by Lisa Roecker
But worse was the chicken scratch below: “See me.” Double crap. “See me” had to be the two most dreaded words ever to be written in red ink. I’d never experienced a time when a teacher wanted to “see me” to discuss the newest show on Bravo or Nordstrom’s semi-annual sale, which under normal circumstances were pretty much the only things I’d want to discuss at great length. Something told me McAdams wasn’t a closet Bravo junkie.
Four pages of incoherent notes later, the bell rang and I shuffled my books together to shove them in my bag. And that’s when something sparkly caught my eye. My hand hovered over the sparkle-covered book, frozen and shaking. I knew exactly what it was before my fingers even touched the crinkled plastic cover.
Our slam book.
I ran my fingers over the glitter-puff, paint, and rhinestone-blanketed cover, and memories of Grace, Maddie, and me feverishly filling it in lower school washed over me. We had poured crushes, favorite outfits, hobbies, secrets, pretty much everything we could think of that held any sacredness into the joint diary.
It had been stolen months ago by the Brotherhood or the corrupt police or God only knows who, and now it was back. I gently lifted the cover and saw each of our names written in the bubbly, childish handwriting that had been replaced years ago with straighter, more grown-up print, devoid of the hearts and stars that used to dot our I’s. Tears filled my eyes. How could something that was so lost so suddenly be found?
A grumble ripped me from my thoughts, and I carefully wiped beneath my eyes so my mascara wouldn’t smudge. “Ms. Lowry?” Great. Now McAdams felt sorry for me. “Your test.” Or not.
“Oh, right, Mr. McAdams, sorry.”
“Tutor. You.” He jabbed a meaty finger in my direction, and I wondered why I’d never noticed that he spoke Neanderthal.
I didn’t have time for this. “Um…okay?” It didn’t take a genius to know that I could be tutored in World History from now until graduation, but until Bethany lumbered home and took her rightful place beside Taylor and I stopped collecting mysterious droppings from my dead best friend, my 63 percent would remain a 63 percent. I had to straighten things out at Pemberly Brown before I could even consider tackling World War II.
Mr. McAdams then made a big show of unearthing a clipboard with the names of about twenty star pupils who made it their mission in life to impress teachers and earn above a 4.0, all in preparation for some fantastical Good Will Hunting–style academic debate at a college bar in a fruitless effort to finally get laid.
“How ’bout them apples,” I whispered under my breath.
“Sorry?” McAdams furrowed his white unibrow in my direction.
I spotted Seth’s name on the list he was holding. “Oh, I was just saying that he’s my neighbor.” I leaned in to point to his name, figuring Seth would be the least of all evils. He never met a conspiracy he didn’t want to dissect, and the Bethany-Brotherhood situation would most definitely trump Cold War Russia.
But at the last minute I saw another name. A name that sparked an idea. A name that might just bring me one step closer to saving Bethany. A name that brought to mind togas and Romans and empires falling like dominos.
“Bradley Farrow. He lives next door,” I lied. “He’s helped me before.”
Just like that, I was in. And I didn’t even need a Trojan horse.
Chapter 28
The Farrows’ house looked like it had been ripped from the English countryside and slapped onto a spacious lot in northeastern Ohio. I half expected Mr. Darcy to explode out of the hedges on horseback.
My hand shook a little as I reached up to pound the brass knocker against the huge front door that was probably made of wood recovered from a French monastery in the seventeenth century. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my frazzled nerves as I heard footsteps bounding toward the door.
It’s just a study date. It’s just a study date. It’s just a study date.
Oh God, this was so much more than just a study date. I needed information. I had no idea where the Brotherhood was hiding Bethany, but there was no doubt in my mind that the answer was hidden in their new headquarters. If I could just figure out a way to get up there, I was sure we’d be able to find her.
Bradley’s gorgeous sister, Naomi, answered the door.
“It’s just a study date!”
“Huh?” Naomi stared at me like I had three heads. Good lord, I was a complete moron.
“I mean, I’m here to study with Bradley. McAdams said he’s supposed to tutor me.”
“Um, riiight. He’s upstairs, I think. Come on in.” Naomi was still wearing her school uniform, but somehow her ebony skin, golden eyes, and ridiculously high cheekbones made her look like a model strutting around in the latest vintage-inspired fashion. Meanwhile, I was a shortish, blue-haired, wrinkled mess. “Runway ready” was definitely not the term that came to mind when I caught a glimpse of myself in the huge gilt-edged mirror in their foyer.
“Bradley! Kate’s here!” Naomi’s voice bounced off the marble floors and up the stairs. She turned back to me. “Three words I never thought I’d say out loud.”
“Yeah, apparently a 63 percent doesn’t earn you the right to choose your tutor.”
“Oh really? McAdams said you requested me specially.” Bradley stood at the top of the winding wood staircase with an eyebrow raised.
“Busted.” Naomi laughed and walked back toward the family room as I stood there gaping. Bradley’s skin was a shade lighter than his sister’s, and even though a massive staircase separated us, I could practically count each and every eyelash that fringed his golden eyes.
I was so busy debating with myself that his smile took me completely off guard. When Bradley Farrow smiled in your direction, it was kind of impossible not to smile back. Especially if you were unprepared. Luckily for me, I’d spent the better part of a year doing everything in my power to ignore his smile. My brain fought its usual battle with my mouth. And won.
He just shrugged, like he was used to girls going catatonic at the mere sight of him, and started back up the stairs. “Come on up. My books are in my room.”
I used my time walking up the twenty-seven stairs to compose a proper retort.
“Actually, I tried to get him to pair me up with Seth, but he said you had a higher score.” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even made it through the door of his room and came out sounding more like an excuse than a comeback. Not to mention the fact that they were approximately five minutes too late. I was off to a fan-freaking-tastic start.
“It’s tough being perfect.” His smile grew even wider.
“Actually it’s pretty easy when you have all the tests.”
Bradley’s expression darkened. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”
“Everyone cheats on McAdams’s tests.”
“Right, so you got a 63 percent when you cheated? You must not be as smart as you look.”
Wait, Bradley Farrow thinks I look…smart. That can’t be a compliment.
“Very funny. I didn’t cheat. Obviously. But I do need to get my grade up, so let’s just get this over with.” I threw my bag down next to a purposely beat-up couch that looked like it’d been torn right out of the pages of Restoration Hardware. He threw his body down into it and stretched out his legs, bending both arms behind his head as though he were settling in for some sort of show.
The alarm clock next to Bradley’s bed read 3:23 p.m. If all went as planned, we’d get in approximately three minutes of studying before he got the call.
“So there’s this country called Germany. It’s in Europe. You might have heard of it.” Bradley watched me carefully to see if I was going to take the bait, but I just ignored him. Two more minutes and I’d be able to search his room for information. I started looking around, planning where to start.
Bradley’s bedroom was huge. Honestly, it looked more like a suite at a fancy hotel than a sixteen-year-old’s bedroom. His king-sized bed was covered in a navy duvet with a thread c
ount way higher than my IQ, and a huge rolltop desk was tucked in the corner near the window. A few feet away from the couch was a mini-refrigerator, which I assumed was stocked to the nines, and next to that, a shelf lined with every snack imaginable. My parents barely went grocery shopping, let alone outfitted my bedroom with a variety of healthy treats. Seth would have been in heaven.
A documentary about sharks was playing on mute on the flat-screen TV that hung in front of us, and that seemed fitting, considering my plan. After Bradley was called out, I’d start with the rolltop desk and then make my way into the closet. It was huge, but boys were always leaving things in their pockets. Maybe I’d find something…
“Uh, hello? Kate? You still with me?” Bradley fixed his eyes on me patiently. “Sorry if I was acting like a dick earlier. I just hate it when people assume…”
The clock turned 3:26 and I heard Naomi scream from downstairs. Right on time. I had to hand it to Seth; he was always punctual.
“What the…?” Bradley bolted up from the couch and ran for the door. I wasted no time, dodging for his desk and digging in. Old notebooks, pens, pencils, books. Crap. There was nothing even remotely helpful in here.
