by Kes Trester
In answer I grabbed the top paper marked with a B and the words, “There may be hope for you yet,” and entered the grade under the student’s name. He retreated to his desk and we worked in near-silence, broken only by my snorts of amusement as I read the endlessly creative ways the crusty teacher had for berating (“Catherine the Great died of a stroke—get your mind out of the gutter”) or damning with faint praise (“Congratulations for staying awake in class this week”).
Thirty minutes later I dumped the stack back on his desk. Without looking up, he thrust his empty coffee cup at me. It took several minutes to locate the teachers’ lounge and when I did, the last person on earth I wanted to see had beaten me to the coffeepot.
“Riley,” Mrs. McKenna greeted me with a chilly smile. “Why am I not surprised to see you in the staff lounge, which is off limits to students?”
I hoisted the cup like a cross before a vampire. “I’m Mr. Bracken’s TA now. He sent me for coffee.” I glanced at the mug and inwardly groaned at what was printed on it: THIS MIGHT BE SCOTCH.
“I see,” she said, still blocking access to the pot. “Was this before or after your half-naked pictures appeared, or perhaps the report from the Bridgehurst police came in about an assault at a convenience store?”
I swallowed the claims of innocence burning in my throat. It was so tempting to defend myself, especially in the face of this woman’s attitude, but she held all the cards. “I couldn’t say, ma’am.”
A mask of superiority settled on her features. “Ah, well, let’s hope you continue to be such a model student, especially in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Ma’am?”
She strolled away from the coffee machine and toward the door. “It’ll all be clear quite soon.”
I puzzled her words all the way back to Bracken’s class and wondered if he might shed some light. I waited until he took a satisfying gulp—it was fresh-brewed with two sugars—before daring to open my mouth. “Mrs. McKenna said something’s going down in the next twenty-four hours.”
He smirked at me over the top of his mug. “Is there a question there, or are we talking about your popularity with the head of school?”
“My question is,” I ground out as politely as possible, “is there something going on that would be to my advantage to know?”
He scratched his chin as he regarded me. “I want to know something first. Why is our esteemed leader in such a twist over you?”
Everyone has an angle, my dad liked to say. Every time he went in to pave the way for a new trade agreement or to notch back tensions between regional factions, there were always a dozen people involved with a dozen different agendas. The sooner you discovered and satisfied each one, the faster you got your deal done. What did Bracken want? Was it simple curiosity? Or did he use information like soldiers used sandbags to secure a position on shaky ground?
“She was forced to admit me.” That seemed safe enough to offer up.
His ears perked up like a dog at a bone factory. “How on earth did you manage that?”
I gave him a tight smile. “Quid pro quo.” That was another diplomatic rule: a favor for a favor.
He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Alright. If no one’s warned you yet, Gretchen is very fond of surprise inspections. It’s supposed to be students chosen at random, but I’m betting there’ll be nothing random about this one.”
My mind flashed on the box in my closet filled with smoke grenades, throwing stars, and everything else guaranteed to get me tossed out of school if McKenna got her hands on it. I nodded my thanks before gesturing to the room at large. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”
He grinned. “I’m thinking I should send you on your way. I wouldn’t want to lose the most entertaining TA I’ve had in years.”
I turned to go when his voice stopped me. “And Riley? Rumor has it Gretchen may be in the mood for a sail tonight, just so you know.” My lips twitched as I realized what he was hinting at. The boathouse party wasn’t as big a secret as everyone hoped.
When I entered my room ten minutes later, the green light on the bedside clock had turned red. Unless Hayden had come and gone, someone else had been in our dorm. It took one press of a button to determine the time the sensor had detected movement. Flipping open my laptop, I pulled up recent footage from the smoke alarm camera, which offered a panoramic view of the room.
