Even while I was doing it, I’d known that I was making a huge mistake pushing him for details. Hearing him say “two women” felt horrible. And so I turned to the lab cart in front of me and studied the equipment. The compact medical-grade refrigerator, the box of unused specimen bottles, the files of paperwork. I opened the door of the portable refrigerator and then shut it. And then opened and shut it again.
Digby picked up the box of unused specimen collection bottles and looked through some of the paperwork.
“So?” I said.
“So now we go after the process,” he said. Digby took out his utility knife and inserted the hook attachment through the cooling unit’s fan grate. He poked around until he was able to yank out a stray wire, which he then sliced with one of his blades.
I said, “But it can’t look too broken inside because—”
But Digby was already putting the wire back in through the grate so that it was visible but not immediately apparent to someone who wasn’t already looking for it. “Because then he’ll just transfer the samples to another fridge,” he said. “Right there with you, Princeton.”
When the wire was concealed yet visible, I nodded. “Perfect.”
“Okay, let’s clean up,” he said.
I took the hammer from Digby and got to work taking an oversized framed Matisse poster off the opposite wall. I pried off the nail and, as lightly as I could, I hammered it back into the wall right above the hole we’d climbed through. I felt particularly proud of the fact that I’d had the foresight to unspool the picture wire attached to the back of the Matisse so we’d have more play when it came time to hang the poster back up from the other side after we’d climbed through the hole.
Meanwhile, Digby was gathering up the pieces of drywall debris we’d created and was stuffing it into Principal Granger’s larger bottom desk drawer.
“Hey. Did you just take something?” I said.
Digby put his finger to his lips and pointed in the direction of the faculty lounge to remind me Principal Granger could hear.
“Did I hear pills rattling?” I said. “Did you take pills from his desk drawer?”
“Why would I take his pills? I already get all the good ones.” He picked up Principal Granger’s pill bottle. “These are for acid reflux.”
“Put them back!” I said. “Focus. Come on.”
Just then we heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Whether Principal Granger was ready for us or not, Digby and I were coming through. I handed the Matisse poster to Digby and knocked down the WORKING FOR THE WEEKEND poster on the faculty lounge side. I climbed through to find Musgrave standing beside Principal Granger at the coffee machine.
“Oh, great,” was all I could say.
Musgrave almost dropped his coffee mug. “What the hell—” Principal Granger clapped his hand over Musgrave’s mouth.
And then Digby dove through the hole after me, reached back into Principal Granger’s office for the Matisse poster, and then pulled on the picture wire so that the poster lay flat across the back against the hole on Principal Granger’s office’s side. Digby grimaced as the heavy poster made the metal wire dig into his fingers. I pulled my sleeves low over my hands and helped him hold it up.
From where we were, we could hear the lab tech open Granger’s office door and fiddle with the objects on his cart. Clinking sounds. A sneeze. A second sneeze. And then a whole series of sneezes.
“Jeez. This place is dusty,” the lab tech muttered to no one.
He sneezed a few more times and then we heard the sound of the cart rolling out of the room and the door closing behind him. After a minute, I finally allowed myself to exhale. Digby and I fiddled with the poster until we got the wire to catch on the nail.
We turned around to find Musgrave gawping at us.
“Harlan. As your principal, I’m telling you to let it go,” Principal Granger said.
“Did they . . .” Musgrave said. “. . . tamper with the urine samples?”
“Really, Harlan? After everything we’ve been through together?” Digby took a paper towel, soaked it with water from the cooler, and wrapped it around his sore palm. “By the way, how’s the DA doing? Have you seen him lately?”
“I’m seeing him later today.” Musgrave looked terrified. “Why?”
“It’s all good in the hood, Musgrave. Go to your meeting and have fun being a hero. But right now, we really do need the room,” Digby said. “And about that hole . . .”
But now Musgrave had been brought to heel. “What hole?” Musgrave said. And then he left.
Principal Granger watched Musgrave obediently leave the room and said, “Wow. You have got to share some of whatever you have on him with me.”
But Digby was all business. “Okay, Granger, you’re in charge of part two of this plan. Before that tech leaves today, you have to photograph the back of his portable medical fridge without tipping him off that you’re taking the picture. You got that? It’s subtle but it’s important. Make sure you get the wire poking out of the ventilation grille, understand? And make sure it’s time- and date-stamped. Maybe email it to yourself.”
We waited for him to acknowledge us, but Granger just looked stunned.
To me, Digby said, “I don’t even know if any of this is getting through to him.”
“No, no, I got it. I can do it,” Principal Granger said.
Digby didn’t look fully convinced but continued anyway. He unfolded the Student-Athlete Notification Form he’d taken from Lyle. “It says here they’ll be testing the samples right away. There are going to be a few fails and then the Athletics Association will probably notify you to shut down the football program for a year to clean up—”
Principal Granger gasped.
“But,” Digby said. “What you need to do is immediately call your lawyer. Send him your pictures of the fridge. Tell them to use the pictures to challenge the results.”