And then a creamy piece of paper with a hand-drawn crest caught my eye. If there was one thing I’d learned over the past year, it was that the secret societies loved heavy paper and a good crest. The word “Conventus” was scrawled above the unfamiliar crest. I folded the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of my uniform skirt. I didn’t have time to analyze it now. There had to be something else.
The closet. I started ripping through clothes, checking pockets, flinging shoes. When my fingers landed on a soft fleece jacket, I stopped. I remembered the picture of Bethany laughing and Bradley lurking. This was the jacket he had on the night of Obsideo. I slid my hand into the pocket and felt something hard and square and covered in tiny crystals. I pulled out a phone and immediately flipped it over. Bethany’s name was bedazzled on the back. I tried turning it on, but the battery was completely dead. Shit. I’d have to take it with me and hope that Bradley didn’t notice it was missing.
I should have heard their footsteps on the stairs. Or the soft sigh of the bedroom door opening, the change in atmosphere as the air shifted. Or even the sound of their breath moving in and out of their lungs.
But I missed all of that. In fact, I missed just about everything up until I heard Naomi say, “What is she doing in there?”
Thankfully, I managed to slide the phone into my pocket before I puked all over the designer contents of Bradley Farrow’s custom closet.
Chapter 29
“Oh God, get a bucket or something, Naomi!” Bradley shouted, his hands thrown into the air. I’m pretty sure if my vision wasn’t blurred from the tears that filled my eyes, I would have shriveled under the look he gave me, which was one part shock and three parts horror, with a healthy dollop of disgust plopped on top. But I wasn’t supposed to care what Bradley thought about me. I didn’t care what Bradley thought about me.
That’s how I managed to gear up for another round of make-me-puke. The game was all Grace’s. She used to play before school when she hadn’t studied for an exam or was having boy issues or was just plain tired.
“It’s different every time. Sometimes I picture a maggot-and-stick-of-butter sandwich with microwaved mayonnaise poured over the top. Or last time it was being forced to suck on every single one of McAdams’s hairy toes after he’d worn socks all day,” she’d whispered into the phone. I could always imagine her shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly as she painted her fingernails or downloaded new songs onto her computer while the rest of us suffered through another endless day of school. It was such a Grace move.
And today she’d have been proud. Naomi arrived just in time with the bucket, and I puked inside for good measure. Once I started, it was kind of hard to stop. No matter how hard I tried not to think about licking the inside rim of one of the boys’ toilets in the gym, the image still kept popping up.
And I had to admit, the puking was better than the post-puking. Especially when I’d just destroyed one-third of Bradley Farrow’s closet while both he and his gorgeous sister looked on. Talk about embarrassing.
Luckily, I also knew how to cry on demand. Just another one of my many talents.
“Oh my God,” I said, using my finger to wipe away the mascara-tinted tears beneath my eyes. If I’d known I was going to have to puke, I would have worn waterproof. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t feel good all of a sudden and I thought this was the bathroom and by the time I made it inside, it was too late, and oh my God, oh my God. I can’t believe I just did that.”
“It’s okay, seriously,” Naomi said, stifling a laugh. “I’m just glad he’s the history buff.” She nodded toward her brother, covering her smirk with a hand.
Bradley shoved her and mumbled something that sounded like “It’s fine” under his breath, even though it clearly wasn’t fine. Naomi helped me up and handed me a tissue, and Bradley returned with a garbage bag, some towels, and an armful of cleaning supplies I was almost positive he’d never used in his entire life.
“I’ll just catch up with you later,” he said, his voice sounding more nasal than normal. Clearly he was trying to breathe through his mouth. I didn’t blame him for a second. There was absolutely nothing worse than puke, and the thought of a random guy’s puke splattered all over the contents of my closet made me feel the tiniest twinge of guilt.
But then I remembered Bethany. And the phone in my pocket. Puke was the least of Bradley Farrow’s worries.
