“Is that really true?” I said. “I mean, it sounds like an elitist fairy tale.”
“Look. On average, two-thirds of Harvard undergrads come from thirty thousand public schools, but five percent of each Harvard class comes from just seven private schools.” Sloane said. “See?”
“It’s four a.m. and you’re switching between percents and fractions. I have no idea what you’re saying to me,” I said. “And I don’t even want to go to Harvard.”
“Ugh. Harvard’s just an example. What I’m saying is . . . a handful of schools like Prentiss sent around fifteen of their grad class to Harvard last year while the public schools averaged point zero five of a person going to Harvard. You’re dreaming if you think that’s all because of merit and grades,” Sloane said. “Trust me, they hold places for the preps.”
“Nope. That’s way too much math for the night I’ve had,” I said. “God, just thinking about telling Mom makes me want to forget the whole thing already. Is that lame?”
“Lame,” Sloane said.
“Plus, I feel like if I went, my father would be winning somehow,” I said.
“Double lame.” Sloane flopped back on my bed and said, “Your problems make me tired.”
“You don’t know, okay?” I slouched down onto the floor and propped my head on the rolled-up sleeping bag. “My parents are divorced. Everything I do is, like, a huge choice. Someone’s always offended. New York equals Dad. River Heights equals Mom.” I was already staring into the abyss, so I decided to keep going. “And how do I deal with the crap Digby’s going to give me? Seriously. Being called ‘Princeton’ is annoying enough. I can’t even think what he’ll come up with when I tell him this.” But when I did start thinking about it, I felt myself getting angry. “I mean, am I supposed to be embarrassed I want to go to a good school? Does he think—what?—that he can just blow into my life and suddenly be the most important thing? And what do I do when he decides to blow back out of town again? It took me, like, an entire week to get my life back together the last time he disappeared. And that was bad. It was, like, no-shower-no-food-for-a-week bad.” Maybe that last bit was an overshare. “So whatever. Bite me, Philip Digby. I did good, dammit. I’m going to celebrate. I want ice cream. Do you want some ice cream?” Sloane was silent. “Hey, Sloane. Ice cream?”
All I got back from her was a snore. I sat up to find her sprawled out on my duvet, eyes shut and breathing deeply, already fast sleep. I didn’t feel like going through the drama of peeling her off my bed, so I unzipped my sleeping bag and got comfortable.
I’d started the day at the apex of a love triangle and now I was ending it sleeping on the floor of my own room, wrapped in a filthy sleeping bag because I’d given up my bed to the mean girl who’d once stopped Austin and me in the hall and asked him, “Her?”
Things had definitely taken a turn.
FOUR
I woke up still holding the letter from Prentiss. When I rolled over, the first thing I saw was Sloane, looking at me with an intense stare that freaked me out. “What?” I said.
“I’ve never met anyone who’s as good at being themselves no matter what,” Sloane said. “You just don’t care what people think. I wish I were that tough mentally.”
“O . . . kay . . .” I could hear the build-up to what I now recognized as the trademark Sloane Bloom complisult structure. It gave a compliment . . . and then used it to tear a strip off your soul.
“And now everyone in school hates you and thinks you’re a slut . . .” she said. “That skill’s going to be a huge advantage. I really admire that in you.”
“Wow. Stop. I don’t think I can handle any more of your admiration right now,” I said. “I’ve only been awake five minutes and I already want to kill myself.” I got up.
“Where are you going?” Sloane said.
“I am now going to go cry in the shower until the hot water runs out,” I said.
“What?” Sloane said. “What did I say?”
* * *
• • •
Later, I found Sloane sitting at the kitchen counter.
“So,” Sloane said. “I was thinking.”
“Goody. More thoughts.” I noticed the full breakfast plated in front of her. “Oh, is my mom here?”
“I haven’t seen anyone else this morning,” Sloane said.
Weird. I’d just gone into Mom’s room and noticed her unmade bed. She would only have left it like that if she’d been in a huge hurry.
“Are you telling me you cooked that?” I pointed at her plate of food. “Wow. That actually looks good.”
“Rude,” Sloane said.
“You’re right. Sorry. Let’s start again,” I said. “You were thinking?”
“About, you know . . .” Sloane said. “You being the new school slut—”
“Yes, okay. What about it?” Hearing it filled me with renewed dread. “Let’s work on phrasing, by the way.”
“How do you want to deal with it?” she said.
“You’re the school’s queen bee. Can’t you make it go away? Give me a royal pardon?” I was half kidding but the half that wasn’t kidding hoped she’d say yes.
“Maybe a few weeks ago. Right now . . . socially, things with me have been . . .” She made a rocking motion with her hand.
“Are you okay?” I said. I was surprised that she’d been able to negatively review herself with such breathtaking ease.
“Sure. I needed a break anyway,” Sloane said. “It’s really high-maintenance being me.”
“That’s a bold statement . . .” I said. “And a lie.” When she tried to deny it, I said, “That, apparently, you are telling yourself. Sloane, you love being queen bee.”
“I just need to take time off from those harpies,” Sloane said. “Hey. I also need gym shoes. You want to come to the mall?”
