“Yes, sir, it’s very nice. The teachers and coaches are very helpful,” I said.
“And the students?”
“They’re fine,” I lied.
“They’re treating you well, then?”
“Is there some sort of problem?” I asked.
“Well, it seems Miss Kwan has decided to leave school. Her parents phoned me this morning and informed me that she did not feel at ease here,” he said. “She said some of the students were making her uncomfortable.”
They got Kwan. Now it’s just me. I didn’t know what to say. Should I tell him about the Statesmen? Did he know about them? I dropped a hint. “Did she say anything about any of the guys bullying her?”
“Bullying?” he asked, confused. “She didn’t mention anything like that, Miss Dresden. Do you think bullying occurs here at Hazelton?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I said taking a shot that, unlike Dr. Rich, maybe he would believe me.
“The students at Hazelton adhere to a very strict honor code, and I can assure you that nothing like that happens at our school,” he stated with a sense of certainty.
Well, he was clueless, and obviously not ready to believe what was really going on, so I changed the subject. “Maybe she just wasn’t used to all the boys. I’m used to being around boys, ’cause of the baseball thing and all. Maybe she just missed her girl friends.”
“Perhaps you’re right. She’s a bit younger than you, too. I’m just concerned that you’re our only girl left,” said Dr. Colton. “Will this be a problem for you, Miss Dresden?”
“Not at all, sir.”
As I rose to leave, I thought, Wow. Now I’ve got to put my game face on and keep it.
I stopped myself at the door. “Dr. Colton?”
“Yes, Miss Dresden?”
“Do you happen to know what’s wrong with Sam Barrett? I only ask because he was tutoring me in Trig and I haven’t seen him since before Christmas break.”
“Mr. Barrett returns on Monday,” he said tersely.
“Thank you, sir.”
That night, during dinner at the Richards house, the doorbell rang. That had never happened during a meal— meals at the house were always quiet, and I usually finished first, washed my plate, and headed upstairs to give the family some time together. As Dr. Rich rose to get the door, I made my way toward the kitchen. I had a feeling something was up.
I was scraping my plate in the kitchen when Dr. Rich walked back to the table with Dr. Colton, who was holding a video tape. I found this very odd. I had never seen him in the house before tonight.
“Mrs. Richards,” Dr. Colton said, shaking her hand, “you look well.”
“We’ll just be a minute in my office, hon,” Dr. Rich said to his wife.
“Certainly,” she said, continuing to feed Matthew as the two men left the dining room.
I stood in the kitchen and wondered if this was about Kwan—or me. I had to find a way to eavesdrop, but Mrs. Richards was right there. If I could make an excuse to go outside, maybe I could sneak a peek through the window at what was on that tape.
“Mrs. Richards?” I said quickly.
“Yes, dear?”
“I think I’ll head over to the library for a little bit.”
She nodded. “You really are motivated lately, Taylor. Good for you.”
I hustled up the stairs to grab my book bag to make things look legit, then went out the front door. Luckily, it was dark outside, so I could easily hide between the bushes and the house. I crept along the side of the house and positioned myself underneath what I was pretty sure was the office window. I couldn’t hear anything. Shoot. I had to peek. I laid my book bag down and stood on top of it. I could just see above the window ledge.
They were watching some security video footage from the school hallway, and fortunately for me, the television monitor faced in my direction. The video flickered to a start, and there was Kwan, opening her locker, with tons of notes and cards, even flowers, pouring out onto the floor.
The boys didn’t have to be too inappropriate with Kwan. Just giving her attention and pretending they were all in love with her was enough to scare her off.
She was a really shy girl, probably raised by her parents to never show interest in boys. The Statesmen must have had a bunch of different boys ask her out, leave romantic notes for her, and declare their undying love. It was too much for such a quiet little girl to handle. She had stuck with it for half a year, but I guess enough was enough for Kwan.
I figured that was not the same treatment I would face. Nobody brings girls like me flowers. They assume a girl who plays baseball wouldn’t go for flowers. I felt bad for Kwan, but at least I could say I’d tried to warn her.
After I saw all I needed to see, I did actually go the library. If I stayed focused on my grades, maybe I could keep from thinking about the fact that, for the Statesmen, it was two down and one to go.
Chapter 17
Sam did return that Monday, but it was like September all over again. He wouldn’t look at me in the hall, making me once again the invisible woman. And he looked different somehow. He wasn’t the same confident Sam Barrett. He looked tired. Instead of slapping hands with friends or strutting down the middle of the hall, he stood at his locker and let his hair fall into his eyes without pushing it back. Something was wrong.
During my study period on Monday, I went to the office for my meeting with the guidance counselor, Mr. Bass, about college applications. He was balding and short, with frameless glasses. His head kind of looked like an egg. His office had large glass windows all around it.
After about a ten-minute wait, Mr. Bass brought me into his office. He explained the parts of the college application process to me, including the transcripts and the personal essays. He told me to figure out what schools interested me, and he gave me a huge book to look at. It listed all of the schools and what programs they offered.
“Take a look at the books and the schools’ websites. Apply to as many as you can,” he said. “Don’t be afraid to pick the schools you really think are out of your league. You never know. Any questions?”