“Son of a camel trader,” I swore when the culprit appeared. It was Quinn, big surprise. She hadn’t shown up for lunch today. I watched as she let herself into our room, most likely by lifting Hayden’s key, and marched directly to my wardrobe. Pawing through my clothes, she settled on the beautiful navy pea coat it hadn’t been cold enough yet to wear. Glancing around first as if she thought she was being observed, she slipped something out of her pocket and into the coat. Within moments she escaped back out the door.
Running to the wardrobe, I pulled out the coat and quickly discovered what had been left for McKenna to find: a baggie of what I assumed to be weed. I’d never seen it or smelled it, but it looked like something from Nadira’s exotic spice rack. It would have gotten me kicked out of Harrington for sure. Fuming, I flushed it down the toilet before cutting the baggie into strips and flushing that down as well.
Between homework and working for Mr. Bracken, I hadn’t had a moment to check out what the Pathways program might have discovered, but I resolved to do so at the first opportunity.
My personal contraband, including the Taser that would tie me to the assault at the minimart, went into a large Prada tote. I grabbed Hayden’s car keys off her dresser, and ten minutes later, it was safely stowed in the trunk of her Mercedes. It was a safe bet she would never fall under scrutiny, and even if she did her dad could just add another wing or something onto the library to get her out of trouble.
For the five minutes it took to put on my makeup, Hayden hovered. Turning from the mirror, I learned why.
“Would you make a Stop & Shop run with me?” Last week she’d tersely informed me of my duty, but every day she unbent a bit more.
“Sure. Give me a sec.” I texted Von my apologies for not being able to meet him before the party as planned. I also warned him McKenna had gotten wind of tonight’s party, and we should change locations.
Done, Von texted back. I’ll spread the word to meet at the barn.
Shouldn’t we also plan some evasive maneuvers if she finds us there? I texted.
LOL, G.I. Jane, he texted. Like what?
I quickly rattled off a list of ideas and hit send.
Maybe it was the memory of what went down last time we went to the convenience store, but as we drove out the gates of Harrington, Hayden seemed especially glad of my company.
“Stef really likes you, you know,” she said.
“He’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.” Sarah Jane had been right when she’d described him as fragile. There was something almost childlike about his enthusiasm and vulnerability. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“I’m lucky to have him,” she reflected. “Sometimes I think he should have been the one to grow up in the highest room in the tallest tower, you know?”
Or at least granted more than the barest of acknowledgements by his father, but I kept that opinion to myself.
We pulled into the convenience store parking lot, and Hayden hit the brakes. The crusty Ford pickup was in the same spot as last week. Cowboy and Tom probably came by the same time every Friday night, and it was our bad luck to be on matching schedules. The look of apprehension on her face mirrored my own.
“How badly do we need vodka?” Since I never planned to touch the stuff again, it was no skin off my nose if we turned the car around.
She grimaced. “Stef would kill me if we came back empty-handed. He says the Friday night parties are what makes life bearable for him.”
“Fabulous,” I muttered, knowing that despite our budding friendship, she would be expecting me to risk life and limb to enable a guy who needed a
twelve-step program, not another cocktail.
“Pull into the parking lot and flip a U.” She did as instructed so the Mercedes was ready to tear out of the lot at a moment’s notice. “Pop the trunk, would you?” She shot me a confused look but pulled the latch.
I removed the telescoping baton from the tote stowed there just hours before and slid it up the sleeve of my jacket. “Keep the motor running.” I sighed and squared my shoulders.
A bell jingled as I pushed open the door of the Stop & Shop. Behind the counter hunched the same clerk, and like an instant replay from last week, she had her eyeballs glued to a game show. The Inbred Twins were nowhere in sight, but I proceeded with extreme caution, reaching the liquor aisle without a problem.
“Keep your gun hand free at all times,” Benson admonished every new recruit, and it was excellent advice to take now. With my right hand cupping the baton, I hauled a half-gallon of Grey Goose off the shelf with my left. If anyone wanted any mixers, they could get it their own damn selves.
