Their interviews were good—good in the sense they were a perfect decoy, and I could edit them into what I needed to placate Headmaster Williams. They also provided me with an opening to meet Erick, who I conveniently assigned the last slot so I could run out of time and get his contact info to “follow up later.”
But the hour also felt dishonest and was only half the story—it didn’t include things like how I’d heard Clara tell Rory that on her last visit to see her dad, someone recognized her from the meme and shouted, “Do it! Raise your hand.”
I’d caused that. So I changed what I said to the third-period class. This time focusing on the social cost for Clara and me. On the permanence of the video and our lack of control with how it was manipulated.
After class I waved off Mrs. Evans’s offer to walk me back to the office. Because I wasn’t headed to the office; I was going to the cafeteria.
Lunch was in full roar when I entered—emphasis on “roar.” Chester High was triple the size of my Ohio school. Six times bigger than Hero High. Despite this, one of the first people I saw was Erick.
He stepped out of the lunch line. “Hey man, are we finishing that interview now?” He brushed his long hair out of his face with the same futile optimism I’d watched him display the twenty-seven times he’d made that gesture during class. And just like then, it fell back in his eyes within seconds.
“Nah.” I shook my head and smiled. “We’ll catch up later—it’s too loud in here. But I’m looking for someone. Do you know Winston Cavendish?”
There was zero malice in his eager nod. He scanned the room, pointed. “He’s at that table by the window. The third one from the far wall.”
Either Erick didn’t know about his ball-drop gif or he didn’t care. Either way, he spoke about Win way too nonchalantly for a grudge-holder. “I see him. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He paused, then added, “If there’s anything you want me to do—you know, fall off a chair, spill a drink over myself, trip while holding my tray—let me know.”
Yeah, if he was volunteering his humiliation in the hope of going viral, he wouldn’t have minded the gif. Or maybe the thing he minded was that it hadn’t made him internet famous? Either way, I was crossing him off the list. “Thanks, I’m all set.”
His face fell as he stepped back into line, but I cared very little about his disappointment. He could become a famous fool on someone else’s time; I still had ten people to track down and only half an hour left.
I knew who was next: Kiara—or, as I referred to her as I intercepted her on the way back from the trash, “Wait, are you hair-dye girl?”
She looked at me like I was more disgusting than the bin she’d just dumped her lunch in. “Excuse me?”
“From that iLive page?” I added. “I was named ‘most likely to be forgotten.’ ” It was an easy lie, one that created a shared community and eased the tension out of her expression.
“Oh.” She self-consciously touched her neck, where purple and green streaks had faded until they were barely distinguishable from her black hair. “That’s . . . awful.”
“I’m Huck, by the way.” I flashed some dimples. “In case you’ve ‘forgotten,’ Kiara.”
Using her name had been deliberate, a way to further establish our connection, and there was a flash of panic on her face as she tried to come up with proof that she remembered me. “Um . . .”
There was zero need to prolong her discomfort. She couldn’t be behind the page. If so, she would’ve had a different reaction to my made-up post. I smiled again. “Anyway, I like the hair. Just wanted to say that.”
“Thanks, uh, Huck?”
“See you around.” I stepped back and she darted to her table, face lit up with amusement and a good story to tell. I pulled out my phone. It had been buzzing, and a person who’d been sitting by the windows had stood.
What are you doing here? I looked from my phone to him. The text was sent by “Wink,” but since he was holding the phone, it seemed safe to assume he’d borrowed hers.
I texted back: I have all the appropriate permissions. No forgeries. Well, I sorta did. Technically those permissions had expired at the end of third period. Close enough.
But what are you DOING HERE?
I’d spotted the next person on my list. I tapped out my answer as I started toward her. Working on my project.
I could see his frown from across the room. He put the phone down. Picked it back up. Don’t call me that.
“You’re from media class.” A red-haired guy had approached while I was looking at my phone. “My parents just sent in my waiver. I forwarded it to your email. Want to interview me?”