“The mall? Together?” I said. “All right. What’s really going on?”
“What?” she said.
“Sloane,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Fine. You’re not allowed to laugh.” Sloane went into her phone. “I saw this and then I couldn’t sleep for a week.”
She then showed me video of one massive black chimpanzee beating the crap out of another chimp. The narrator said, “From the start it was clear that Frodo would rule through brute force . . .”
“Why are you making me watch monkey fight club?” I said.
“The big one’s Frodo. Frodo’s brother Freud was alpha until Frodo pushed him out. Because Freud wasn’t a bully when he was the leader, the group took Freud back. But see, Frodo was a bully . . .”
I could see it meant a lot to her but I didn’t get it. I started to laugh.
Sloane fast-forwarded the video. “So when Frodo got sick, his group murdered him . . .” She showed me her phone. “There were bite marks on his balls, Zoe. Bite marks. On his balls. Think about it.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” I said. “Wait. You’re being nice to me so people won’t think you’re a bully? Shouldn’t you go be nice to someone who’s less hated than I am?”
“Maybe. But you’re what I have to work with right now,” Sloane said. “I think we should brainstorm about your situation. Our friend Bill has been posting all night. People are mostly calling you a home-wrecker and—your favorite—” Sloane paused for drama. “Skanky ho.”
It was predictable of Bill but it still bothered me.
“You need to get in front of this,” Sloane said. “Change the conversation.”
“Change the conversation? These are high school kids. Can’t get in front of that,” I said. “Besides. Don’t you have Henry to worry about?”
“Henry?” Sloane said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Henry.”
“Right.” Sloane tsked and then got a wistful girl-let’s-talk look. “Well, I mean, of course I’
m not dumping him. But I need to teach him a lesson. He needs to learn not to set off a bimbo eruption every time he’s at a party without me—”
“No, Sloane. I wasn’t asking about your love drama. I meant the cops. And the steroids?” I said. “We need to get our cover story in line. Make sure Henry’s willing to go along with it.”
“Screw him,” Sloane said. “Maybe I don’t feel like covering for him anymore.”
But we needed her to. We’d accidentally taken a gym bag full of steroids from an ex-student named Silkstrom who’d been selling them near our school. To get around having to tell the cops about all the borderline illegal things Digby, Felix, Sloane, Henry, and I had done to uncover the fact that our football team’s coach had been behind the entire dealing operation, Digby and I had handed the bag of drugs to Harlan Musgrave. Musgrave, a disgraced ex-cop who was now our school’s truant officer, agreed to keep us out of the story when Digby told him he could use the credit for busting Coach to get himself back on the River Heights police force. It was a huge tangle of BS and everyone needed to tell the same story, including Sloane, no matter how mad she was at Henry.
I could see she was in no mood to be reasonable. “Okay, maybe you need a cooling-off period—”
The doorbell rang but I heard the door open before I even got to the front hall.
“Hello?” I said. “Mom?”
“Hi, Zoe.” Felix walked past me into the kitchen.
Henry followed him in, all shame and slumped shoulders. “Hi, Zoe,” he said.
Digby came in last.
“Did I leave the front door open?” I said.
“I still have the key Cooper gave me when I was staying here,” Digby said.
“You still have that?” I said. “Shouldn’t you give it back now that you’ve moved out?” I extended my hand to take it from him.
“I will,” he said. “Next time I see Cooper.”
“Meh . . . who am I kidding, anyway? You’ll just break in,” I said. “Once again, though, why is my place the clubhouse?”
“Henry’s house is full of kids, we can’t go to my place, and allergic-to-everything-everything over there tried to give me millet salad the last time I was over at his house,” Digby said.
I lowered my voice. “Hey, did you talk to Felix about de Groot?”
“I didn’t get a chance to. Henry kept me up all night. So much crying,” Digby said. “Please never say the word football to me again. Or future . . . or scholarship . . .”
“You can’t do that to Felix, Digby,” I said. “His whole family—”
Suddenly, a mug of coffee flew out of the kitchen and smashed against the wall.
“Whoa whoa whoa . . .” I said.
Digby and I ran into the kitchen just as Sloane threw another mug at Henry. Digby caught this one before it hit the cupboards.
“Sloane, can you teach him this lesson at your house?” I said. I pointed at Henry. “And you, get that stupid hangdog look off your face. It just makes her madder. Nothing happened with Maisie. You don’t have anything to apologize for—”
Sloane slapped the kitchen counter. “Excuse me. Nothing?”
“Yes, because—I’ll say it once more—nothing happened.” When she started up again, I said, “That’s as good as it’s going to get for you, Sloane, so take it.” She started to protest again, so I said, “I don’t want to hear about how he let Maisie think something could’ve happened blah, blah, blah . . .”
Digby laughed. “Uh-oh, Mom’s maaaaad . . .”
“And you.” I turned on Digby. “You can’t just walk in here.”
Digby said, “I rang the bell.”
“If you’d called, I could’ve told you it wasn’t a good time to come over,” I said.
“But we should coordinate our story before anyone starts asking questions,” Felix said.
