Double Cross

by Beth McMullen

  “Look,” says Charlotte, holding up her phone. “It’s Owen Elliott defending us against Tucker Harrington III.” I quickly read the exchange, momentarily speechless that Tucker Harrington III, a big, dumb, obnoxious bully, can actually spell “cheaters.” A fizzy, warm sensation fills my chest.

  “Jeez, Abby, look at you,” says Charlotte, grinning.

  “What?” I demand.

  “You totally like him,” she says.

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play dumb. And he likes you too. It’s kind of sweet. And gross at the same time.”

  What is she talking about? Owen Elliott is a dork with big feet. Plus, he gave me a black eye. I definitely don’t like him. I can barely tolerate him. And he certainly doesn’t like me. Unacceptable.

  “For the record,” I growl, “I do not like him. And he does not like me. Have you noticed that’s he’s surgically attached to Poppy?”

  “And you think I’m socially clueless,” snorts Izumi.

  “Well, you are,” admits Charlotte. “But so is Abby. What would you guys do without me?”

  I pelt her with a handful of chips. “Don’t say Owen Elliott likes me, because . . . just . . . yuck. I refuse to accept it.”

  “You accepting it doesn’t matter that much,” Izumi says. Oh, no. She believes this nonsense too? Why do I feel so weird all of a sudden? He hit me in the face with a squash ball. That’s it. Not thinking about Owen Elliott any more.

  “I’m done with this conversation,” I say.

  “Good,” says Izumi, “because we are due in Mrs. Smith’s office in five minutes.”

  “Wait! Why?” I shout. Quickly, I inventory our activities since the start of school, and there is nothing suspect. We are on the straight and narrow, the epitome of the well-behaved Smith student.

  “Oh, relax,” says Charlotte. “She’s just going to lecture us before we leave for the Challenge on codes of conduct and ask us not to embarrass Smith and blah, blah, blah.”

  I exhale sharply. A lecture. I can handle that.

  It’s almost October, and yet the heat won’t let go. By the time we meet Toby in Main Hall, we’re full-on sweating. Poppy and Owen Elliott are there too. We all look wilted.

  “The competition,” says Poppy, with an evil grin.

  “Look,” says Charlotte. “It’s Team OP. Overpowered with no place to go.”

  “Charming as always,” replies Poppy.

  “Come on, guys,” says Toby. “We shouldn’t fight. Veronica says it’s important for Smith teams to have each other’s backs.”

  Poppy reels on Toby. “You’ve been quizzing past winners?” she asks hotly.

  “No!” he responds. “We’re friends! Sort of. Kind of? Never mind. All I’m saying is we’re competing for the same school.”

  Poppy waves him off. “Maybe you are,” she says. “But we’re in it to win it, right, Owen Elliott?” Owen Elliott mutters something and stares at the floor.

  Charlotte narrows her gaze on Poppy. “You know, TrashTalk favors us two to one.” This is a total lie, but Charlotte delivers it with such confidence, Poppy blanches. Recovering quickly, she juts her chin out in defiance.

  “TrashTalk is a waste of time and resources,” she says. “Used primarily by people with low intelligence and a lack of imagination. And they will all be proved wrong once we get to Briar.”

  Charlotte isn’t pleased with the implication that she is an idiot, but before it comes to blows, Mrs. Smith beckons us into her office. It’s frosty inside. It could be the air-conditioning or Mrs. Smith’s charming personality.

  She reminds us we represent Smith and should act accordingly. We are to wear our uniforms, mind our manners, act civilly, and enjoy the spirit of competition. And remember, our reputation is on the line. In other words, there will be a price to pay for screwing up.

  As we shuffle out of Mrs. Smith’s office, Toby hangs back, a look of concern clouding his face. He can’t back out now, can he?

  “How was Veronica?” I ask, hoping to distract him.

  “Good,” he says. “Great, actually. She just won some award.”

  “For being the best at everything in the world?” I ask.

  “Well, yeah.” But the look stays on Toby’s face.

