Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(27)

I’ve met Mr. Fitzjohn a handful of times, at formal parties and in passing when I’ve been at Jamie’s house; the tension in the air of that place is so constricting. Even his mother seems to crumple under the pressure of a loveless marriage and the perfect family image she’s been upholding. I know from Jamie that they sleep in separate bedrooms, and she’s always “taking something” to help her sleep and distract her from the man she’s married to. Not that anyone would ever talk about that; it’s all brushed under the marble flooring. To outsiders, the Fitzjohns seem perfect, but all of them are messed up in their own way. Jamie’s more like his father than he realizes.

My family doesn’t have any of this, though. No legacy here in America. If our secret comes to light, I have no way out. Everything is at stake, and while Jamie might appear calm on the outside, he must know that he could be next on Aces’s list of victims.

Maybe outwardly seeming okay, rationalizing things, is how he copes with the possibility of being Aces’s next target.

I wish I could be like that right now.

I sniff, but I can’t hold back the stream of tears. I let myself cry uncontrollably now, let the aching from the tension in my brain ring, not caring about my mascara or the prospect of anyone in this bathroom hearing me.

Every single night I dream of her. The girl.

But now, before those nightmares, I ask myself, Who is doing this? What will they reveal next?

“Chiamaka?” I hear a soft voice say, along with the subtle creak of the bathroom door.

I stay quiet, seated sideways on the ground of the stall, looking at my blue plaid skirt spread over my outstretched legs, the thick gray socks that cover most of my thighs, and my brown-heeled brogues pressing against the wall.

“It’s Belle,” she continues. The bathroom stall next to mine opens and my heart races a little. I hear a slight rattle as Belle pulls at my locked door. She raps at the door three times. I can see her gray suede heels and white frilly socks.

“Are you in there?” she asks. I say nothing. I’m not sure why she’s going to such great lengths to be nice. Maybe she’s trying to prove a point to Jamie that she’s the perfect girl. But I doubt Jamie would notice how Belle treats me, let alone care.

Belle is still and silent, and I almost think she’s going to walk away, give up. But then I hear a scraping noise.

I watch the door as the lock slowly starts to turn. There’s a sharp clink and the door opens.

Belle looks down at me with wide eyes and a frown. She unzips her bag and hands me a folded tissue.

I don’t take it.

“Silly question, I know, but…” Her voice trails off. “Are you okay? You’ve been gone for a while … We still have five minutes until the first warning bell, so I thought I’d come and find you.”

“I’m okay, thanks,” I say quietly.

“Good, I’m glad.” She smiles a little, then opens her mouth to speak again but stops herself. Chewing her bottom lip, Belle steps into the stall and leans back against the wall.

“Aces, whoever it is, is a coward hiding behind a screen. I think you’re brave for not letting it get to you, coming to school and facing everyone. Really brave,” she finishes.

I can’t help but stare at her. Belle’s eyes burn angrily, as though Aces is attacking her and not me.

Maybe she isn’t doing this for Jamie.

“Thank you,” I tell her. And I mean it. Jamie didn’t care enough to look for me, but she did.

She cocks her head to the side, smile growing.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says again. My heartbeat quickens.

I sniff, turning away from her and focusing on the wall in front of me.

“How did you get the door open?” I ask. As with the rest of Niveus, the bathrooms are all strong dark wood, and the locks look pretty impenetrable.

“I’m really good at picking locks. I learned one year at camp,” Belle tells me just as the first warning bell rings. She steps out from the stall. “Coming?”

I shake my head. Accepting her kindness, going along with it, makes me feel like I’m giving in. To what? I’m not sure. But I know I don’t want to be friends with her.

She nods, curls bouncing. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” I say, hating myself for seeming weak and fragile. People take advantage when you’re weak and fragile.

I reach up, tugging some paper from the dispenser in the cubicle, and dab my eyes. I hold the paper up between my fingers, looking at the black lines of mascara and patches of brown foundation.

I hate this out-of-control mess Aces is turning me into.

I’ve worked too hard for someone to try to make me into a disgrace and a laughingstock.



* * *



Jamie and I haven’t spoken since lunch, and now it’s last period, chemistry. While our teacher, Mr. Peterson, goes on about chemical reactions, all I can think of is Aces. Every time a phone goes off, my heart skips a beat and I feel like my insides could spill out if they wanted.

“… when certain chemicals are mixed together, the wrong reaction can take place. For example, we hear about celebrities overdosing all the time. But it’s not necessarily because they take too much of a particular drug…”

Something slides toward me—a note. I open it, looking at Jamie’s messy handwriting: