“Yes,” answered a cool voice.
“I’m leaving.”
“The file’s been assigned for investigation." The voice wavered. "There was a photograph. They know it’s missing.”
“You knew it was flagged. You knew this would happen when it didn’t show up. Relax. Eventually they’ll just write it off as missing."
“Maybe you should amend your report, add it to the inventory, buy some time."
“They’d discover it at the audit and then there’s the liquidation auction, too. By the time they notice anything it will be January. You’ll have some time. We’re in deep enough already. No need to compound it any further."
The voice turned icy. “You’re in this with me. You handled the inventory. It’s your name on the appraisal records, not mine.”
“Yeah, I know. See you in Chicago.”
The line went dead.
Stillman mumbled into the silent phone. "It’s too late to change anything, anyway. The file’s open.”
CHAPTER SEVEN: LEAST AMONG US
Cloud-filtered sunlight bounced off the full-length mirror in the corner of Jordyn's bedroom. She inspected her school uniform one last time then smoothed her long ponytail before twisting it up and pinning it at the back of her head. She rubbed at her cheeks trying to salvage whatever was left of the healthy glow from spending a lazy summer in San Diego where she shared a dilapidated Ocean Beach cottage with her father and a feral tabby cat, named Mr. Orange, who lived under the front steps. She shared the beach with surfers and stoners and seagulls, none of whom cared to know her name.
Grudgingly, she picked up her backpack, heavy with new textbooks, and lugged it downstairs to the second floor breakfast room. At the center of the otherwise empty table lay the completed registration form, an electric blue sticky note at the top: Fresh OJ in the fridge. Happy Monday! Love, Dad. Jordyn peeled off the note and dropped it into the trash under the kitchen sink. She stuffed the paper into her blazer pocket. Heaving her bag over her shoulder on the way down the steps, she dragged herself to the foyer. She pulled on her overcoat and left for school under an overcast sky.
Newly rehabbed three-flats and ostentatious rowhomes, nearly every one sporting a tiny boxwood lined garden, peppered her new neighborhood. At the end of the block, a toddler sat in her stroller happily chewing the ear of her toy bunny. The child's mother, dressed in a smart suit and high heels, handed the nanny a list and kissed her daughter goodbye.
Jordyn rounded the corner at the end of the block and walked along Lincoln Avenue past the children's hospital, past hip boutiques and swanky bistros, then headed west toward the Fullerton el stop where she boarded a southbound train. By the time she walked up the Eastview steps, the sky had cleared to an inviting patchwork of gauzy clouds against milky blue. She went inside anyway.
The administration office was empty. She took a seat in an orange plastic chair and waited. She pulled out her schedule. Embry for Geography. Wikstrom, Literature. Third period, Reynolds, O. Chem. Fourth period, American History. Lunch.
The office door popped open. A thin woman Jordyn hadn't met escorted a girl with long, curly black hair into the room.
“Please wait here, Miss Callaghan,” said the woman sternly. “Miss Quig, I’ll be right with you.”
The woman guided the girl to a desk near the center of the room. Neither sat. The woman pulled a small sewing box from a pencil drawer and handed it to the girl. She opened the box and gathered a needle, a tiny pair of scissors, a navy button, and a skinny spool of navy thread. She set the items and the open box on the desk, took off her blazer and, still standing, threaded the needle and began to sew the button onto the cuff. When she was done the girl draped her blazer over her forearm, returned the items to the box, handed the box back to the woman, and smiled warmly. The woman frowned, dropped the box back into the drawer, and closed it with a sharp clang. The girl’s smile did not waiver. She put on her blazer and walked toward the door.
“Miss Callaghan, please remember to polish your shoes for tomorrow. They look like you’ve been tromping through puddles. Off to class now.”
The girl nodded and continued out the office door.
“Now, Miss Quig. I am Ms. Novak. How may I help you?”
Jordyn stood and pulled the crumpled paper from her pocket. “Mrs. Hansen asked me to have my father to complete this form." Jordyn handed the woman the paper. “I’m just dropping it off.”
“Very well. Thank you." The woman took the paper.