“Nope, thanks,” I said.
Later in my room, I looked at the books he gave me. The whole thing was overwhelming. I decided I would pick the schools with the best baseball programs. Mr. Bass did say you never know what could happen, and the deadline for applications was getting close. So I spent the night on college websites, typing out essays and filling out applications, trying to highlight the one thing I knew I did well—play baseball. Maybe I would get lucky.
The next week, I walked the halls on alert, figuring Plan B had to be in high gear by now. And, as it turned out, the third Friday in January was when the Statesmen made their big move.
Mr. Moesch, my Trig teacher, handed back my latest test. Ever since Sam began helping me, I had really been studying thoroughly, and I actually understood most of the material. So when I saw the failing grade written across the top of my test paper, I was shocked. A fifty-nine? I scanned the test quickly to find out what I had done wrong.
And that’s when I noticed this wasn’t even my test. It had my name at the top, but what was written below wasn’t my work. It was a near-perfect imitation of my handwriting, but it wasn’t mine. Someone had turned in this paper in place of my real one.
The bell rang for the end of class, and I walked out of the room like a zombie. What could I do? Would Mr. Moesch believe me if I told him it wasn’t my test? How could I prove it? Should I talk to the headmaster? He seemed concerned that I be treated fairly.
I could feel the anger building up inside of me. I scanned the hall to see if any of the Statesmen was watching me, waiting for me to react. I kept composed. I walked to my next class just as I normally did and showed no sign that anything was bothering me.
I would find a way to fix this, I decided. I’d stay here at Hazelton and get a scholarship to a good school. I had to. I was not giving up.
After school th
at day, I went to see Mr. Moesch. I figured it couldn’t hurt to try. Luckily, no one else was in the room. “Mr. Moesch?” I said quietly.
“Yes, Miss Dresden?”
“May I talk to you about my test?”
“Of course, have a seat,” he said. “I was surprised at the low score, because you’ve been doing so well of late.”
I explained that the test he had graded was not the test I’d completed. “I know it sounds crazy,” I said, “and I’m sure you have no reason to believe what I’m telling you, but I swear to you, Mr. Moesch, that is not what I wrote.” I needed to drive home my point, so I said, “You must see it, Mr. Moesch. These boys ignore me and want to mess with me. I think they’re trying to be funny, or—”
“Take it easy, Miss Dresden. There’s an easy way to solve this.”
“There is?”
“Yes.” He walked over to me and handed me a blank piece of paper. “I will put a problem on the board. If you can solve it, I will let you retake the test.”
He believed me. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate—”
“Hang on now. You have to remember that it is against the rules of the school to lie or cheat, and you have sworn to me that you are telling the truth. I am just honoring that code,” he said. “Of course, if you are telling the truth, then one of my other students has lied, and therefore has broken the code.”
I shut my mouth while he wrote a problem on the board. God, I hope it’s something I know. Please, please let me know it. I waited as patiently as I could for him to finish writing the problem, and to move to the side so I could see it. I know this. I got this.
I began writing quickly. I handed him my solution and watched him look it over and then give me a nod. “Okay, tomorrow afternoon for the retake. And I will inform the headmaster that something unsettling is going on here.”
I thought quickly and said, “Mr. Moesch?”
“Yes, Miss Dresden?”
“Do you think maybe you could just keep this between you and me for now?”
“Why? Someone has broken the code, and therefore certain procedures must be followed.”
“I understand where you’re coming from, sir, but it would really help me if the boys didn’t know I was given a retake,” she said. “It’s better for me if they think I’m failing. Let them think they got me once and maybe they’ll leave me alone. You know how boys can be, don’t you? You were in school once.”
I could tell by the sad look on his face that he had once been bullied, or been the victim of a prank, or the butt of someone’s joke at school. He knew. He understood. “All right, Miss Dresden. If that is what you want, I will honor your request.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I piled up my books to leave and moved toward the door.
“And, Miss Dresden?” he said.
“Yes, sir?”
“I hear you have guts on the baseball diamond. I’m impressed it has extended to the classroom.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, “and thanks again for believing me.”
Dresden, one, Statesmen jerk-head losers, zero.
As I walked out of Mr. Moesch’s room, I felt the anger building inside of me over what the Statesmen had done. I wanted revenge now more than ever. A crack on the wrist was just not enough. I needed to do something else, something bigger. I would have to just wait for my moment. Eventually, it would come.
Chapter 18
A few days after the math test incident, I was finishing up my afternoon workout in the gym when I heard a commotion outside the gym doors. It had snowed a few inches the night before, and I assumed it was just guys having a snowball fight.
But then something made me listen closer. Maybe it was the look on the other guys’ faces in the gym. Maybe it was the low thud I heard, like the sound of a punch into someone’s gut. I can’t be certain, but something made me race over to the exit door and push it open.
And there they were—Tuttle, Briggs, and two other Statesmen, giving Sam Barrett a good beating. They were about twenty yards from where I stood, taking turns punching him—a blow to the stomach, one to the face—and Sam wasn’t fighting back.