Based on the reactions of the people I’d interacted with so far, there really wasn’t any reason I couldn’t walk across the cafeteria and talk to Win. But he could’ve done that too—and he hadn’t.
“Uh, I can’t right now. Sorry.” I was still frowning at Win’s last message and typing my reply. Call you what? Meet me in the bathroom.
“That’s okay,” said the redhead. “I thought your talk—”
Win marched out of the room, which was great, except . . .
I turned back to the guy who’d been chatting this whole time. “Can you tell me where the bathroom is?”
“Yeah, sure.” He grinned. “And you have my email if you need anything. I—I put my number on there too.”
I nodded. “Bathroom?”
When his grin faded, I realized his enthusiasm wasn’t about the video—he was hitting on me. Oh. If Win weren’t waiting, I would’ve found a way to ease out of the conversation more gracefully, but instead I stared at the door and shifted my weight like I really needed to pee. Which, actually, after finishing my full thermos of coffee, wasn’t untrue.
I called thanks for the directions then darted after Win, glad for the immediate hush of the hallway. More glad for the guy waiting by the sinks. He was wearing a scowl that he’d pasted over the smile he couldn’t force from his eyes. I grinned at him. “Surprise.”
“Don’t call me your ‘project.’ ”
I took a step back. “I didn’t.” I said it with a shrug that was totally at odds with how the weight of his interpretation felt on my shoulders. “I’m here for my Hero High video. If I happen to learn some things while at Chester, well, that’s a lucky coincidence.”
“Oh.” Win’s face heated. “Right. Of course you’re not here for me. I swear I’m not super conceited.”
“Well, you’re the reason I started at Chester and not Aspen Crest or Mayfield. And you might’ve had some influence on the people I’m talking to.”
Win lifted an eyebrow. “This is going to backfire so bad.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But no one but Wink even knows I know you, so . . .”
“So I should stop wasting your special undercover time and let you go play Clue?”
“You’re never a waste of time,” I told him. “Except, yeah, I really should go.” Mom would be here in eighteen minutes. “But maybe you can help me edit the footage later?”
“Sure.” Win brightened and nodded to the door. “So, I’ll let you . . .”
“Actually . . .” I pointed to the urinals. “I’ve got to go.” I sounded like a five-year-old. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, my cheeks were officially the same color as the pink antibacterial soap.
Win was laughing as he left, which was at least a better mood than the one he’d had when I’d entered. I mentally reprioritized as I zipped my pants and washed my hands. There was no way I’d get through my list, but I knew who was next and strode directly across the cafeteria. I stopped at the end of a lunch table, beside a girl with curly brown hair. “Reese, right?”
She smiled curiously and waved goodbye to the girl who had been sitting next to her but was getting up. “Do I know you?”
“No. I don’t go here.”
Her eyes turned wary as she reached for the teal-and-purple water bottle in front of her. It had a sticker from a r
ock gym on it, and her arms were toned in ways that made it clear she actually climbed. “How do you know my name?”
I needed to slow down; I couldn’t rush my way into anyone’s trust, but with only fifteen minutes left, I didn’t have time for finesse. Also, Wink could show up any second. “Listen, I need to—”
“Huck?” My shoulders stiffened. Hers did too.
Not Wink. I’d forgotten there was another person at Chester High who knew I knew Win.
Morris clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. I thought that was you I saw talking to—”
“Hey.” I echoed his greeting while cursing internally.
He patted my shoulder again before smugly telling Reese, “This is Win’s new boyfriend.”
Her mouth dropped slightly as she gave me a once-over. She wasn’t the only one doing so, since Morris had used his best oral-presentation voice and now everyone at the surrounding lunch tables was listening. I tried to scan them all, catalog everyone’s faces and reactions for future identification, but I knew it was futile and the effort was making me awkward.
I focused on Reese, putting my back to everyone else so I wouldn’t be distracted by my failure to observe them all. “We’re not dating. Not yet. But here’s hoping.” I held up crossed fingers and paired the overly cheesy gesture with some dimples and self-deprecation. “I mean, can you blame me?”
