by Gray Gardner
“Sophomore?” the lady at the administration desk asked, looking up at George over her pink glasses.
“Um, yes ma’am,” she replied, handing her the paperwork forged by the nerds in the nerdery of the DOJ. How did she know?
“Could tell by the way you’re gripping your keys so tightly. Most kids who just get their licenses never want to leave their cars.”
“Oh,” George nodded, quickly stuffing her keys into her Northface pocket and taking the schedules and maps from the lady. She had to get her nerves in check. She was always a little jumpy when she went under. And now she was under for months as a high school student at boarding school. What in the hell was she thinking?
“Everything you need is there. You’re in the Woodbaker dormitory, first floor. It’s on the map.”
George sighed. Usually in school assignments someone in the administration knew that an undercover agent was there. This case was different.
They’d received an anonymous tip on this one with confirmation from the Chief of Intelligence and it had checked out, so she was there with no help on the inside. All alone.
She never had to wear a school uniform when she went to public high school a million years before, but she thought that although it was a little constricting, this school uniform could have been much worse. She studied herself in the mirror. These days she couldn’t eat anything she wanted like she once was able to, so she restricted herself to raw vegetables, chicken, and whole grains. It paid off, too, since she was just as slender as any other high school kid out there. The black silk-blended jumper hung shapelessly over her small frame, with a drop waist and pleats, stopping just at the knee. Her starched white shirt and matching socks blinded her in the mirror, but the dark red pea coat they’d issued took care of covering the shirt at least. There wasn’t enough time in the day to defend the saddle shoes.
She stepped around the three computers and the wiring she’d set up so that she could get close to the mirror and put on a little mascara. Her blue eyes always looked a little washed out when her skin wasn’t tan, and she hadn’t tanned a bit since her return from Colombia. Taking a breath, she grabbed her computer-researched-popular-Northface backpack and opened the door.
Who in their right mind was going to buy this?
Apparently, everyone. That first week went by so well that she had convinced herself that Director Nelson had received bad intel and that no one in this place would possibly be on any kind of illicit controlled substance.
“George, they’re kids,” Nelson said on the other end of the phone.
“Yeah,” George agreed, pacing around the dark courtyard outside the dorms on the following Friday night. No incidents. No nefarious drug deals in the back fields in the dead of night. Just well-behaved children attending an expensive school.
“They don’t sit at home on the weekend and catch up on Law and Order.”
“I wasn’t saying that they did.”
“What I’m saying is, tonight and tomorrow are going to be your busy nights. Quit wasting time talking to me.”
“All right, but I’m telling you, my English class has kids who are reading at the same level as my college Lit class did. These Biology classes have them dissecting cats. They’ve all already learned Spanish in a summer semester in Spain, and as for math, well, I may have them all beat but that’s because I use advanced equations for my job.”
“George.”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking to me and try and figure out who is sneaking off campus tonight.”
“Okay, but—”
“George!”
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, mentally writing the report she was going to send in and trying to find a synonym for irresolvable.
She clicked the phone shut and turned around in enough time to have a flashlight blind her, and hear herself squeal all at once. She instinctively reached for her Glock 17 but quickly recovered by folding her arms across her chest.
“What are you doing out here, Miss…”
“George,” she replied, squeezing one eye shut and turning her head. “I, uh, was just—”
“Out of bed and out of your dorm after hours?” the woman asked, grabbing her wrist. She was pretty astute for someone who looked so ancient.
“Uh, w-well—”
“What’s this?”
“My phone.”
“No cell phones,” the woman barked, grabbing it from her and pulling her inside. “If you want to make a call you do it from the phone in the social room of your dormitory. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” George replied, looking desperately at the phone. She’d need that later. She’d add that to her e-mailed report about how nothing was happening at this place.
“You’ll get this back at the end of the semester,” the woman nodded, turning and walking back outside.
Damn it. She hurried back to her room and quickly activated her back up cell phone. This going back to school thing wasn’t as cushy as she’d thought it would be. In this high-tech era, everyone had cell phones so the teachers had to regulate wherever they could. She already had a pile of work stacked up on her desk and obviously hadn’t made any progress finding the school’s dealer. So that meant no supplier. And Nelson had seemed really irritated with her.
Sighing and grabbing her change jar, she took some quarters and walked down the hall to the vending machines. She got a soda and walked back through the social room, where three girls accosted her.
“Were you just talking to the ol’ crone?” a girl with blonde hair asked.
“Uh,” George stumbled over her words. “The uh, gray haired lady in the flowered robe?”
“Yeah,” a tall, cocoa-skinned girl smirked. “That’s Mrs. Croney. She’s only the most evil proctor to ever roam the campus of St. Patrick’s Prep School.”
“Oh,” George nodded, taking a deep breath. That was a little dramatic. “Wow, then, I guess she must have known I was new or something.”
“You mean, you don’t have a date with the dean tomorrow?” the brown haired girl asked.
