“I know that you think that your mom and I have been too hard on you this week,” Dad continued. He stretched in his seat as though he could spot the cause of the traffic. I kept my mouth shut rather than explain that the cause was the water pelting the ground. Sane people always drove slower in the rain. “And we appreciate you being a good sport about the whole thing. I think you took it better than either of us.”
He chuckled and half-looked at me. I lifted an eyebrow at him and turned back to the road. It was a bad idea to let him make eye contact when he was behind the wheel. He got too intent on it and forgot that there was a world of metal on the other side of the window.
“We can’t stop Greg from doing what he thinks is best for Harper,” he said. His sigh fogged the windshield. He wiped it away idly as I reached down and turned on the defroster. “He says that she’s been studying for her interview all week and that she’s in a very good position to get placed at Marist.”
I went rigid in my seat. Today was the day of Harper’s interview. I wondered what else I’d missed since both of our groundings had gone into effect. Had she read anything other than the Bible this week? Had her dad realized that it was utterly impractical to live in a house without Internet access?
“It took some convincing,” Dad said, unable to stop himself from smiling. “A lot of convincing. You know how hard it is to deal with Greg when he thinks he’s right about something. I swear, he’s got to be a Vulcan. You have always said that Harper reminds you of a blond Spock—”
“What’s your point?”
“Greg said that Harper’s interview is at two, so she should be out in time to come get you from school.”
I forgot to watch the road. I twisted against my seat belt to face him. “I-I get to see her? For how long?”
“I couldn’t get her out of her curfew. She turns into a pumpkin at eight o’clock on the dot. That should be enough time to make a trip to the comic book store and come back to our house for some quality time, right?” He flashed me a smile before sobering and remembering to drive. “You still can’t gallivant, but I hate seeing you this sad, hon. Open the glove compartment.”
The glove compartment door unlatched easily. It fell open, displaying a mass of old bills and insurance cards. My cell phone sat on top of the pile. I reached for it, not quite believing that it was there. I knew it was ten dollars’ worth of plastic and computer chips put together by Chinese factory workers under terrible conditions and sold to my parents at a ridiculous markup. I knew that Meg’s dad had published multiple articles about our generation being too dependent on technology and how it was rotting our developing brains.
But I’d never been happier to see its morally questionable, fingerprint-smeared screen.
“You need some time to decompress with your friends,” Dad said, watching as I turned the phone on. It had a full charge. “We can even order you guys some Indian food. Tikka masala for Harper and extra samosas for Meg, right?”
The phone trilled and buzzed in my hand as a week’s worth of texts came pouring in. Meg telling me about Cornell leaving the student council. Ben laughing about us getting kicked out of the study room at the public library. And one from ten minutes ago, from Harper.
I can’t wait to see you guys this afternoon. Slurpees and Busby? We can bring a tarp to the park and make a waterproof fort?
I could feel the alternate universe I’d been living in wink out of existence. The traffic started moving again. Time started moving again. There was hope. There was a chance to make everything right.
And then I remembered that I hadn’t spoken to any of our friends all week. Harper was expecting both me and Meg to celebrate the limited return of her freedom. Maybe she’d want to see Peter and Ben. Maybe she’d want to talk to Cornell.
How could I tell her that, in the span of a week, the group had torn itself apart?
How could I tell her that it was mostly my fault?
[7:22 AM]
Me
It’s Trixie. I need your help.
[7:24 AM]
Unknown Number
How did you get my number?
[7:25 AM]
Me
Mary-Anne.
[7:27 AM]
Unknown Number
Ah. What do you need help with?
[7:29 AM]
Me
Can you get everyone to the library at lunch?
[7:30 AM]
Unknown Number
Everyone meaning your friends?
[7:32 AM]
Me
They like you more than me right now. I have faith in your evil twin powers.
[7:34 AM]
Unknown Number
You must be desperate.