She laughed. Apparently Morris vouching for me had been key, so maybe his interruption wasn’t that unwelcome. But I remembered what Win had said about these two, and she wasn’t exactly eager to include him in our conversation. So I sat on the edge of the table, forming a shoulder wall between them. Not that he’d noticed. He was engrossed in conversation with a guy a few seats down.
“No, I can’t blame you at all. I had a huge crush on Win—before I knew he was gay.” Her smile flickered and she turned pink. “I—I can’t believe I just admitted that.”
“It’s the dimples,” I reassured her. “I’ve been told they cause confessional reactions. But I won’t tell Win, and I don’t think he has any clue.”
“ Really?” She glanced up quickly, eyebrows quirked. “Because I said something to Wink about it a few weeks ago. It’s ancient news, and I meant it as a joke, but . . .”
I could fill in that ellipsis: But then the iLive post had gone up. She assumed it was his way of saying back off.
I shook my head. “Whenever he talks about you, Win only has good things to say. He thinks your whole family is pretty cool. Seriously, I know about your dad’s middle name, and how your mom’s superpower is making everyone feel welcome, and your dogs, and your brother, and your trampoline. So, I guess even if Wink did tell him, it didn’t faze him.”
“What was that about Wink?” Morris leaned over to ask. “Are you looking for her? She’s taking a math test, right?”
Reese gave a we-weren’t-talking-to-you nod.
“Win’s around though. Does he know you’re here?” Morris’s forehead wrinkled. “Why are you?”
“Measuring for friendship bracelets.” The weak joke earned me a weak chuckle—and enough time to figure out a response. “It’s for a school project. But I have no idea where Win is. This school is so big.”
Morris laughed for real this time. “Want me to go find him? He’d kill me if he finds out you were here and I saw you and he didn’t.”
I nodded. “That’d be great. It’s such a pain his parents took away his cell phone.”
“Tell me about it.” Morris rolled his eyes as he stood. “But you better get used to it. It’s constant.”
I waited for him to get out of earshot before sliding into the empty seat next to Reese and dropping my voice. “Listen, I want to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone.” I wished we could go somewhere less public, but her posture had stiffened as soon as I leaned in. She was about two seconds from screaming Stranger danger! “That post from Win’s iLive—”
“Oh, that?” She waved a stiff hand and almost knocked over her water bottle. “Pretty funny, right?”
“No, it really wasn’t.” I took a deep breath. This was a huge risk, but I hoped it’d pay off. Not necessarily in leads, but in making things right with at least one person. “Here’s the thing: Win didn’t write it.”
She raised an eyebrow, looking around to see why I was looking around. “Who did?”
“We don’t know.” More people were packing up and starting to move. The lunch bell would ring soon. Morris would be back with a very confused Win. My mom would be arriving. I still had nine people I hadn’t talked to, but this felt more important. “You can’t tell anyone he didn’t do it—don’t even tell him or Wink you know. But . . . they were really upset you’d think he wrote that.”
She tightened her grip on her water bottle. “I never believed it.”
I allowed her the lie. It was only another second before she grabbed my arm then leaned in to whisper, “Wait, does that mean the whole page is fake? Poor Win.”
I nodded. Smart girl. I could see why Wink liked her, why Win respected her. She’d drawn this conclusion much faster than anyone else had connected the dots.
Too fast? I narrowed my eyes and scrutinized her.
“Look who I found!”
Both Reese and I turned to see Morris leading Win our way. He was wide-eyed, and that forehead wrinkle was in full force as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to react to me. His voice strained as he said, “Hey, Huck. You’re at my school?”
“Yeah.” Morris laughed. “He’s working on a project. So apparently that fancy private school can’t have everything if he needed to come here.”