“Then what?” Principal Granger had his hand on his chest, looking like he was about to keel over. “How do I challenge the results? What do I do? Tell me the exact wording I should use—”
The sight of Granger flailing disgusted me. I needed to slap him back to sense. “Look,” I said. “There will be rounds of paperwork, and then negotiation, negotiation, negotiation. By the time that’s all done, the players’ bodies will have broken down whatever junk Coach had given them. So, when they get retested, the results will come back clean. For now, though, you have to keep it together. Can you do that? Or are you still not done being a baby?”
Principal Granger just stared at me. And then he looked at Digby and pointed at me.
Digby nodded and said, “What she said.”
THIRTEEN
I felt like there was drywall powder covering every inch of me and anyway, there was no way I’d be able to concentrate, so I accepted the excuse slips Digby got Principal Granger to sign for us and both Digby and I left school early. Not for the first time since moving to River Heights, I worried about exactly what kind of education I was getting.
Digby and I kept things light on the bus. He talked smack about the music on my phone. I gave him a hard time about the recent changes he’d made to his appearance—his slightly nicer black sneakers, the obviously itchy stubble he was trying to grow.
The script flipped the minute we got inside my house, though. Before I’d even gotten my shoes off, Digby said “So” in that let’s-talk voice.
“Yeah,” I said. “Do you at least want a snack first?”
He saw through my stall tactic and just looked at me, silent.
“Great. Nothing like fighting hangry,” I said. “Come on upstairs.”
Once in my room, Digby took off his jacket and sat down at my desk. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Neither do I,” I said.
“We both lied,” Digby said. “So could
we maybe call it even?”
I didn’t know what I was going to end up saying even after I’d started talking. “My mom teaches a class called The Ruined Woman. Novels about women who have no future after they lose their virginity. She jokes about how women lose their value the second they lose their new-car smell. I always thought that was dumb. But now . . .”
“It bothers you,” Digby said.
“It bothers me,” I said.
Digby said, “Because you don’t think it’d be as special for me if or when you and I . . .”
I didn’t say anything but he got my drift.
“It’d be special for me, Zoe,” Digby said. “If or when you and I ever did . . .”
He got up and approached me, watching my face so I’d know I could stop him with a look.
I tried to soften the part of me that had grown brittle imagining him and Bill together, but I felt my defenses going up even as he kissed me in the ways that usually disarmed me. “Digby. No,” I said. “I’m too upset.”
“No, of course.” Digby stepped back and said, “But we can hang out, right?”
I nodded. “Yes, I just don’t feel like . . .”
“No, no. No need to explain,” he said. “Hey, how should we celebrate?”
“Celebrate what?” I said. “Saving Henry’s season?”
“How long have you been talking about going to this school?” Digby said. “You did it.”
“I haven’t decided if I’m going,” I said.
“Right. Because how could you leave all this . . .” He sat back down in my chair and spun around to sweep his hand across the view outside my window and sighed. “Of course you’re going. You were always bigger than this town. I’m happy for you.”
“Are you sure you’re happy for me?” I said. “Because you don’t look—”
“I’m happy for you, Princeton. Seriously. Learn to take yes for an answer.” Digby looked out my window with his sad downturned eyes for a long second. And then he plastered on a smile and said, “Let’s go pig out at Olympio’s. My treat!”
“Do you really feel like going out?” I said.
“Of course,” Digby said. “I’m happy for you, Zoe.”
I said, “Yeah . . . you said that already—”
He pointed at something outside my window. “Hey. Look who’s watching.”
I joined him at the window and saw our nosy neighbor staring at us from across the way. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Breslauer.”
“No, down there.” Digby pointed down to the street, where I saw the by now familiar Honda sedan parked a few doors down from my house.
“Oh, yeah, them.” I myself was surprised at how blasé that sounded. “They come and go. They never actually do anything . . .”
“What?” Digby said. “It wasn’t just the day after the party?”
“Monday night, they were here. Tuesday night too . . .” I said. “I don’t think they were here Wednesday . . .”
“Are you sure?” Digby said.
I said, “Well, it’s not like I was keeping a record—”
But Digby had already grabbed his jacket and stormed out of my room. I chased him down the stairs and out of the house.
* * *
• • •
“Hey. Hey!” Digby started shouting at the guys in the car even before he’d gotten to the bottom of my porch stairs.
The de Groot security guy I’d been mentally referring to as Shorter Guy was alone behind the wheel of the old Honda, dressed in a T-shirt rather than one of the lumpy suits he and his Taller Guy partner were usually wearing.
Digby jogged over and started banging on the hood of Shorter Guy’s car. “What do you want what do you want what do you want?” he said. Digby didn’t seem to care that my whole street could hear him screaming.
Shorter Guy got out of the car and proceeded to do a weird dance in which he reached out as though to restrain Digby only to pull back and gesture reassuringly that he’d keep his hands to himself. Finally, he got Digby to calm down enough so he could talk to him. “Please. I’m not here to hurt you,” Shorter Guy said.
