Wicked Games

by S. Massery

  He swivels toward me. “That chick you were with at the football game.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Interesting. Weren’t you dating Lucy’s sister?”

  Amelie.

  I snort. “Hardly.” I motion toward the figure in his hands. “Explain this.”

  “It connects to WiFi periodically and sends the video it collected. I think it’s motion activated, which is pretty standard.”

  Freaking hell.

  I rub my eyes. “Can you find out where it was sent? And what the last video was?”

  “It has a setting in here to send a data dump once a day, then it erases. Pretty nifty, actually, but quite ordinary. It’d be a higher-end piece in any tech shop in the city.”

  “How am I supposed to find out who’s been spying on us?”

  Matt shrugs. “Silver lining?”

  I stare at him.

  “The person would’ve had to connect it manually to their WiFi. First, whoever put it there would obviously need the home’s password to get on, and then they’d have to set up this figure to connect.”

  “So, someone she trusts?”

  “Yep.”

  I grunt. “She has a small network of friends. Only one of which recently… went off the rails.”

  Savannah and Amelie play dirty games. At least Amelie is out in the open about most of her shit. Savannah likes guerilla warfare.

  Then again, she learned from the best—the people who relentlessly bullied her after Margo was taken away.

  I think both of them have been trying to play Margo. Most recently, Savannah used Margo to get Amelie off her game. And our newest head cheerleader likes her spot at the top. First it was disrupted by Amelie’s return from studying abroad, and now Margo.

  There’s a sinking feeling in my chest.

  Unknown, Amelie and Savannah… I’m the bad guy of Margo’s story. No one else.

  This has to end.

  “Can you track it?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, I can probably rig a virus in. They’ll open the most recent video, and it will let me get into their computer.”

  “You’re a fucking genius, man.” I slap his back and stand. I’ve still got to go home before I can make it to school. “Let me know what I owe you.”

  “Undying gratitude,” Matt replies. “I’ll cash in a favor someday.”

  At this rate, we traded exclusively in favors. What he’ll need in a day, a week, a year is anyone’s guess.

  “Call me when you get answers.”

  And in the meantime, I’m going to set some fucking ground rules. No one messes with Margo.

  Only me.

  23

  Margo

  “We’re here!” Riley yells, sprinting across the parking garage. She knocks into me, her arms squeezing around my back for a quick second. And then she jumps back, bouncing up and down. “This is a lot more imminent for you, Margo, but I’m so excited! If we like it, we can both go here, and I’ll only be a year behind, but I think I could probably graduate in three years if I take extra classes, then we can graduate together and—”

  “Whoa,” I mumble. “I have to get in first.”

  Sometimes I forget that Riley is a year younger. Besides the fact that we share no classes together, she doesn’t act like a junior. She’s… mature, or whatever. I’d been pushing off the fact that she still has a full year left at Emery-Rose.

  “It’s going to be so lonely next year.” She sighs.

  We link arms and head toward the elevators. Her parents, whom I’ve only met briefly, follow behind us with Len and Robert.

  Another new development: Lenora asked me to call her Len. Less formal, and apparently everyone else calls her that, too.

  “Did you tell Caleb you were coming?” Riley asks.

  I nod. “He was glad.”

  “Because he wants you to go to college.”

  I shrug. I didn’t tell her about the mermaid, which Caleb informed me had a camera in it. But he’d disposed of it, and I didn’t need to worry. Ha. Of course I’m worried. Someone got it into my room. It’s already too easy for him to scale the house and get in, so how hard would it be for someone else?

  The suspect list is long.

  And the scarier question: Why didn’t I notice it?

  But today… today, we’re going to take a tour. Riley and I are going to sit in on a class while the adults go to a seminar on financial aid. And after that, we get to meet some professors, talk to current students, and then we need to pull off the ultimate trick: convince our parents to let us take off by ourselves for an hour.

  Better than sneaking away.

