Traci didn’t flinch for a second.
“I accept your apology,” I said, considering the possibility of an insider I-Girl, one who might—and I knew it would be a long shot—be able to get us information from beyond the manicured walls. “No ‘hard fees.’”
“Are you sure?” She smiled again at Hal. “Because I totally wouldn’t feel right if you were still offended or anything.”
Before I could answer, Heidi stormed up and inserted herself into our conversation. “Don’t tell me you’re joining the loser table, too.” She glared at Callie.
Traci pressed her eyes shut, revealing a thick layer of sparkling bronze eye shadow that coordinated with her ballet shoes, as if her worst nightmare had just come true.
“Can you please tell me what exactly you’re doing over here?” Heidi asked her, wielding her mighty force field. “Because it really isn’t socially safe to venture over here.”
“It was really no big,” Traci said.
“If you’re hanging out with dweebs, then it is a big,” Heidi insisted, checking her iPhone to make sure nobody more important had tried to reach her.
“How about you leave her alone, Heidi,” Hal said.
“Excuuuuse me?” she drawled, widening her eyes. “I’m surprised that you can stomach sitting here. If I were you, Hal Pal, I’d do myself a favor and break free of these dead weights. With a little work you might have a real shot at making the transformation.”
“Transformation?” he asked.
“You know.” She shrugged. “From dork to dreamy, from dweeb to steamy . . .”
Hal’s gray-blue eyes narrowed at her. “You’re the only dead weight here.”
Heidi’s mouth tightened, but she only said, “Nice, Hal. Just trying to help.” At the same moment, her phone slipped from her grip. She tried to catch it, but it bounced off the table and landed in my lap.
“Hand it over,” she hissed.
But for some reason, I wanted to hold it. I stared down at her pink screen, suddenly able to picture a series of text messages.
“Now!” she demanded.
I ignored her and closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye I could see the texts flying furiously between her and Kelli.
“You little freak,” she snapped. “Hand it over, or you’ll be wearing chocolate milk on those secondhand clothes of yours . . . not that anyone would notice a difference.”
“Oh, really?” I ventured, looking at her again. “Well, since we’re on the topic, why don’t you tell Traci what you and Kelli were texting about her clothes?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Heidi’s overly glossed lips bunched up in confusion.
“You know . . . how she wears too much brown . . . how she’s starting to look like a pile of crap.”
Heidi snatched her phone back, nearly taking my hand along with it. But she didn’t deny it.
“A pile of crap?” Traci gazed down at her outfit du jour: a brown suede minidress with chocolate-brown tights and bronze ballet slippers—just a couple shades off from brown.
“And that’s not the only thing Heidi’s texted about you,” I bluffed, suddenly wishing I could take her phone back. “Do you want to hear what she had to say about Kelli? And about Lexi? About all your other friends?” I looked around, noticing how we’d attracted the attention of at least a dozen tables. Even Keith Harmon stared back in my direction, seemingly eager to hear more.
“Looking for your boyfriend to save you?” Heidi mocked, following my gaze. “Do I seriously need to remind you that Keith said he’d rather date farm animals than you?”
“Knock it off,” Hal told her.
“Whatever,” she said, waving the comment away. “Nia’s lying. She has no idea what she’s even talking about.”
“Try me,” I said, praying that she wouldn’t call me on it.
Instead she backhanded my entire lunch at me. Chicken salad and chocolate milk landed in a messy heap all over my lap and the floor. “You’re such a freak!” she shouted, soliciting even more attention. Her body was shaking with anger.
Hal stood up to block her from me. “What’s with you, Heidi?” he asked her, keeping his voice low.
Seconds later, Mrs. Watson came flying over and gave us all detention.
“But it wasn’t Nia’s fault,” Callie said while helping me wipe off.
“It wasn’t any of our faults,” Hal added. He gestured to the four of us, including Traci.
We tried to plead our case, but Mrs. Watson wasn’t hearing any of it. “You’ll all have an opportunity to explain yourselves after school.”
“But we’re busy after school,” Callie started to object.
“I guess you should have thought about that before you decided to start a food fight.”
I shook my head, baffled by the whole thing—especially by how I was suddenly able to picture those text messages. Had they been part of a dream? Or something I had put together from a prior eavesdropping session? Was that even remotely possible? I racked my brain, searching for a reason that might make sense. But the only certain thing was that in all the years that I’d known Heidi—too many—I’d never seen her get that enraged.
Mrs. Watson looked on until we all cleaned up the mess—including Heidi and Traci, who grumbled the entire time about the toll this was taking on their manicures.
Meanwhile, Callie was completely distraught, not just because there was chicken salad on the front of her dress, too, but because she’d just realized that she’d forgotten to bring her sweats for gym class. “And you just know Coach Richards is going to give me a big fat detention for it,” she said. “Which means a double detention.”
“Which means you’ll never get out of here today,” Hal added.
“And we’ll never get anything accomplished,” I sighed.
Heidi and Traci went off to the bathroom to disinfect their cuticles, and Hal, Callie, and I stood by the exit doors, waiting for the period to end.
