Get Even

  As soon as Ed the Head recited her bio, Olivia realized where she knew her from. The barista at the Coffee Clash.

  Ed the Head beamed at her. “Anything else?”

  “I wonder what it means?” Olivia mused more to herself than to him.

  “It means you owe me ten bucks,” he said.

  Olivia sighed. “I need more information.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like . . .” Olivia’s mind raced. “Like how Kitty might be connected to the grade fixing,” she heard herself say. It was the only reason someone would have sent her both the article and the photo.

  Ed the Head nodded. “Twenty bucks. Unless you have another form of payment in mind?”

  Olivia was starting to think asking for Ed the Head’s help was a bad idea. “You know what? Never mind.” She snatched the photo out of his hand. “I’ll take this to someone else.”

  “Really? Who?”

  She blurted out the first person who popped into her head. “Margot Mejia.”

  Ed the Head’s eyes grew wide. “That would be interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that other photo I told you about? It came from her.”

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  FORTY

  OLIVIA STARED AT ED THE HEAD AS IF HE’D SPOKEN IN tongues. It took her brain several seconds to grasp his meaning.

  “Are you telling me that Margot got an envelope like this with a photo in it?”

  Ed the Head flashed his braces. “That’s exactly what I’m—”

  He hesitated and flitted his head back and forth, like a hawk who’d been alerted to prey. “Do you hear that?” he whispered, even though they were utterly alone.

  Olivia listened, expecting to hear sirens or screaming or something violently horrible, but all she heard was the wind rustling through the elm tree in the middle of the courtyard.

  “What am I supposed to be hearing?” Olivia asked.

  “Sh!” Ed the Head hissed. His eyes scanned the sky, then his head began to bob up and down rhythmically. “Bah. Bah. Bah bah, bah bah,” he chanted. Then louder. “Bah. Bah. Bah bah, bah bah. Bah. Bah. Bah bah, bah bah.”

  Olivia thought Ed the Head had finally lost his mind, until she heard a faint cheer in the distance, like a crowd at a sporting event.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “That, my darling Olivia, is the sound of public uprising. And where there is social unrest, there is money to be made.” He bolted from the courtyard. “To the Bat Cave!”

  Olivia had to jog to keep up with Ed the Head as he wove through the hallways. The chant got louder and louder with every step they took, and positively exploded the moment they burst into the quad.

  Ed the Head stopped short. “Holy shit.”

  The amphitheater at the far end of the quad was packed with students, some holding signs with slogans like “’Maine Men = Gestapo” and “Down with Uberti!” Others punched their fists in the air to articulate the beats of their chant. “Hey! Ho! ’Maine Men must go!” they cried in rhythmic unison. “Hey! Ho! ’Maine Men must go!”

  And smack in the middle of the stage, megaphone in hand as she led the rally, was Mika Jones, with her best friend, Kitty Wei, by her side.

  Holy shit indeed.

  Kitty stood stiffly next to Mika, a tight smile plastered on her face, while her friend engaged the crowd.

  “Are you tired of their reign of terror?” Mika cried into the megaphone.

  “YEAH!” the crowd answered.

  “Are you tired of bag searches?”

  “YEAH!”

  “And interrogations?”

  “YEAH!”

  “And bribes to get us to turn on each other?”

  “YEAH!”

  “Can I get a ‘hellz yeah’ on that one?”

  “HELLZ YEAH!”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  So much for keeping a low profile.

  Mika handed the megaphone to Theo, who started up the chant with as much if not more enthusiasm than Mika.

  “This is pretty amazing,” Kitty shouted above the cheers.

  “I’m just tired of the bullshit,” Mika said. “Seeing people like Theo get hurt. DGM made me think that I could be doing more to help people.”

  Kitty wanted to hug her. DGM had inspired the protest, had galvanized a movement toward tolerance and freedom. Never in her wildest dreams did Kitty think people would actually be influenced by DGM, but this rally? This was proof. DGM may have been in a shit ton of trouble, but they were doing the right thing.

  “Break it up! Break it up!”

  A swath of blue shirts forced their way through the sea of students that inundated the quad. Right in the middle of them, his bald head the color of an overripe tomato, was Coach Creed.

  The crowd fell silent as he approached the stage, less from respect and more from curiosity.

  “By the authority of Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School,” Coach Creed began, spittle flying from his mouth in all directions, “I demand that you cease and desist this illegal gathering and submit yourselves for punishment.”

  Power had clearly gone to his head, and Kitty was seriously beginning to question Coach Creed’s mental stability.

  “We’re exercising our First Amendment right to free speech!” Mika cried. The crowd roared in agreement.

  Creed leaped onto the stage and got right up in Mika’s face. “There are no rights at this school!”

  “You can say that again,” Kitty said without thinking. She didn’t even realize the words had come out of her mouth until Coach Creed swung his sweaty face in her direction.

  “Traitor!” he growled. “You are a traitor!” He stuck his index finger right in her chest. “I’ll have you impeached for this, Wei!”

  Donté appeared out of nowhere, wedging his body between Kitty and Coach Creed. “Step off, Coach,” he said, his voice steely.

