?” Oh.
“I’m going to ask everyone,” I say. “Someone must know, right?”
“I guess,” Amber says. She shifts in her seat.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s just … I dunno, I mean, if there was a rumor going around about that, we would know about it.”
“Well, whether there’s a rumor going around or not doesn’t really change if it’s true or not.” I wonder if my mom will take me shopping for a new dress for the social. Something with a swirly skirt perhaps. In pink. Or maybe red. Something that doesn’t cost too much. I run through my closet inventory in my head, thinking if I have anything dance appropriate. Something that will make James McFayden so sorry that he ruined any kind of chance he would ever have with me. Something that will make a nice, cute, normal, nonblackmailing Brookline boy ask me to dance.
“Yeah, but … look, if you start asking people that question, you’re going to be the one starting the rumor,” Amber says. “And if she didn’t do it, people are going to believe that she did. And if she did do it, people are going to know.”
“Well, how am I supposed to figure it out?” I ask. “I can’t just ask her.”
“I dunno.” Amber shrugs.
“Would there be a way we could see her school record?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Amber frowns.
“You know, like her school record. They’d have it in her file, could we request a copy of it?”
&
nbsp; “I don’t think so,” Amber says. “How could we just ask them for it?”
“I dunno,” I say. “Aren’t people always getting other people’s records? Like on the Web, where you can read all those celebrities’ legal documents and stuff.” On TMZ.com you can get almost everything. And I know a bunch of my dad’s legal documents were on the Web for a while. This super annoying kid named Eddie Newbauer found out exactly how much my dad was accused of stealing, and told everyone at my old school. He kept wandering around the halls going, “Where did that money go?” to anyone who would listen.
“No,” Amber says. “School records are like medical records. You can’t just get them. Unless you steal them or something.”
“Steal her school record?”
“Well, I mean, you can’t really do that, you could never do that, it would be ridiculous.”
“Where do you think those school records are, anyway?” I’m trying to sound nonchalant. Because of course I would never steal someone’s school record. That would be horrible. Not to mention very dangerous.
“Probably in the office,” she says. “But you could never get in there.”
“You’re right,” I say. But the wheels in my head are turning. I might be able to get in there, if I snuck in the same way I did to the library. But all I say is, “Well, that’s that. I’m going to have to tell James I can’t do it. And Crissa will probably tell everyone about my dad.”
“Whatever it is,” Amber says, squeezing my hand, “it will be fine.”
“Thanks,” I say. But later, I take a little walk by the administration building. And there’s the exact same window setup over Headmistress O’Neal’s office as there is in the library. Only this window’s already open.
That night, I don a pair of black sweatpants, a black sweatshirt, and grab a flashlight from the supply closet downstairs. I sneak across campus and climb through the office window and into the headmistress’s office.
I already know where our files are kept, over in the corner in a huge cabinet. When I came here over the summer to meet the headmistress, she started a folder for me, and dropped it in the cabinet. Of course, it was empty at the time. I wonder if now it says I was in trouble for the whole makeover thing.
I run my fingers along the drawers, looking for W for Wilcox. When I find it, I slide the drawer open and reach in, pulling out her file. I hear a sound coming from upstairs, and I jump for a second, before I realize it’s just a tree scraping against the building.
I open the folder and run my flashlight down the page. Under disciplinary infractions, it says the following: “Student was arrested for shoplifting over the summer, and after careful consideration, it was decided student would be allowed back to Brookline under the following conditions: GPA stays above 3.0, no school or community infractions. Situation will be revisited after the year is over.”
I slide the folder back, shut the cabinet, and then start to panic a little. Maybe I should have worn gloves, so that if anything happens, they won’t be able to find my fingerprints. Too late now. The windows in the headmistress’s office are lower than the ones in the library, and I’m able to hoist myself out without much trouble. I brush myself off and start running back toward my dorm. No sweat.
But suddenly, when I’m about three hundred feet away from the dorm and freedom, there’s a flashlight in my face.
“Good evening, Miss,” the security guard says. I can’t really see his face, since I’m blinded by the light, but I can see his Brookline Security uniform. “Can I help you with anything?”
Jasper, the night security guard, was perfectly nice about it—he called Headmistress O’Neal and told her that he’d found me wandering around campus after curfew, and he thought he would alert her to the situation immediately. That was the only part that was kind of mean, I thought. I mean, yes, it was a situation, but getting alerted to it immediately? It kind of sounded like something you’d see in an action movie about terrorists or something. That someone needed to be alerted to a situation immediately. But whatever.
So then Headmistress O’Neal said, “Thank you very much, Jasper. Please escort the young lady back to her dorm, and I will deal with this in the morning.”
