“Sit down, Kit!”
I try again, but Jimmy shoves over, blocking me fully this time, refusing to look at me. Something crunches under his foot and, with tears stinging my eyes, I see he’s stepped on his iPod. The one I gave him for Christmas. It’s shattered on the floor of the bus, crushed.
The bus jerks forward and I stagger in the opposite direction, finally squeezing into a seat a few rows back next to Harlson Quinn. No one ever sits with him because he takes up most of the seat himself, but I manage an outside corner and do my best not to breathe. I think it’s probably been some time since he had a shower.
When he leans over and puts his hand on my knee, I stand up and hurry forward again. There’s one seat left, a single in the very front behind Bill. I’ve never been so happy to sit alone.
I stay on board until everyone else has departed, the last to go. Bill ignores me, fiddling with his phone. I left mine home on purpose, not wanting the distraction. I’ve had to disconnect it from ChatPal so it would stop buzzing and tweeting at me. So many horrible messages.
Not looking is the only defense I have. I’ve been sending emails to sites for three days asking them to shut down the accounts, but without passwords I’m out of luck. It’s the most frustrating thing I’ve ever had to deal with and I’m close to pulling my hair out and screaming. Worse, taking the peppermints in Dr. Racket’s office along with the offer for a prescription to “help you sleep.”
My first two classes both crawl and fly by. I wish at one point they’d hurry up and be over as the teachers glare at me before lecturing the entire class on cheating. And then, I hope they’ll last forever, knowing once I’m out there in the real school world, it’s more likely I’ll run into trouble.
I just wish I could be Kitalia. Or the old Kit. Or Grace Grant. Anyone but the person I am right now. Because I have no idea who that is.
When I try to sit with Jimmy at lunch, he turns his back on me, but not before I see his face. It’s red, beat red, full of fury. He throws my offered sandwich six tables away, bouncing it off Nina’s head. I leave it there, leave him there. He’s abandoned me, too, I guess. I’m just too risky to be around.
I retreat to the library, hesitant to see Mrs. Moore. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought she believed the lies about me. But, the moment I step inside, she hurries to me and hugs me.
“Not my Kit,” she whispers into my hair. “Not for a second.” She pushes me back, looks down into my eyes. “I know you better than that.”
I can’t help the sting in my own eyes, the tightening in my throat. “Thanks, Mrs. Moore. I just need to check my email.”
She hesitates, sighs. “I have to supervise.”
Of course she does.
But the moment I sit and open my account, she’s called away. She pats my hand and smiles at me. “Our little secret.” I watch her go, wondering if I should wait, if I need the back up. But there are messages, one in particular that draws my eye.
From Tom. I check it and feel myself crumble inside.
Shouldn’t have called child protective services on Jimmy’s mom like that, Kit. What a crappy thing to do to someone who rescued you from the party the other night.
I stumble from the computer, out the door, past the computer lab. I’m sure he’s watching, but I don’t care. I slam into a stall in the girl’s bathroom and stuff a wad of toilet paper against my mouth, sobbing as silently as I can.
***
I crumple the letter from C2 saying J.J. has been arrested and is undergoing trial for being a traitor in his own organization. Because he’s my friend, I’m sure of it.
My cell can no longer hold me. Come for my life, you might take it. Come for those I love?
I will destroy my enemy. No matter what the cost.
***
Chapter Twenty Seven
It’s well past dark by the time I sneak out of the house. Mom and Dad are still watching TV. Sometimes I think it’s their favorite pastime. I’m not complaining, though. Their addiction allows me to do what I have to, to make things right.
Jimmy. Tom went after Jimmy and his family just to get to me. And that I can’t tolerate.
Ten blocks to school. My sneakers pad over pavement as I skirt the streetlights as best I can. Sure, I probably look like I’m skulking or something, but I can’t bring myself to just walk down the street like nothing’s happening. Number one, I’m too wound up to treat this like any ordinary night. And two, well. I can’t help it.
This is kind of fun no matter where I’m going. Or how serious the act I’m contemplating.
***
I hover outside the fenced perimeter of T.B.’s mansion, my mind already inserted into the alarm system. He’ll know I’m here if I try to tamper with it directly, but just a soft whisper over it while I climb the fence, the barest interruption of power and I’m in his compound with no one the wiser.
I’ve never been one to shield my ability from others, not needing to. But T.B.’s cleverness has given me the impetus to follow his lead, at least this far. It got me out of prison, didn’t it? Past the silent guards who never noticed my passing because I suggested they forget, into the suit of an agent who handed it over while the watchers lingered over the core of power I left behind, “sleeping” Kitalia enough to keep them occupied while I escaped.
The last several hours I’ve spent building up layers and layers of protections, creating false walls and labyrinthine passages, shielding my mind from those who might come looking for me. There’s no way he can know I’m here. The hope I might catch him unaware is just too tempting, but I’m not here for T.B. I’m here for evidence of his wrongdoing.
I may not be able to save myself, but there’s a strong possibility I can save J.J. That will make the risk worth it. And the letter of resignation I left under my pillow, just in case they notice me missing before this is over. They’ll hunt me down, of course they will. At least, they’ll try. But I’m not going back just to go to prison for something I didn’t do. The only way I’ll return is to say I told you so before riding off into the sunset.