“Then what are you doing here?” Digby said. “Why are you spying on us?”
“Just . . .” Shorter Guy looked confused. “I . . .”
“Where’s your partner?” Digby said. “I bet he’s the brains.”
And then it occurred to me. “Is he breaking into my house right now?” I said.
“No, no. We’re not here to hurt you. We just . . .” Shorter Guy said. “We need to talk to you. We just . . . haven’t found a way to say what we need to say.”
“What?” Digby said.
Shorter Guy ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “Look. All I can say is, don’t trust de Groot. He’s going to get what he wants from you and then . . . please. Walk away.”
I was expecting threats. I was even prepared for some physical violence. But I wasn’t prepared for what looked like genuine concern.
“What?” Digby said. “Does de Groot know you’re here?”
“Of course not,” Shorter Guy said. “I swear to God, kid, I’m here as a friend. I came here to tell you that making deals with de Groot is not going to get you any closer to the truth.”
“‘Friend’?” Digby turned to me. “Did this clown just try to tell me he’s my friend?”
“Hey!” Taller Guy came running around the corner carrying a plastic bag loaded with junk food. He pointed at his partner. “Shut up and get in the car.”
“I told them,” Shorter Guy said.
“Told them what?” Taller Guy said.
“Well, for starters . . .” Shorter Guy smiled and stuck out his hand. I was so surprised that I actually shook it. “My name is Art. Hello.” He turned to Digby but Digby had the wherewithal to cross his arms and decline Art’s handshake. “This is my partner—”
Taller Guy said, “Don’t do it—”
“Jim,” Art said.
Jim groaned, climbed in the car, and slammed the door shut.
“We’re not here to hurt you two,” Art said. “But please think about what I told you. Get away from de Groot. He’s dangerous.”
From behind me, I heard Mom say, “Zoe?” I hadn’t seen her drive up and park and now she was standing on our driveway across the street. “Everything all right?”
Our busybody neighbor, Helen Breslauer, was standing beside her, yap-yap-yapping away.
I waved at my mom. “Everything’s all right, Mom.”
“We should go.” Art jerked his chin in my mother’s direction and said, “When she asks, tell her I was asking for directions.” Art climbed into their car and drove off.
Digby and I just stood there, too stunned to speak for a long beat.
“What was that?” I said. I watched Digby struggle to compose himself and started to wonder if maybe he wasn’t a little less happy about my getting into Prentiss than he was saying he was. Instead of answering, he pointed at Mom, whose conversation with Helen Breslauer was amping up.
“Better see if your mom’s okay,” Digby said.
And then his phone rang with a text.
I ran back across the street to Mom in time to hear her half shout at Mrs. Breslauer’s retreating back, “Mine is a sex-positive household, Helen. But thank you very much for your concern.”
“Mom?” I said.
“What the hell?” Mom said. “What was Digby doing to that car? That was crazier than usual, even for him. Do I need to worry about your safety?”
“No, uh . . . they were just arguing about parking,” I said.
“You and Digby in the house,” she said. “Now.”
“Mom,” I said.
“Zoe,” Mom said. “Now.”
I ran back over to Digby. “Can you come in? My mother wants to talk to us.”
“It’s tomo
rrow, Princeton,” Digby said.
“What’s tomorrow?” I said.
“Felix texted. Perses has a scheduled backup tomorrow. The data storage place emailed a reminder to his dad.” Digby showed me his phone. “It’s tomorrow.”
“It’s tomorrow. Right. Okay,” I said. “Why don’t you come in? Have some dinner? We could talk about it”
“No, uh . . . I should go,” Digby said. “Make sure everything’s ready for tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I said. “Are you sure you can get home all right? You look a little distracted.”
“I’m okay,” he said. Digby walked away but before he got too far, he said, “Hey, Princeton. You don’t have to come on this one. It could get real.”
“Isn’t it always real?” I said.
“I mean it could get really real. If we get caught tomorrow, it’ll be the Feds, and the Feds won’t care that you’re a minor,” he said.
“You’ve never let that stop us before—”
“Princeton. Listen to what I’m saying. The Feds this time. Everything we did before is child’s play compared to what I’m going to do tomorrow,” he said. “Really think. Sleep on it.”
And then Digby left.
* * *
• • •
Mom didn’t even wait for me to get my shoes off before she laid into me. “Are you having sex? Helen Breslauer says she saw you two having sex in your room. Because I took Digby at his word when he said you weren’t.” Before I could answer, Mom started up again. “Then again, that might’ve been true yesterday and one day’s practically a lifetime for a teena—”
“Mom. Stop. No,” I said. “Still lousy with virginity, okay?”
My mother, being so drama, made me watch her do one of her breathing exercises before she said, “Then please put your bra back on.”
I hadn’t even realized that Digby had unclasped it.
Once I’d done it back up, Mom said, “I think it’s time to talk.”
“No, it’s okay, Mom. I know the facts,” I said.
“Do you?” she said. “What do you know about Digby’s sexual partners—”
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