The Third Lie's the Charm

by Lisa Roecker

  The red definitely worked.

  By the time light spilled into my room between my closed blinds, my hair wasn’t the only thing burning. My eyes felt scratchy and deprived, my head cloudy with exhaustion. But it was time to work.

  “You look tired,” my dad said over his newspaper, trying to disguise a flash of wide eyes and failing miserably. I tried to tell myself he wasn’t trying to sound like one of the concerned parents on an ABC Family show. “And redder.” He tried to make a joke, but it fell about as flat as a bike tire with a nail in it.

  “Thanks.”

  “No, I just…what I’m trying to say is that I’m worried about you.” I looked over at him with his graying hair and his straight nose. He looked like the perfect dad. But a perfect dad wouldn’t keep his eyes trained on the words in front of him. The perfect dad would know how to talk to his daughter, or at least know better than to tell her she looked tired.

  When I sat with my cereal, he turned and looked at me. Really looked at me for the first time in as long as I could remember. My hands flew to my brand-new hair as if he wouldn’t notice it quite so much if it was covered by my fingers.

  “Kate, I have no idea what you’re going through, but my guess is that it’s not easy to see another student at your school die so suddenly and under such tragic circumstances. Talk to me.” The look in his eyes broke my heart a little. It was the same way he’d looked at me after I skinned both my knees on my roller skates. The same look he’d given me when I’d cried my eyes out after I found out Grace and Maddie had a sleepover without me in fifth grade. It was the same look I caught through my eyelashes when I pretended to be sleeping in the days, weeks, months after Grace died.

  I opened my mouth to say something, anything to finally make my father stop looking at me like that.

  But I turned back to my cereal instead, shoveling a spoonful in my mouth. And his attention turned back to the paper.

  “I’m fine,” I said between bites. I’d said the same two words over and over again for the past year and a half. Two magic words that left no room for discussion, no room for feelings, no room for parenting. God, I loved those two little words.

  My dad dropped the paper and brought his plate to the sink, let the water run as he bent over the basin, his eyes fixed on the yard beyond.

  “Gotta go.” I cleared my dish, sure that if I caught that look on his face again, I’d spend the rest of the morning telling him everything that was going on.

  “What?” His head shook and his eyes cleared as though he’d been dreaming standing up. “Oh, right. Okay.” He reached out to pat my shoulder. “I love you. You know that, right?”

  I just nodded and rushed to the garage door. In spite of my parents’ long hours and complete cluelessness when it came to my life, I knew my dad was telling the truth. They did love me, and if I were a different person or maybe even if I’d led a different life, we’d probably have some amazing ABC Family-worthy relationship.

  But I am who I am. My life is what it is. And my parents are well-intentioned but mostly useless. I had come to terms with this a long time ago, and the fact that I was questioning it at 7:42 on a Tuesday morning was more indicative of my need for a cup of coffee than family therapy.

  I made it to school and slapped the bronze plaque at Station 1 as I walked through the main doors of Pemberly Brown. Aut disce aut discede. “Either learn or leave.” My eyes scanned the hallway for Bradley as my boots clicked on the dark hardwood floor to my locker. I couldn’t ditch class again, but there was no reason why the two of us couldn’t stop by Sinclair’s office during Open period.

  I’d debated about calling Bradley last night to discuss the latest development, but I just wasn’t up for the conversation. Part of me knew he’d want to pick me up and go to Sinclair’s house, and I was too tired. I needed more time to process the ex-headmaster’s involvement. More time to try to figure out what it all meant.

  “Nice of you to show up.” Maddie’s smile was forced, and her uniform shirt was once again pulled tight across her chest. She looked so much like the Maddie before Grace died, before she’d starved herself to fit in with the Sisterhood, before she punished her body for her role in Grace’s death, that I had to stop and look around the hallway to ground myself in the here and now. She pressed her books over her boobs and worked hard not to mention my hair. I appreciated the effort, but it annoyed me at the same time.

