Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(70)
Through the small gap, I see Aces pull out the chair in front of computer 17, sit down, cross their legs, and reach for the mouse.
My heart is beating so fast. Chiamaka’s breathing turns shallow.
She sits back against the wall and curls into a ball. Her lips move, but no words come out; she looks so freaked out.
I watch Aces’s legs as they swivel gently in the chair.
Chiamaka sits up slowly, passing me the rope she somehow fit in her hoodie pocket. She’s going to tackle them, and I am going to tie them up, then we’re going to take a photo. Hard, undeniable evidence. We’ll also take pictures of the account and anything they have saved on there. We planned this, but somehow here, in the library, it feels like we’re way ahead of ourselves.
Before I can even catch myself, she’s up and charging toward them.
“Reveal yourself, bitch!” she screams, which I guess is my cue to stand.
Chiamaka pushes the figure onto the floor and tries to remove the mask from their face. A few blond curls slip out from their hood.
I move closer, only slightly. I don’t want to get any blood on Terrell’s hoodie. I hold the rope up, getting ready to jump in and tie their hands.
Chiamaka finally rips the mask off, but instead of holding what I quickly realize is a girl down, she stumbles off the body, visibly trembling. As Chiamaka stares at her, frozen, the girl stands, turns, and rushes away from us.
What the actual fuck?
I throw down the rope and run to the library doors as they swing back toward me, hard, and then I race down the corridor. But there is nothing. No one. No sound of feet or movement in the dark hallway. I can’t even tell which way they went. I walk up to some of the doors of the nearby classrooms, and they’re all locked from the outside.
I stand for a moment, watching and waiting, before I walk back to the library.
“What the fuck, Chiamaka? You let them get away!” I shout as I open the doors again, but she doesn’t even seem to really hear me. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Her face is drained of color, mouth hanging open.
Before I can say another word, she rushes out of the library too.
After all that talk of wanting to take “the bitch” down, Chiamaka bails when the mission needs her most.
As I bend to pick up the rope, my eyes catch the blaring bright screen of computer 17 instead.
I lean in. The girl left the computer logged in to a page with black spades symbols decorating the border.
I sit down and scroll to the top of the page.
ACE OF SPADES SECRET SOCIETY
Generosity, Grace, Determination, Integrity, Idealism, Nobility, Excellence, Respectfulness, and Eloquence.
Aren’t those our school values?
An animation of a smirking guy dealing cards grins at me in the corner. The words Press enter for some fun! appear across the screen, and even though I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack, I press enter. The school values dash across the screen, swirling and spinning, before arranging themselves in a line. Press enter again! the screen tells me, and I do. In a flash, most of the letters disappear, leaving the first letter of each word, like an acrostic.
N
I
G
G
E
R
D
I
E
Cold rushes through me; it feels like someone is walking over my grave.
Nigger die?
The fuck?
There’s an arrow pointing down at the bottom of the screen, so I scroll, heart hammering. A folder comes up titled Checkmate. I double-click, and three more folders appear, labeled Rook, Bishop, and Knight. Chess pieces? I click on Rook, and a short table full of names loads on the page, some I recognize, some I don’t. In one row I spot the name Jack McConnel, a sharp checkmark next to it, and beside that a short sentence I have to reread to make sense of.
Distribution of DR’s messages.
Distribution of DR’s messages.
DR … Devon Richards.
Messages … All the shit Aces has been sending to everyone. The screen blurs and I shut my eyes, squeezing the tears out. Jack’s been sending the messages to people. Jack’s the reason Dre found out about all of this. Jack’s the reason Dre broke up with me. Jack’s the reason I can’t breathe whenever I enter the school.
I wipe my eyes and drag the mouse down, watching as more familiar names appear. Unable to process, I’m numb as I click back and choose the Bishop folder. Like before, there are rows of names, with short sentences detailing more tasks next to each one—all of them checked off. The lists in the files aren’t long enough to be the names of every single person at Niveus, but I recognize a lot of them as students. Anger bubbles inside as I read more familiar names, like Mindy Lion and Daniel Johnson and other people I’ve shared conversations with, sat next to in classes for almost four years. All of them, in on this. This.
What is this?
I come out of Bishop, now hovering over the next folder, Knight, scared of what I might see if I click. The files here seem to be lists of names and vague duties, nothing else. I decide to exit the Checkmate folder altogether, wanting to find more than this. Something that will tell me what the hell is going on. There’s another arrow underneath Checkmate. I scroll and find two more folders beneath.
One labeled The Girls, the other The Boys. I select The Girls first. A list of folders with names and old dates pops up: Dianna Walker 1965, Patricia Jacobs 1975, Ashley Jenkins 1985 … Each folder has a picture of a Black girl. At the end is Chiamaka’s name and her yearbook picture. The same one that was on the posters on Thursday.