I shrug. “Okay, so Singer worded the plaque and hid the message. But who was he saying lied?”
“Well, if you read it ‘along with the rows,’ then it refers to the Board of Directors.”
“What’d they lie about?”
Her shoulders lift. “I think he’s calling them hypocrites, but I’m not sure why. That wasn’t exactly in the script for the parent tours.”
“What are you two doing here?” The voice makes both of us jump.
When we spin around, Kollin is standing five feet behind us.
Laney stutters, “We were, we were … ”
“We were researching our Ethics project,” I tell him. “We decided to write about William Singer. This place is loaded with history on him.”
His voice lightens. “Oh.”
“What are you doing here?” Laney asks.
Emily comes in the front door right then and stops in her tracks. She stares at Kollin and then marches past like she didn’t notice any of us. Kollin follows her with his eyes. She crosses the atrium and walks straight out the back door.
Kollin’s face is red as a rash when he turns back to Laney.
“That was weird,” I say.
Laney shakes her head and shrugs. “So anyway,” she says, “what are you doing here?”
Kollin rubs the back of his neck. “I … the same thing as you. I’m here to get ideas for my presentation. Maybe we’ll do Mary Singer.”
The three of us stand there saying nothing. It’s more awkward than a sixth grade dance.
“Well, I guess we’re done then,” I tell them. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“No, I gotta go too.” Kollin glances toward the back exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lane.” He kisses her quick and jogs across the rotunda.
When the back door clacks shut, I move alongside Laney. “That was strange. He just got here and he’s leaving? And did you see how he and Emily looked at each other? What was that about?”
Laney brushes past me toward the front door. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I follow her outside. “They looked like they—”
She turns and says through gritted teeth, “I know what you’re implying. Kollin wouldn’t cheat on me with Emily Dombrose.”
Laney’s pissed. Again. Time for another dose of damage control. “Of course not.”
She ignores me and walks faster, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
I tag along beside her. “Only the dumbest guy in the world would risk losing you.”
The creases in her brow evaporate. “You’re such a BS-er.”
“No I’m not.”
“Really?” Her head cocks to one side as she imitates my voice. “We’re here because we’re working on our Ethics project for Solomon’s class. We’re doing it on William Singer.”
“Well, that was different. That was to save my ass.”
“Same reason you’re BS-ing me now.” She dismisses me with a wave of her hand and continues walking. “Just drop it.”
My brain scrambles to think of a way to keep her talking. I nudge her with my elbow. “Hey, did I ever tell you how I got this last envelope from the Sevens?” She avoids my eyes, focusing on the windows of the buildings we pass. “It was in my room when we got back from the city.”
She stops cold and turns slowly to face me. “What?”
“The envelope was in my bedroom after we got home Sunday.”
“How’d it get in your room? Do you think one of the guys put it there?” Her jaw drops. “Oh crap. Maybe you were right all along. Maybe this is some elaborate prank.” Her eyes skip around to check if we’re being watched.
“No way. I stopped believing that a long time ago. I don’t know a single person that’d know enough to mastermind all this.”
We start to walk again. Her eyes are locked on the sidewalk, but the way she’s chomping her bottom lip tells me she’s worried.
“In fact, it’s definitely not someone in our house,” I reassure her. “I was the last one out to the van and the first one back to my room when we got home. It couldn’t have been left by someone in our house. It has to be someone outside our family.”
She lifts her eyes and says in a low voice, “Then how’d they get into your room?”
I wouldn’t admit this to her, but I spent last night with one eye open, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. My window was locked, but maybe someone left another one open. Or maybe your parents forgot to lock the back door.”
“I guess.” She nibbles her nail. “My envelope was in the student council mailbox. It was locked up in the office when I went to pick up the tickets for the homecoming dance.”
The look on her face makes me wonder if she just got the same chill I did.
“Whoever is behind this has access to a lot of places, and they know a lot of secrets about our school.” She twists her shaking hands together into a knot of fingers.
I joke to lighten her mood. “Maybe it’s the ghost of William Singer trying to resurrect the Sevens. Maybe he haunts the tunnels trying to punish the Sevens for murdering him.”
“For crying out loud,” Laney snaps at me, “the Sevens didn’t murder William Singer! When are you going to get that through your head?”
“Relax, Laney. I was kidding. But you know, until we know for sure what’s going on, we have to be cautious. I know you’ve convinced yourself that the Sevens were innocent, but there was a police investigation that declared them murderers.”
“No, it didn’t. That’s just part of the urban legend. No charges were ever filed.”
“Because the killers were dead.”
“It was never more than a theory. Trust me, I’ve read every article ever written on it. Money was missing, and there was circumstantial evidence and anonymous tips that blamed the Sevens. It doesn’t mean anything. The Sevens were set up. The police were mistaken.” Her nose wrinkles. “Or to quote our founder, maybe ‘they lied.’”
Laney trudges on, her gaze stretching a mile away. “Do you think Professor Solomon could be behind this?”
“Solomon? Why Solomon?”
