The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious, #2)(14)

“It happened fast,” Stevie said. “Like, today fast. They changed their minds.”

“What? WHAT. Oh my God. . . .”

In the next moment, she had Stevie by the wrist and was pulling her along to the tight circular stairs at the end of the hall. Stevie had a moment of remembrance here—on the day she arrived at Ellingham Academy, the first person she met in Minerva was Hayes Major. He recruited her into carrying his stuff up these cramped, twisting steps. She had been profusely sweating, and he looked so cool and crisp. He kept talking about phone calls he was getting or making to people in LA. And Stevie had no idea why he was telling her about his phone calls because she had not asked and did not care. But that was Hayes all over. All talk about his movie deal and how popular he was, getting people to do his work.

These stairs would always make her think of Hayes.

When Janelle and Stevie knocked on Nate’s upstairs door, all was quiet for a moment. Janelle knocked louder, and eventually the door creaked open.

Nate had pushed all the furniture and all of his belongings up against the walls. His desk chair was upside down on his desk, the bed tipped up to make floor space. On the wooden floor, there was some kind of pattern, a spidery form of blobs and lines made from carefully sliced black masking tape. Nate sat in the center of the web, dressed in faded blue flannel pajama bottoms and a saggy green T-shirt that said I’M HERE BECAUSE MY GRANDKIDS AREN’T GOING TO SPOIL THEMSELVES. His room smelled of a spicy clove supermarket air freshener and a general, light boy stink. It was a warm, strangely welcoming smell.

“Look,” Janelle said, pointing to Stevie. “Look. Look! Look.”

Nate blinked at Stevie, then slowly unfolded his long frame from the ground. His hair had not been cut since his arrival at school, so it was hanging low over his forehead and scraping his neck. He was a few hours behind on a shave, and he scratched at the shadow along his chin. Nate had the same expression Stevie had come to love—vaguely annoyed by everything, except maybe Stevie and Janelle. But for sure everything else.

“Is this a trick?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Not a trick, not a trick,” Janelle said. “She just showed up.”

“Poof,” Stevie added.

“And . . . you’re back?”

“From outer space,” Stevie said.

“What’s it like out there?”

“You don’t want to know,” Stevie replied.

“Nate, she is back—what are you doing?” Janelle said. “She’s back!”

Janelle bounced on the balls of her feet a bit.

“I’m hugging you with my mind,” he replied.

“I’m awkwardly accepting your hug in my mind,” Stevie said. “And what are you doing?”

She pointed to the tape creation on the floor.

“Writing,” he replied.

“With tape? On the floor?”

“It’s a map,” he said, gazing around.

“Of Moonbright?”

“No.”

It was best not to make further inquiries.

Stevie looked down the dark hall to David’s room. There was no light coming from under the door, and no sound at all.

“He’s not home,” Nate said. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe he is. I wouldn’t bother.”

“Come on,” Janelle said. “Let’s get her stuff in.”

As Janelle headed for the stairs, Nate slipped Stevie one of his rare smiles.

“How did you do it?” he asked.

Stevie’s mind flickered back to Edward King and her promise not to speak. It would not help her. It wouldn’t help anyone.

“Magic happens,” she said.

Stevie’s sad pile of belongings had turned up in the common room. Pix gave Stevie the key to her room. As she unlocked the door, Stevie was at first shocked by the dark and the cold of this once-familiar space. When she switched on the light, she heard a moth start bumping confusedly against the shade. The walls were bare, the drawers still half-open from when she had dumped the contents so sadly and unceremoniously the other week. The closet door was half-open as well. It looked like exactly what it was—the scene of a person leaving in a hurry, tears in her eyes.

Between the three of them, they made short work of getting the boxes and bags inside. Stevie opened a garbage bag full of clothes and dumped them out, which made Janelle recoil and run for hangers and a fabric steamer. Nate unpacked her books—something Stevie would never have allowed anyone else to do. Tonight was special, though, and Nate was careful with them, putting them into sensible stacks by genre and type.

“So,” Stevie said, testing the waters again. “Where’s David? You made it seem like he’s out, or something?”

Janelle paused, her hand in the pile of Stevie’s crumpled sheets. She and Nate shared a look.

“Oh, he’s here,” Janelle said.

She let that remark hang in the air for a second.

“Okay?” Stevie said, looking at the two of them. “What does that mean?”

“She means,” Nate said, turning away from the books, “that David has gone full weird.”

“He was always that way,” Janelle said in a low voice.

“Yeah, but now he’s completed his journey. Our little caterpillar has turned into a freaky butterfly.”