  “You look tired,” she finally said. The comment didn’t earn her any points, even though I deserved everything she said after the way I’d been treating her.

  “So I’ve heard.” I started walking again. Maddie followed a couple of steps behind me and I tried to slow down, but then she sped up. We were off pace, as usual. As hard as we tried, we couldn’t seem to figure out how to be friends in the after-Grace. Grace had been the third leg of our stool, and now that it was just the two of us, we kept falling down.

  “I thought I could understand what you were going through, thought maybe I could help this time, but you keep pushing me away and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m just, I mean we’re all kind of worried about you. It’s just hard to see you like this…” She twisted one of her springy curls around her index finger. “I mean, I know I wasn’t there for you last time. After Grace, I mean. And everything that’s going on, it just… I don’t know. It’s like losing her all over again. Kids are crying in the hallways. Therapists are talking in homeroom. You know?”

  I did know. But I also knew I couldn’t talk to Maddie about any of this. She had no idea that I’d joined the Sisterhood. And after what they’d done to her, she’d never forgive me if she found out. Plus, she was totally Team Liam with the whole “Kate should stay the hell away from the crazy secret societies and learn to deal with her grief like a normal person” scenario. The two of them should get T-shirts made up.

  So I had no choice but to “I’m fine” her. I wished I could grab Maddie’s arm and drag her into the nearest bathroom stall and tell her everything, but those days were long gone. At least until I’d figured out who killed Alistair and put an end to the Sisterhood. Surely, justice had to come before girl talk.

  “Guess who, Sis?” a voice rasped from behind me as two large hands covered my eyes.

  “How could she possibly guess?” Maddie hissed. This game was universally hated and only amplified with Bethany “Beefany” Giordano’s paws pressed over my eyes.

  She roughly spun me around. “How’s my baby Sister doing?” Her sticky sweet voice was directed at me, but her huge brown eyes were locked on Maddie.

  Maddie gave me a long look and then turned back to Bethany. I knew the minute she figured out what was going on, because her eyes got squinty and her lips went thin. It was the face she made right before she started crying. Without another word, she turned and began walking down the hallway at warp speed.

  “Wait! Maddie! I can explain!”

  “Explain what? That you’re one of us now?” Bethany batted her eyelashes and smiled triumphantly at Maddie’s back.

  I closed my eyes for a minute and tried to collect myself before I laid into my new “Sister” and got myself kicked out of the stupid society I was trying to infiltrate.

  “I was going to tell her eventually. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “What does it matter? You’re with us now, right? You’re not going to have time for losers like her. Not with us around.” Bethany looked down at me and gave me her most syrupy smile. While Taylor had always been eager for me to join the Sisterhood’s ranks, Bethany was never quite so sure. She didn’t trust me; I didn’t trust her. It was kind of our thing.

  After Grace died, I knew Taylor felt bad about what had happened. She was eaten alive with grief like the rest of us. But Bethany was a different story, and more and more it felt like she was the one pulling the strings. I knew it was her idea to stage her disappearance to get the Brotherhoo
d kicked out. Taylor went along with it because she thought it was what was best for the society, but she never would have come up with it on her own.

  And now, as if she was trying to prove that it was all worthwhile, Taylor was hell bent on creating a new and improved Sisterhood. And apparently I was part of her vision. I’m sure it was partly her guilty conscience, but I didn’t care. Being a Sister was my only chance to end them for good.

  Unfortunately, it seemed like Bethany was on to me.

  “So, what have you been up to since initiation? There are all sorts of rumors flying around about you and Bradley.”

  “Can’t believe everything you hear,” I retorted.

  “No, I just believe what I see. And I saw you holding hands at the funeral yesterday.”

  “Do you even hear yourself? Holding hands at his best friend’s funeral isn’t exactly a hot date. His best friend is dead and I might be the only person who has even the slightest clue of what he’s going through, so yeah, I held his freaking hand.”

