“Dawg,” Jim said. “She’s twenty-two. And yes, I’m serious—she won’t mind.”
Digby perked up. “Well then, that’ll do, pig. Send it to them.” He pointed at Jim’s buddies. “And then you all post it CousinLove, IncestIsBest, AllInTheFamily . . . tack on all the hashtags.”
And then Digby looked at me like I ought to be on my knees thanking him. He threw his arms open in a flourish.
“What are you smirking about?” I said. “You’re just undoing the crapstorm you unleashed on me.”
“Are you guys okay?” Henry said.
“She’s mad about the Bill thing,” Digby said.
“Why? Are you jealous?” Henry shook his head. “Don’t be. Bill basically spent most of her time with Digby asking about you.” Henry pointed at me.
“She did?” I said. “How do you know that?”
“They’d come into the diner,” Henry said. “And Bill would be like, What does Zoe get? What did Zoe say? I bet Zoe did this—”
“Wait. Come into the diner?” I turned to Digby. “You brought her to Olympio’s?”
“Oh, dude,” Digby said to Henry.
“I at least had more class than to bring Austin to Olympio’s for our dates,” I said.
“Yeah, I always did think that was awkward, dude,” Henry said.
And then I turned to Henry and wiped the sympathetic look he was giving Digby when I said, “And you knew this whole time? What, were you couple-friends with Bill and Digby?”
“Uh . . . no,” Henry said. “Sloane hates her.”
“Oh, but you don’t hate her?” I said.
“Let’s leave Henry out of this,” Digby said.
“Yeah, let’s leave Henry out of this,” Henry said.
“And like I said, why do you care? Why do you care where we ate?” Digby said. “You were with Austin at the time.”
It was only when Digby pointed at Austin and the two of us turned to look that we realized the entire football team was watching us bicker.
“I’m so happy,” Austin said.
“But seriously . . . can you help?” Henry handed Digby a summons form. “Because my test is in fifteen minutes.”
Digby took the form and said, “Yep. Anything to get a break from this mess.”
That annoyed me. “Do you even have a plan?” I said. He got a look on his face that I recognized. “Besides walking out of there with a million jars of urine stuffed in your pockets.”
“That was just one of the many worthy ideas I was blue-skying,” Digby said.
“If you steal the samples, Drug-Free Sport would come back tomorrow to run another round of tests but this time, they’d bring an extra tech to watch the cart,” I said.
“Okay, I see where you’re going. Same goes for contaminating the samples,” Digby said. “They’d test them, figure out what happened, and come back with better security. And some of the things Coach was giving them will test positive for a month.”
“We can’t mess with the actual samples,” I said. “This is like half of my father’s cases. Can’t argue with the evidence, so he goes after the process instead. These guys are going to have to lawyer the crap out of this.”
“I don’t care if you guys are fighting,” Henry said to Digby. “You are definitely taking her with you.”
With a sigh, Digby turned back to Lyle and said, “Did a same-sex monitor watch you give the urine sample?” When Lyle nodded, Digby said, “Did he have an assistant or was he working alone?”
“He was alone,” Lyle said.
“Were the samples all kept in the bathroom with you guys?” Digby said.
“No,” Lyle said. “He had a big cart of stuff with him and he said the bathroom stank, so he rolled the cart to Principal Granger’s office. He did all his paperwork in there too.”
“So the cart’s in the office with Granger?” Digby said.
“No,” Lyle said. “The lab guy kicked out Principal Granger.”
“Oh, okay, I get it.” Lyle looked worried and Digby clapped him on the arm. “Smile, man. That’s good news. Your day’s starting to look up.” Digby thought for a long second and then walked to the trash can and kicked it over to Henry.
“What’s this?” Henry said.
“When it’s time to give your sample, I need you to hold up the lab tech in that bathroom for the maximum amount of time while Princeton and I see about that cart. It’d help if you went in with an empty bladder,” Digby said. “Now back up, Princeton, unless you want to gamble that Henry’s a no-splash kind of guy.”
I stepped outside.
ELEVEN
The team was borderline ecstatic when Henry, Digby, and I walked away from the AV club’s room. As far as they were concerned, they were home free.
“They give away their trust plenty fast,” I said. “Hmm . . . I wonder how they ended up accidentally taking steroids.”
“Yeah, dude, they really shouldn’t be so optimistic,” Digby said to Henry. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“You don’t?” Away from his team, Henry let himself express something less than confidence for the first time. “Digby? Are we screwed?”
“It’s okay, man. I’ll get it together. First, we need to get to that cart. Princeton, I might need you to distract the lab guy at some point,” Digby said. “Maybe get out your lipstick?”
“What am I supposed to do, exactly?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Digby said. “Just be distracting.”
When we got down to the first-floor landing, I took off my hoodie so I was down to my tank top. I pulled out my ponytail and fluffed up my hair.
“Whoa. Not that distracting,” Digby said. “Hoodie on, zip down, hair up.”
I’d just gotten my hoodie back on when Henry said, “Really? I’d think more, like, hoodie off, hair up.”
