We Regret to Inform You

by Ariel Kaplan

  “No! Why would I be?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you want to make out with Shira?”

  “I already told you. I don’t have a thing for Shira.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you,” he said. “She has that dimple.”

  “What dimple?” I said.

  “In her left cheek. When she laughs.”

  “I hadn’t noticed her dimple.”

  “Well, in that case, maybe—” he started, but then there was a banging at the front door, which turned out to be Emily and Bebe, so I never found out what he’d been planning to say.

  Rachel, who had changed into her softball uniform, got to the door before we did. “Oh,” she said to Emily. “It’s you.”

  Emily said, a little darkly, “Hello, Rachel.”

  To Bebe, Rachel said, “You’re, like, really tall.”

  “Rachel,” said Nate. “Go somewhere else.”

  “What? It’s good to be tall. I wish I was taller.” Turning back to Bebe, she went on, “There’s this surgery where they break your legs and stretch them out so you grow more, but my mom totally said no.”

  “They don’t do that to people who are five-four!” Nate said.

  “They do if you pay them enough!”

  “I’ll break your legs,” said Emily, which was enough to convince Rachel to flounce back to her room. “I hope you have food. Does your mother still keep those macaroons around?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Bebe’s hungry,” she said.

  “I’m fine,” Bebe said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “It’s okay,” Nate said. “We’ll get something. For Bebe.”

  Nate found a plate of leftover hors d’oeuvres from a dinner party his parents had thrown a few nights before and grabbed it—little tart shells with unidentifiable fillings, and some mushroom caps stuffed with either old French cheese or, possibly, old French toothpaste. He brought the plate into his bedroom, where Emily was already firing up her laptop on his desk, having swept Nate’s books and laptop into a pile on the floor.

  “Cute Nate,” Emily said. “I’m thinking you may not want to be in the room for this.”

  “You’re showing up at my house and then kicking me out?” he said incredulously.

  “Cute Nate stays,” I insisted. “If it wasn’t for him, we’d all have gotten arrested the other night.”

  “Mischa,” Emily said. “The less he knows, the better for him. What we’re doing today isn’t exactly legal. If he’s here, he loses his deniability.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Nate. “Maybe you should go,” I said.

  “No. I’ll stay.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Mischa’ll just tell me everything later anyway. This way, maybe I can talk you out of doing something really stupid.”

  “Not likely,” Bebe said.

  Shira came stomping down the hall and flung the door open. She was wearing a T-shirt that said PROPERTY OF MORLOCK ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT (EST. 802701). “Your sister just insulted my haircut,” she told Nate.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

  Seeing the lack of seating, she went over to Bebe, bumping her hip out of the way so they could share Nate’s recliner. Next to her, on the windowsill, was Memento Maury, who had lost the beret (but kept the eyelashes) and was wearing a pair of Groucho Marx glasses, which were half falling off because Maury, being a skull, had no ears. She picked him up and turned him around to face her, and Emily grabbed him out of her hands.

  “Alas, poor Yorick!” she cried. Then, frowning: “What have they done to you?”

  “That’s Maury,” I said.

  She scowled at the skull, then pulled his glasses down slightly as if she might make eye contact. “Oh,” she said. “Very clever.” Handing Maury back to Shira, she said, “So I hear you have emails.”

  Shira handed them over, and as Emily scanned them, she said, “I have several, actually. I couldn’t get into Bender’s, so all the ones I have are from Beth. It looks like whatever was going on, they usually discussed it in person. The emails are pretty vague.”

  Emily reached for a mushroom cap off the tray, which Nate had set down on the end of the bed, and ate it with a frown. “These are terrible,” Emily muttered.

  Shira held up Maury and said, in a very high-pitched New York accent, “And such small portions!”

  Nate and I groaned, and she said, “What? He’s a man of infinite jest!”

  Bebe snorted. Emily rolled her eyes. Shira showed off the dimple in her left cheek.

  “What can you pick out?” I asked Emily, trying to ignore Shira and Maury.

  “He was giving them something. But I can’t tell if it was a better grade or what.”

  Shira pulled one of the emails out of the stack—it was marked with yellow highlighter—and handed it to me. “Read the marked section, if you would.”

  I scanned it. The pertinent section said, Your class performance needs to be better if you want to avoid suspicion. Meet me at the Starbucks on Ridgemont at eleven tomorrow. Do NOT mention to anyone. That you brought Willa in is bad enough.

  The reply from Beth said, Are you bringing them with you?

  Answer: Yes.

  Nate, who was reading over my shoulder, said, “That’s weird.”

  “Weird, how?”

  “Well, if he was doing it with Beth and Willa, he’s being kind of cold about it. He doesn’t sound very happy for a man who’s sleeping with four people at the same time.”

  “Four?” I asked.

  “Including his wife,” he said. “And Mrs. White.”

  “Maybe he got tired,” Shira said. “He’s not exactly a spring chicken.”

  “I think it’s weird that Beth and Willa even knew about each other,” Bebe said. “And what was that part about Beth bringing Willa in on it? That’s just nasty.”