I saw them before they saw me. The brothers were at the cash register paying for a six-pack of rotgut beer and a couple of packs of smokes, looking just as greasy and unhygienic as before. I circled around behind them. Cowboy spied me over his shoulder and flinched. Tom followed suit and though his eyes widened, he didn’t look quite as freaked out.
Take down the biggest fool, and the rest will follow was another Benson tactic. I didn’t take my eyes off Tom.
They finished paying, and Cowboy hurriedly scooped up the beer. His brother moved more slowly, obviously debating whether they had a shot at revenge, but my complete lack of fear had to unsettle him. His kind would like the ones who didn’t fight back.
“Hello there, boys,” I said in a conversational tone. “Are you here for your weekly science lesson?”
Cowboy practically leapt out of his boots. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he urged, as if he couldn’t wait to flee the zip code.
In an unhurried movement, Tom scooped up the cigarettes before turning to face me. He tapped the pack against his palm in deliberate strokes.
Thump-thump.
His wintry eyes ran over me with equal parts hatred and lust.
Thump-thump.
“You’re mighty brave for a little girl on all on her own,” he said at last.
Thump-thump.
“Oh, I’m not alone,” I answered pleasantly. I flicked my arm and the baton shot out of my sleeve with a satisfying click.
Cowboy cannonballed out the door. It took a moment longer for common sense to penetrate Tom’s thick skull, but then he, too, decided he was out of his league. He pocketed his cigarettes and followed his brother.
“Do make sure you give your kindest regards to my friend on the way out,” I called to his retreating figure. “I’ll be watching.”
They both paused as they neared the Mercedes, with Cowboy removing his hat and bowing low to the bewildered Hayden. Tom was less biddable, but a glance back at me and my baton caused him to reconsider. He dipped his head in a stiff greeting before escaping to their dilapidated ride.
I set the bottle on the counter and for once, the clerk tore her eyes from the television screen. She stared at me in astonishment as she wordlessly rang up my purchase. A moment later I was on the sidewalk watching the rusty truck squeal past Hayden’s car. I retracted the baton before slipping into the car.
She looked at me in amazement. “What did you do?”
“Just asked that they show you some respect.” I buckled my seatbelt before meeting her gaze with a grin. “But don’t think this makes us friends.”
The gathering was smaller than last Friday’s, but bodies still managed to fill up the tack room and the adjacent space stacked with dozens of hay bales. Someone had thrown blankets across a few of them, and now two people with acoustic guitars and a girl with a flute perched there, jamming on a pop song. A few couples sucked face and swayed to the music.
Someone had hauled the trusty punch bowl down from the upper boys’ dorm along with a stack of red Solo cups and set them on a hay bale. I handed the liquor off to Stef, who got busy mixing it with two giant plastic bottles of Mountain Dew. I found a can of 7-Up in a cooler and popped the top.
“Make it two.” Sam smiled from the other side of the ice chest. He plunged a hand into the icy water and came up with a root beer. Pulling the tab, he held up the can. “To smarter choices and happier Saturdays.” We touched cans with a dull thunk and each took a sip. “Speaking of smarter choices,” he said, “what are we doing here?”
At my confused look he added, “Why are we taking such risks to come drink sodas in a smelly barn? Aren’t you worried about being caught with that?” He gestured toward the punch bowl. “I wasn’t even going to come tonight… until you said you’d be here.”
It was wrong to encourage him, but at that moment it was hard to remember why. I opened my mouth without a clue what to say when Von barged in.
“I don’t know what you did, but Hayden is sure impressed,” he said, nodding to where Hayden mimed Cowboy bowing to an appreciative audience. She was more animated than I’d ever seen her, and people laughed with amusement. Von wore an expression of innocence as he glanced between Sam and me. “Did I interrupt anything?”
“No,” I rushed to say, preventing Sam from disagreeing. “Did you make the arrangements?”
He saluted. “Everything is ready for a possible invasion, ma’am.”
Sam frowned at both of us. “Invasion?”