  “Okay, spill it,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “I just wonder if this is a good idea,” he says. What is he talking about? Life, the universe, spy school, math class?

  “You are going to have to be more specific,” I say.

  “The Challenge,” he replies. “Using it to get into spy school. Not doing it for what it’s meant for. You know, bettering the world for humanity and stuff.”

  Uh-oh. This feels heavy. We sit down on a bench in empty Main Hall. “Explain,” I urge.

  “I want back into spy school as bad as anyone,” he says quietly. “I mean, working with Veronica and Mrs. Smith before she kicked me out, it was the best. I felt, I don’t know, like I had a purpose.”

  I’m paying close attention now, and I have no idea where this is going. “I get that,” I respond.

  “And we keep trying to get back in, and we keep getting further away. Do you know what I mean?” Sure. I’ve been on all the same misadventures he’s been on. And it’s true they have not endeared us to our headmaster. “What happens if we just play by the rules and wait until we are sixteen and then maybe get back into spy school like that? Like everyone else?”

  Wait a minute. While Poppy Parsons goes off and saves the world, we sit around and eat cheese fries? I mean, eating cheese fries is not a bad thing, but really? I keep my mouth shut, pretty sure the thoughts in my head will not be helpful if I say them aloud.

  “If we mess up again,” Toby says gravely, “we may never get in. How far are you willing to go?”

  As far as I have to, Toby. But I keep that in my head as well. “Let’s just go to the Challenge and have fun and do our best. Maybe we’ll get to build a bunch of battle drones and race them around campus. That would be cool, right?”

  Toby’s gaze tells me he’s aware I’ve sidestepped the question. The hint of disappointment makes a tight spot in my chest. But as his look changes, I know he’s letting it go.

  “We need to win,” he says, sticking a finger in my face so I know he’s serious. “Remember, winning means a minimum of at least four conversations with Veronica. Maybe I can even work out a trip to spy college to debrief on our shared success.”

  I like the direction of this conversation much better. “You could form a club,” I suggest. “The Smith School Global Challenge Winners Association. Membership of two. Unless you want us to join?”

  “Um, no thank you.” We walk down the hallway, bantering about Veronica and Toby’s club, my chest slowly loosening.

  Two days later, we’re off to Briar Academy.

  Chapter 6

  The Briar Luxury Resort—I Mean School.

  THE FIRST THING WE DO upon arrival at Briar Academy is ditch the uniforms and trash the ties in exchange for shorts and Smith School T-shirts. Only then can we fully take in our surroundings. Briar Academy sits in the middle of two hundred and fifty acres of Connecticut forest. If the Smith School for Children is fancy, Briar is completely over-the-top. Modern glass buildings are spread across a lush green campus woven with intricate English gardens, dotted with large sculptures and pieces of art. Smith is the expected mental image of boarding school. Briar is not.

  We are assigned dorm rooms in a brand-new building on the southern edge of campus. All the rooms are singles and include bathrooms with oversize Jacuzzi tubs. The towels are fluffy and soft.

  “This lifestyle will make us weak,” chides Izumi. I hate to admit it, but not having to share four grimy shower stalls with a thousand other girls is something I could get used to.

  “We should transfer,” says Charlotte.

  Nestled into the campus is a lake complete with a family of paddling ducks and a dock with fancy boats for the rowing team. There is a private ski slope, a gol
f course, and an aquatic center, separate from the athletic facilities. There are twelve pristine soccer fields. It’s possible I spy a planetarium.

  Truly, this place makes Smith look like a dump. But it also feels unused, like it sprang fully formed from the ground just yesterday. The Briar school uniform is cargo pants and T-shirts, which makes us green with envy. We are assigned a minder to help us get oriented. Jane Ann has black hair down to her waist and fingernails painted bright orange. Toby cannot take his eyes off her.

  “Congratulations on making the Challenge,” Jane Ann gushes. She walks backward along the stone pathway so she can make eye contact as we move. It’s one of those tricks tour guides practice. “We are beyond excited to host. It’s a dream come true. I’m not competing myself, but I’m so grateful that I can help by being your guide. Go Briar!”