“I really wanted to get going right after school,” I told them. “I don’t have a lot of time as it is.” My mother was on a constant need-to-know status about my whereabouts and ETA, especially since Thornhill was attacked, and I’d already lied and said that I had a Model UN meeting this afternoon. “My mother is expecting me to be home by five thirty.”
“Well, I have to be done before then, too,” Hal said. “I need to get to the music store before it closes.”
“Can’t you go tomorrow?” Callie asked him.
“Can’t you borrow gym clothes from Nia?” he suggested.
“If only I had an extra set of clothes with me.” I gestured to my milk-stained skirt.
“Well, isn’t there anybody else you can borrow from?” Hal insisted.
Callie peeked over at Kelli and Lexi, engrossed in what appeared to be a major conversation at the I-Girl table, but then shook her head.
“I suppose you can borrow mine.” Hal sighed.
“Your gym pants?” She giggled. “They’ll never fit.”
“That’s what alterations are for.” He pulled a rubber band from around his wrist, but Callie looked less than convinced, gazing at his lanky body and then staring straight at his chest.
I couldn’t help taking a peek myself, noticing how his pectoral muscles stretched the fabric of his shirt just so, and remembering a rumor I’d heard—that somewhere on his body was a tattoo. I’d overheard much speculation as to what it was and where it could be. Ideas ranged from a fire-breathing dragon on his back to a lightning bolt on his hip, and some barbed wire around his bicep. But somehow those images didn’t seem fitting, considering that his current T-shirt had a dancing Twinkie on it.
“I don’t know,” Callie said. “Maybe we should just postpone our plans until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow might be too late,” I said, glancing up at the cafeteria clock. There were only four minutes remaining until the bell rang.
Hal swung his backpack over his shoulder, readying himself to leave. “I think we
should try to do both today—call that Waverly person and then look for the rehab place. What’s the penalty for ditching detention?”
“Two detentions in Callie’s case,” I said to correct him.
“Okay, fine,” she sighed. “I’ll wear Hal’s pants.”
“But that still doesn’t get us out of detention for Mrs. Watson,” I pointed out.
“Leave that one to me,” Callie said, waving off an explanation. She turned on her heel and headed out the door, just as the bell rang.
CHAPTER 7
Hal and I met in Mrs. Watson’s classroom after school, fully prepared—and utterly disgruntled—to accept Watson’s infamous sentencing of washing all the desks, crusty undersides included.
“Where is everybody?” I asked, wondering if maybe there was something we hadn’t heard about.
I peeked out into the hallway just as Callie rounded the corner by the computer lab, hurrying in our direction. “I have some good news!” she shouted.
“What?” I asked, more than eager for a slice of this goodness.
“We don’t have detention for Watson.” Standing just in front of us now, Callie took a moment to catch her breath. “I got us out of it.”
“How?” Hal asked.
Callie had indeed made magic happen. Not only did she wear Hal’s sweatpants for gym, securing the extra slack in the waist and legs with rubber bands, and thus safeguarding herself from a double detention, but she also miraculously got us removed from Mrs. Watson’s desk duty.
“I just promised her I’d compete in this math tournament thing she’s been bugging me about.” Callie shrugged as if it were no big deal, though I suspected otherwise. There was a reason why a genius like Callie had never taken Watson up on any of her sugarcoated offerings to compete in the past.
“The Math League?” I asked, trying to picture outgoing, exuberant Callie joining forces with a bunch of calculator-carrying mathletes. “I must say, I’m impressed.” Not only was Callie coming farther out of her shell, but she was finally embracing her own natural intelligence.
“Definitely impressed,” Hal said, flashing her a little smile. “And thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled back.
“So, I believe we have a phone call to make,” I said, ready to tackle this part of the mystery.
Hal nodded and I pulled out my cell phone.
“Wait, one question.” I stopped in the corridor. “What about Traci and Heidi?”
“Oh, right,” she said, trying to hold back a grin. “Well . . . the offer only extended so far . . .”
Hal laughed. “In other words, they will be scrubbing desks by their lonesomes.”
Callie sighed. “Sadly, yes.” Collateral damage.
We moved to the area behind the football stadium, where there wasn’t a lot of foot traffic. We sat on the ground, in the direct sunlight, and I set my cell to speakerphone so that Callie and Hal could listen in.
“Don’t forget to block the number,” Hal said.
I nodded, pressed star-six-seven, and then I dialed the number.
“Tea department?” a woman’s voice answered.
I gave Callie and Hal a confused look, wondering if I’d gotten the number wrong. I rechecked the card.
“Is anyone there?” the woman asked; her voice was raspy and deep.
“Hi, is this Waverly Valentino?” I finally spoke.
There was silence on the line for several seconds, but then: “Who can I say is calling?” she asked.
My mouth hung open. No words came out.
“You’d like some tea, wouldn’t you?” the woman asked, filling in the blank. “The medicinal blend is very popular this season. It contains elderflower and echinacea, which are good for flu symptoms, as well as the common cold.”
“I’m looking for Waverly Valentino, please.”
“I’m sure you’ll like this blend,” she continued, as if she didn’t hear me. “It helps support the immune system.”
