The Infamous Frankie Lorde 1, page 8
A big red bull’s-eye would’ve made him stand out less.
“Nah,” I said, trying to act as nonchalant as I could and hoping he hadn’t seen what I’d been looking at before I’d shut it down. “Just killing time before class.”
“Really?” Ollie asked, cocking his head to the side curiously. “ ’Cuz I thought maybe you were doing some recon work on your next mark.”
Entry Eighteen
Wait—what?
I blinked as I wondered if I’d heard him right.
“What did you say?” I asked him slowly.
“Just that I thought maybe you were doing some research for your next job,” Ollie said, shrugging. “That is why you were looking up Christian Miles, right? He’s filthy rich. Loads to take there.”
My head was swimming. I wasn’t even sure where to begin processing what was coming out of Ollie’s mouth. Did he know who I was? How did he know who I was? Did everyone know who I was? Was I really so out of my element here that I’d already totally given myself away? Was Ollie actually some evil genius mastermind sent here to thwart my every move?
“Not that I’m judging. I mean, if you did rob him, he’d totally deserve it,” Ollie said when I still didn’t respond. “The guy’s the worst.”
I closed my mouth, which had dropped open at some point during Ollie’s speech.
What was I supposed to do now? Interrogate him? Couldn’t exactly do that in a room full of kids. Threaten him? I didn’t even know what he had on me yet, so that might be jumping the gun.
That meant I had to go with old trusty:
Deny, deny, deny.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, snatching my backpack off the desk and walking away from the evidence as quickly as I could.
I was betting on one of two things happening after this: either Ollie was going to follow me, in which case I could isolate him from the rest of the school’s population and get all the info I wanted out of him without anyone else eavesdropping. Or he’d leave me alone and forget everything he’d seen.
I wasn’t sure which I wanted to have happen more.
But after I slammed out of the library and into the crowded hallway, I heard someone behind me and knew Ollie had chosen door number one.
I headed straight for the nearest exit and took it, relieved to see that it led straight outside and to an area on the side of the school that was barely inhabited.
Nobody would bother us here.
“Hey, Frankie, wait up,” Ollie called out as I continued to walk across the grass toward the soccer field.
When I was sure nobody was around, I turned abruptly and stalked back toward Ollie, who was clearly struggling to keep up with me.
“Who are you?” I asked finally, putting my face in his menacingly.
He took a small step backward. “Um, I’m…Ollie?” he answered, confused. “Don’t you remember? From yesterday? I was your welcoming—”
“Committee, yeah, I know that,” I said, blowing past this. “I mean, who are you? How do you know…what you know?”
“Oh,” Ollie said, realization registering on his face. “That.”
“Yeah,” I echoed. “That.”
“I’ve sort of known who you were since the first time I saw you,” he said sheepishly. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look shy. He was usually so absurdly confident that it was weird seeing him this way and made me wonder if I’d underestimated him from the very beginning.
“How do you know who I am?” I asked slowly, my mind starting to whir with all the possibilities. Was he a spy recruited by the government to follow me and make sure I didn’t continue my dad’s legacy? Was he a rival thief trying to take me down?
“Uh, I’m sort of what you might call…an entertainment fanboy?” Ollie admitted finally, with a goofy smile.
This answer had not been anywhere on my list, and it showed on my face.
“A what?” I asked.
“An entertainment fanboy?” he repeated. “Like, I’m totally into all things entertainment and celebrity and infamy. Well, one of my biggest fascinations is true crime. It’s really having its moment right now. I love to watch all that TruTV stuff and binged Making a Murderer and all those E! True Hollywood Stories of famous people who commit crimes…”
I started shaking my head like it might help make sense of what he was saying. When Ollie noticed this, he tried to get back on track.
“I was obsessed with your dad’s trial!” he blurted out finally.
This revelation nearly threw me for a loop, but I forced myself to remain calm.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said coolly, though I could feel myself starting to sweat.
Ollie raised an eyebrow at me. “Frankie, I know my true crime. And what your dad did was the crime of the century,” he said, bluntly. When I didn’t immediately confirm his suspicions, he sighed loudly and looked toward the sky. “They’re not supposed to show kids in the news—for their privacy and safety and all—but I saw you. In the coverage. You were there every day. Sitting in the courtroom, watching it all happen.”
I swallowed hard.
The gig is up, I thought.
“Look, your hair wasn’t this boring brown color you’ve got going on now and the bangs are new—love them, by the way—but I never forget a face that’s been on TV,” he said matter-of-factly. “I knew who you were the minute I saw you, Frankie Lorde. What I’ve been trying to figure out is why you’re here.”
“My uncle lives here,” I said, feeling like it was a safe enough response. I still wasn’t admitting anything specific, but both of us knew he’d figured me out.
I began to walk away.
“Are you sure that’s the only reason you’re here?” Ollie pried.
“Pretty much,” I answered.