  Talk about school spirit. I raise an eyebrow at Charlotte, who rolls her eyes. Our procession continues down the pathway, past a series of gleaming steel and glass buildings. No red brick or climbing ivy here. “We’ve seen a lot of big changes at Briar recently,” Jane Ann says, as if reading from a script. “Two years ago, a new headmaster was installed, and he decided to change what Briar was all about. A full renovation followed. We’re really lucky to have world-class facilities. The headmaster says soon everyone will know our name. Everyone will want to come here.” Her grin threatens to swallow her face. It’s boiling outside, and she doesn’t sweat. She might be a cyborg.

  Somewhere, a bell chimes, and the grounds flood with students hustling from class to class. They smile and laugh, waving at us, yelling congratulations. This is a happy place. Abnormally happy. Is it the Jacuzzi tubs? Maybe it’s an army of cyborgs?

  As if reading my mind, Jane Ann says, “The students are in a really good mood. We get Challenge week off, to watch the competitions and cheer everyone on.” To our left is the library, the science center, and a theater designed to look like a slice of Broadway, complete with neon lights and a marquee advertising an upcoming production of Hamlet. We take a seat on some benches opposite the theater. Jane Ann stares at us expectantly. I feel we are already not living up to her expectations as Challenge participants. “Any questions about Briar?” she asks. “What else can I tell you about our crazy awesome school?”

  “Do you know what the Challenge tasks are?” Charlotte replies.

  Jane Ann visibly recoils. “Of course not,” she says sternly. “The tasks remain under lock and key until they are announced to everyone at the same time. Otherwise, it would be unfair. It would be cheating. We don’t cheat at Briar. It’s against the honor code, and we take the code very seriously.”

  “Just asking,” Charlotte says defensively.

  “Briar is really nice,” I offer as a distraction.

  It works. Jane Ann grins. “We love it here. But I want to hear all about the amazing things you do at Smith! No one gets into the Challenge without being amazing.” Her gaze is sharp. Maybe it’s the heat, but I’m suddenly uncomfortable. She is not likely to be impressed by Deadhead the Rose. Izumi elbows me in the ribs. “Go ahead,” she whispers. “Explain how we are amazing.”

  I can’t very well tell Jane Ann how we saved the world from the Ghost, can I?

  The Ghost is the world’s ultimate baddy. Toby describes his empire as a giant wheel where each spoke is a different criminal element, like drugs and weapons and cyberterrorism and regular terrorism and all that other stuff you see on TV. There’s even a spoke for people who sell kids. And the Ghost is at the center of the wheel. He’s the guy who keeps the thing rolling. He connects everyone and helps them get what they need to commit their crimes. In turn, they pay for the privilege. And the Ghost is not above using people and throwing them away. Or worse. The last time our paths crossed, he tried to have us killed when we accidentally discovered he was Veronica Brooks’s father. We came out on top that time, which definitely qualifies as amazing. But it’s also a secret.

  I smile blankly at Jane Ann. Toby jumps in, babbling about how he became obsessed over the summer with how our sense of smell can trigger happy emotions and invented this app to send smells via text, but before he can out himself and the Cookies app as not actually amazing, Charlotte interrupts.

  “If I don’t get some water,” she says, fanning her face, “I might faint. For real.”

  “And believe me,” I say quickly, “Charlotte is a fainter.”

  Jane Ann jumps to her feet. “We can’t have that! To the dining hall!”

  The dining hall is the Disney World of food. Floor-to-ceiling windows give the impression of being outside, although the air in here is cool and sweet. There are at least twenty-five stations visible from the entrance. Burgers, sushi, rice bowls, a noodle station, fresh-made sandwiches, five kinds of soups, desserts piled practically to the roof. The mac and cheese is dreamy. The salad bar is twelve miles long. There’s a make-your-own-sundae station. They have soda. Sure, it’s some natural organic blah-blah-blah soda, but still . . . soda. At Smith, we get demerits if we even mention the word.

