Get Even

  Flip went another page. Flip, flip.

  “I heard through the grapevine,” she continued, planting her hands on her hips, “that they’re looking for you.”

  John’s eyes never left the book. “And you felt some great parental need to come save me, is that it?”

  Bree threw her hands in the air. “Would you cut it out? I came to find you because you’re my best friend. And I’m definitely not going to sit around and let you get hunted down by some douche nozzle like Rex Cavanaugh.”

  “You rang?”

  Bree spun around. Three blue shirts blocked the practice room hallway. Tyler and Kyle flanked a sneering Rex.

  John settled against the piano lid. “And I thought they smelled bad on the outside.”

  Rex glanced at Tyler. “Huh?”

  “We’ve entered the eye of the douche-icane,” Bree said, folding her arms across her chest.

  “I think you jumped the douche shark on that one, Fonzie,” John said.

  “Too much?” Bree asked, acting as if Rex and his boys weren’t even there.

  John held up his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. “Tiny bit.”

  “Enough!” Rex roared. “You two are nuts, you know that?”

  “What do you want, Rex?” John said. He stood up and angled his body in front of Bree. “Music lessons? I charge by the hour, and the clock is ticking.”

  “Music lessons? Is that what you queers call it?”

  Bree snickered. “Do you hear yourself? You’re like an eighties bully cliché.”

  “We’re not here for you,” Tyler said.

  Rex elbowed him. “She’s as guilty as he is.”

  “Guilty of what?” Bree asked.

  “Dude,” Kyle said, his face suddenly serious. “I don’t beat up girls.”

  Bree clasped her hands together. “Such a gentleman.”

  “I’ve got three words for you,” Rex said, holding up three fingers. “D. G. M.”

  “Those are letters,” John said calmly. “Not words.”

  Rex clenched his jaw, and beside her, John tensed himself, as if preparing for a punch in the gut. Instead, Rex laughed. “That’s funny.” He turned to Tyler. “Funny guy, right? Always thinks he’s so smart. So much better than us.” In an instant, Rex was serious again. “But you’re not. This time, we outsmarted you.”

  John remained absolutely still. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rex.”

  “I’m going to give you one chance, Baggott. Just admit you’re the one behind DGM and . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “And what?” Bree laughed drily. “You’ll leave him alone? You seriously expect us to believe that?”

  “You’re here to kick my ass, right?” John said. This time, Bree noted the slight tremor in John’s voice. “That’s how you outsmarted me, by finding me here to beat a confession out of me?”

  Tyler and Kyle exchanged glances, but Rex’s eyes never left John’s face.

  “Admitting to a crime I didn’t commit will get me a beating either way.” John took a step to his right, distancing himself from Bree. “But, as you said, you’re the smart one here. So get on with it, Sherlock.”

  Bree balled up both of her hands into fists. How was she going to protect John from all three of them? Kyle and Tyler might be squeamish about beating up girls, but either of them was strong enough to hold her back while the other two went to work on John. It wasn’t far enough through lunch yet for the fourth-period music students to start wandering in for class, and even if they did, would Rex care? He clearly felt he was above the law at Bishop DuMaine. And he was probably right.

  “What’s wrong, Rex?” John’s face was steely as he stared Rex down. “Suddenly not so sure I’m guilty?”

  “Of course you’re guilty,” Rex sneered.

  “Why haven’t you pummeled my face to a bloody pulp yet? You scared? Or too much of a pussy?”

  The last taunt sealed it. Bree watched as a red wave of rage washed over Rex. He reared back his arm, ready to punch John squarely in the face, when a hand appeared on his shoulder. “What’s up, guys?”

  Rex flinched and spun around. Behind him, Shane and five of his friends crowded into the hallway.

  “You okay, Bagsie?” Shane continued, nodding in John’s direction. “Seems like there’s some kind of problem here.”

  “A misunderstanding,” John said. Bree saw his body relax. “Right, Rex?”