27
Every table in the library was piled high with textbooks and laptops. The aisles were congested with people muttering reference numbers and trying to look things up on their phones without being caught by the roaming librarian.
I took the long way around the bookcases, silently cursing the Mess for not installing brighter lights. As I’d expected, the middle of the six hundred section was the aisle that finals forgot. I took a seat on the floor and wiped my hands against the carpet. I tipped my head back, reading the upside-down titles above me.
“Why animal husbandry?”
I jumped and grabbed onto the closest shelf to keep from face-planting into the carpet. Jack put his hands up in surrender as he walked toward me. He wore a plain black sweatshirt over his uniform. He considered me for a second before slipping the hood off his head.
“Good God, Donnelly,” I breathed, clutching my chest as my heart slammed against my ribs. “This whole creeping-in-the-shadows thing has to stop.” I peered around his legs, but there was nothing behind him except for more books and geometric-patterned carpet. “Where’s everyone else?”
“I outsourced the job. It turns out that your friends don’t actually like me more than you.” He flopped down across from me. “So, why did you choose the animal husbandry section?”
“Because there aren’t any classes on it. Urban school for geniuses; not a lot of interest in sheep.” Not that you could tell from all the literature surrounding us. The Mess’s generous benefactors must have been really dedicated to the idea of domesticated animals. “Aren’t you curious about why I called a meeting?”
“Not particularly.” He propped his elbow up on the nearest shelf, shoving a row of books back. “I figured you either wanted to talk about this Harper thing some more or gloat about being the new valedictorian. Either way, it doesn’t really concern me.”
“That’s funny. From what Mary-Anne said, it seems both of those things concern you a lot. You worked really hard to make it to the top ten before the deadline for MIT applications. And Harper getting expelled didn’t exactly ingratiate you to your brother—”
“Yeah, okay. Shut up a second,” he said, too distracted to be truly insulting. “I think the others are here.”
I clenched my teeth and folded my arms mutinously over my chest as the sound of thudding footsteps and spinning wheels got closer. B. Calistero came around the corner, his cheeks burning red as he skidded to a stop. I glanced at Jack, who scowled at me.
“What?” he asked. “You said your friends. I thought you liked the frosh. He follows you everywhere.”
B’s face went vermilion.
“Have a seat, B,” I said. I was afraid he’d faint from all the blood in his body taking up residence in his skull. “Thanks for coming.”
He tripped over one of the wheels on his rolling backpack. “No problem!”
He settled onto the floor, a few feet away from me. As he collapsed the handle of his backpack, Nick and Brad filed into the aisle—the former short and blond, the latter tall and curly-haired. Meg, Cornell, and Peter followed, wearing matching looks of confusion. Mary-Anne brought up the rear, her pink fingernails sunk into the sleeve of Ben’s jacket. She caught my eye and immediately dropped Ben’s arm. He took a large st
ep away from her and looked from me to Jack and back again.
“Are you being held hostage?”
“No,” I said.
“It looks like you guys are trying to bring back the feelings circle from Aragon.” Brad snorted.
“Let’s sit down,” Peter said, sinking to the floor next to Jack.
Meg made a face. “Oh, I do not think so. Someone had better tell me what fresh hell this is.”
“Keep your voice down,” Jack said. “Haven’t you ever been in a library before?”
“Don’t you start with me, Jack Donnelly,” she hissed, thrusting her hands onto her hips. “You sent your goons in before any of us had a chance to finish eating.”
“We aren’t goons,” Nick grumbled.
“Henchmen?” Ben offered, ignoring the glare that Nick threw at him. “And why did they get goons and I got smacked upside the head by Poet Laureate Barbie?”
“Because you are more combative than the others,” Mary-Anne said. She sat down on my side of the aisle, artfully tucking her legs to the side. She frowned at B and scooted closer to me.
I looked up at Meg, Cornell, and Ben. “It’s not a trap. If you want, we can all go back to hating each other the second the bell rings. But I really need your help. Please.”