“Screw it. I’m not lying for him.” Sloane stared at Henry and said, “I hope you die. Or go to prison, and then die there.”
“Sloane, could you just . . .” I made a mouth-shut gesture. “So, Digby? Do we need to get proactive?” I said. “Go to the police before Coach talks? What if he tells them that we were the ones who brought the bag of drugs to school?”
“I doubt Coach would talk. Like I said before, Coach’s lawyer will probably tell him not to make things worse by mentioning the fact that on top of everything, he tried to murder four students,” Digby said. “Coach won’t talk.”
“What about Silkstrom?” Henry said.
“What about him?” Digby said.
“Do I need to tell my family to look out for Silkstrom?” Henry said. “In case he decides to come after me?”
“Silkstrom sold drugs for Coach, Coach is in jail, so technically, Silkstrom’s unemployed,” Digby said.
“So you don’t think I need to worry?” Henry said.
“I doubt it. We’re not dealing with the mafia or anything,” Digby said.
“What about Musgrave?” I said.
“Does Musgrave know we’re involved?” Sloane pointed at Henry, Felix, and herself. “What did you say when you talked to him yesterday?”
“Man, that was yesterday,” Digby said. “Feels like weeks ago.”
I knew what he meant. It had been a dizzy twenty-four hours. I endured weeks of stress about the SATs only for the test to be canceled when Coach almost burned down the school during his attempt to kill us for figuring out he’d been selling steroids to his players. And then Digby’s nine-year quest to find his sister came to a head later that night during his conversation with de Groot.
“I never mentioned your names. As far as he knows, it was just me and Princeton,” Digby said. “I think.”
“So, do you think we might’ve saved the season?” Henry said.
Digby shrugged. “Maybe?”
“Will we need to talk to the police?” Felix said.
“I don’t think so,” Digby said. “Musgrave’s going to say he cracked the case all on his own.”
Felix put his hand on his chest and exhaled. “My mom’s still mad at me for what happened last semester . . . I don’t think I can afford to get in trouble again.”
I gave Digby a hard look but he didn’t get the message. “Digby? Isn’t there something you need to tell Felix?” When Digby looked away from me and stayed quiet, I said, “Hey guys. Digby’s had a breakthrough. With Sally.”
“What?” Henry said. “What breakthrough?”
“That’s amazing,” Felix said.
I gestured to Felix. “But now he needs your help.” I wanted Digby to say it.
“Me? How?” When neither of us answered, Felix said, “Tell.”
“Okay,” Digby said. “I finally figured out who took Sally, Felix.”
“Have you told the police?” Felix said.
“Told the police? No. It wouldn’t help. This guy . . . let’s just say he’s untouchable,” Digby said. “Felix, he says he’ll tell me what happened to my sister. But in return . . .”
“What?” Felix said.
“I have to give him what he was after nine years ago,” Digby said. “He wants everything my mother was working on at her lab at Perses.”
Digby waited for Felix to fully absorb what that meant.
“Hang on. Your mother’s lab is my father’s lab now.” Felix sat down. “Oh. You plan to steal it from my father’s lab.” He stared at Digby. “You already know how you’d do it?”
“With a spoofed software upgrade that would install a rootkit on your dad’s computer. I noticed you and your dad share videos of dogs doing people things, so I was going to send you one of a dog eating at a dinner table with human hands. I was pretty sure you’d forward that to him,” Digby said.
“Who could resist?” Felix said.
“And then once he clicked that link,” Digby said, “I’
d own his and every computer on his network.”
Felix looked stunned. “You weren’t even going to tell me?”
“But I would only copy my mother’s files, Felix. I wouldn’t touch the rest.” But then Digby muttered, “Well, maybe I’d look around a little . . .”
Felix snapped out of his trance and said, “A rootkit?”
Digby took a USB key out of his jacket suit pocket.
“You wrote it already,” Felix said.
To his credit, Digby looked ashamed.
“Did you at least write a script to clear all the event logs?” Felix said.
“Of course,” Digby said.
“Including the router logs? The IDS logs?” When Digby didn’t answer, Felix said, “So the next time they do a security audit, they’d see my father’s computer was used in the hack?”
“I could go in and do a bash-history,” Digby said.
Sloane looked at me but I was just as lost as she was.
“You don’t think a million shredded files would look suspicious?” Felix held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
At first, Digby resisted Felix when he tried to take the USB from his hand but eventually, he did surrender it to Felix. And then Felix immediately dropped the USB key on the floor and ground it into smithereens with his foot. “There’s a reason I write all your code for you.”
I hated seeing the devastated look on Digby’s face. “Isn’t there a way for Digby to get in the Perses system and get it himself without involving you or your father?” I said.
“Even the best hacks leave a trail. The most you can do is destroy all the logs, but like I said, that’s suspicious too. They’ll dig around and eventually . . . they’ll find their way back to me and then my father.” Felix shrugged. “It’s data. It’s not a physical object where you can go in, boost it, and then disappear.”
“Except when it is . . .” Digby said. “A physical object.”
A long beat passed before Felix finally caught on. “Because it becomes a physical object—”
“Whenever they perform a backup,” Digby said.
Trouble Never Sleeps Page 3