  Rex eyed Shane’s crew, as if calculating his odds in a fight. Then he turned to John, defeated. “This isn’t over, Baggott.” He pointed at Bree. “And next time, you won’t have your little bitch here to protect you.”

  John opened his mouth to say something, but Bree never gave him the chance. Without thinking, she jerked back her arm and punched Rex in the face.

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  THIRTY-EIGHT

  BREE RUBBED HER ACHING WRIST AS SHE LOOKED AROUND Father Uberti’s office. She’d never actually been inside, and as she gazed at the overly polished wood and pristinely arranged bookshelves, she was struck by the fakeness of it all. This office had been designed to intimidate students and parents alike. But Bree knew that the ostentatious display was an attempt to overcompensate for insecurity and insignificance.

  “I’m waiting,” Father Uberti said. His fingers were laced in front of him on the desk as he stared at Bree.

  “What was the question?” Bree asked.

  “Why,” Father Uberti said, with the utmost calm, “did you punch Rex Cavanaugh?”

  “Oh, right,” Bree said with an easy smile. She flexed her wrist back and forth, as if loosening it up. “Because he threatened to kick my friend’s ass, and then called me a bitch. True story. I have witnesses.”

  “So you think you were justified in your assault on a fellow student?”

  Bree nodded. “Absolutely.” She knew damn well that F.U. was trying to scare her, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. The worst he could do to her was kick her out of school, and hey, would that really be so bad?

  Father Uberti leaned back in his chair and stroked his pointy beard. Bree noticed for the first time how weak his chin was, perfectly camouflaged by his facial hair. “You realize that using violence against another student is grounds for expulsion, do you not?”

  Bree’s smile widened. She was prepared for this one. “Except in cases where the student fears for his or her immediate personal safety.”

  Father Uberti tilted his head. “Where does it say that?”

  “Third page of the student code. Paragraph two.”

  She half-expected him to look it up, but Father Uberti didn’t bother. “That clause is not applicable to this situation.”

  “Isn’t it? Have you interviewed my witnesses?”

  Father Uberti slapped both of his hands on the table. “I’ve talked to three upstanding members of the ’Maine Men student patrol, none of whom corroborate your story.”

  Bree shrugged. “Because they picked the fight.”

  She was really enjoying this. He kept trying to intimidate her, and Bree was cool as a cucumber. It was only a matter of time before her continued indifference really pissed him off.

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” he said.

  “Of course you don’t.”

  Father Uberti rose to his feet. “Bree Deringer, I have no choice but to expel you from Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School for physical assault against a student, effective—”

  The door of his office flew open, banging violently against the wall. “Good afternoon, Father Uberti.”

  Bree cringed. How the hell did her dad get there?

  “Senator Deringer,” Father Uberti said. A jagged row of sweat beads materialized on his forehead. “I didn’t realize you were in town.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Or you would
n’t have tried to expel my daughter without due process.”

  Father Uberti pointed at Bree like a petulant child placing blame on the playground. “But she hit a student. Punched him in the face.”

  “After he threatened her and her friend.” Bree’s dad looked down at her. “Did you feel your physical safety was in jeopardy, Bree?”

  Bree put on her best “I’m a victim” face. “Yes,” she said through a sniffle. “I was terrified.”

  “That is absolutely not true!” Father Uberti cried.

  Bree’s dad remained utterly calm. “Really? Were you there, Father Uberti?”

  “Well, no.” The priest smoothed down the shoulder flaps on his capuche. “But I have an eyewitness who says—”

  “I’ve spoken to six eyewitnesses,” Bree’s dad said, cutting him off. The sternness in his voice made Bree feel like a naughty five-year-old again. “Six eyewitnesses who state that Rex Cavanaugh, Tyler Brodsky, and Kyle Tanner purposefully sought out John Baggott and my daughter during the lunch hour, cornered them in a confined space, and threatened them with bodily harm unless they confessed to their involvement in a murder.” He strolled to the window and gazed out onto the lawn. “I also understand that these boys operate under your orders. Is that correct?”