“I realized something when I was reading the atrium ceiling. The Society of Seven is testing us on the virtues that Solomon drilled us on that first day. Like with our first test, where we uncovered the truth about Kane? That test was titled Courage. This test was labeled Service. It’s also pretty obvious that Solomon doesn’t like them or Kane.”
“Solomon doesn’t like anyone.”
“Think about it. Solomon’s been around a long time, and he said Singer was a good friend of his. He’s also got access to passes, and he’s probably one of the few people smart enough to pull this off.”
“Maybe. It was Solomon who suggested Boyle put me in his Ethics and Virtues class. Maybe he wanted to teach us this stuff together. Or keep an eye on us or something. But if it is Solomon, why wouldn’t he just take us aside and tell us what he knows and what he wants from us?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He needs to know he can trust us first. He could get fired for this. Everyone already wonders why he hasn’t retired yet; Singer School is probably all he has.”
I consider it for a second. “Do you think we should ask him if he’s behind this? Maybe we should tell him we figured it out.”
“No way!” she says, cutting through the yard to the back of our house. “If we’re wrong, we’d screw ourselves. And even if we were sure, we couldn’t say anything to him. You remember what the invitation said. We committed to a vow of secrecy. We can’t break that, no matter what. He has to reveal himself to us.”
We reach our back door and Laney peeks through the window. “It’s clear.”
“Damn, I just thought of something,” I say.
Her hand freezes on the door knob. “What?”
“Now I’m going to have to pay attention in class.”
Seventeen
Thursday night, I’m scrounging through the kitchen for a snack. I start a bag of
popcorn in the microwave and think back to the message hidden on the plaque in Founder’s Hall. What was old man Singer trying to tell us?
The microwave buzzes and Joshua yells from the next room, “Talan?”
“In here.” I pull out the bag and tear it open. “What do you want?”
“Phone call.”
I carry my snack and backpack to the private phone booth and take the phone from Josh. I tuck the receiver between my ear and neck and step inside the small space, closing the door while juggling everything. “Hello?”
“Look. Under. The. Doormat.”
I freeze. The caller sounds like Darth Vader with a stutter.
“Uh, excuse me?”
When the voice repeats, “Under. The. Doormat,” I realize that the caller is speaking through a voice changer, like you see in the movies and TV shows.
The phone shakes in my hand. “Who is this?”
“Number Seven,” he answers, and hangs up.
I almost drop my popcorn. For a couple seconds, I forget how to breathe. Getting notes is one thing—it’s impersonal and distant. But hearing a live voice gives me the willies. It didn’t sound like Solomon either, even with a voice changer. Who would even have access to a voice changer? I know there’s probably a cell phone app for that, but students aren’t allowed cell phones at Singer. Except for the Pillars. Is this another clue from the Sevens, or another threat from Kane and his little tribe of scumbags?
Laney strolls past the window in the door of the phone booth, and I swing it open to catch her.
“Careful!” She swerves around me. “You almost nailed me.”
“Laney!”
She must recognize the fear on my face because she hightails it back toward me.
I show her the phone in my shaking hand. “He called.”
“Who?”
I stare at the receiver in my hand. “He called himself Number Seven—the same name that was on the email.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. She takes the phone from me and hangs it up. Then she grabs my wrist and tows me down the empty hall. “What did he say?” she whispers. “What did he want?”
“Umm.” I close my eyes to focus. “He said, ‘Look under the doormat.’”
I open my eyes in time to see Laney jogging to the front foyer. “Wait,” I tell her. “We can’t be sure this isn’t a trick from Kane or the Pillars. Just to be careful, I better get it.”
She hesitates, then nods.
I peer down the empty halls that connect to the entryway, then grab a black envelope from under the doormat on the porch and start to bolt to my room.
“Wait,” she says, “I want to see too. We’re a team, remember?”
“Fine. Let’s find a private place.”
I follow Laney around the house looking for somewhere we can be alone. Mom Shanahan is in the kitchen now, and of course she’s sitting in a chair that has a perfect view of Laney’s bedroom. Dad is in his office, two doors down from my room, and Jake’s using the computer room. Chris and Marcus are playing video games in the family room. Mike is folding clothes in the laundry room, and Juan and Joshua are playing pool in the basement. After canvassing the entire house, we’re back where we started, standing in the hall outside the bathroom.
I like my family, but there’s never any privacy. The only place you’re ever alone is the shower. I look at Laney and consider it for a second. My thoughts drift and I feel myself flush.
Laney throws her hands in the air. “I give up. Where are we supposed to read this?”
I nod my head toward the bathroom door.
“What?”
I nod at the door a couple more times.
“The bathroom?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Got a better idea?”
Laney sighs and looks around. She glances down at the envelope hanging out my hoodie pocket and slowly tiptoes into the bathroom. I lock the door behind us.
This is the main bathroom all us guys share. It’s basically a locker room with rows of sinks and stalls, a bench, and a huge mirror on one wall.
Laney looks around and whispers, “I’ve always wondered what it looks like in here.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Want me to show you how the showers work?”
Laney rolls her eyes and yanks the letter from my pocket. She spends a minute going over it. “It’s another clue from the Sevens.”