Time for Kitalia Ore to be a free agent.
But I can’t leave J.J. swinging in the wind. No, it has nothing to do with my feelings for him, not that way, at least. Mind front, please. It’s about loyalty, damn it, and being there for a friend who’s had my back even if he let me down recently. I don’t owe him a thing, and yet I owe him everything.
I’ll risk this for him. And for the chance to show my bosses they’re wrong. More the latter than the former, but that’s just my nature.
***
My sneakers sound super loud in the dark as I trot across the parking lot to the side of the school. This is dumb, to use Bonnie’s label. Stupid. How am I going to get inside? What was I thinking? I go to the first door I come to, a side entry, solid metal, the handle worn with a flip switch underneath. Pull on it with half an effort, knowing this is insanity and I should just go home.
Imagine my shock when it opens with a whisper of sound, the red exit light overhead casting a glow on the floor inside. The back hall to the gym beckons.
I’m in. I guess it’s fate. So why then does it feel like I’m making a huge mistake when I let the door swing shut behind me?
***
My mind jimmies the lock at the elaborate door leading into the study from the back yard. This house has to be over 20,000 square feet, too big for one lunatic psychic, but he has enough staff I’m sure it’s warranted. Yeah, right. He needs every single corner just to hold his ego.
I retrace my steps to his hidden office, irritated his bullies thought a blindfold in and out would hide the location from me. I don’t need my eyes to see, you morons. All I need is my mind. And that is in perfect working order.
The trace of my passage remains and I follow it, trailing along in the quiet of the house. I pause a time or two to softly interrupt the attention of a passing guard, doing everything I can to hide my presence. So far, so good. Not a peep or a whisper o
f notice. With a little luck and skill—more skill than luck, I’m good enough to admit that—and I’ll be on my way to jolly old England with what I need to get MI6 to stop being wankers and let J.J. go.
He’d better be grateful. After all, I could just hit the road and let the CIA deal with T.B. Their traitor woes are far from over. Let them handle the mess he’s going to leave them in when whatever it is he’s planning blows up in their faces. They’ve made it perfectly clear their loyalties lie with their job security and not their agents, no matter how talented or loyal in return.
Betrayal is a bitter drink to swallow.
I pause outside the steel door I know leads to T.B.’s computer room. I could just go. I should just go. J.J. is a big boy, he can take care of himself. I draw a deep breath and push against the door.
***
The computer lab is open, too. I can’t believe my luck. My feet patter over the tiles as I scurry to Tom’s computer station and sit in his chair. I consider doing something vandalistic to it and giggle at the thought of him finding it wrapped in toilet paper or something tomorrow.
I’m letting my nerves get to me. Time to get to work.
***
The nerve center is quiet, the monitors dark. I let my senses roam the room as I cross to the large, black chair at the center. It sinks softly under me, the gyroscopic controls hugging me close, interfacing directly with my talent and speaking in a woman’s voice in my mind.
Good evening, Kitalia Ore, she says. Wait a minute. I know that voice. Access code, please. It’s my voice. Mine. That’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever heard. He used my voice for his stupid computer system.
I shake off my disgust and get to work. How do you know me?
Your interface has been used to create this system, she says. Access code, please.
Interesting. A back door he didn’t consider? I can hope. Now, if I can only figure out how to turn this to my advantage. I settle back into the seat that makes me feel like I’m flying and begin to spar with my own mind converted into a computer program.
Layer upon layer of encryption greets me. I thought the shields I built in my head were complex. The first access code is simple, keyed to my birthday of all dates. Does he have a thing for me? That thought turns my stomach. The next series of locks and counters are more complicated, requiring intense concentration and all of my genius to solve algorithms I’d only imagined were possible.
This might be harder than I thought.
***
I stare at the screen, the blinking cursor, and clench my teeth. A password. What would he use for a password?
I’ve come all this way only to be stopped by a stupid four digit code. I try a few things, his last name, the year we were born. A few random numbers just in case I get lucky. Everyone is given their code at the first of the year. For all I know he changed his, customized it, so even if I could find out which one the teachers gave him, it might have been altered by now.
I sit back and sigh, defeated. Okay, so this was one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever done. Ever. And, when I get home, I will never do anything like this again. Because honestly. Who do I think I am? Grace Grant?
Kitalia Ore?
***
I push myself forward, swearing softly. I can’t get in, no matter what I try. She’s me, all right, as though he’s scanned my mind and reproduced it for his own purposes. But, whatever protections he’s added, I can’t make it past them.
I’ve failed. J.J. is on his own. Time to go.
Before I can stand, the monitors around me burst into life, T.B.’s face filling them, surrounding me with his grinning countenance. The chair reacts, cuffs emerging, latching onto my wrists, my ankles, tying me down as he leans into the screens, a hundred versions of him staring, oogling, tongue swiping obscenely over his lips.
“Did you really think I’d let you go once I had you where I wanted you?”