Reese wrinkled her nose. “You go to Hero High?” It was the same sort of tone I’d heard in about half my interviews today. A common theme in the one-word answers had been “snobby,” “stuck-up,” “elitist.” But Reese’s disdain could also be Wink related. I wondered if she knew her best friend’s plans for sophomore year.
Not that I could ask. There weren’t many people still at the lunch table, but they were watching us, waiting for me to respond—which meant I needed to pay attention and do that.
“Yeah, I do,” I told Reese, then turned to the guys. “Hey, Win. Thanks for tracking him down, Morris.”
The timer on my phone began to buzz, and I exhaled in relief. “I’ve got to go, but—walk me out? Do you have time?”
Win smiled. “Yeah.”
My phone chimed as I lay in bed going over the events of the day and trying to sort them in my mind: What information had I gained? Which suspects had been exonerated, and who had climbed higher on the probability list? What mistakes had I made? What had I done right?
It was the mistakes I was dwelling on. How many people had heard Morris label me Win’s boyfriend, and did that ruin my chances for future interviews or undercover work? Should I have warned Win about the visit? Did I make him late to fourth period? I didn’t get to ask after school, because Curtis had warned me his dad was coming home early to take Wink to the dentist, so I shouldn’t stop by.
Was it a huge betrayal that I’d told Reese after I’d made them swear to secrecy? How would he react if he knew?
I grabbed my phone from my bedside table and swiped to log in. The chime had been an iLive alert, and I almost ignored it. But some impulse or instinct had me clicking over.
Friend request accepted: Click to see Winston Cavendish’s profile.
18
“Baker!” Bancroft stopped by my locker Wednesday morning. “I meant it about hanging out. Let’s do it. You in?”
My day had started with Mom shaking the empty coffee canister and asking, “How in the world did we go through a five-pound bag of beans in a week?”
That question had been tragic; this one was . . . suspicious? Or maybe that was the lack of caffeine talking. I’d been so irritable all morning that Dad had plundered the can of cold brew from his own lunch and handed it to me. “I’m only doing this for the sake of your poor teachers and classmates.”
&nbs
p; Bancroft’s question was standing in the way of my having time to chug it before art. Even so, I hesitated before answering. “Sure.”
“Cool. Can I catch your number? I’ll text to set something up. The guys were talking about doing something old-school this Saturday because there’s no game.” He paused to grin. “Take that Mayfield. They cut me and Elijah and Morris from the team, now Lij and I are starting at Hero High.”
“Baseball?” I asked, wondering if I should’ve tried out after all. Though when would I have had time, with all this sleuthing and not sleeping?
“Yup. You’re looking at Hero High’s second baseman. Anyway, this weekend—maybe laser tag or go-carts. You in?”
He handed me his phone, unlocked and open to a blank contact. But I’d typed in only half my name before I looked up. “Actually, can I ask you a favor?”
“Uh, maybe?” He looked cautious, and I can’t say I blamed him. I doubted my tie was on straight, I had no clue what my hair looked like. Instead of any sort of grooming, I’d spent my post-shower morning searching for the backup bag of coffee I kept in my closet for making contraband French press. I’d found it under my lacrosse jersey. Empty. “Hit me with it and I’ll let you know.”
“I’m doing this video—”
“Dude, another one? Maybe . . . don’t.” He was eyeing his phone like he was going to snatch it from my hands.
“Nothing like the Milverton-Clara one,” I clarified. “That’s why I have to do it. Headmaster Williams wants a video that makes Hero High look good.”
“Phew.” He turned somber. “I gotta say—I’m glad Milverton’s gone. We all feel bad we didn’t notice the not-calling-on-girls thing. It’s solid that you did—you know, except for the whole Clara part. And this punishment.”
I paused, wondering who the “we” in “we all” meant. Regardless, I was glad. “Thanks. But the problem is, no one really trusts me with a camera right now.”
“Say no more. I got you.” He twirled his phone and shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll get a bunch of people together—like a movie night, only we’ll be making one, not watching. Bring Win and Wink if you want.”
Get a Clue Page 15