“So, you’re not here because, oh, I don’t know…this is one of the richest places in the country?” he asked gleefully. “Plenty of people to rob and all.”
I turned to look at him now.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I said stonily. “I’m just a kid, going to school in some stupid little town. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“We both know you’re more than that, Frankie,” Ollie said quietly, closing the distance between us. “All I’m saying is…maybe we could help each other?”
I couldn’t stop myself from busting out laughing.
“How could you possibly help me?” I asked.
“I can help you rob Christian Miles,” he said at last. “And you can tell me all about your dad.”
I looked at him blankly.
“Why do you want to know about my dad?” I asked.
“See, I’m an actor,” Ollie explained quickly. “But I’m sure you could tell that. Anyways, all famous actors have had their big breakout roles. Brad Pitt had A River Runs Through It. For Julia Roberts, it was Pretty Woman. Zac Efron had High School Musical. I really think your dad’s story could be mine.”
“Are you insane?” I asked bluntly. “My dad doesn’t have a story.”
“But he will,” Ollie insisted. “And I want to play him when they make that movie. Or Netflix original.”
“You are crazy,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief and beginning to walk away.
“Look, Frankie,” Ollie said, struggling to catch up to me. “All I’m saying is that I think your dad is wickedly awesome and I want to play him when I grow up. I mean, I think I could do him justice. You know…if I knew all there was to know about him.”
I barely paused before answering.
“No way,” I said.
“But I can help!” he called out. “With Christian Miles. I’ve lived here my whole life, Frankie. I know everything there is to know about this town. And I know him.”
“You know a billionaire?” I asked, looking over my shoulder disbelievingly.
“Like I said, entertainment fanboy,” he said, pointing to his chest.
“Still no,” I said, and continued to walk.
“Don’t you need a partner in crime, though?” Ollie asked loudly. “I mean, with your dad away and all? Who’s gonna have your back?”
I cringed as he mentioned my dad being gone. It was enough to know every day that I was alone, but being reminded of it by a relative stranger? Not fun.
On the other hand, he wasn’t completely wrong.
I’ve never done a job alone before. My dad has always been my partner. We’ve depended on each other. We’ve trusted each other more than anyone else in the world. And this trust has made every job we’ve done easier. There’s been a sort of rhythm to it and we’ve both had our clear roles to play.
So how was I supposed to do this alone? In all the excitement of getting back in the game and going after Miles, I hadn’t thought this part through.
Was Ollie right? Did I actually need a partner to pull this off?
And of all people, was the best person to do this Ollie? Crazy, over-the-top, stand-out-like-a-sore-thumb Ollie?
Then again, who else did I have around here who knew my big secret, had an odd infatuation with Dad and his work, and was willing to get into trouble with me if I gave the say-so?
I groaned and turned back around.
Ollie was already grinning at me, one hand on his hip like he was posing for someone.
“I’m not saying yes,” I said adamantly.
“Okay,” he said, nodding excitedly.
“Let’s see if you can help me on the recon stuff and we’ll go from there,” I said, starting to walk away again.
“I can totally help with recon!” Ollie exclaimed. “I’m gonna be a great sidekick, Frankie. I promise.”
“We’re not superheroes, Ollie,” I said. “More like villains, depending on who you ask.”
I added the last part under my breath.
“Right,” Ollie said.
Then he fell silent. For a second, I thought he’d finally left me alone. But then I heard him start to breathe heavily behind me as he caught up.
“But there are gonna be dope outfits, right?” he asked. “ ’Cuz I can totally do incognito fabulosity.”
I dropped my head into my hands and sighed.
What am I getting myself into?
Entry Nineteen
“Who wants to go first?” Mr. Misaki asked, taking a seat on the edge of his desk and looking out at our class. When nobody jumped up to volunteer, he sighed. “Remember, extra-credit points to those who are willing to read part of their diary entries to the class. And there are more than a few of you who could use it.”
At that, several reluctant hands went up around me.
“Great!” Mr. Misaki said cheerfully, and motioned for a messy-haired boy in the back of the class to join him in the front.
“I only have to read some of it, right?” the boy asked, looking and sounding nervous. “Not the whole thing?”
“Whatever part you think reflects what’s going on in your world right now,” Mr. Misaki said, as if this were an easy thing to do.
“Okay,” the kid said, still sounding unsure. After shuffling through the papers in his hand, he finally stopped on a page and began to read aloud. “When I started writing my fan fic online, I had a total of two followers. And those were just other friends of mine who loved Game of Thrones as much as I did. But as I got more into writing the story about Dany stepping away from the whole war for the throne to open up her own dragon-breeding farm near Dragonstone, my numbers got crazy. Five thousand people have read my story so far and it’s hard for me to keep up with the number of comments I’m getting. I’m even thinking of writing a sequel, bringing in a few of the other characters. The only problem is that I barely have time to write anything after doing all the homework I have for school. When I brought this up to my mom, she said homework comes first. But the way I look at it, people are enjoying my fan fiction more than my teachers are enjoying reading my homework, so…”
The guy looked up from what he was reading and sort of shrugged at Mr. Misaki, like he was expecting confirmation that this was true. After a second, our teacher realized this and sat up straighter.