  “Senator Deringer,” Father Uberti started. His voice shook with a mix of fear and anger. “Perhaps you’re not aware of the situation at Bishop DuMaine, considering how frequently you’re away in Sacramento.”

  “I am well-informed of all the goings-on at Bishop DuMaine, Father Uberti. All of them.”

  Father Uberti straightened up. “If you’re accusing me of authorizing student-on-student violence, I suggest you contact the Archdiocese directly.”

  Bree’s dad glanced sidelong at Father Uberti. “I already have.” He returned his gaze to the manicured front lawn of Bishop DuMaine. “However, I might be willing to withdraw my complaint about your obvious lack of good judgment in this matter, if all charges against my daughter are dropped, and she and her friend John Baggott are protected against any and all retribution in this matter.”

  “I . . .” Father Uberti’s mouth worked up and down like a codfish in its death throes. Then he slowly sank back into his chair, defeated.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Bree’s father strode to the door. “Bree? We’re leaving.”

  Bree’s stomach dropped as she followed her dad out of the office. She detected the icy tone in his voice, the one reserved for the minority leader in the Senate and for reprimanding his youngest child.

  “Dad, I can explain,” she said, as soon as they were clear of the school building.

  He didn’t even look at her, just continued to storm toward the car. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “But—”

  “Bree!” Bree spun around and saw John jogging toward them across the front lawn of the school. “Bree, wait up.”

  Crap. This was not going to go well.

  “What happened?” John asked, panting slightly. “What did Uberti do?”

  “Nothing,” Bree said quickly. “It’s okay.” She glanced at her dad, who had turned his critical eye on John. She could practically see the judgment telegraphed across his face as he registered John’s jet-black hair and his beat-up Dr. Martens.

  “Oh,” John said. Then he quickly turned to Bree’s dad. “Senator Deringer, I’m John Baggott. What happened today wasn’t Bree’s fault at all. She was trying to help me and . . .”

  Bree kicked John’s foot with the toe of her boot. “Shut up,” she mouthed silently.

  “John Baggott,” her dad said. “You called me this afternoon to inform me of the situation at lunch, correct?”

  “Yes,” John said. He swallowed, then added, “sir.”

  Bree’s jaw dropped. “You called my dad?”

  “And you’re the boy my daughter sneaks into the house through the servants’ entrance.”

  Bree groaned.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you dating my daughter?”

  “No!” Bree said quickly. Sheesh, why did everyone think they were dating?

  Her dad looked from Bree to John and back. “I see. Well, understand this, both of you. Today was the last time I intervene on your behalf. I’ve given you nothing but the best advantages in life, Bree, but I will not continually bail you out and be the laughingstock of California parents. Next time, you’re on your own.”

  “Fine,” Bree mumbled. And she meant it. She’d never ask for his help again.

  “I understand, Senator,” John said.

  “Very well, then.” Bree’s dad grabbed her by the arm and escorted her to the passenger door of his SUV. “Nice to finally meet you, John.”

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  THIRTY-NINE

  BY THE NEXT MORNING, NEWS OF BREE’S FIGHT WITH REX WAS front-page news. Olivia wished she’d been there to see the look on Rex’s face when a girl kicked his ass.

  It was hard to hide. Even sporting a pair of Ray-Bans, Rex’s left eye was a disturbing mix of purples and reds, and the swelling hadn’t completely gone down yet.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t spend too much time fantasizing about Rex’s humiliation. Olivia had other problems to deal with. Like the mysterious envelopes. A cheating scandal and a photo of Kitty with some random chick—what did they have to do with her? Absolutely nothing, as far as Olivia could tell.

  But after the blowup at the DGM meeting the other night, Olivia realized just how vulnerable she was. One of the girls could turn on her at any moment. Maybe whoever had sent her the clues was trying to warn her? He or she clearly thought the information was important, but Olivia had no idea why.

