Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(58)
Where are you?
A purple plastic tube.—D
There’s no time for sarcasm. We need to make sure our stakeout goes perfectly on Sunday, and I want to update Devon. The janitor said there wasn’t a power outage but that there have been a lot of “weird electrical issues” throughout the school of late, which is why they’re having the maintenance day. It’s not a coincidence, that much I know.
This time next week, I’ll be able to focus on Yale and convince Headmaster Ward to restore my position as Head Prefect. This time next week, I’ll be getting ready for the Senior Snowflake Charity Ball. At Niveus, the Snowflake Ball is the most important event of the year. And it’s not just Niveus students; the headmaster invites the biggest donors and Niveus alumni to watch as the Snowflake King and Queen are crowned—and marked as the students that everyone needs to know as they graduate.
Last year’s Snowflake Queen got into Harvard, with one alum’s very powerful recommendation. That crown could be the thing that gets me a guaranteed spot at Yale.
Why aren’t you in detention?
I got sick.—D
Sure he did.
Well when you’re “better,” we need to visit Morgan Library.
Okay.—D
Boys are infuriating.
The Sunday plan is not perfect yet. I’m still not sure whether coming in at nine in the evening is too early, nine thirty is too close to when they might arrive, or ten o’clock is too late. I’ll pay the janitor, but then what—we roam around the school like people with no scheming bones in their bodies? We need an agreed place to hide that is close enough for us to enter the library soundlessly. We need an easy getaway. And I want proof—visual proof—of whoever sits at that computer. I can do most of it on my own, but I need to know that Richards isn’t going to mess up. Or lie about his health again.
I jump as another text buzzes.
By the way, I think Aces followed me.—D
What do you mean?
Someone in a mask followed me home, I think. They were taking pictures.—D
Are they still following you?
No, I don’t think so. I tried chasing them but they got away.—D
That makes me feel uneasy. If they are following us … then all the more reason we need a solid plan for Sunday.
He better be in tomorrow –
“Hey…,” someone whispers. I look up to see Belle in the doorway, blond curls packed up in a high ponytail and wearing her bright-blue lacrosse uniform. My eyes move down to her bare legs, then away again as I turn, bend over, dip the toothbrush in the bucket filled with soapy water next to me, and proceed to scrub at the nonexistent dirt on a random table.
“Hi,” I say.
Scrub. Scrub.
“Finished practice?” I ask.
“No, just on my way there, actually … Wanted to see if you were here, say hey, maybe avoid Coach and her screaming for a few moments,” she says.
I stop scrubbing, turning to face Belle and her apparently really long legs.
“Glad I can be your break from that.” I watch the door carefully. “If Ward comes in, though, I’m going to tell him you were bothering me,” I say with a smile.
She laughs. “You’d sell me out?”
I shrug. “Maybe, maybe not, depends on how I’m feeling.”
I was sure that saying no to Belle’s The Notebook invite would dampen our new friendship, but she’s here, in front of me, making me all flustered and nervous. It’s almost as if I like her or something, in a more than friends way. But that’s absurd.
Isn’t it?
“And how are you feeling?” she asks, head tilted to the side.
“Tired. It’s like I’m scrubbing away at nothing,” I say, gesturing to the tables.
“Why did you get such a long sentence anyway?”
That’s kind of a funny way to describe it. It basically is a sentence. I’m surprised she doesn’t know why. I assumed everyone would know about another position of lowliness I’ve been forced into.
“Ward thinks Devon and I have been spreading the rumors about each other. That we’re Aces.”
“Who do you think it is?” Belle asks. I pause, considering whether I should share my list of suspects.
“It could be anyone,” I answer. Anyone. I look down. I keep going back to my list, but I just can’t see how any of the people I thought it might be would be capable of doing all of this. “Who do you think it is?”
“Maybe someone jealous of your perfect looks and grades,” she says. My skin burns.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t.
There’s silence for a little while, which is only filled by my scrubbing and sighs, until I hear the sound of Belle’s sneakers as she steps forward, taking a seat on one of the desks in the room.
“I’m kind of in the mood to ditch lacrosse and stay in here with you. Do you have a second brush?”
Why would someone want to clean on purpose?
“I haven’t got a second one … but you can take mine,” I say, holding it out with a smile.
She stares at me with a smirk on her pink lips. Then she places her lacrosse stick on the table and strides over to me, inches away. I’m taller than Belle, with or without these knitted Chloé sock boots, yet I feel small next to her.