  “Easy there. No need to jump down my throat.” Bethany raised her long fingers and pretended to cower in front of me.

  God, I hated her. She was intentionally trying to get me fired up, and it worked. And now it was time for her grand finale.

  “Honestly, the only reason I asked is because I’m curious about Liam.”

  I choked on air.

  “Liam?” She had to be joking.

  “Yeah, is he,” she ran her fingers through her long hair, “is he, like, available?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. There was no chance in hell that Liam would ever go for a girl like Bethany.

  “Totally. All yours. He’s a free man. Bet he’s just been waiting for the chance to get it on with you after you told the entire school that he has herpes and blackmailed him for months about what he saw the night Grace died. Good luck with that, B.” I gave her one last parting smile, slammed my locker shut, and started toward class.

  “Good to know! I was hoping you’d say that.” Bethany flipped her long hair and adjusted the books in her arms. “Nice hair, by the way. Wherever do you get your color done?”

  But she didn’t wait around for an answer. I heard her snicker as she walked away. Bitch.

  I slid into my homeroom desk right before the bell rang. As Verbum began, the morning announcements read by two kids I recognized from Concilium, I slipped my phone out of my backpack and sent a quick text to Bradley. Screw Bethany. I was on a mission.

  1:12. Stacks.

  I had a little over six hours to plan out exactly what we were supposed to do with this information about Headmaster Sinclair. Six hours to decide whether or not I should let Bradley hold my hand again. Six hours.

  Chapter 14

  The clock tower, Station 2, loomed ahead, imposing as it ticked past the one o’clock hour. Year-two students had Open this period, and the most popular loitered around the brick behemoth happy and loud, their free period slipping away with every laugh or friendly punch. Tempus edax rerum. “Time is the devourer of all things.” Time always seemed hungriest during Open.

  I loved the tower. The long shadows it cast on the green, the five-degree temperature change when you entered the darkened space. I made it a point to walk past it every day after school, and I spent a lot of time within its cool walls reading by one of the windows, thinking, or talking to Grace. But today I veered early. At the center of the popular crowd stood Taylor and beside her Bethany, and I didn’t have time for them. It was hard enough to avoid Liam and Maddie all day. At the rate my people-to-avoid list was growing, I wasn’t going to be able to leave my house by the end of the week.

  Sure enough, I heard my name carried sweetly across the green, a slight question mark tacked at the end. I figured it had to do with my new blood-red locks.

  When I turned (because you always turned for Taylor Wright), she waved me over, her white teeth catching the sun. She didn’t even wait to see if I’d come, because everyone always came when she called them. Instead she turned, continuing her conversation, assuming that I’d be scampering over like her well-trained dog.

  “I can’t! I have a study group,” I yelled over, referencing the pile of books in my arms for effect. A hush fell over Taylor’s lackeys. Taylor’s eyes narrowed, and she took a breath like she might yell something back at me, but she pursed her lips instead.

  I just tucked the books closer to my chest and rushed nerd-alert style across the remainder of the green toward the Pemberly Brown library. Toward Bradley Farrow. Toward ex-Headmaster Sinclair. Swallowing back any nervousness, I swiped my student ID to enter.

  I braced myself to see the ex-headmaster, totally focused on keeping my face impassive. Worried that he would take one look at me and know that I knew about his half brother.

  But I shouldn’t have worried. A new guy manned Sinclair’s post. His security hat was pulled low over his eyes and he was young—couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—and scrolling through something on his phone.

  “Where’s the headmaster?” I blurted out, hearing my mistake as the kid’s forehead furrowed. “I mean, Mr. Sinclair. Where’s Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Sabbatical. Can I help you with something?”

  Now it was my turn to furrow my brow. Sinclair had taken a sabbatical right at the same time another student died under circumstances eerily similar to his half brother? This was more than just a coincidence. It had to be.