  Like a good tour guide, Jane Ann leads us right to the beverages. “After you’ve had your fill,” she says, “might I suggest a quick visit to the lake? It’s nice and cool out on the docks and really beautiful. Tranquil, even. I have to work on some Challenge preparations for tomorrow, but please just let me know if there is anything else you need.” She extends yet another sincere welcome to Briar, shakes our hands, and finally takes her leave.

  “Wow,” says Charlotte as Jane Ann walks away.

  “Yeah,” Toby agrees.

  “I don’t think she meant ‘wow’ in the same way you do, Toby,” I say. He blushes and buries his face in his soda. Toby is one of my best friends and he’s a boy, so it’s completely within the realm of possibility that other girls will like him and he will like other girls. But it still does something funny to my stomach every time I see evidence of it. It’s a different feeling from the one I have when I’m around Owen Elliott, which is, I swear, no feeling at all.

  “Any more school spirit and I might have barfed on my shoes,” Charlotte comments.

  “It was a lot,” Izumi concurs.

  “Was it real?” I ask.

  “Teenagers are not known for that level of enthusiasm over, well, anything,” Izumi points out. “I mean, we have our reputations to think about.”

  “I know,” says Charlotte. “It was weird.”

  “You guys are just jealous,” says Toby. He might be right. This cafeteria is to die for.

  After we sample all the desserts and seven kinds of soda, we roll out the door, a little sick to our stomachs but satisfied. Charlotte and Izumi head back to the dorm while Toby goes off to check out the computer lab. I swipe a stack of chocolate chip cookies and follow signs to the docks. My footsteps are cushioned by a carpet of pine needles as I make my way through a large grove of trees. Birds chirp merrily overhead. Jane Ann is right. It’s kind of tranquil down here.

  A large wooden dock extends into the lake. Long narrow crew boats, or shells, are tied to cleats all along the edge, bobbing gently in the murky water. I kick off my shoes and take a seat, letting my feet dangle into the warm water. I wonder if I’d be a good rower or would I just fall in and that would be that? I think about this while I eat the stack of purloined cookies. I should have brought water. Now I’m thirsty.

  I pull up my feet, drying them with my socks, when a blue-and-yellow butterfly lands on my remaining cookie. “Hello, friend,” I say. “The cookies sure are good. Happy to share.” The butterfly opens and closes its wings, its glittery stripes reflecting the sun. She’s beautiful. As I bend down to take a closer look, the butterfly rises from the cookie and hovers at eye level. A mechanical whirring sound cuts through the sticky, still air. The butterfly flashes, like it just took my photo. On the horizon, a small dark cloud of blue and yellow closes in on my position.

  “What the heck?” Suddenly, a few dozen butterflies buzz me, sticking in my hair, stinging my cheeks and neck, zo
oming at my eyes. I swat wildly with my hands. “Go away! Stop it!” But this does little to deter them.

  Eyes closed, I grab my shoes and run down the dock. Several butterflies follow, clinging to my hair. I stumble at the end of the dock, falling hard on my knees. It hurts, and there will be bruises, but I need to get out of here. I sprint across the green lawn between the sidewalks and dash through a lovely garden of late-blooming daylilies. The flowers leave trails of pollen on my legs. Charging into the dorm, I dash up the stairs and down the hall to our rooms. Izumi’s door is slightly ajar, and I slam into it with my shoulder.

  Izumi leaps from her bed, startled. “Abby, what the heck? Are you on fire?”

  “Butterflies!” I holler, loud enough to bring Charlotte running. “Killer butterflies just attacked me down at the boat dock!”

  Well, this gets their attention.

  Chapter 7

  The Competition.

  AS WE STAND ON THE boat dock, Toby, Charlotte, and Izumi all agree the view is pretty good and that I’m insane. I didn’t expect them to agree right away that I was attacked by a swarm of angry butterflies, but I hoped for at least a pause before they declared me off the rails.

  “Butterflies don’t sting,” Izumi says. “They are not aggressive. And they don’t buzz.”

  “They just hang around looking pretty,” Charlotte adds.

  “Maybe you just smell really good?” Toby offers. “Like a flower?”