“Split the difference?” Digby said. “Hoodie on, zip down, hair down.” But then he thought about it and said, “But don’t you think hair down would push it over the edge?”
“Maybe over the edge is good?” Henry said.
I pulled my hair back again. “Can you two just—”
A voice said, “Henry Petropoulos?”
“Yes.” Henry raised his hand.
We hadn’t noticed the tech, an officious jerk in a short white lab coat, walking up to us. He was holding a clipboard that he pointed at Henry. “Let’s get going. Follow me.” The tech then pointed at Digby and me and said, “Are you two boys on the football team too?”
Digby and Henry looked at each other and said, “Hair down.”
Digby and I rounded the corner but ducked our heads back around to watch the tech leave Henry outside the principal’s office while he went in to retrieve the paperwork and specimen cup. Then, after taking Henry’s information, the tech locked the principal’s office door and escorted Henry to the bathroom just two doors down. We waited, but the sound of the bathroom door closing never came. Instead, the loud sound of the tap running echoed in the hallway.
“He didn’t close the door,” I said. “What do we do now?”
But clearly, Digby hadn’t counted on the tech leaving the door open either.
“O . . . kay.” Digby put away the little lock-picking tool he’d already unfolded. “I guess we won’t be going in through Granger’s door, then.”
The hallway’s geography worked against us. The principal’s office was the butt of a cul-de-sac, and the bathroom was close enough that the lab tech would see us if we tried to walk in Principal Granger’s door. The only other office on that end of the hallway belonged to Miss Riddell, Principal Granger’s secretary, but it was right across from the open bathroom door and was locked up for lunch anyway. There would be no reason for us to be down at that end of the corridor.
In the long silence while we considered our lack of option
s, Digby said, “I wouldn’t have dated her if I’d known it would upset you like this.”
“I think what bothers me is the idea of you sneaking around,” I said. “When did you and Bill have all this time together? Like, did you use to run over and see Bill after hanging out with me?”
“You’re driving yourself crazy,” he said.
And I did feel myself getting angry all over again. So, I instead said, “Could we go in through the window?”
“Granger’s window is on the same side as the bathroom window,” Digby said.
“We could be very quiet,” I said.
Digby didn’t look convinced. “I’ve never broken glass quietly before . . .”
Just then Principal Granger walked past and caught us cowering behind the corner, clearly up to no good. He stopped and I prepared a few excuses before it occurred to me that Principal Granger too looked like he was up to no good.
Digby and I squared up to him and we watched one another in silence, trying to figure out who would show their cards first. And then, nice and slow, Principal Granger raised his hand and pointed in the direction of his office. Digby nodded. Principal Granger’s face relaxed into an almost-smile and he gestured for us to follow him around the corner and into a supply closet.
Once we were tucked behind the closed closet door, Principal Granger said, “You hear about this no-notice BS? I get a ‘courtesy’ phone call . . .” Granger made angry air quotes around the word courtesy to make sure we got that he considered the courtesy call to have been more like, “screw you.” “And not five minutes later, this twerp with his lab coat walks in wanting blood and urine. I drew the line at blood, but apparently he has the right to take urine.” Principal Granger was agog. “How weird is that? Precious bodily fluids, know what I mean?”
I looked to confirm Digby was as shocked as I was at Principal Granger’s manic demeanor.
“Do you know? Are they going to find banned substances?” When Digby didn’t answer, Principal Granger said, “Oh my God . . . I just can’t . . . I’m so stressed as it is. That superintendent’s breathing down my neck . . .” And then I think Granger sobbed before he grabbed Digby’s arm and said, “If only there were some way those results would just vanish. That really would be ideal.” Granger pulled Digby closer and said, “Isn’t that the kind of thing you do?” And then Granger looked at me and said, “Or is that what you two are doing already?”
I should just point out that up to this point, neither Digby nor I had uttered even one word since walking into the closet.
“Is it a full moon tonight, or is the whole school just spontaneously coming undone?” Digby said.
“Maybe the water’s contaminated,” I said. “Poison mold or something in the ventilation system . . .” I realized what I’d just said when the crazy light turned on in his eyes. “Oh, no.”
Digby nodded. “That is a great idea.”
“What?” Principal Granger said.
“Not again,” I said.
“What?” Principal Granger said. He grabbed Digby’s lapels. “You know what to do?”
Digby unhooked Principal Granger from his lapels and said, “Try to be cool, okay? When the AC is on, does your office smell like the bathroom or food?”
“Food,” Principal Granger said. “Why?”
“Finally, we catch a break,” Digby said. “Cafeteria, Princeton.”
I opened the door and made sure no one was around before I stepped out of the closet. Digby, Principal Granger, and I ran the short distance to the cafeteria, where we blew past the objections of the dining room staff working the chow line and went straight into the kitchen.
Digby and I studied the two parallel duct systems running along the ceiling and into the wall. One had an opening over the oven while the other had a vent directly above a row of deep-fat fryers.
“Pizza or French fries?” Digby said.
