I almost killed someone. That should scare me more, but what mainly scares me is the idea that everyone else on campus knows. They call us the Murder Crew. They used to cheer for Peacock, and now it’s, like—I don’t know. I’m scared I’m finished before I’ve even gotten a chance to get started. I need to get ahead of this thing. I want to get back to my game. I want everyone else to get back to the game, too. But how can I do it while I’m still here?
Let me know if I did it right!
I am honored to share with you the illumination within,
Beth
From: [email protected]
Subj: Re: Not Sleeping
You did it perfectly. Keep up the good work.
5
Plum
Finn Plum stood on the front steps of Tudor House. He puffed his breath out into the dark, frigid air and raised his hand to ring the bell. Then he put it back down again. Another deep breath. Another swing and a miss.
Come on, Plum. What’s the worst that could happen?
But he knew what Scarlett could be like, if she wanted. Once upon a time, he’d helped her be exactly like that.
So, then, maybe not Scarlett. Beth owed him now, after he’d helped her out with that whole cheating letter situation. And hadn’t she proved that she could be every bit as underhanded as he could?
He raised his hand toward the bell again.
The door opened. Dr. Brown, the interim headmaster, stood on the threshold, frowning. Once more, Finn wondered if she’d also been tipped off about Finn’s secret project. He’d deleted Boddy’s notes on the subject, along with the letter all those tennis players had sent the old headmaster about their suspicions about Beth, but that had been the last time he’d had access to administrative files.
Or other items of great importance to him.
“Mr. Plum,” Dr. Brown said dryly. “Coed visiting hours end at seven.”
“Oh, I’ll be out by seven, Doctor,” Finn said, smiling broadly. Either way, he had no intention of lingering in the Murder House. It was bad enough what the kids on campus were calling them.
And even worse that, to a good half of the Murder Crew, he was persona non grata.
“Who are you here to see?”
“Beth Picach?”
“She’s at the gym.”
Of course she was. “I meant Scarlett Mistry.” Here goes nothing.
“You meant?” Dr. Brown’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “As in, you mixed up their phenomenally different names or as in, you find them completely interchangeable?”
“Well, ma’am,” Finn said. She was a tough one. “What I really meant is that I had a question about a project. For class. And they’re both in my class, so . . . I mean . . .” He shrugged.
“So you meant that those two female students are interchangeable in your mind.”
“Not remotely!” Finn exclaimed. “Only that either one could help me, in this particular instance.”
Dr. Brown blinked at him.
“It’s for class,” he repeated.
She blinked again.
Those were usually the magic words when it came to sweet-talking the faculty. But Dr. Brown wasn’t a teacher. Not really. She was a board member, assigned to fill in at the school until the board of directors appointed a new headmaster. As far as Finn could tell, she hated the students at Blackbrook only slightly less than she hated the school’s “culture of sloppiness.”
Otherwise known as the main reason Finn and Scarlett used to be able to get away with the things they did. Dr. Brown had quickly sealed up the secret passages and reset all the passwords and firewalls in the administration’s computer system. Strategically, she was a brick wall.
Maybe that would be Finn’s in with Scarlett. She’d probably be dying for someone to commiserate with. Somehow, he doubted Orchid was devious enough to scratch Scarlett’s itch.
Finally, Dr. Brown sighed and opened the door wider. “She’s in the study. Working. Be quick.”
He dashed inside, then stopped flat in the hall. It looked . . . different. He was used to a soft, golden glow highlighting the glossy wood carvings and rich parquet. The last time he’d been here, there was less than that—the light of a few candles, leaving dark, shadowy corners that well hid the smears of Headmaster Boddy’s blood that Mrs. White hadn’t quite cleaned up.
He supposed it made sense to install brighter lighting. Dr. Brown wouldn’t want anyone to think that they were still hiding something in this house. But it did detract some from the atmosphere. Under the harsh new lights, you could see every scratch in the paneling, every scuff mark along the floor. He averted his eyes and headed for the study.
Scarlett was sitting at the desk, bent over a test prep book, scrubbing furiously with her eraser on an answer sheet. Of course she’d be taking the tests extremely seriously. Finn felt differently. If he got what he needed, no one would care about his test scores.
She was so intent on her work, she hadn’t even noticed him entering. He cleared his throat.
She whirled, dark hair flipping over her shoulder, and fixed him with a determined glare. “Oh. You.”
“Hey, Scar,” he began.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see you?” Oops. That wasn’t supposed to come out as a question.
“What for?”
He chuckled. “Why does it have to be for anything?”
She didn’t respond. Just stared at him.
“Okay, fine,” he admitted. “I need your help.”
“Of course you do.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for anything but test prep right now.”
He glanced at the pile of workbooks on the desk. She was really making herself crazy with this stuff. “I could help you study—”
“I already have a study partner, thanks.”
“Oh. Orchid?”
“If you must know,” she sniffed.
A pale comparison if you asked Finn, but pointing that out would not be the move to make right now. Scarlett would get defensive, and he wanted those famed defenses down.
He toed the thick oriental rug. “You know, Scarlett, I thought after everything we went through, during the storm . . . I thought maybe we’d made up.”
“I thought that, too, Phineas Plum,” she replied brightly. Too brightly. Plus, she’d used his full name. “But then, even after I braved a freaking blizzard, and a murderer, to rescue your sorry ass, in the middle of the night—even after all that—I somehow wasn’t cool enough to be told your super confidential exciting secret. Unlike Peacock, who, I’d like to point out, is a sweet girl but maybe a bit too trusting that this whole Murder Crew thing means we’re all real-life BFFs.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that all I had to do was tell your ex-girlfriend that I knew what you were up to, and she talked to me about it. Very wise choice you made, confiding in her.”
He put his hand over his brow. Of course Beth would assume that Scarlett knew. She’d always been too trusting. That’s why the whole idea that she might cheat at tennis was laughable. It was just a way for her rivals to shut her down.