“Ms. Novak?
"Yes, dear?"
"Who is she? That girl?”
“Oh, her? Just a scholarship student. Fifteen minutes to first bell, Miss Quig. Better get going, dear, if you want to find your class on time." Ms. Novak shuffled through the papers stacked in the in-box on the counter, paying no attention to Jordyn's glare.
Jordyn walked slowly, stopped at her locker on the first floor, and looked out the window of the scruffy courtyard she'd seen from the library. She still managed to arrive on the second floor at Professor Embry’s Geography classroom a full ten minutes before the first bell. She opened the door. The room smelled like mushrooms. Old maps papered the front wall. Shelves of crumbly books lined the back of the room. Tall windows ran the length of the outside wall. A group of students gathered at the glass, focused on the street below.
Cooper sat on the wide sill. A small girl with a sour expression and four honey-blonde twists like cinnamon buns stuck at the top of her head stood on a chair, draping herself over Logan's broad shoulders. The rest had been among Jordyn’s first-day gawkers.
The door slipped from Jordyn's hand. It slammed with a metallic crack. Copper wheeled around, hopping up and down. "Oh, Jordyn! You're here! Hi!”
Jordyn waved politely.
Logan peeled the sour-faced girl off his shoulders. “I didn't know you were in this class."
"Yeah, right." Jordyn surveyed the neat rows of chairs, writing tablets all unusually clear of doodles. “So, where do I sit?”
"I sit in front," said Logan.
"Where everyone can see him," jabbed the girl with the twisty hair.
"Thanks, Alex. Remind me to tell your ugly boyfriend I saw you checking out the football team after school yesterday."
Alex showed him her middle finger then returned to the window.
Logan motioned to the front row. "There's an empty seat next to mine."
"Why not?" Jordyn plopped her backpack into the seat.
Cooper squealed. "Ooh, here he comes!'
Logan walked back to the window. "Mark, who won?" A short boy with meaty arms ran the tip of his pen down a piece of notebook paper.
"Burgundy tie, no stripes. Looks like Alex."
A girl with thick eyeliner and pale orange lipstick groaned. "Alex again?"
Alex put out both of her hands. "Aww, sucks for you, Jilly. Pay up, losers." The other students handed her wads of cash as she cast her unsympathetic sneer upon each of them.
Jordyn joined the group at the window. " Hi, Cooper. What's all this?"
"Oh, um, it's nothing. There's just this guy who walks by the school every day. We make bets on him. Kinda funny, don't you think?"
"Maybe. I guess." Jordyn crossed her arms.
A man in a navy suit squatted at the gutter. His longish black hair was slicked back into a short ponytail at the back of his neck. He prodded a bottle cap in the gutter. A small paper bag and long black umbrella lay on the sidewalk near his feet.
Cooper sidled up against Jordyn and continued her explanation. "He walks the neighborhood at exactly the same time, crossing the exact same streets every single morning, even if it’s pouring rain. Well, if it’s raining the umbrella is open, but otherwise, there’s no difference."
The man bagged the bottle cap and neatly folded the top of the bag closed. He unfolded the bag, checked its contents, and folded it down again. He did this two more times then pulled a pen from his breast pocket and scribbled something on the brown paper. He pocke
ted the pen and the bag, picked up his umbrella, and walked a few feet before poking at an empty Butterfinger wrapper with the tip of his polished shoe.
"We used to bet on when he would show up, but after a few days that got boring since he shows up at exactly the same time every day." Cooper snorted an oinky laugh. "Now we bet on what he wears or what he does, like which piece of trash he will look at or if he will put it in his bag. Sometimes we leave things for him. Mark left the Butterfinger. Took us a while to get that right. Too big and it won't fit in the paper bag. Too small and he misses it. Mondays are always more interesting, of course, because the street sweeper hasn't been by in a week."
Alex chimed in, "Mark brought in binoculars so we could bet on his tie. I always win."
“Ooh, look, there’s that Irish girl," said Cooper.
Mark craned to see. "What's her name?"
Cooper answered, "Deirdre Callaghan."
Mark shook his head.