  We find the admissions office, where a bunch of other high school students are gathered.

  Lenora—Len—steps forward and squeezes my shoulder. “Excited?”

  “Terrified,” I whisper.

  After a tour that leaves me awestruck—the campus is huge—and an international law class, Riley and I find our families to get lunch.

  The Jenkinses are chatting with a man with an NYU lanyard around his neck.

  Len grins at us. “Margo, this is one of my old college professors, Eric Marks.”

  “Old,” Professor Marks says, shaking his head and trying not to smile. “You always knew how to make a guy feel good, Len. Pleasure to meet you, Margo.”

  I shake his hand, suddenly shy. “Hi.”

  “We’ve heard good things,” he continues. “Grades are good. You’re going to get involved in an extracurricular activity?”

  “Crew, probably,” I say.

  “And the school newspaper,” Riley inserts. “To cover the lacrosse season.”

  I bite my lip, but the professor just smiles.

  “Riley Appleton,” she introduces herself. “Currently a junior, but eager to join you, sir.”

  They shake hands.

  Professor Marks’ smile widens. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, young lady.”

  Riley’s parents join us. We finally break away from the professor, who wishes Riley and me good luck with our applications, and find a spot to sit and eat.

  “There’s another seminar about housing,” Riley’s dad says. “We were hoping to attend that. The school has some housing, but we’d like to be prepared.”

  Riley turns to me. “Imagine, we could live together!”

  Oh my god.

  I offer her a weak smile. “Sounds great.”

  She doesn’t notice any hesitancy, and the conversation sweeps away.

  “You guys should go,” I say to Robert. “Riley and I will keep busy for an hour.”

  Len and Robert exchange a glance, then Robert grins. “Yeah, I’d like to learn more about housing. The location is important if you decide to come here.”

  “I rented an apartment for grad school,” Len says. “But you’re a lot younger, and we’d worry if you were completely on your own.”

  We kill time until their session, then Riley and I stand.

  “We’ll meet you here when you’re done!” she calls. She grabs my hand and leads me away, out of sight. “I pulled up his office on my phone. It’s only ten minutes from here.”

  My stomach erupts with butterflies. “What if he isn’t there?”

  “He will be. Lawyers are workaholics. And if he isn’t, maybe we can get his home address or something.”

  That’s stalking. I shake my head, but we head off down the street. This part of the city is different from Times Square. A smidge less busy. No glaring screens over our heads. Just regular storefronts and tall office buildings once we get out of the residential section.

  Finally, we stop in front of a large building. It’s noisier here. Cabs and cars rush by on the street. Businessmen and women flood the streets. There’s a smell of burning coming from the grates beneath our feet.

  “Tenth floor,” Riley says.

  We go in. Unlike the office building Caleb and I went to, this one doesn’t have much in the way of a lobby. Just a few rows of metal benches facing glass wall
s. No receptionist desk. We go to the elevators, then up.

  Tobias Hutchins. I don’t know if he’s going to be the same man Caleb and I ran into, or if he’ll recognize me. Maybe I can lie about who I am, get him to open up before I ask him about a seven-year-old case.

  “Good afternoon,” the receptionist greets us once we push through the frosted-glass doors to the law office. “Are you here for an appointment?”

  “We need to speak to Mr. Hutchins,” Riley says smoothly. “He said we didn’t need an appointment.”

  The receptionist’s lips thin. “I’m afraid he’s booked all day. If you call his secretary, she’ll be able to set you up—”

  “Margo?”

  I spin toward the voice.

  The lawyer.

  Tobias.

  He’s the right one.

  “Mr. Hutchins—”

  “It’s okay, Sandy.” He looks… defeated. Maybe he was hoping I wasn’t me. Wouldn’t be the first time someone wished that. “Follow me, girls. It’s best if we talk in private.”

  The receptionist makes a vague noise in the back of her throat.