Which is how I ended up here this morning, in Headmistress O’Neal’s office, sitting next to my mom, who does not look pleased at all. Not even one bit. I think she’s mad because not only am I in trouble, but she had to miss work to come down here, which isn’t really my fault, since why couldn’t they just schedule the meeting for later tonight, when she was out of work? But when I said this, it was met with a glare from my mother, so I dropped it.
“Now,” Headmistress O’Neal says, looking down at a paper in front of her. “Scarlett, do you want to tell us what you were doing wandering around campus after curfew?”
“No, not really,” I mumble, looking down at my shoes. I considered coming up with some lame story, about how I was going for a jog or something, but I realized they probably wouldn’t believe it anyway.
“Scarlett, if there was a reason you were out of your room, a good reason, it will influence whatever punishment it is you are to receive.” She looks at me over her glasses, but I look away and at the painting behind her on the wall. “Normally if this were to happen to a student, they’d be suspended immediately, do you understand that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“But since I know you’ve been through a lot in the past year, I’m going to write it up and put it in your file. You are on probation effective immediately. If you get in trouble again for anything, one little thing, you’ll be suspended. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief.
I can tell my mom wants to say something, but she doesn’t. She stays completely quiet as Headmistress O’Neal gives me a paper to sign acknowledging the fact that I’m now on disciplinary probation. Headmistress O’Neal tucks the paper into the file on her desk and tells us we’re free to go.
“Thank you,” my mom says. I’m hoping that once we’re out of the office, she’ll stay quiet. I’m so not in the mood to get yelled at. But no such luck. Once we’re out of the office, she looks at me. “I am very, very disappointed in you,” she says. “And I really hope this doesn’t have anything to do with your father.”
I sigh. Doesn’t my mom get it? Everything has to do with my dad these days. But I don’t say anything.
She studies me for a long moment and then looks at her watch. “I have to get to work,” she says. And then she leaves without even really saying good-bye.
Amber’s waiting for me outside my room. “Scarlett!” she says. “What happened?”
“I snuck into the office to look at Hannah’s record. And I got caught,” I say, throwing myself down on my bed. “And put on probation.”
Amber’s eyes get as round as saucers. “Holy crap,” she says. “Are you kidding?”
“I wish I was,” I say. “But I’m not.”
“Scarlett, you have to stop this,” she says, sitting down on the bed next to me. “Whatever it is, whatever’s going on with your dad, it can’t be that bad. Not bad enough to risk all this.”
“But I’m so close,” I say. “I only have one more thing left, and then I’ll be done.” I start taking the books I need for my morning classes off my desk and loading them into my book bag.
“Scarlett, listen to yourself,” Amber says. “You’re acting nuts. Sneaking around school, breaking into the office, stealing people’s personal records!” And a flicker of uneasiness passes across her face. “Besides …” She trails off.
“What?” I ask. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing, it’s just … Scarlett, what if she doesn’t stop? What if she keeps making you do things? Or what if she tells everyone anyway? I mean, honestly, is it worth all this?”
“Yes,” I say, shrugging. “It is.”
I write back to James the next day.
Dear James,
So I found out about Hannah Wilcox. S
he really did get busted for shoplifting. I found out by a very scandalous method that I cannot talk about here, but let’s just say that I’m now on probation. My friend Amber thinks I’m crazy, but I figure I only have one more task left, and then it will all be worth it.
Scarlett
Three days later, he writes me back.
Scarlett,
You got put on probation? You have to stop this NOW. Seriously, this is ridiculous. I’m going to tell Crissa that I’m not doing this anymore. Scarlett, you’re going to get in a lot of trouble.
Do you want to meet up at the dance? We can talk about all this.
James
Dear James,
No, I do not want to meet up at the dance. I do not want anything to do with you. And please, please, please do not tell Crissa to stop. I am so close, and I need to do this.
S
I don’t receive anything for the next three days.
And then I get this:
Dear Scarlett,
Look, we have to talk. Can you meet me on Friday night at 6:30 at your school? There’s a clearing in the back, right on the edge of the woods. I know you want nothing to do with me, but it’s very important that we talk. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I did come and warn you about all of this. I tried to do the right thing. Please, please consider meeting me. I don’t want to see you get hurt, and I need to clue you in on what Crissa’s up to next. Sorry for the short notice, but that’s the only time I can get a ride.
James
I think about it for a few seconds. I’m seriously mad at him still, and the paper I had to sign acknowledging my probation said I’m not allowed to have visitors. But he did come and try to warn me, and as far as I can tell, he hasn’t told Crissa about it. And maybe he does have some information that can help me. I take a deep breath. Then I pull out a pink sparkly pen, write “OKAY” on his letter, and send it back to him.