  Thankfully, she knew someone with a talent for ferreting out information.

  She found Ed the Head lurking around the boys’ gym at lunch.

  “Olivia,” he said with an exaggerated frown. “I’m all out of Ding Dongs today.”

  Olivia shook her head. “I’m not here for a fix.”

  Ed the Head arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “I need some of your, um, other services.”

  A wide grin swept across his face, crinkling his eyes into thin slits. “Olivia, baby doll. So word of the Head’s love machine has finally reached your ears?”

  “Huh?”

  Ed the Head placed his hand over his heart. “I’m honored, truly. A fox like you coming after me? It’s the chance of a lifetime.”

  “Have you lost your—”

  He held up his hand for silence. “Wait! I want to savor this moment.” Ed the Head closed his eyes and bobbed his chin back and forth as if dancing to an imaginary techno track.

  Olivia cocked her head. “Really?”

  Ed the Head opened his eyes and sighed. “That was magical. However, I’m sorry to disappoint, but the Head’s heart is already engaged. I wouldn’t want to lead you on.”

  “Stop!” Olivia cried. “You’re making my stomach hurt.”

  “I’ve got some Tums in here somewhere. I’ll sell them to you retail.”

  Why could he never engage in a normal conversation? Olivia shook her head and tried to refocus. “I need your help.”

  Ed opened his mouth to respond, but his attention was caught by something behind her. His face instantly lit up. “Margot!” he cried. “Hey, why are you running away?”

  Olivia turned slowly. Margot had stopped in her tracks, hesitating between fight and flight.

  “I’ve been looking for you all day,” Ed said.

  Margot reluctantly walked toward them. “I’ve been around.” She studiously avoided Olivia’s eyes.

  “Do you know Olivia?”

  “I know who she is,” Margot said.

  Ed the Head laughed. “Right. Who doesn’t? Anyway, I just wanted to confirm that we’re still on for Sunday night. I can pick you up around seven? Your parents m
ight want to meet the future son-in-law.”

  Margot’s eyes grew wider and wider during Ed’s speech, until Olivia was afraid they were going to pop right out of her head. “I can’t go Sunday night.”

  “What? But we had a deal!”

  Margot winced. “I know. I’m sorry. I can do any other night but Sunday.”

  Ed the Head eyed her. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Maybe we could—”

  But Margot had already turned on her heel and was scurrying down the hall as fast as her legs could carry her.

  So Ed the Head asked Margot on a date? How freaking adorable was that?

  “Okay,” Ed said, staring after Margot. “What can I do for you, Olivia? Apparently, I’m free Sunday night if you need a date.”

  “Not a chance,” she said clearly, leaving no room for innuendo. “I need your detective skills. I have a photo and I need help figuring out—”

  “A photo?” he asked. “You too?”

  “What do you mean, me too?”

  Ed the Head shrugged. “You’re the second person who’s asked me to help them with a mysterious photo.”

  The second person?

  “You got it on you?” he asked.

  Olivia slipped the manila envelope out of her bag and placed the photo in his hand.

  Ed the Head immediately flipped the photo over and examined the back side. “Weird.”

  “Um, the image is on the front.”

  Ed the Head ignored her. “Same photo paper.”

  “Same as?”

  He turned back to the image on the front and held it close to his face, studying it intently. “Interesting.”

  Olivia’s patience was wearing thin. “Look, can you help me or not?”

  Ed the Head smiled. “You haven’t told me what you want.”

  That’s because I don’t know. “I need to know who it is,” she said.

  “Kitty Wei, our student body vice president.”

  “I know that,” Olivia snapped.

  “And Barbara Ann Vreeland,” he continued. “Former captain of the junior varsity girls’ volleyball team, kicked out of Bishop DuMaine as part of the grade-fixing scandal two years ago.”