Meg sank to the ground. “I don’t hate you, Trixie. You’re just the most bullheaded person on the face of the planet.”
“There should be a book about that around here,” I said, gesturing at the stacks. When her mouth twitched, I let myself smile at her. “You’re not a robot. And I am a bullheaded demon monster.”
“A minotaur?” offered B.
“The ancient Egyptians had a bull god, too,” said Brad.
“Apis,” Mary-Anne said.
“And this is what happens when you shove everyone from the top of the ranking list into one place,” Ben grumbled.
I hadn’t considered it until now, but it was true. The top nine people on the senior ranking list were here. I felt a twinge of guilt that I’d never talked to Ishaan Singh. He would have rounded us out to the full ten.
I sat up straight and clasped my hands together. I’d never started a meeting before. It seemed best to begin talking before anyone thought of another horned deity. “Okay. Last night I found out something really important—”
Cornell blew out a breath as he sat down next to Nick. “If this is about Harper coming to get you guys after school, it’s fine. I already know about it.”
I swiveled to look at him. “You do?”
Meg’s leg shot out. She kicked Peter hard in the ankle.
“Ow,” Peter whined. “That was my good leg!”
“I know it was,” she snapped. “You weren’t supposed to tell Cornell!”
“Why?” Peter sulked. He leaned forward to massage his ankle. “He deserved to know. I couldn’t let him get blindsided. Just because he isn’t my VP doesn’t mean he’s not my friend.”
“He’s your VP for another two weeks,” Mary-Anne said idly. “Mendoza won’t accept his resignation until after we get back from winter break.”
“Uh, I can hear you,” Cornell said, glowering. “So, if you want to cool it with the pronouns, that’d be great.”
Ben sneered at him. “Hey, man, you peaced out. We’ve had a full week to adjust to your absence.”
“This is not a student council meeting,” I said. My temples were starting to throb. I reached up and adjusted my ponytail. “And this is not about Cornell and Harper’s relationship.”
Jack popped his knuckles. “Thank God.”
“Because their relationship failed to crystallize,” Meg said under her breath.
B’s forehead creased into three margins. “But they were your control group, Meg.”
“Ix-nay, Brandon,” she whispered in a singsong.
Cornell turned on her. “Excuse me?”
“I’m really supposed to be in the office,” Nick piped up, putting his index finger in the air. “I help Mrs. Landry with clerical stuff during lunch as part of my scholarship and—”
“I found more tracks in the homework portal code,” I said loudly. “I can prove without a doubt that Harper isn’t the hacker, but I need help figuring out who is.”
That shut everyone up.
“It’s too late,” Cornell said faintly. He ran the flat of his hand against the grain of his scalp. “She’s already at her interview at Marist.”
“Jesus, Peter.” Meg groaned. “Did you have to give him her entire itinerary?”
Peter folded his arms over his chest. “Yes.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Jack was checking for IP addresses, not for time stamps. The person using Harper’s IP address was logging in when Harper couldn’t possibly have been near a computer.”
Jack did a decent impression of his brother’s confused face. “Most of the homework switching happened between midnight and three in the morning.”
I shook my head. “But Harper’s IP address was logging into Ben’s account at all times of the day. Like when Harper was at the comic book store or on dates with Cornell or picking up her dad’s dry cleaning. It didn’t do anything in there, which”—I inclined my head to Jack—“is probably why you didn’t notice it. It just logs in and logs out.”
“Of Ben’s account?” Peter echoed.
“Ben me?” Ben asked.
“Try to keep up, geniuses,” Mary-Anne said.
“Why would someone change Cornell’s grades, get Harper expelled, and spy on Ben’s account?” I asked, trying to hold on to the thread of the conversation with both hands. “Why go into first, second, and fourth place, but skip third?”