“Waverly?” I asked, trying to determine if it was the same voice as the woman who had spoken with Cisco at the front door of our house.
“I’m glad you finally called. Your nerves must be acting up. We have a nice rose tea that would be soothing for that.”
“But I have nothing to offer you in return,” I said, referring to Amanda’s box.
“Don’t be foolish. Let’s just meet to discuss your needs. Then we can come up with a solution for those pesky sinuses—I sense you are feeling pressure, or possibly some pain? I have a feeling you want to know all about the sinuses, am I correct?”
I shook my head, desperate to read between her confusing lines, decipher this code, and to know if she’d be any help at all with our search. “Does anyone by the name of Ariel work there?” I ventured.
“You certainly like the pricklier blends, don’t you?” she said. “Just be careful. Those spicier types are apt to cause you some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Let this be a warning to you, Ms. Rivera: Don’t go bothering your system with all those stinging nettles.”
My body recoiled, just hearing my name. I knew I hadn’t said my name. Plus I’d blocked my number. “Where are you located?” I asked, eager to keep her on the line so I could think.
“Sunflower Street.”
I exchanged more bewildered looks with Callie and Hal. For as long as I’d lived in Orion, I’d never heard of a street called Sunflower.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to find it. Just be sure to bring along a nice sturdy box to carry all your teas. I hope to see you soon, Ms. Rivera.”
“Don’t hang up,” I told her. “What number on Sunflower Street? Is that in Orion?”
But the line went dead. I waited a few moments to see if she would click back on. When she didn’t, I snapped my phone shut.
“Well, that was obviously Waverly,” Hal said.
“And she obviously wants the box,” Callie said. “I mean, ‘be sure to bring a nice sturdy box to carry all your teas . . .’”
“Seems like she’s willing to give us information in exchange for the box,” I said, referring to what she said about “telling” me about sinuses. “Not that that’s even an option.”
“Why do you think she was talking in code?” Hal asked. “I mean, did she have someone right there? Did she think her phone was bugged, or yours, for that matter?”
“Clearly, I have no idea,” I said. “And if it were hard to talk, why give me that number in the first place?”
“Right,” Callie said. “Why not a private cell line? Why the number for a business?”
“And how do you think she knew it was you?” Hal asked.
“Who else would it be?” Callie said. “The woman gave Cisco her card. She was clearly expecting Nia to use it. And her name probably isn’t Waverly Valentino. Let’s take a wild guess that it’s an alias she gave Cisco. Plus, how many young people do you think she has calling a place that sells tea?”
“If it’s a tea department, then I wonder what kind of store it is, and what other departments they have,” he pondered.
“Maybe Tea Department is the name of the shop,” Callie offered. “I mean, I know it isn’t exactly clever, but—”
“Then why not advertise the name on the card? And why an eye for a logo instead of a teacup?” I gazed out toward the soccer fields, where Cisco and some of the other players had emerged for practice. “Do you really think she expects us to show up?”
“Show up where?” Hal asked. “Because there’s no Sunflower Street in Orion. Or when?”
I shook my head, because none of it made sense. Why would she tell me to come to a tea shop that didn’t have a real name . . . on a street that didn’t exist?
“I’ll do some research,” Hal said. “I’ll check out all the street names within a twenty-mile radius. I’ll also check out the names of herbal tea shops in the area.”
“As well as homeopathic places,” Callie added. “She did talk a lot abou
t treatment . . . like an herbalist or something.”
“You know what I think?” Hal said, an irresistible grin curled up his face. “Amanda was smart to have us all work together.” He extended his palm facedown in the air. “It’s just like Heidi said; we’re like the Three Musketeers, right?”
“Right,” Callie chirped, placing her hand down over his.
I let out a sigh at how corny this was. But maybe, all things considered, a little bit of corny was a lot of what I needed. “Right,” I said finally, setting my hand on top, and feeling a huge rush of heat charge over my skin.
CHAPTER 8
I’d written the address for Dr. Joy’s rehab facility on the inside cover of my biology notebook. The facility was supposedly on the other side of town, but Hal was familiar with the area, having once taken a summer art class at Greyscale Charter School over there. We rode our bikes down winding streets, across a major bridge, and through at least four busy intersections before finally arriving at the place.
Only it didn’t look like a rehab place at all. It was a small brownstone building with no signs outside indicating what it was. But on closer inspection through a picture window, it appeared to be a travel agency.
“What are the odds that someone would have had the time to dismantle an entire health care establishment and put another, completely unrelated business in its place in only a couple of days?” I asked.
“From the looks of it,” Callie said, indicating the ads for cruises and flight deals that lined the walls, “I’d say pretty good.”
“This is definitely the place.” Hal pointed out the plaque by the door with the address clearly marked.
“So, why isn’t there a sign?” Callie asked.
I shook my head. Phones were ringing; faxes were rolling in; brochures were being stuffed into envelopes and passed around the office. I looked back at the address inside my notebook, wondering if maybe I’d gotten it wrong.
But I knew that I hadn’t.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” I whispered.
“What does?” Hal asked, perhaps feeling a bit defeated. “Are you forgetting your most recent phone call, along with everything else we’ve learned?”
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