Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(75)

He shakes his head. “There were so many files, I only saw some of them before the computer switched off, and I could only take those three pictures. It must have been on a timer or something. I don’t know.” He rubs his eyes. “Everything on that computer … It made it seem like everyone’s in on it, that this extends past a couple of people targeting us because they want revenge or don’t like us. It’s … bigger.”

I nod in agreement, feeling numb. Everything makes sense but at the same time, doesn’t. I look back down at the phone. “Who was Dianna Walker 1965?”

“Uh, there was a list of past students—students who I think Aces had targeted … Dianna must have been here in 1965? I didn’t get to look at much of her file, but Aces seemed to have started with her,” he says. “There was a photo … one that was like those … posters of you.”

Wow.

“Have you looked Dianna Walker up? Where she is now?”

He shakes his head, then takes his phone and types her name into the search engine. I watch him scroll for a while, clicking through to different sites, pictures, social media pages, companies, message boards. But there’s nothing. No one who is even a close match to the scant details we have to go on.

“There was another name I saw…” Devon mutters. I look over at the screen as he types in Patricia Jacobs 1975. I watch him search through the results. Rows of text, rows of images scroll past. Patricia Jacobs Niveus, he types next. Patricia Jacobs Aces. Patricia Jacobs Bullying. Patricia Jacobs dropout.

“It’s like they don’t exist,” I say, feeling a dull ache in my chest.

“Yeah,” Devon replies, looking dejected and anxious, as I imagine I do. I don’t even know what to think anymore.

The warning bell rings loudly.

“We’re going to have to go to class, act normal. Let’s meet up at lunch. Morgan Library; we can talk more then, maybe even gather more evidence,” I tell him, trying not to sound as panicked as I feel. I hold back the rest of what I want to say, but I know he’s probably thinking it too.

Aces is about race, and someone powerful at the school has made it their mission to create a group to get rid of me and Devon.

And they’re winning.

I have even more questions than answers, like who that girl really was and how she’s connected to this racist plot. How many people are involved? How far does this go?

Are we safer here, where the masked figures lurk in corners wearing the faces of our former friends behind the plastic, or at home, where it is so quiet and anyone could do anything?

I have one final thought as we exit the lab separately.

This might be our last week at Niveus Private Academy.





29


DEVON

Monday


The bell rings. I’ve done nothing for the whole of first period. I’ve just sat at my keyboard, staring at it blankly, head spinning. I didn’t sleep last night, so I downed a cup of cheap coffee from one of the vending machines, but it just made me more jittery. More anxious.

Terrell called last night to ask how it went, and I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t. I thought Chiamaka should be the first to hear it. It’s messing me up. I feel shaky all the time, like there’s a masked monster behind me, watching my every move.

“Devon?” Mr. Taylor’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I turn to look at him. “I was just about to leave—I have this headache.”

He nods, hesitating before saying, “I noticed you weren’t playing; is everything okay?”

One of the unspoken laws I grew up with was Don’t be a snitch. Even though every part of my body is fighting it, I say, “I feel like a lot’s happening.”

I can feel the hood-me slapping the private school boy seated in this chair around the face, threatening me.

Mr. Taylor isn’t like other teachers, I tell myself. I feel safe around him, and he’s always wanted the best for me. I asked him on Friday if he’d found out who was behind the posters, and he told me that he hadn’t but that he’d be keeping an eye out for me.

“What’s up?” Mr. Taylor pulls out a seat and leans in.

I rub my face. “I think I know who put up those posters. And the people who did that are still spreading rumors around about me and my … friend. I thought I could handle it, but it’s only gotten worse. I think we’re in danger, and I think we need someone to help us stop it before it’s too late.”

I shouldn’t have come in today. What I saw told me that Niveus itself is somehow at the center of this all, but Chiamaka wasn’t answering her phone and I needed to tell her. I should have told her and left, taking her with me.

Instead of using my common sense, I found myself wandering off to music class, like a zombie. I even saw Daniel. He smiled his big handsome smile at me, but all I could see was his name on that list, and him pretending to be nice to me but ruining my life behind my back.

I can’t “act normal” when I know something really fucked up and dangerous is going on. I shouldn’t have listened to her. I shouldn’t have stayed.

The wrinkles on Mr. Taylor’s face bunch up on his forehead. “I was once in high school too. Kids can be horrible, so I can imagine what you’re going through.” Something in his eyes changes; it’s a small flicker, but I notice it. Sympathy, I want to say, but it feels like something different. “Especially with college applications coming up, I know how stressful it can be,” he finishes.