  Emily tapped her pen against her lip. “Have we considered that we might be wrong about this? Maybe he wasn’t fooling around with Beth and Willa.”

  “Well, he was doing something with them.”

  “What are you thinking?” Bebe asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Emily said. “But I think Nate’s right. I don’t think he was sleeping with them. Did you check the messages between Beth and Willa?”

  “I tried. There aren’t any.”

  “They probably just text each other,” I said.

  “That’s what I figured,” she said. “Only texts are a lot harder to get into, even if you weren’t looking for something that’s a year old, which we are.”

  I had a thought. “You said you spoofed an email to Mrs. Hadley and made it look like it came from the admissions office at GMU.”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “I did do that.”

  “Could you spoof Willa? Send an email to Beth, pretending to be her? Ask some questions that way?”

  Emily smiled slowly. “What would you ask?”

  As it turned out, spoofing someone’s email is not all that hard. All you have to do is create a new email address that looks like the old email address, and then make it so that it has the name you want in the “from” field. Willa’s real email is WJENX@gmail.com. Our spoofed email came from WJENX@mail.com. When it popped up on Beth’s phone, it would look like it came from Willa, provided she didn’t bother to double-check the email address. And since Willa and Beth never emailed each other, she might not notice the difference even if she did.

  I made a mental note never to discuss anything really private except in person.

  “Okay,” Emily said. “What shall I ask Miss Reinhardt?”

  “Not you,” I said. “She’ll know you aren’t Willa.”

  “I wasn’t planning on doing a video chat,” she said.

  “You use too many ten-cent words,” I said. />
  “You don’t exactly sound like a third-grader, either.”

  “I can sound more like Willa than you can.”

  “Fine,” she said. “By all means, you do it.”

  I sat down and stretched my fingers over the keys. Willa. Willa played lacrosse. Willa liked those sugary coffee drinks with flavored syrup and sprinkles. Willa wore glitter eye shadow at eight in the morning and boots with sundresses. I tried to channel my inner pumpkin spice latte.

  Hey, I wrote.

  “Add an emoji,” Bebe said, poking me in the arm. “She’d totally open with an emoji.”

  Hey ! What’s up?

  Two minutes later: Why are you emailing me?

  I wrote back: My phone’s out of power. I’ve just been thinking about some stuff. Did you talk to Nate?

  About Bender? Yeah . He was practically drooling all over me, but he wouldn’t seal the deal. I think he might be 100% gay.

  Over my shoulder I heard Nate snort. I typed back, His hair tho

  I know, right? I just want to bite his face.

  “Ugh,” said Nate.

  “Bet you’re sorry you checked out her boobs now,” Bebe said.

  “How could you—oh never mind.”

  But, I wrote, do you think we handled the situation with Bender the right way? I guess I’ve been thinking about it again.

  Beth: You’re not feeling guilty now.

  Me: Maybe.

  Beth: Why?

  I turned to Nate. “What do I say now?”

  Nate: “I have no idea. Say something or she’s going to get suspicious.”

  Me: “What? What?”

  Beth: So did you see what Bebe Tandoh was wearing today?

  Bebe: “Excuse me?”

  Nate: “Back on track. Get her back on track.”

  Me: I’m just worried. Do you think we’ll get caught?

  Beth: By WHO? The only one who knows is Bender, unless he told Mrs. White, and she’s sure not telling anyone.

  “Mrs. White,” I said. “They knew about that. They knew they were having an affair.”

  Nate said, “Whoa. Whoa. Wait. Beth and Willa weren’t sleeping with him.” He ran his finger under the words “she’s sure not telling anyone.” “They were blackmailing him.”

  “You’re just guessing,” Emily said.

  “Yeah, but that’s how it reads. They got dirt on him, and they were using it. That explains why he was so nasty with Beth. Because she was threatening him.”

  Beth: Are you still there?

  Me: Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking. Do you think it was worth it?

  Beth: Well, obviously it wasn’t.

  Me: Why not?

  Beth: Are you losing it? You need to forget about this.

  “End it,” Emily said. “You aren’t getting anything else.”

  Me: You know, I think you’re right. I think we should just pretend this conversation never happened.

  Beth:

  “Well,” I said, pushing back from the computer. “That was interesting. Why do you suppose she said it wasn’t worth it?”

  “Maybe she thinks she would have gotten into Brown even with the bad chem grade?”

  “That seems like a stretch.”

  Nate said, “Check the emails between Bender and Mrs. White. Whatever was going on, I bet she knew about it.”

  “I’ll have to get her email address, then,” Emily said. “I need a directory.”

  Nate pulled his out of his desk drawer and handed it over, and she turned to the faculty section.

  “How long will that take?” I asked.

  “Depends on her,” she said.

  We sat there watching Emily type. After a minute she said, “Is this really the best use of your time? Watching me?”

  I shrugged. Without turning around, she said, “Somebody make me a sandwich.”