  “There you are,” Bradley called from a table near the door of the library. His cheekbones were sunken, eyes puffy. Blank eyes met my questioning ones.

  I glanced nervously out the glass doors to make sure I hadn’t been followed and double-checked the security desk. The young kid smirked down at his phone.

  “Please tell me you know what all this means. How the hell did no one know that Sinclair’s brother was killed in a Factum Virtus?” Bradley asked.

  I smoothed my hair, self-conscious all of the sudden about the shocking new color. Bradley didn’t appear to notice either way. “I don’t know, but it’s related, right?” I kept my voice low. I wondered if I should mention Grace’s journal page tucked away in my pocket. I could shift in my seat and pull it out, unfold the page and smooth it against my leg. Let Bradley read the words. I could. But I looked down at my fingers instead. I wasn’t ready yet.

  “What does this even mean?” Bradley asked again even though no one had the answers.

  “I have no idea. That new security guard said Sinclair’s on sabbatical, but Seth got his address. We can go after school. Maybe ask him some questions?”

  Bradley leaned back in his seat and rubbed his fingers roughly over his eyes. He didn’t want to do this. I could tell he didn’t want to go there. He wanted last week. He’d give anything to go back to a time where Alistair was still alive. If he could stop his friend from taking the challenge, he would give everything he had. And I knew exactly how he felt. I’d still give anything to go back to last year. Back to Grace.

  “Meet me at the arches after ninth.” Bradley’s eyes flicked up to the clock above us. 1:48. Open was almost over.

  The arches. Station 5. Pemberly Brown had twelve stations that were really just random plaques on school landmarks etched with ominous Latin proverbs. The stations also marked the entrances to the underground tunnels. The tunnels that the societies had been fighting over for the past forty years. Whoever owned the tunnels owned the school. The Sisterhood had originally built them as a way to move about the school freely after the boys had invaded the private girls’ academy. And now that they’ve vanquished the Brotherhood, the Sisters had the tunnels back.

  “The arches?” My voice cracked a little. According to legend, if you kissed under the arches, Station 5, you’d get married. Nerves spread like a virus in my belly. It felt wrong to imagine anything as selfish as a kiss right now, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Yeah, bu
t first follow me. We’ve got a few minutes left and I have an idea.”

  I followed Bradley back toward the front desk.

  “Hey, man,” he said to the security guard, who barely looked up. “I’m an office aide for Mr. Sinclair and I accidentally left my Econ binder in his office Friday. Mind if I slip in and get it?”

  “Be my guest,” the kid said, nodding toward Sinclair’s open door. I followed Bradley in, amazed at his natural ability to lie. I thought I was good. We actually made a good team, and all I had to do was follow. Not a bad gig.

  As soon as we were through the door, we sifted through piles of papers, moved books, opened drawers. Sinclair’s desk looked like a hoarder’s paradise, so we really couldn’t do much more damage. I flipped through an old, dog-eared yearbook, marveling at how different kids from the ’60s looked compared to our school pictures.

  “Kate…” Bradley’s voice had an edge to it that immediately grabbed my attention.

  I waded through the piles of paper and walked over to where he was standing with a thin sheet of paper trembling in his hand.

  “Look at this.”

  It was nothing really. Or it could have been nothing. Just a class list for third-years. Rows and rows of black names printed on cheap printer paper.

  But it was the slash of yellow that caught my eye. And the name it highlighted.

  Alistair Reynolds.

  “What the hell is he doing with a class list with Alistair’s name highlighted?” I asked.

  The list was at the top of a pile of zoological records in regards to our school mascot, a wolf whose habitat was maintained on campus as a part of a new Parent Teacher Association grant. His name was Bondi, and it apparently took thousands of dollars a month to support his reserve. Fascinating if you cared. I didn’t. The only thing I cared about was piecing together all of these seemingly random pieces of information to understand what had happened to Alistair and why, but it was like someone had mixed the pieces of five different puzzles together into one box. None of them seemed to fit.