Naomi led me down the stairs like an invalid, her arm hooked through mine. “So, um, everything okay with you? That scream did not sound good,” I said, reminding myself to take it slow, that I was supposed to be sick.
“It was the weirdest thing. I was just sitting and watching TV when this guy pressed his face against our window. But when Bradley came downstairs, there was no one outside. Come to think of it, he actually looked sort of like that redheaded neighbor of yours…”
“Oh gosh, I feel like I might be sick again.” Amazing how potential puke can change the subject in a hurry.
Naomi rushed down the stairs ahead of me, ostensibly to avoid getting sprayed by rogue chunks of vomit. “Just hold on a sec. We’re almost to the door.”
As I wrapped up my own personal walk of shame, I hoped Taylor knew how much I was sacrificing in all of this. I didn’t exactly see her puking on demand in front of two of the most popular kids in school. Granted she was the most popular girl in school, but still.
“Um…please tell your brother that I’m really sorry. I seriously don’t even know what to say.” I could barely look her in the eye. My red cheeks were one thing that didn’t have to be faked. No one ever forgot a puker. In lower school, Leif Anderson puked all over Penelope Townsend’s desk, destroying the self-portrait she’d just completed during art class. To this day, you always left a little extra space between yourself and Leif.
I was never, ever going to live this one down. I patted the side of my skirt and felt the hard case of the cell phone beneath my fingertips. I hoped it was worth it.
“Meh.” Naomi shrugged her shoulders. “Bradley floods a toilet at the club every time we eat dinner there. If he tries to bring it up, just tell him you know all about how our dad had to cover the cost of the men’s bathroom renovation last year.”
“Thanks, Naomi,” I said, forcing a smile and slipping through the door.
I ran all the way to Liam’s jeep, which was parked a block and a half over. Seth flung the back door open for me as though I was being chased and about to toss myself in the car, which would have been cool but overly dramatic considering there was absolutely no one outside in the dead of winter. Taylor sat shotgun but was twisted around in her seat, anxiety warping her features and highlighting the purple bags beneath her eyes.
“So?” Liam asked, letting me pull myself into the car before moving into first gear. Seth seemed disappointed at
my entrance.
“Let’s just say I had to play make-me-puke.”
Taylor looked horrified, Seth laughed, and Liam appeared genuinely impressed.
“But, I got…this.” I yanked the sparkly phone out of my pocket and held it up. For a second, I was so proud of myself that I forgot what finding the phone actually meant. Then I noticed the expression on Taylor’s face. She looked like she was about to burst into tears. Her hand shook as she reached toward me, gingerly lifting the phone from my fingers.
“It’s dea…er…out of batteries, but I have the same one. We can charge it at my house,” I said, kicking myself for my initial choice of words. Liam flicked his blinker and made the turn in the direction of Seth’s and my street as Taylor turned the phone over and examined the sparkly “B.”
It wasn’t hard to imagine how I’d feel if the roles were reversed. I’d been there. Except there was never any hope. The night of the fire, I just knew Grace was gone. I barely had time to understand what hit me. With Bethany, there was still hope. Except now, as Taylor turned the phone over in her hands, I could see that hope slipping between her fingers. And it was hard to watch.
The three of us marched into my house and rushed up the stairs to the charger. The phone gave a satisfying beep as we plugged it in, and we huddled around it, our heads almost touching. I resisted the urge to cheer it on. When it finally powered on, the series of beeps and vibrations it emitted made me afraid it was broken. But really, it was recovering hundreds of missed calls, texts, and voice mails. I thought of all the times I’d called Grace the night of the fire. The calls she never got.
“Do you…” I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say, but it didn’t seem right for anyone but Taylor to be digging around in Bethany’s phone. “Do you want to?” I lifted it and placed it in her hands.
She scrolled through the missed calls first. They were mainly from Taylor and a few of their close friends. I saw “Mom” and “Dad” and even a few of Bethany’s brothers’ names, but none from the boys we were expecting. The texts were the same. Text after text from contact after contact. I’d never considered how much a person could miss without their phone for three days. Especially if people were worried.