People Like Us(9)

I head to the top floor of the library, where I’m least likely to run into anyone else, and send Nola a text to let her know I’ve arrived. The top floor is totally retro. It houses VHS tapes, microfilms, and an old-school card catalogue. Everything up here must be valuable somehow or the school wouldn’t hang on to it. But it’s basically an old media boneyard, and I’m pretty sure no one is going to bother us up here. I find a comfortable, moth-bitten green corduroy armchair that’s probably as old as the VHS collection and settle into it, unfolding my laptop on my knees.

“Hi.”

A low shriek escapes my lips. Nola is perched atop a bookshelf just above my head, dressed all in black like the goddamned Raven.

“What are you doing up there?”

She leaps down nimbly and leans her chin over my shoulder, stretching a bony wrist out to type on my keyboard. “Waiting for your slow ass.” She nudges me with her shoulder until I make room for her on the chair and surrender the computer to her completely. She inspects the revenge website and then turns her enormous eyes on me. “Why are we stalking a dead girl?”

I shift in the chair uncomfortably. This is too close for someone I barely know, and my idea now sounds completely stupid even to me. “Like I said, it’s a long story. Can you just take it on faith that it’s really important that I get into this website?”

She narrows her eyes. “Why?”

I hesitate for a moment. Jessica said not to go to the cops. She didn’t say anything about Nola Kent. “Jessica asked me to.”

She pauses. “Were you friends?”

There are moments for lies. “Close, but not best.”

“Why didn’t she give you the password?”

“Look. I need to read what’s on that website. Jessica left me a message and I have no other way to access it. It’s basically her last words.”

She closes my laptop. “That’s not very compelling.”

“What do you want?”

“You don’t have any money.” She says it so matter-of-factly. If she’d said it more viciously, it would have stung less.

“You don’t need any,” I say. It’s true. She’s like the others. She may not dress like them or act like them, but her family is old New England money.

That seems to catch her off guard, and she hesitates before answering. “Put me on your team when you start up again.”

My mouth drops open. “But—you’ve never even come to a tryout.”

She shrugs, her face bland, expressionless. “I didn’t say I was interested. I said I wanted in.”

I gape at her. “I don’t have that kind of power. Coach makes those decisions.”

She is thoroughly unconvinced. “You have enough influence.”

“I would have to cut someone who worked really hard to get there.”

“Well,” she says slowly. “That’s the choice I’m offering you.”

I consider this. I do have enough influence. As captain, I all but run the team. At Bates, teachers and coaches encourage students to take on full responsibility and leadership of our organizations. I hate the idea of cutting someone who earned their spot. On the other hand, I need Nola’s help. I reluctantly give her my hand and she shakes it with cool fingers.

“Excellent,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to be awesome.” She shoots me a mocking look. “I can be awesome now, right?”

I allow her full rein over my laptop uneasily. “Don’t close any windows.”

“Got it.” She opens it and taps her fingers lightly on the keys. Then she opens a new window and starts downloading something.

“Hey!” I grab for the computer, but she yanks it out of my reach.

“Relax. I’m not going to destroy your Jurassic operating system. I’m downloading a program I use all the time that’s pretty good at cracking passwords. Jessica was a fairly sophisticated programmer, but the human mind can only dream up so many permutations . . .”

“Did you know her?”

“Only from comp sci classes. Never spoke.” She runs the program and types furiously and then turns to me triumphantly. “See?”

The word L@br@d0r is highlighted on the screen.

I stare at her. “Could you figure out my passwords that easily?”

She hands the laptop back to me. “Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.”

I click back on the blog and type in the password. The oven opens and inside, the title of the site appears again in seared red letters: Revenge Is a Dish: A Delicious Guide to Taking Down Your Enemies. I click on the title and six categories appear below: appetizer, first course, main course, palate cleanser, side dish, dessert. I click on appetizer and a graphic of a burned tennis ball appears with a recipe for Tai Burned Chicken. At the same time, an icon of an oven timer pops up, set at 24:00:00. It immediately starts ticking down. I click on the timer but there’s no way to stop or alter it.

Nola tries typing a few commands and shrugs. “Maybe the link only stays live for twenty-four hours?” But I know better. That’s the time I have to complete my task.

I click on the next recipe, but an error message pops up, reading, Oven in use. Revisit kitchen when timer resets.

“Adorable,” Nola says.