Cooper put her hands in the air. "What? Honestly. It's my business as your class representative to know these things."
Mark shook his head again. "Sad, Cooper. So sad. Look, she's talking to the weirdo."
Deirdre touched the man on the elbow, both smiled. The first bell rang. Deirdre excused herself and ran toward the school entrance.
“Maybe she’s his illegitimate daughter,” hissed Alex.
“Maybe he just likes little girls,” said Logan.
“You don’t know anything about him.” The students at the window turned toward the voice. William Emerson sat alone in the back row, face toward the front of the room. He leaned back in his seat, tapping the eraser end of a pencil on the desktop.
Logan stepped away from the group. “He’s a freak. Just like you.”
Will stood, facing Logan. “I think if someone didn’t know you, by looks alone they’d guess you were an idiot."
“That's what you think?"
Will did not respond.
Logan pushed through the row of desks.
Will did not move.
Logan's face reddened. “I think you need to shut up. Nobody is interested in your opinion. You’re just another freeloader. Maybe you and that girl and the freak should get together and form your own sorry ass club.” The other students snickered.
Professor Embry barreled through the door.
“OK, everyone. Find your seats. Show’s over." He dropped a stack of thick books and rolled maps onto his desk. "Chapter four today, folks. Let's go." The group near the window scrambled to their desks and dug out their textbooks. Logan and Will stayed. Jordyn took her seat at the front of the room and shuffled though her backpack, watching them from the corner of her eye.
Professor Embry leaned forward, both hands on his desk. He peered over his half-moon glasses. "Mr. Harris, to your seat, please."
On his way to the front of the class, Logan slammed into Will's shoulder. “You’re dead, Emerson.”
CHAPTER EIGHT: GRACE
Jordyn jotted down the last of her notes in third period chemistry lab. Professor Reynolds stopped in front of her work station. "Miss Quig, may I borrow your beaker?" Jordyn shrugged and handed it over.
He swirled the pale yellow fluid and lifted it shoulder high. "This, class, is what you should be seeing about now."
Half of the students mumbled, the others had their heads down trying to finish the experiment. A kitchen timer dinged at the front of the room.
Professor Reynolds set the beaker down. "Nice work, Miss Quig." He walked to the front of the class and clapped his hands twice. "Time to clean up. Don't forget to put your journals in the basket on your way out. Next time we'll be synthesizing aspirin. Don't forget, you owe me two pages on the scientific method and how we apply that in the lab. I expect concrete examples, people."
Jordyn cleared her station and peeled off her gloves. She slid her goggles off her head and jammed them and her books into her backpack.
Cooper, Alex, and Jilly waited near the door. Cooper leaned against a low shelf, saying hello, by name, to everyone in sight. Jilly freshened her lipstick and wiped a smudge from under her eye. Alex hiked up her skirt.
Jordyn grabbed her things and headed for the door.
Cooper stopped her. "Jordyn, your lab coat."
"Oh, thanks. Forgot." Jordyn tossed her log into the basket. She shook off the white coat and stuffed it into her bag as she bolted out of the room.
Copper, Alex, and Jilly followed close on her heels.
“I have to get some stuff out of my locker before next period," said Jordyn, doing her best to dissuade them without being rude.
“Oh, okay. We'll come along,” said Cooper.
Jordyn flew down the corridor. The girls chattered behind her, Alex the loudest. “Mr. Reynolds is so disgusting. I swear, if he blew his nose one more time I would've had to puke." Jilly jabbed her index finger deep into her mouth, fake gagging. Alex rolled her eyes.
Cooper came to his defense. "Oh, I don't think he's that bad. You know how they get. He's just a little old, that's all."
Alex stopped in the hall near the exit to the boys’ locker room and cocked her hip to one side.
Cooper blushed. "Oh, Alex. Let's go. They're coming."
"Kind of the point, isn't it." Alex unbuttoned the top of her school blouse and pulled it open. A tiny red heart stained the top of her breast just above her push-up bra. The freshmen spilled into the hall. "Hey, boys! Got a new one. Wanna see?"
Jilly giggled and dragged Alex down the hall by her elbow.