  Riley and I follow him down the hall. There are private offices and conference rooms, and then the hall opens into a large bullpen. Some are empty, but the greater majority are occupied. On a weekend.

  That’s dedication.

  He stops in front of an open door and waves us in. He has a view, surprisingly. I guess I figured he would be one of the ones in the center, fighting with his colleagues for elbow room. His name is on the glass door in gold lettering, the word partner just under it.

  “The couch?” he directs, closing the door behind us. He busies himself with drawing a shade down over the door, giving us another layer of privacy—or secrecy.

  There’s a framed newspaper article on the wall from five years ago about Tobias’s promotion to partner. It’s surrounded by other accolades and family pictures. A bookshelf on one wall holds law books and plants. In the corner by the floor-to-ceiling window—one of them, anyway—there’s a cozier setup of two couches and two armchairs, a coffee table between them.

  We take a seat on one of the couches, and Tobias joins us. He relaxes on the armchair next to me, crossing his legs. He seems the picture of ease, and it irks me.

  “You know who I am,” I say.

  “You resemble your dad a bit.” He nods. “And I figured you would track me down after I ran into you and Mr. Asher.”

  “How do you know Caleb?”

  Now he fidgets. “Through the trial, of course. He was present, even if you weren’t.”

  I sit up straighter. “I was kept away. But… He was at my dad’s trial? Why?”

  Tobias pauses. “Why wouldn’t he? It involved his family—”

  “Because my dad was dealing drugs while living there?”

  He stares at me, a contemplative expression on his face. “What did they tell you?”

  “He went away on drug charges,” I say. “And my social worker wouldn’t let me go to the trial. I didn’t get to see him again after he was arrested.”

  “I’m afraid that was your father’s doing,” Tobias says. He frowns. “He was adamant that you not see him like that.”

  I exchange a look with Riley. It doesn’t sound like my dad. He would’ve wanted to see me. To say goodbye, if he knew he was going to prison.

  “Can you walk us through the case?” Riley asks.

  “I’m sorry, it was a long time ago,” he says. He sounds apologetic, but he doesn’t seem it. “I have another meeting in a few minutes that I have to prepare for. Now, if there’s anything else…”

  “It was a long time ago,” I echo. “But you knew Caleb—you called him Mr. Asher then and just now. That’s more than just respect. You were afraid of him. How could you have been afraid of a ten-year-old boy?”

  He shakes his head. “Listen, Margo. These things happened in the past. It’s best to just leave them buried.”

  “I refuse to accept that.”

  He stands. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can give any suitable answers. Attorney-client privilege is a tricky thing to navigate.”

  “One last question.” It’s weird to be open about the desperation clawing at me. I need answers—I’ll do anything to get answers. And Tobias Hutchins is my last hope.

  He waves for me to continue.

  “You were a public defender. And soon after that case, you left that office to come here.” I point to the framed newspaper clipping on the wall. “And you were made a partner in just two years? That’s a little fast, isn’t it?”

  His face slowly turns red. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  Riley takes my hand and squeezes. “We’re going. Thanks for speaking with us.”

  He doesn’t answer. His eyes follow us to the door, which Riley yanks open. We get the hell out of dodge, not speaking until we’re on the street.

  Free and clear.

  “That didn’t answer anything,” I say. “He didn’t give up any information about how he knew Caleb, or why he was afraid, or what happened with Dad’s case.”

  “Except maybe…” Riley bites her lip. “I think it does prove something. It proves that he’s involved. And not in a good way.”

  Everything feels hopeless.

  “Margo…”

  I meet her eyes.

  “I think you need to talk to your dad.”

  24

  Margo

  Past

  “Ready to go, kid?”

  I raised my arms in the air, and Dad obliged me. He scooped me up, up up, placing me on his shoulders. Mom said I was getting too big and I was going to break Dad’s back one of these days. He told me to ignore her.

  I was still his little girl. Always would be.