  “You’re interfering with the law!” Coach Creed roared. His bald head shifted hues from red to burgundy to purple.

  “And you’re out of order,” Donté replied. “You need to get out of here before someone gets hurt.”

  Coach Creed’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Are you threatening me, Greene?” Without waiting for an answer, Coach Creed lurched forward and drove his arms into Donté’s chest.

  “Donté!” Kitty screamed. But she couldn’t even hear her own voice over the melee. A shoving match had broken out between the ’Maine Men and the students gathered at the rally. Bodies flew as each side traded shoves. Kitty lost sight of Donté and Coach Creed in the chaos.

  A blare of sirens floated about the shouts and cries of the brawl, and suddenly dozens of uniformed police officers swarmed the quad.

  “Everybody calm down!”

  The fighting ceased as the police broke through the crowd; bodies grew still, voices fell silent. All except one.

  “I’ll fucking kill you!” Coach Creed screamed. “I’ll do it! I swear to God!”

  Donté held Coach Creed at arm’s length, desperately trying to avoid the punches Coach was throwing at him. Sergeant Callahan vaulted onto the stage and hauled Coach Creed away. “Stand down!” he yelled, throwing an arm in Creed’s face.

  Coach Creed pointed at Donté. “Arrest this traitor!” he yelled. “By the authority of the ’Maine Men.”

  “You don’t have any authority here,” Sergeant Callahan said. Kitty could tell by his voice that the officer’s patience was wearing thin.

  “This is my school,” Coach Creed said, jabbing his thumb at his chest. “Father Uberti has given me the authority to use the ’Maine Men as I see fit.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Dick?” Father Uberti bolted up to the stage. He wrung his hands in front of him. “Sergeant Callahan, thank you for getting here so quickly. I think the situation has gotten out of cont
rol.”

  Sergeant Callahan turned his cool, appraising gaze on Father Uberti, and Kitty smiled as she watched the principal squirm under the scrutiny.

  “Is it true?” Sergeant Callahan asked. “That you condoned the use of force by Coach Creed and the ’Maine Men?”

  Father Uberti’s hand flew to his chest and his eyes grew wide in mock horror. “Absolutely not! I have no idea what this man is talking about.”

  Coach Creed’s mouth fell open. “But you said—”

  Father Uberti cut him off. “Richard Creed, you are hereby suspended from Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School, effective immediately.”

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  FORTY-ONE

  MR. CUNNINGHAM STOOD CENTER STAGE AT THAT EVENING’S rehearsal, arms folded gravely across his chest. “Fourth period was a disaster.”

  That was the understatement of the century. Bishop DuMaine had been thrown into complete chaos after the rally as both sides pointed fingers. And as cool as it was to see students protest Uberti’s tactics, Olivia couldn’t help but think that everything DGM had fought for was beginning to unravel.

  “Sorry, Mr. Cunningham,” Donté said. “I didn’t know it would get so out of hand.”

  Olivia turned around and beamed at Donté. He’d spent almost the entirety of fourth period sequestered with the police, and Olivia had been convinced that he’d be hauled off to jail after his confrontation with Coach Creed. There had been a few students put on probation—Theo and Mika for organizing the protest, and several ’Maine Men for throwing punches—but Donté appeared at rehearsal that night with nothing more than a warning on his “permanent record.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Greene. I can appreciate your motivation and your passion. But people, there are only eight rehearsal days left until opening night. That’s it. So I’m going to need all of your motivation and passion focused on this production for the next two weeks. Any questions?” He pointed to the back of the house. “Yes, Mr. McDonough?”

  “Remember the prompter I told you about, Mr. Cunningham?”

  Mr. Cunningham cupped his hands over his eyes, shielding them from the bright stage lights. “Excellent. Attention, everyone! We have a new member of the production. I’d like to introduce Margot Mejia.”

  Margot stepped out from behind Logan and stared at the ground.

  “Miss Mejia has volunteered to assist me in running lines during rehearsals and to act as a prompter during performances. With so little time before our opening night, we need all the preparation we can get, and Miss Mejia appears to have a photographic knowledge of the play.”

  Margot had volunteered for drama? That seemed incredibly out of character. But now Olivia had an excuse to talk to her about the photo Ed the Head had mentioned, without it seeming strange or suspicious. She just needed to catch her in private.

  “Now that we have most of the sets in, we’re going to run through all the blocking again, starting with act one, scene one,” Mr. Cunningham continued. “Since we lost fourth period, we need to get through the entire play tonight, so no one wander off. Those of you not involved in a particular scene can meet with Miss Mejia in one of the dressing rooms and run lines.”

  Olivia poked her head into the dressing room Margot had commandeered. “Hey!”

  Margot jumped as if caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Hey.”

  “You’re going to help us run lines?” she asked.

  Margot nodded.

  “Awesome.” Olivia plopped down in the chair opposite and smiled. “I’m ready.”

  Margot raised her eyebrows. “You know this play backward and forward. You don’t need to run lines.”

  “True.” She should have known better than to try and con Margot. She reached back and pushed the door closed, then dropped her voice. “But this gives us an excuse to talk without anyone getting suspicious, you know?”