***
I stand up, wiping my hands on my jeans, a thin sheen of sweat moistening them. My initial idea to vandalize Tom’s chair goes out the window as my ears pick up the distant sound of a siren and I freeze, a doe being hunted in a dark forest.
I groan as I leap forward and out the lab doors, skidding down the stairs, heading for the gym. An alarm. Is there an alarm in the school? Video cameras? Crap, crap, crap. I can’t get caught in here, what if someone sees me? Kit MacLean, you have lost your little mind.
***
I drive my mind into that of the computer with such force she wails as though human, spiking her system until she shorts out. He screams at me, the yell dying as the banks of monitors go dark. I leap from the seat, free again, running for the door. It tries to trap me, heavy and now run on some kind of hydraulic system, almost crushing me as I manage at last to slip out and into the hall.
Footsteps run toward me but I’m already moving, hurtling myself down a set of stairs. There has to be another way out. I smell fresh air, catch sight of a long, wide concrete space and realize I’m under the house, in the garage. I pelt past expensive cars, wishing I had breathing room to stop and steal keys, to drive out of there, but the massive doors are closing and I have no time.
No time at all.
I throw myself sideways as the last door heads for the ground, rolling beneath it, the hem of my jacket caught as it slams into the concrete. One hard tug and I’m free, on my feet, running for the forest surrounding the house. And freedom to the sound of shouting behind me, my weary mind telling me even the ninjas are trapped inside, caught in T.B.’s attempt to keep me.
So close. But no cigar.
***
I burst out the door and into the parking lot, circling the side of the school at a run. But, I’m out, panting and gasping, grateful to have escaped, if only for now. I can’t stop thinking about the video cameras and wonder just how long I’ll stay out of prison as I hurtle around the side of the school.
And into the glaring headlights of a car waiting there. A car topped with whirling red and blue.
***
Chapter Twenty Eight
I slump in the back seat of the police cruiser, utterly defeated. I can’t muster tears or Kitalia or even a scrap of Grace Grant. Not even the tiniest sniff of optimism or a shroud of darkness to hide beneath. I’m here, in the hands of the law, about to be grounded for life and kicked out of school for going about this all the wrong way. It has to be the wrong way or I’d be winning, wouldn’t I? Maybe there’s no way to win.
That thought only makes me feel worse. I feel like I’ve failed my whole life, not just tonight. One big whoops after another, from not fighting back against Bonnie to escaping instead of adapting, to creating a fake me and staying hidden instead of standing up for myself. And when I pick the moment to act, to try to be the person I should have been a long time ago? Far too late.
You suck at being a hero, Kit MacLean. Grace Grant would be ashamed of you.
Bonnie was right. I’m dumb. Genius or not, I let Tom Brown bring me this low. Let him manipulate and control me most of my life over a stupid, stupid chess game.
Maybe I should be afraid of what it will be like in the slammer. But I can’t muster that, either. Doesn’t matter, does it? I quit. I’m done. End of story, he gets the prize, time to pack it in and admit he’s smarter than me.
Wow, accepting that hurts a lot. Way more than I thought it could even now.
Someone’s talking outside the car door, a girl’s voice. I have no idea who it would be, but I do know Officer Cradle seemed awfully happy to find me running away from the school after he and his partner were alerted to the alarm. I was right, after all, in hindsight anyway. There is an alarm, but from the way they talked, no video feed. Still, they have me dead to rights.
The door opens and the muffled voices grow louder as Tate—what is she doing here?—grabs my arm and bodily hauls me out of the back seat. I stand next to her, stunned and silent, as she talks to her dad.
“I’m telling you,” she says, breathless
as though she’s been running herself, “Kit is innocent.”
What kind of trick is this? I know she’s in on it with Tom. Is he layering on more suffering or what? I won’t take it and almost pull my arm free of her hand. But, she looks over at me with intensity, everything about her face telling me to just shut up. And, for the first time ever, I listen to someone else and go still.
Her father looks concerned, glancing back and forth between us while his partner, a tall man with dark skin and a shaved bald head, talks into his two-way. “Sweetie,” he says, “you’re positive?”
“Daddy.” She rolls her eyes, lets me go. Holds up her phone, sticking it in her father’s face. He looks at it a moment, brow creased, before standing to his full, imposing height and looking at me.
“You saw them, too?” He waits for my answer while I try to figure out what to say.
“Of course she saw the boys,” she says to me, holding the phone up so I can see. Donnelly and one of his bullies, easy to identify, running from the open door I exited. The same door, I’m sure of it. Were they inside when I got there? “She was the one who pointed them out to me. That’s why I took the picture.” She puts her phone away, turns back to her father. “Kit didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, she’s the reason you know who broke into the school.”
He tips his hat to me and steps back a half pace. I’m still in shock—did Tate just rescue me? Why? Her father seems less inclined to take me into custody again, though.
“What are you two doing out here this late? It’s after nine.” Now he sounds like a dad, not a cop. Big shift and, I think, one in our direction.
“Just a walk, I told Mom.” Tate grabs my arm and pulls on me. “We have to get home now. Go catch them.” She waves to her father’s partner and walks off with my hand in hers, like we’d just been out for a stroll after all.
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