I look over her shoulder. “How can you be sure?”
“The writing is the same. Plus, they’ve all come in the same black envelope.”
She holds the note between us and leans into me so we can read it together. I get distracted when a lock of her soft hair brushes against my cheek. I can smell her lavender lotion again. Her body is snuggled against me, and I keep thinking how the showers are only a few feet away. I can’t help but stare at her mouth as she reads to herself. Her lips are full and red and her breath smells like peppermint.
She glances up and startles me. “What do you think?”
I haven’t read a single word of it. I open my mouth but I can’t think of an answer to BS my way out of this one. She waits for a response, but all I can do is stare back. Our bodies are pressed together. Our mouths are just inches apart. If I dip my face forward just slightly, I could taste that peppermint myself. I’ve done this move a hundred times before, but right now I’m frozen with fear.
The next few seconds pass in slow motion. She blinks her dark lashes at me and I watch the corners of her mouth curl up. With any other girl, I’d read that as an invitation. But Laney isn’t any other girl. One stupid move screws up everything. Still, the peppermint draws me an inch closer.
Laney doesn’t flinch. She’s staring up with her big doe eyes when I finally decide it’s now or never. But the moment I tilt my head down toward hers, she turns back to the letter. My nose grazes her hair and I jerk my head away, twisting it around like I was stretching my neck.
“Looks like we’ll be back at Founders Hall tomorrow,” she says.
Unable to form words, I nod.
“You’ve got the homecoming game at night. Should we meet after school?”
More nodding.
She hands me the paper and unlocks the door with a loud click that echoes in the bathroom and my brain. My shaking hands fold the note and stuff it in my pocket. Laney opens the door and steps into the hall.
Just when I’m thinking my life can’t get any more complicated, I rush out behind her … and run smack into Mom Shanahan.
Eighteen
It’s the mother of all gasps.
Mom jumps back, her expression contorting into all kinds of shock and worry. She stares open-mouthed at me, wearing the second-most-horrified face since the existence of mankind.
I’m pretty sure I’ve snagged the prize for first.
“Oh-oh-oh-oh,” Mom stutters, her voice getting louder with each oh. She waves her pointer finger between Laney and me.
“What?” Laney says.
Mom’s eyes draw tight, probably to hold in all the steam coming from her ears. “Don’t you ‘What?’ me, Delaney Shanahan,” she says through locked teeth. “What were you doing in the boy’s bathroom with Talan?”
In a BS answer that makes me look like an amateur, Laney says, “I thought I heard someone crying in there when I walked by. I knocked on the door but no one answered, so I went in to check.”
Mom’s eyes travel back and forth between us like they’re collecting data for some lie-detector program in her brain. “What would Talan be crying about?”
My eyes roam the ceiling looking for an excuse. Fortunately, Laney’s got this.
“He just got dumped, Mom. It’s private. Geez, Mrs. Nosy. Do you mind?”
Mom studies my face with slitted eyes. “It doesn’t look like he was crying to me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What other reason would I have to be in the bathroom with Talan?”
“You’re two teenagers with normal hormones?”
“Mom, gross! He’s like my brother.” She
fake gags and casually walks away.
Mom stands in the middle of the hall shaking her head, her arms folded across her chest. Laney sounded pretty convincing, but there’s no reason to stand here and give Mom more reasons to doubt us. Playing heartbroken, I bow my head and shuffle into my room.
The minute the door shuts, I crash on my bed and cover my face with my pillow. Thank God I didn’t kiss her. Her words sting my brain: “Gross! He’s like my brother.”
It plays over and over like a recurring nightmare. According to Laney, we’re trapped inside the black hole of just-friends.
I bend the pillow behind my neck and pull out the Sevens note to take my mind off it.
Third Test-Compassion:
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is
fighting a hard battle.”-Plato
More secrets abound
Where the last one was found.
Be wise. Memorize
all you learn in this game.
For riddles and half-clues
Will come up again.
A pediment proverb
is your next clue.
Your founder was wise … indeed.
Are you?
Laney’s right. The first two lines of the poem send us right back to Founders Hall. And it’s the same two closing lines from the riddle we just solved. Outside of that, I got nothing.
I’m buttering toast in the kitchen the next morning when Laney walks up. She stands next to me and pops in two slices for herself. She whispers, “Were you impressed with my quick thinking yesterday? Mom totally bought it.” She smirks at me. “I could have a career as a double agent.”
I actually still feel kind of crappy about the whole thing. “Oh yeah, you’re a real badass.”
Her face pinches. “What are you all pouty about?”
“Nothing.” I bite off a chunk of toast and swallow it down hard.
“Tell me. We’re partners, remember? We shouldn’t have secrets.”
“No.” I take another mouthful and turn my back to her.
She grabs my arm and spins me around. “What is it? Did I do something? Share, Michaels.”
I lean back against the counter and cross my arms. “I’m a guy. Guys don’t share.”
“Guys don’t share, huh?” Her sigh sounds like a groan. “Listen, I don’t want another fight. We need each other. If you’re upset about something, just say it.”
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