  We approached the door, and I ducked, curling myself around his head. He tickled my foot, and I giggled into his hair. He carried me out of the school, past all the other kids waiting for the bus.

  I loved days Dad picked me up. It meant Mom was out, either with friends or on a supply run for Caleb’s house. He put me down beside his car, ruffling my hair. I fought the impulse to hug him before he helped me into the backseat and buckled me in.

  “Pizza?” he asked.

  “Duh,” I answered.

  “Are you okay with Caleb joining us for dinner? His parents are having a party.”

  “Is that where Mommy is?”

  He met my gaze in the mirror. “Yeah, she’s catering it. It’s gonna be a late night.”

  I sighed, tipping my head back. We grabbed the pizza and headed home, and I ran into my room to change out of the uniform. The front door opened and shut. Dad’s and Caleb’s voices drifted down the hall toward me.

  It wasn’t often that I was tempted to eavesdrop—barring that one time last week with Mrs. Asher and the mystery man—but any conversation between Dad and Caleb was worth its weight in gold.

  Caleb idolized my dad. I didn’t know why, and deep down, it irked me. He was my dad. Caleb had his own. But he was always asking him questions, hanging around when Mom wasn’t here. He didn’t like to be in our apartment if my mom was home, although I never asked why.

  “Where’s Margo?” Caleb asked.

  “Getting changed,” Dad said. “How was school?”

  “Fine. I caught Amelie and Ian kissing in the hallway. They both paid me five bucks to keep my mouth shut.”

  Dad chuckled. “You’re going to be quite the businessman.”

  “Or at least good at getting people to pay me for not spilling secrets,” Caleb muttered. “Amelie says she’s Margo’s friend.”

  “Does she?”

  “Well, she’s not a very good one.”

  I stormed out into the living room with only one sock on. “She’s a fine friend! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Language, Margo,” Dad commented.

  “He gets to insult my friend, and you’re telling me to watch my language?” I was so mad it hurt.


  “I’m your friend,” Caleb answered, balling his fists. “And she’s not. Just watch, she’s gonna turn into a mean girl, and I’ll say I told you so.”

  Tears sprung into my eyes. “Stop it.”

  Dad stepped between us, pulling me into his side. “Enough, Caleb.” He knelt in front of me. “Margo, kids can be mean at this age. Caleb, Amelie, the bullies… Take everything with a grain of salt.”

  Grain of salt. He explained that one to me last week. Be cautious about everything, he said.

  “How about you go put your other sock on and we’ll eat this pizza.” He pats my head, and I rush away.

  Dad always knew how to make things better—even Caleb’s harsh words or Mom’s weird moods. He was my favorite. He carried me on his shoulders and made up bedtime stories, checked in my closet for the boogeyman. Never raised his voice. Not at me, anyway.

  But he did yell at Mom…

  Grain of salt. Maybe she deserved it.

  Maybe she deserved everything that happened.

  Present

  I can’t go into my room.

  It’s a new fear that bloomed out of Caleb finding the mermaid figure. The camera in it. I haven’t told anyone that I’m afraid to step into it, let alone sleep there. Caleb’s been acting dandy, but the discovery was quickly followed by the trip to New York City, and I let the excitement distract me.

  But now…

  I hesitate on the threshold. Robert and Lenora—or Len, as she keeps insisting—went out to dinner, and I begged to stay home. I’ve been working up the courage to talk to Dad. I figured I could write him a letter or something. That’s about as minimal contact as I can get.

  I’m angry at him, but I didn’t realize it until now.

  Or rather, I had shoved it away until now. He went to prison on a drug charge. He put drugs ahead of his own child.

  Who does that?

  The great man I knew as a kid is nothing more than a drug dealer.

  And now Unknown has made it virtually impossible to go into my room without being held captive by terror.

  I hold my breath, creeping into the room. It’s untouched. My window is locked. The closet door is shut. My bookshelf seems untouched.