Just then Sarah Jane, the last person I would ever expect to see at an underground party, popped up with her phone. “Smile, everyone!” The shutter clicked and she moved on to the next group.
“What is she doing here?” I gasped in horror. “We are so dead!” The contingency plan Von and I put in place would be useless if she opened her mouth.
“Nah,” Von said. “I know she’s a pain, but Luke is sick. I didn’t have a lot of other prefects to choose from.”
“And you trust her not to throw us under the bus if a teacher or McKenna shows up?” Sam asked.
Von smiled smugly. “I trust her to look the other way for the summer internship at my mom’s law firm.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Sarah Jane was annoying and no one liked her, but you had to admire the way she fearlessly bulldozed her way through the halls with a clear sense of purpose. If she was willing to compromise her position for a job, though, maybe she wasn’t as principled as I thought.
Von’s phone chimed with a text, his face tensing up when he read it. “You nailed it, Riley,” he said before yelling to the crowd, “Code Red! Code Red!”
Like a choreographed dance, two girls swooped in and whisked the punch bowl away. A broad-shouldered guy I recognized from the MMA club dashed around with a big bucket, and everyone tossed in their cups. Jackie Song produced an identical bowl that Stef filled with more Mountain Dew, and people lined up for refills. The whole process took less than sixty seconds.
When McKenna marched in a minute later, there was a group of well-behaved students quietly enjoying a classical piece of music, maybe Mozart, being played on guitars. The music died away as Sarah Jane stepped forward. “Good evening, Mrs. McKenna.”
“Sarah Jane,” the head of school said, as startled as I had been to see the prefect—or at least she pretended to be. Someone had to have informed on us, and in my mind the prefect was the prime suspect. “What are you doing here?”
“We wanted to play some music, but didn’t want to disturb anyone if they were trying to get some studying done,” she said earnestly. “Would you like some punch?”
“As a matter of fact, I would.” She crossed the room to Stef. “May I try yours?” The woman definitely had someone on the inside.
He quickly handed over his cup while McKenna pulled a wrapped plastic stick out of her pocket. She uncovered it and dipped it into the cup. After checking the reading, she thrust the cup back at him. She repeated the test with a few other stud
ents until she arrived in front of me.
“You seem to have acclimated to our school quite well,” she observed, noting Von on one side of me and Sam on the other. She unwrapped another test stick and dipped it into my 7-Up.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, realizing there was some truth to that statement. I’d been so worried about keeping tabs on Hayden that I’d barely contemplated having fun.
Unable to find fault with the situation, she gave us all a look clearly conveying she had her eye on us before sweeping out the door. The music resumed, but we all held our positions until Von’s phone chimed again and he announced, “All clear!”
There was a smattering of applause, but he held his hands up calling for silence. “Tonight’s near miss was brought to you by Riley Collins. She’s the one who set this up, and I must say, I think this playbook should be standard operating procedure from now on.”
The applause swelled again, and I smiled with some embarrassment. Hayden hoisted a glass in my direction, a move that didn’t go unnoticed by Quinn. The party resumed, but before Sam and Von could start their verbal sparring, I escaped to the side of the tack room where Sarah Jane stood alone.
“What do you want?” She glowered.
I shrugged. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“You’ve been here for what, two weeks? And look at you. You’ve got Sam Hudson following you around, and Hayden Frasier bringing you to parties.” She made no attempt to mask her resentment. “I’ve been here three years, doing everything like I’m supposed to do, and the only reason I got invited tonight was because you people needed me. What’s it all been for?”
I shook my head, not quite following her reasoning.
“I’m not going to spend my life being an afterthought. If I have to break a few rules to get a prime internship, who are you to judge me?”
She was right. It obviously infuriated her to sell a bit of her soul to fulfill her dream.
“I’m not judging you, Sarah Jane,” I said, thinking of the compromises I’d recently made for my future. “In fact, I know exactly how you feel.”