Principal Granger, finally clued in to the program, was pulling out the deep-fat fryer from under the duct’s opening as he shouted, “French fries. I smell French fries.”
To the two prep cooks in the kitchen, I said, “Principal Granger has to check for some possible problems in the HVAC. Could we just have the room?”
One of the cooks looked like he expected as much. “About time. I reported those mouse droppings weeks ago.”
Digby slam-dunked the pizza slice I hadn’t even seen him swipe in the garbage and spat out the bite he’d been chewing. “Yes. But don’t tell anyone right now,” Digby said. He guided the kitchen staff out the door. Once we were alone, he said, “Mouse poop? I want to scream.”
“You want to scream?” I said. “I’ve been eating here every day.”
Principal Granger waved me off. “Mouse droppings—big deal. Every single restaurant has mice. Michelin Star places have mice.” At Digby’s scandalized look, Principal Granger said, “We’d have to close down the whole school to fumigate, because once they come in for the mice, they’re going to find the roaches too. We already lost a bunch of days to snow this year. Do you want the semester to go even longer?” He pointed at me. “And especially you. You still have to complete your junior year here before you’re eligible to start senior year at your fancy new school. Do you want to be stuck here until July?”
“I don’t know if I’m going yet,” I said.
“What?” Principal Granger looked outraged. “After all those letters you made me write? All those essays of yours I had to read and assess? All November long, you stalked me in school. I’d open my email and there you were—”
“November?” Digby said. “This was going on in November? I was here in November.”
“She didn’t tell you? Well, you did say not to tell anybody,” Principal Granger said.
Digby gave me a round-mouth shocked face.
“It’s not the same thing,” I said.
“What? You sneaking around making plans?” Digby said. “Not at all the same thing.”
“Do you two have to do this right now?” Principal Granger said. “Because unless you find a way to stop these tests, we’re going to have a big problem here.”
“Oh, we already have a big problem, Granger,” Digby said.
I looked up at what he was pointing at and after a beat, it dawned on me. “That air duct going into your office is too flimsy. It won’t hold our weight.”
“Unlike the last duct we crawled through, they didn’t build this one to air out a meth lab. I thought we could do a Die Hard,” Digby said. “But if we got in that thing, we’d be doing The Breakfast Club. Except we’d go straight through that sheet metal and it would shred our hands like pizza cheese. Know what I’m thinking, though?” he said. “I think it’s time to go back to Shawshank.”
“The Shawshank Redemption? Wait. What are you going to dig?” Principal Granger said. “Do we have that kind of time?”
TWELVE
We made a brief stop back at the supply closet, where Digby snagged us a hammer and a screwdriver. We then went into the faculty lounge and after Principal Granger cleared out two teaching assistants having a coffee klatsch flirtation and locked the door, Digby got to work.
He peeled off a WORKING FOR THE WEEKEND poster from the common wall between Granger’s office and the faculty lounge and stabbed the drywall with the business end of the screwdriver. He turned the screwdriver until it got all the way through to the other side. Digby then added a twist to the screwdriver’s revolutions so that its entry hole widened enough for him to insert the hammer’s claw.
In less time than I would’ve thought it should take to destroy a wall, Digby had carved out a large enough hole for me to help him pry away at the dry wall with my bare hands.
“Not too much,” he said. “No bigger than the poster.”
Digby had already climbed on a chair and gone through the hole into Principal Granger’s office when someone ou
tside started turning the doorknob to the faculty lounge.
“It’s occupied,” Principal Granger said.
“I need coffee,” the voice said.
“Wait until we’ve gone over, cover the hole back up, and then let them in,” Digby said.
I climbed through the hole behind Digby, and after Principal Granger put the poster back up, I heard him open the faculty lounge’s door to let the coffee-deprived teacher into the room.
Once we were alone in Granger’s office, Digby whispered, “You were scheming to go to Prentiss that entire time? So, what was all that drama with your father in the hospital room?”
I ignored him.
“What I don’t understand is . . . why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Are you asking why I didn’t tell you about wanting to go to a school you call Prissy-Priss Academy? After you gave me the ‘what you learn doesn’t depend on where you go’ lecture?” I said. “God, who even knows why I was hesitant to tell you.”
“I’m touched that you care what I think,” he said. “But can we just agree it was a shady move to keep it from me? And I didn’t enjoy finding out in front of everyone like that.”
“And speaking of finding out hurtful stuff in front of other people . . .” I said.
“It’s not the same thing,” Digby said. “You lied about something important—”
“You don’t think it’s important for me to know that you slept with Bill?” I said. “She’s killing me on social media because I didn’t know I was stealing a guy she was sleeping with—”
“No, no,” Digby said. “I never slept with her.”
I thought back to the intervention. “But she said . . .”
“Not with her,” Digby said.
“Oh,” I said. The “with her” part of his answer needed further investigation. “But you have . . .”
“Yes.” And then Digby held up two fingers.
“Two people?” I said. “Twice?”
“Yes to both, I guess,” he said. “Two women. Once each, so twice total.”
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