“No,” she replied, getting a little nervous. Who said anything about the dean?
“Whoa,” the tall one grinned. “You are the luckiest person on the planet.”
George nodded as she sipped her cola. “What uh… well, what has she caught y’all for?”
“Out of bed after hours,” they all replied, looking around in agreement.
“Sounds serious.”
“Well, it is. She usually is out every Friday night, so if you ever do plan on sneaking off campus, for God’s sake, don’t do it on a Friday. You’re so lucky. If you have to go to the dean, he makes you bend over his desk and he paddles you.”
“Noted,” George answered, looking around at everyone as they shuddered at unpleasant memories. They didn’t look high, their eyes were clear, and they were watching a Twilight movie on the flat panel. She decided to try and continue the conversation just in case they had information. “Has anyone ever actually made it off campus?”
“Yeah,” the brunette said. “James Clancy and Christian Whitman and… Well, they even made it all of the way to town before Dr. Davis and Dr. Thomas got them back. Not pleasant for them, I’ll tell you that much. You could hear them crying if you stood outside of the administration building.”
“So, if I’m going to sneak out, I should go on Saturday,” George nodded. Clancy and Whitman, and possibly someone else. “Anything else?”
Robbie, Kim, and Ashton: the Woodbaker click. So maybe these girls knew the dealer. No more interrogating that night, but George would eventually get something out of them. She was good at her job.
Curious Encounters
“Sophomores in Woodbaker always sit at this table,” Robbie said, as she and George sat at breakfast the next morning. “The seniors sit at the tables by the windows, the juniors next, the freshmen are always by the kitchen and trashcans, jocks over there, and we always sit square in middle.”
“There’s a logical order,” George grinned, taking a bite of her banana. Ashton and Kim sat down in a huff.
“Dr. Thomas is wearing his gym shorts,” Kim smiled, sitting taller than everyone else at the table but leaning way down as she spoke.
“What do his legs look like?” Robbie squealed, craning her neck to try and get a glimpse.
George checked her watch as she eyed the refectory. The breakfast service was almost over, so most of the kids would be in there. She noticed a couple of kids hovering in the corner, talking very quickly with their heads very close together like they didn’t want anyone else to hear.
“Hey,” George said, tapping Ashton’s arm. “Who are those two guys conspiring in the corner?”
The girls all turned to look, then groaned as they turned back.
“Don’t be fooled by their good looks,” Robbie said. “They’re total Trekkies.”
“What?” George asked, looking back up at them. She was well versed in all of the lingo that went along with her job, and had even brushed up at a two-day seminar the weekend before, but she’d never heard the term Trekkie before.
“You know,” Kim grimaced. “They speak a different language? Klingon or Vulcan whatever. You know—Star Trek?”
George got up when they did and followed them back to the dorms. She asked them questions about certain girls they saw in the dorm, but it only generated tasteless gossip. Nothing concrete. By the time she was supposed to check in with Nelson they’d all changed into their pajamas and were getting ready to watch Saturday Night Live on the plasma in the social room. If they knew anything about drugs in the school, they were certainly not giving any indicators.
George got their drink orders and took a handful of change with her to the doors. She told them that the drink machines were out and she was going to go next door and check the senior dorms. She grabbed for her spare phone in the waistband of her pants.
“Nelson?”
“What number is this?”
“They took my phone away last night. No cell phones on campus.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I know,” George sighed, leaning against a shadowy wall and speaking in a low voice. “Can you FedEx me some more phones tomorrow? I have the feeling that won’t be the last time they steal my cell right out of my hand.”
“Going that bad, huh?”
“Just a very constricted environment. I think I’m getting close, though. These girls are giving me the rundown on every single student and faculty member.”
“And nothing on the kid that died?”
“No one seems to want to offer any info. I’ll try next week.”
“Good, keep it up. And don’t be discouraged if nothing turns up just yet. It’s early in the school year.”
“All right,” she replied, shivering as the wind swept through the buildings and right through her cotton waffle knit pajamas. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, you aren’t supposed to be out here, especially without a coat.”
George snapped the phone shut and wheeled around. A man stood behind her in the shadows, with a stance that looked a little irritated from what she could see in the darkness.
“Uh, I was j-just…”
“Using a cell phone?” he asked, reaching down and taking it out of her hand. “You aren’t supposed to have these. If you want to call someone, use the phone in the social room.”
“Yes sir,” she nodded, folding her arms across her chest as her bare feet froze to the pavement.
“May I ask why you’re out here after hours in your black skull and cross bone pajamas, chatting away?”
She glanced down at her trendy pajamas and then tried to give him a pathetic look. “I’m sorry, sir. I just… had to call someone.”
“You’re new, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
He exhaled loudly and pointed back to her dorm. “Inside in five seconds or I’m personally taking you to the dean tomorrow and watching as he tans your hide.”