I was torn. I wanted to run out and help him, but that might make things worse. Then they would know he had helped me. Maybe they were beating him up because they already knew. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
My mind raced, but my feet were frozen to the ground. I didn’t know what to do.
Luckily, fate stepped in and decided for me. A car pulled up along the road that ran behind the gym. I didn’t know who was in the car, but its appearance was enough to scare off Tuttle and his goons. They raced around the side of the building.
Sam sat slumped against a tree. I looked behind me, then back into the gym, and saw the place had emptied out. Everyone had either run out the other side door to watch the fight or vanished so they wouldn’t have to be witnesses. Nobody wanted to speak out against the Statesmen. That would be prep school suicide.
I had on just a t-shirt and shorts, but I ran outside to him. He saw me coming and raised a hand to stop me, covering his face with his other hand. “Get out of here, Dresden!” he yelled.
I stopped a few feet from him. “They’re gone, Sam. Come on, let me help—”
“I said, get out of here!” He climbed to his feet, using the tree for support. With the back of his hand, he wiped blood from a cut on his already swollen lip.
“They did this to you because of me, didn’t they?” I said. “Because you helped me with math.”
He turned away from me and started moving slowly back up the hill toward his dorm. “You don’t know what you’re risking talking to me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just go back inside before you freeze to death.”
I so wanted to help him, but he didn’t want my help. Maybe this wasn’t about me, but in my heart, I knew it was. I stood there, my arms hugging my body to shield myself from the cold. The farther away Sam Barrett got, the colder I became, and for some reason, also angrier.
The car that had driven by during the fight reappeared and pulled up near me as I crossed campus. In the car were two boys who I recognized from Chemistry. I was pretty sure the driver’s name was Clifton. They both rolled down their windows. Damn, I thought, more Statesmen.
“Hey, Taylor,” said the guy riding shotgun. I thought it was strange he called me by my first name.
I stopped. I was curious. “What?” I said.
“Is he okay?”
“Who?” I asked, rubbing my arms from the cold.
“Sam. Barrett. He okay?”
“Why do you care?” I was both confused and angry. Then I mumbled, “Stupid Statesmen.”
“He’s a good guy, you know. Looked like he got a bad beating.”
I didn’t know if I should trust these guys and, honestly, I didn’t know if he was okay. “I don’t know,” I said coldly.
“Sorry I asked. Didn’t mean to piss you off. Relax, Dresden. We’re not all Statesmen, you know.” He rolled up the car window and drove off.
When I got back to the Richards house, I was shaking all over, from the freezing cold weather combined with what I had just witnessed. I ran upstairs and turned on the shower as hot as it would go. I was so panicked and confused. I didn’t know who not to trust anymore. I stood under the water, trying to get myself to stop shaking.
But the shaking continued and soon, tears began. The funny thing was that through all of this—losing Justin, losing Gabby, being drugged, knowing I was on borrowed time at school—through all of this crap, this was the first time I had cried. But my head was spinning with questions. Why were they beating Sam up? Is it all my fault? And what about those guys in the car? Were they really trying to help Sam or are they just more guys I should watch out for? I wish this whole stupid thing would end. I wish Dad was here.
I threw on my warmest flannel pajamas and got into bed. My hair was still wet from the shower, and it was dripping onto the pillow, but I didn’t care. I c
alled my dad on my cell.
“Hey there,” said a friendly voice.
“Hi, Dad,” I said softly. “Whatcha doing?”
“Just having a cup of joe and watching the news. Is it snowing up there?”
“It’s stopped now, but we got a few inches.”
“Just a coating here, but they’re calling for more by morning.” There was a bit of a pause. “Everything okay?” he asked.
I started to cry. “Just having a bad day. Sorry.”
“What’s the matter, honey? Did something happen?”
I tried to tell him without supplying the details. “It’s lonely, and some days it’s tough being the only girl here,” I said. “None of the guys really talk to me. I feel like no one likes me.”
“I’m sure that’s not the case. I’m sure if you look around, you’ll find friends you didn’t even know existed.”
I thought about Sam. And then I thought about that Clifton guy in the car, and what he said about not everyone being a Statesman. “Maybe,” I said to my dad.
“How about this weekend, Dan and I come up and take you out to dinner? What about Saturday?”
I really wanted him to come. I needed to see someone who cared. But then, without warning, I said, “How about we arrange that meeting I was thinking about, with . . . with Mom?”
“You sure, honey? You seem like you’re pretty shaken up right now.”
“Yeah, but I figure it can’t possibly make me feel worse,” I said. “And maybe it’ll help.”
“Okay, I’ll give her a call and then I’ll call you,” said Dad. “And until then, how about you call me every night around this time and we’ll talk? If you want.”
“Okay, Dad, I’d like that.”
“I love you, honey. I hate to think of you up there, lonely and crying.”
“You know I’m not a big crier. It’s just today I’m letting stuff get to me,” I said.
“I know. But I feel like you went up there because of me. I feel like I forced you into this situation.”
“You didn’t, Dad. You were right. I needed to do this. I needed to change,” I said. “And honestly, I do like it here. I’m learning so much from the pitching coach. Did I tell you he played in the Phillies’ minor league system?”
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