  “Right,” Nate said. “Why did we break up again?”

  “Because I dumped you. Oh, and don’t use that low-fat cheese,” she said. “I’ll know.”

  * * *

  —

  Nate and I went off to make a full-fat grilled cheese sandwich. While we were standing in the kitchen, my phone pinged with a text from Caroline.

  It said, Shopping this weekend: we need to talk about DOC!

  I deleted it and put my phone away. “What do you think?” I said.

  “I’m reserving judgment. Did you want a sandwich?”

  “Pass. I’m full-up on those mushroom things.”

  “You know, if we’re right about this, and it was Bender and we can prove it, that really changes things.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”

  “Hope is good,” he said. “I recommend it. This is done.” He flipped the sandwich onto a plate.

  “Do you think she wants a pickle?” I asked.

  “Oh dear God. I’m not getting her a pickle.”

  He carried the plate down the hall and set it in front of Emily.

  “You didn’t make me a sandwich?” Shira teased.

  “You didn’t ask,” I said.

  “I left the cheese on the counter,” Nate said. “Help yourself.”

  Emily said, “No pickle?”

  I said, “See, I told you.”

  Bebe said, “I love everyone here, but I do have other things to do with my life.”

  “Okay,” Emily said, taking a bite of her sandwich. “So I got into Mrs. White’s emails. There’s only one problem. She deletes everything in her inbox more than three months old. So I don’t have anything from him to her. However,” she said, holding up a finger. “She didn’t bother to delete the sent messages. I have all the ones from her to him. And those are rather interesting.”

  She pulled up a series of screenshots she’d taken. Unfortunately, his emails weren’t quoted in her outgoing messages, and hers were pretty terse. But they were also telling.

  The first one said: What are you going to do?

  The second: You can’t. If you get caught, you’ll never work again.

  The third: Use the answers to last year’s exam. It buys you some time. Then tell your wife they’re lying because they did badly on the test.

  The fourth: Don’t worry about Marlowe. They won’t go to him.

  The fifth: I love you.

  “Wow,” I said. “Mrs. White is kind of a psycho.”

  “So,” Bebe said. “They were blackmailing him for the answers to the final. But he screwed them over and gave them the ones from the year before.”

  “Nothing to do with the transcripts,” Shira added.

  “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t him,” I insisted. “What if there was something else later, something there’s no email record for?”

  “I don’t think it was him,” Emily said. “He was already scared of losing his job because of the thing with Mrs. White. I don’t think he would have taken the risk.”

  “You don’t know that, though.”

  Emily turned away from the computer and leaned back, so that her elbows were hooked over the back of the chair. “You’re familiar with the theorem of Occam’s razor?”

  I nodded. “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”

  “Right. We have a very well defined explanation here. He was having an affair. Beth Reinhardt caught him, decided to blackmail him for the exam answers, and brought her best friend in on it because they both suck at chem. He double-crossed them.”

  “Did they tell his wife?” Bebe wondered.

  “I don’t know,” Emily said. “From our perspective, it doesn’t matter. But we do know that there’s no record of any further emails between him and Beth. It wasn’t Bender who changed your transcript. I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  “So where does th
at leave us?” I asked.

  She gestured around Nate’s room. “It leaves us here,” she said, getting up and handing Nate back her empty plate. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

  * * *

  —

  I was climbing into my bed that night, exhausted and frustrated, when I got a text from Emily.

  Wakey, wakey, it said.

  I’m still awake, I said, barely.

  Good, she said. I found one other thing in Mrs. White’s sent emails.

  Why are you still reading her emails?

  I was just looking to see if there was anything unusual. It’s not like I enjoy snooping.

  She totally enjoyed it. What did you find? I asked, because I did actually want to know.

  So it turns out Mrs. White is Amy Gregston’s adviser, and Amy asked her to help her get an unofficial copy of her transcript. She was applying to some class at the Corcoran over winter break, and she needed to show her art grades, so Mrs. Hadley forwarded it to Mrs. White and then she forwarded it to the Corcoran with a letter of recommendation.

  And?

  And the transcript shows her getting an A in junior year English. Only I was in that class with Amy, and she didn’t get an A.

  Are you sure?

  She got a B+ and she was really, really mad about it. So yeah, I’m sure.

  Maybe she did some extra credit?

  After the final?

  I settled myself in my bed, because I really was tired. I tucked my comforter up under my armpits. But Amy only applied to schools on the west coast.

  That’s right. Her dad’s out there and she wanted to be closer to him. She’s going to Stanford.

  We didn’t apply to any of the same schools.

  No. You didn’t. And I checked her transcript and she didn’t have Bender for chem, so there’s no connection there, either, in case you were wondering.

  So what does that mean?

  I don’t know. There’s some connection we aren’t seeing.

  My mother spent all day Saturday at the office, catching up on work, which she does about two Saturdays a month. I got a call from her around five, telling me she wouldn’t be home for dinner.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was supposed to be done at four, but my computer crashed, and I had to start a case file over from scratch.”