“Thank you!” she squealed, running inside, getting the appropriate soft drinks for the girls and running back to the TV. No one seemed to question her absence.
She barely made it to her English class the next Monday and had just sat down at her seat in the back corner when the professor barged in.
“Class,” he barked.
“Good morning,” everyone half mumbled. It was a Monday, after all.
“The first six weeks have passed,” he snarled, holding up a folder and slamming it on some poor kid’s desk in the front row. “And this is what you all have to show for it? The best and brightest in the country and all you can produce in my class, in all of your classes, is this appalling and abysmal product?”
He was, of course, referring to the term papers they’d turned in for the first six weeks grading period. There apparently had been a faculty meeting and none of the professors were happy with what they’d received. Some kind of school wide failure or something. Dr. Gibson looked particularly upset, however.
George perked up. Could be the product of widespread use of illicit controlled substances—or the facilitator. Maybe the school nurse was handing out stuff under the table along with the Ritalin. Maybe.
“The administration and faculty have agreed,” he stated, pacing across the hardwood floor in front of the room. “Any work you turn in from now on that does not receive a grade equal to or greater than your work up to date will lead to immediate consequences. Fear not, for you have all set the bar considerably low. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes sir,” the students nodded. George frowned as she realized she had no idea what that meant, but she guessed that most of the other students didn’t either.
“Scary, huh?” a guy sitting next to her grinned as the bell rang. She instinctively gave him the once over and immediately noticed the yellowy stain between his fingers. He was a smoker.
“I guess,” George shrugged, packing her things and acting uninterested. It was a little bit to her disadvantage since she’d made pretty good grades up to that point. She had only been there for a week. She’d set the bar a little high for herself.
“Hey,” the guy said, slinging his backpack on his shoulder and becoming directly more interested in her since she was ignoring him. “You’re new, right?”
“Right,” she smiled, holding the straps of her backpack. Don’t sound too eager, she reminded herself.
“Everything going okay?” he asked, as they walked outside in the sunny, cool morning.
“New school, no friends. I just wish people here were like the people back home. You know, someone’s parents go out of town and there’s a big party and… I don’t know. You can let loose. It’s just fun.” She shrugged, turning a corner. He quickly followed and looked surprised when she leaned against the wall in the shadow between two buildings and lit a cigarette. She sighed in relief as she exhaled a stream of smoke, then smiled at him. “Want one?”
“Sure,” he nodded, glancing behind him as he took a cigarette and cupped his hands around hers as she held up the lighter. He tensed up a little as their hands touched. He might be a tough guy, but he was still a high school kid. Girls were a complete mystery to him.
“I mean, you seem all right, but I’m starting to realize that no one at this school likes to party,” she sighed, shaking her head in disappointment and staring off.
“Do you uh, like to party?” he asked, leaning in.
She pressed her lips together as she eyed the busy sidewalk in the distance. “Depends on what kind of party,” she replied, looking him up and down. The way kids dressed these days, she couldn’t tell the hoodlums from the respectable ones anymore, even in a school issued uniform. His pants crotch looked like it was hanging down to his knees and she could see his underwear underneath his school blazer.
He glanced over his shoulder again, then the other way. Then he leaned in so close she could smell the smoke on his breath and see that his eyes were hazel.
“Whatever
you like,” he grinned, handing her a piece of paper and walking out of their little cove, flicking the cigarette to the side.
Stunning. Was it really that easy?
She quickly stuffed the note into her coat pocket and hurried to her next class. She didn’t have time to relish in the fact that success had just been dropped into her lap. Which it had been.
She’d have to worry about the effortless-maybe-deal later. She was late for class and it was not a good day to screw up. The teachers were all livid. It was the same thing in every class. The faculty had never seen such poor performances and such laziness, and there would be consequences. It wasn’t until she reached her last class of the day that she realized what that meant.
“Last class of the day, so by now you know what the new school policy is.”
George leaned over on her elbows as she studied the little slip of paper next to her homework she was getting ready to turn in. It said that she was supposed to meet that kid at four pm by Penway Pond. She didn’t know what he would offer, but it was certainly a start. Things were looking up.
“Jane?”
She looked up from her desk and let her hand slide the slip of paper over to her notebook. “Yes, sir?”
“Problem twenty-five? Will you please do it on the board?”
She stood and quickly walked to the board where three other students were already working other problems from the assignment. She wasn’t nervous, and she didn’t have to worry about everyone staring at her. She knew all of the girls were staring at the professor and the guys were staring outside, daydreaming about football and lacrosse practice and whatever other activities would follow their last class of the day. Perhaps a meeting with the local dealer at Penway Pond. Who knew?
She stood patiently as the other students explained how they’d solved their equations, then carefully explained how she’d gotten her answer and moved to sit down.
“That’s very good, Jane, which is why I’m wondering why you missed it on your homework,” the professor said, as chairs scooted around.