  “Oh.”

  “So,” Olivia said, trying to sound cheery despite her frigid audience. “How are you?”

  “How am I?”

  “Yeah, you know. With everything that’s going on. How are you?”

  Margot stared at her blankly. “Would you ask Bree or Kitty, or just me?”

  “I . . .” Olivia flushed.

  “Because I’m the weak one? Because I can’t handle the stress?”

  Olivia shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she lied.

  The door opened, and Logan stuck his head into the room. “Margot, I—” He paused when he saw Olivia. “Oh! Sorry. I should have knocked.”

  “It’s okay,” Olivia said, trying to look and sound as if she and Margot hadn’t just been engaged in the world’s most awkward conversation. “We haven’t started yet.”

  Logan nodded, then cast his easy, sunny smile on Margot. “I’m glad you decided to join our little freak show.”

  Margot bit her lip. “Me too.”

  So Logan had asked Margot to volunteer for the drama production? Interesting.

  “She’s the best at running lines,” Logan said. “I’ve got half the role memorized already and we only had one session.”

  “Oh!” Olivia looked at Margot. One private session?

  “I, uh, remember things easily,” Margot said.

  “I’ve got to get onstage,” Logan said. “We still on for Sunday night?”

  Margot flushed. “Of course.”

  “Awesome.” Logan smiled again. “Later!”

  Margot stared at the ground and an amazing realization dawned on Olivia: Margot had a massive crush on the new kid in school, and it looked as if the feeling might be mutual.

  This was life-altering for Margot. Ed the Head and the photos could wait. Margot needed her help.

  “Is he taking you to the Ledge for the Bangers and Mosh show?” Olivia asked.

  Margot nodded. “But I might not go.”

  “Why? Logan’s hot and clearly into you. You can’t bail on that.”

  “I . . . I don’t . . .”

  “You’ve never been on a date before, have you?”

  Margot looked up. “There are more things in life than boys, you know.”

  Olivia wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “Of course there are,” she said. “But not right now.” She grabbed her makeup bag and dropped it on the dressing room table. “Never fear, Cinderella. The ball awaits.”

  Margot flinched away from the wand of lip gloss that Olivia held before her. It smelled like strawberries and algae, and it had the consistency of rubber cement. “I don’t wear makeup,” she said. “My parents don’t allow it.”

  “You can wipe it off later.” Olivia pulled a plastic bin and a brush from her bag, as well as a shiny stick that looked like gold lipstick. “Powder,” she said, holding up the bin, “and highlighter. Learn them. Love them.”

  This time, Margot didn’t recoil as Olivia swept the highlighter over her cheekbones and across her eyelids.

  An internal debate raged inside Margot. One voice argued that Olivia was merely trying to be nice to her. The other was a harsh reminder of what happened when Margot trusted girls like Olivia.

  “Okay,” Olivia said after a few moments. She twisted Margot’s heavy mane of dark brown hair away from her face and held it behind her neck with one hand, then swiveled Margot’s chair to face the mirror. “What do you think?”

  It could have been the soft glow of the blubs that rimmed the dressing room mirror, or it could have been the shock of seeing her face so starkly silhouetted without the thick fringe of hair masking her features, but Margot gasped.

  “I look . . .”

  “You look hot,” Olivia said, selecting a word Margot had never used to describe herself. “Here, hold this.” She grabbed Margot’s hand and placed it on the chignon of hair. “I think I have a clip in my—”

  Olivia stopped midsentence and stared at Margot’s hand gripping th
e mound of hair at the back of her head. With a tentative finger, she reached out and slid the baggy sleeve of Margot’s sweater up to her elbow.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Margot said curtly. “Everyone knows I’m the girl who tried to kill herself.”

  Olivia nodded and continued to stare at Margot’s scars.

  “You were there,” Margot said, trying to sound like the subject didn’t bother her at all. “In junior high, I mean. I know you didn’t hang out with her then, but you remember what Amber was like.”

  “Do you blame Amber for . . . for . . .”

  “For making me slit my wrists?”

  Olivia nodded again.

  Margot opened her mouth to say yes, then hesitated. She’d spent so many years nursing her hatred of Amber Stevens, and though Amber’s daily bullying had made Margot’s life a misery throughout junior high, the photo that had been the catalyst for Margot’s suicide attempt had apparently not been taken by Amber.

  “I used to think Amber took the photo of me that night,” Margot said slowly. Was she ready to share this with Olivia? “But I found out recently that it wasn’t her.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “Not yet. I’m working on it.”

  Olivia stared at her. “How?”

  Margot hesitated. She wasn’t used to trusting people with personal issues, not even a member of Don’t Get Mad. Margot glanced at her transformation in the mirror. Olivia had done that for her. As a friend.

  “I got a photo.”

  Olivia’s face was suddenly pale, her usually cheerful features drawn and tense. “What was it?”

  “It was from the same night as the one that spread around school, but it proved that Amber didn’t take the photo.”

  “And you got this photo in a plain manila envelope?”

  Margot caught her breath. “How did you know?”

  “Because I got one, too.”

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