Ben turned to me, his lips pressed into a khaki line. “Are you sure they didn’t do anything to my account?”
“Nothing that I could see,” I said. “You haven’t moved in the ranking at all.”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, we can’t all default into the valedictorian spot.”
Cornell busied himself examining his fingernails.
Meg scrunched her nose. “They could have been trying to frame you and got Harper by mistake.”
“One, two, four,” B murmured. He combed the hair out of his face. “That’s the beginning of a tetranacci sequence. Were there any attempts on number eight?”
“No,” Jack said. “That’s Brad. I checked his account when I was going through the code.”
Brad punched him in the arm. “Thanks, man.”
“If it were anyone but Ben,” Mary-Anne said, “I’d think that someone was trying to look out for him. But since his only friends are here”—she quirked an eyebrow at Ben—“your parents wouldn’t happen to be psychopaths who would destroy the futures of your classmates in the name of your ranking?”
“No,” Ben said definitively. All the blood had drained out of his face, leaving him the same dingy off-white as his polo. “My dad’s a technophobe.”
“Your mom cares about your ranking,” Cornell said. “She talked about it a lot when we were staying with her. All that stuff about how she and your stepdad were their class valedictorians…”
“She’s on the other side of the country,” Ben ground out. “She couldn’t have taken over Harper’s IP address even if she wanted to. Besides, if she rigged the ranking, she’d lose the ability to guilt trip me. And then what would we talk about?”
“Then I’m out of ideas,” Mary-Anne said with a flick of her wrist. “No offense, Benedict, but you definitely have more enemies than friends.”
“That might have been true last year,” Meg said, tapping a finger against her chin. “But not now. Ben has at least four friends.”
“Do I count?” B asked.
“Oh,” Meg said. “Of course. Five friends.”
“Stop,” Ben drawled. “You’re making me blush.”
“I told you this was going to turn into a feelings circle,” Brad muttered to Nick and Jack.
“It’s six,” Cornell said stiffly. “It’s been six all year. I don’t
register anymore?”
“Well…” Meg cringed. She wrapped a lock of her hair around her finger. “No. Obviously not.”
“You did go sit with the role-playing club,” Peter mumbled.
Cornell threw up his hands. “Where else was I supposed to go? Everyone else on campus thinks that I let my girlfriend get expelled so that I could stay at the top of the rank. The role-playing club are the only people who don’t want to throw garbage at me when I walk through the halls. I didn’t choose them because they hate Ben.”
“It’s just a sweet bonus?” Jack asked.
The bell rang, severing any additional remarks.
“Come on,” Peter said, kneeling on his good leg to propel himself upward. “There’s no point in being late to fifth.”
Everyone gathered their backpacks. Jack helped Mary-Anne to her feet. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she swatted at him but didn’t shy away. On again.
Cornell left without saying goodbye, his head down as he pushed his way out of the library. Meg watched him go, her mouth set into a tight pucker. She looked up at Peter.
“Why won’t Mendoza take his resignation? He’s not coming back.”
“It’s the bylaws,” Ben said, scuffing his foot against the carpet. “You can’t run a club without a vice president.”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s a stupid rule,” Peter said, leading the way out of the library. “The vice president is the deciding vote in a tiebreaker. Without him, we don’t have a quorum. I tried to get it repealed. Mary-Anne’s normally our tiebreaker anyway.”
“Because you are all morons,” Mary-Anne said, flinching as Brad stepped too close to her.
“But we can’t have her as acting vice president without a vote and we can’t run an election during finals,” Peter finished.
“If any other club VP pulled this, the administration would let them fold,” Ben said with a scoff. “But the bylaws were written by Marxist wannabes, so you also can’t have any clubs without the student council, so—”
Something started slithering around in my brain. It was half a dozen thoughts, none of them quite able to link together. I stopped and squeezed my eyes shut until the sound of everyone walking away faded out.
The Only Thing Worse Than Me Is You Page 24