Jordyn let the girls' antics drift past her, not worth the effort of a reaction. Like the others before them, this newest entourage didn’t care what she thought so long as they were seen together by the ordinary students, the kids with little hope of ever being her friend or theirs.
Jordyn stopped quickly, sending the girls skidding. Standing squarely in front of her locker, she blocked it top to bottom, frustrating the absurd curiosity of her newly acquired friends. She turned the knob and popped open the door. Alex and Jilly jockeyed for a glimpse inside the dark box even though every book, pen, and magazine poster of a famous boy was exactly the same as theirs. Jordyn closed the locker door with a resonant clang. She turned around expecting to find the girls rapt, but their attention had been redirected. Deirdre Callaghan walked toward them.
Alex's words were acid. “Who wears second-hand uniforms, anyway?”
"Poor people," answered Jilly. "Just look at it.
Ug-ly."
Cooper shrunk behind them.
Deirdre passed by, and instantly Alex, Jilly, and Cooper were gone, in pursuit of something far more interesting than the contents of a high school locker.
Jordyn wandered down the hall. She looked out the window into the ragged courtyard. She tried the door. It was unlocked. She went outside.
The corner of a small concrete bench peeked out from behind an overgrown evergreen. She brushed away the loose needles, clearing a space large enough to sit concealed in the stillness of the garden. Her eyes wandered up the amber-tinged ivy still clinging tenuously to the brick wall to a square of clear blue sky above.
Deirdre darted into the courtyard. Jordyn tucked herself behind the branches of the evergreen. Deirdre stood motionless a few feet inside the courtyard door. Loose curls fell untamed over her shoulders, her clean porcelain face tinged pink at the cheeks, her eyes wide.
Alex and Jilly crashed through the door and forced her tight into a corner. Deirdre's hair fluttered with each of Jilly's belligerent huffs. Alex, hands on hips, looked Deirdre up and down. “Saw you talking to that freak. Asking for fashion tips? You could use some.”
Deirdre said nothing.
Jilly brushed Deirdre's curls back from her face. “Amazing blue eyes, don’t you think, Alex? And so delicate.” Jilly ran her fingertip along the top edge of Deirdre's ear and down her jawbone, stabbing her fingernail up into the soft hollow beneath her chin. "Too bad she thinks she can just come in here and do whatever she wants. Think maybe she sh
ould seriously consider going back to wherever she came from?"
Alex grunted.
"Shame to mess up something so pretty," said Jilly. She slowly stroked Deirdre's hair then kissed her lips and laughed.
“I don’t know, Jilly. Remember that Anderson girl?” Alex lunged forward, jamming Deirdre deeper into the corner. “Watch yourself, Callaghan." And the pair left as quickly as they had come.
Deirdre straightened her blazer and wiped Jilly’s orange lipstick on her sleeve. She sat down, crisscross on the damp concrete. Jordyn scooted forward on the bench and cleared her throat. She shouldered her bag and walked across the courtyard.
Jordyn extended her hand. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry. I should’ve . . ."
Deirdre took her hand, hopped up, and brushed off her uniform. "I'll be fine," she said, the words somehow more reassuring in her soft brogue.
"Have you been at Eastview long?" asked Jordyn.
"Long enough."
Jordyn looked through the window into the busy corridor. Alex hung on the arm of one of the boys she'd caught coming from the locker room earlier. Jilly and Cooper hovered nearby. Deirdre looked around the courtyard. "Haven't been in here before now. I’ve always been fond of the neglected."
"It must be hard for you, coming to a place so different."
"I've been here awhile now."
"Oh, it's just . . . your accent . . ."
"That? Hasn't changed much."
The bell rang. Jordyn walked to the door and held it open. "What do you have next?"
"American History."
"Me, too. I'll walk with you."
Jordyn had been in the library nearly an hour after dismissal. She lugged a stack of chemistry books to the third floor and found a deserted reading cluster near a window overlooking the street in front of the school. She dropped the books on side table and sat on the cushy sofa. She leaned into the soft cushions and sighed. "Concrete examples," she said to herself. "Right."
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