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Stanfield,” Mr. Misaki said, clearing his throat and giving the boy a warm smile. “I’m quite enjoying your homework assignment right now.”
“Well, yeah, because I’m talking about my fan fiction,” the kid muttered under his breath before escaping back to his seat.
“Well done, Mr. Stanfield,” Mr. Misaki said as he was once again left alone in the front. “I think it’s a universal challenge to figure out how to devote equal time to your daily obligations and to your dreams and ambitions. Very relevant. Very relevant.”
He nodded enthusiastically as he appeared to get lost in thought.
“Okay,” he said, finally snapping out of it. “Next?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Annabelle raise her hand beside me. I wouldn’t have pegged her as someone who would voluntarily read her homework in front of the class—especially given how stupid she’d claimed the assignment was when it was first given—and I certainly couldn’t imagine she would need the extra credit. She was so obviously a straight-A student. Or at least someone who wanted to seem like one. So I was surprised to see her practically skip up to the front of the class once Mr. Misaki had called on her.
She adjusted her paper in her hands and looked up from the words below as if she’d already memorized the whole thing.
“I can’t sit idly by as other students at this school try to tear down the majestic legacy that those who have come before us have so dutifully worked to create,” she said, sounding like she was delivering some grand political speech, rather than reading a personal diary entry.
My forehead wrinkled up as I tried to guess what atrocity she could possibly be talking about. A look around me showed that everyone else appeared to be just as much in the dark as I was.
“What I’m talking about, of course, is the state of fashion at this school. The clothing that a majority of the student body chooses to wear is simply atrocious. Girls mixing florals with stripes. Students shopping at”—Annabelle appeared to nearly gag before finishing her thought—“Target. Guys wearing clothes that were obviously meant for women—where will the madness end?”
As she mentioned her last point, Annabelle looked directly at Ollie. And because she was calling attention to him, the rest of the heads around the room turned too. Ollie just sat there, a blank look on his face, before slowly pulling his Burberry shawl tighter around his shoulders.
“By dressing this way, it’s as if you are literally spitting in the face of every great person who has ever graced these hallways,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “It’s rude, and distracting, and the rest of us shouldn’t be forced to see it. That’s why I’m going to reach out to the student education board and propose we implement a mandatory dress code. Possibly even uniforms. The students at this school need to conform to the norm. Come on, people, be classy, not trashy.”
Annabelle paused for dramatic effect as she finished, then looked over at Mr. Misaki as if for applause. He opened his mouth to comment but then closed it again. It was clear that he was just as confused and mystified by her speech as we were.
I looked over at Ollie, who had grown a little pink in the cheeks, and gave him a sympathetic look before rolling my eyes at Annabelle.
“Well, okay,” Mr. Misaki said, trying to find the words to follow that up. “You’ve given all of us a lot to think about, Annabelle. Thank you for sharing.”
“Somebody has to stand up for what’s right,” Annabelle said before sauntering back to her seat and sitting down primly. Without looking straight at her, I could feel her turn her glare toward me like she was daring me to say something. Instead, I just trained my eyes on my own paper and waited for the bell to ring.
Entry Twenty
“You okay?” I asked Ollie when I saw him in the hallway later that day.
“Sure,” he said nonchalantly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, there was that whole scene in Mr. Misaki’s where Annabelle tried to assassinate your very being?” I offered quietly. “I just thought maybe it had bugged you….”
“If I got bothered every time Annabelle said something stupid, I’d never have time for anything else,” he said bluntly.
“So you’re good?” I asked skeptically.
“Fan-freaking-tastic,” Ollie responded, looking over at me with a forced smile on his face. “Okay, topic change. What’s our next move? Do we need to trail Miles? I have a camera, I can take pictures.”
Despite his possibly fragile state, I dragged him over to the side of the hallway where there were fewer ears listening.
“Dude, you need to be cool,” I whispered. “That means you don’t advertise what we’re doing to anyone who will listen. Got it?”
“Roger that,” Ollie said, and did a little salute.
I rolled my eyes before beginning to walk again. I was headed to the cafeteria. For some reason I was starved today and the hodgepodge of smells wafting from the lunchroom actually smelled good. Visions of hamburgers and French fries and tacos and pizza danced through my head as I thought about all the things I wanted to stuff my face with. Ugh. How far I’d already fallen from my days of eating beef Wellington in the UK and osso buco in Italy. Just another reason attending school in the States was a dangerous idea.
“So where do we start, boss?” Ollie asked again, cutting into my thoughts about food. At least he wasn’t yelling it across the school this time.
“Don’t call me boss,” I said. “And first we have lunch.”
“Right,” he said. “Gotta be fueled up before we go after White Tiger.”
