Walk Among Us, page 6
“Incredible,” Finn breathed, his eyes not leaving the page. “Why—can I ask why you drew her like this?”
“It’s just—how she came to me,” Clea said in a small voice. “I don’t want to say more than that. I know she’s your friend. Or your more-than-friend. Or whatever.”
Finn’s hand tightened on the edge of the sketchbook, and his gaze finally moved up to Clea. She felt like he was staring into her soul.
“It’s okay to be honest,” he said gently. “I’d like to know, in case she’s deterring people from our cause, because that’s the most important thing.”
“More important than your sort-of-girlfriend?” Jade asked skeptically.
“Can I see?” Brendan asked, and Finn looked to Clea for affirmation. At a loss, Clea nodded, and Finn passed the book to him.
“Whoa,” Brendan said, holding the sketch up, facing Clea, and gesturing at it. “Did you draw her as, like, a vampire?”
“What was your first clue?” Jade asked sarcastically, cupping her shivering hands around her steaming cup of tea. “The fangs or all the blood?”
Clea flushed and shrugged as she reached out to take the sketchbook back from Brendan. He let her, and she stuffed it back in her bag. “She just kind of has that . . . feel about her, you know? I don’t know. It just came from my mind. Don’t read too much into it.” She gave Finn a desperate look. “Please don’t tell her about this. I’m really embarrassed.”
“Why?” Brendan asked. “It’s a really cool drawing. Can you draw me as the amphibian guy from The Shape of Water?”
“And me as a werewolf?” Jade asked.
“And me as a zombie?” Finn asked with a grin, but in her mind, Clea still had the look on his face the moment he saw the drawing of Ingrid—had that been fear that flashed across his face?—and she could only force a smile in return.
They talked a little bit more after that—about this, that, and the other; where they’d come from and what they were studying—until Finn finally came back around to the point.
“You three, I’m so happy to have met such bright kids,” Finn said cheerfully.
“Kids?” Jade scoffed. “You’re a grad student. What are you, twenty-three?”
“Actually, I’m twenty-six, but I feel like there aren’t that many years between us. You’re all so mature.”
Jade rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Grandpa.”
Brendan burped as if on cue. The rest of them snickered, and even Finn smiled.
“If you’re twenty-six, did you take a couple gap years before grad school?” Clea asked.
“Many of us go to school a little later in Europe,” Finn explained. “After high school, a lot of students choose to take a few years off to work before we decide whether or not to go to university and what we want to study.”
“Wish it was like that over here,” Brendan grumbled into his coffee, “instead of making us choose what we want to do for the rest of our lives when we’re eighteen. I’m still not even sure I’m on the right track.”
“Tell me about it,” Clea said with a sigh.
“There’s always time to change,” Finn said, giving her a significant look. “It’s never too late to turn things around, Clea. And you’re all so very young. You have plenty of time.” He held up his laptop. “I very much appreciate your help on all this. If you’d have time, I’d love to have all the emails sent out within the next week or so.”
“I’m just not sure what our answers the other night have to do with this,” Jade said all of a sudden. The suspicion was back in her voice. “With the emails thing, I mean.”
“Your answers told me that you wouldn’t mind doing something for other people,” Finn said, stowing the laptop back in his bag, “without any credit. In this case, asking for donations for the less fortunate, on behalf of a charity. They’ll never know it was you, but you will have done some good in the world.” Again, he seemed to be looking at Clea more than the other two. “I do believe you might enjoy it. In fact, I’m not sure there’s anyone who’s better suited to this sort of work.”
Clea felt her face heat up, and she looked away.
“I guess that makes sense,” Jade said reluctantly, and Clea and Brendan nodded.
When the four of them left the coffee shop, Finn waved goodbye and disappeared down the side street where he said he’d parked his car. As Clea and Jade headed for the bus stop, Brendan said from behind them, “Hey guys, I drove, too—do you guys want me to drive you back to campus?”
Jade and Clea looked at each other. Clea was about to say yes, but then she remembered that Jade would be getting dropped off first since she lived on South Campus, which would leave Clea alone in the car with Brendan for longer than she was comfortable with.
“But freshmen aren’t allowed to have cars,” Jade said.
Brendan shrugged. “I’m a commuter student. That’s kind of how I ended up at the first Common Cause meeting. . . . It’s kind of hard making friends with other freshmen when you don’t live in the dorms, y’know?”
“It’s hard making friends, period,” Jade agreed.
“I mean, I’m cool taking the bus,” Clea said. “Thanks, though.”
Jade looked like she wanted to argue, but she hesitated a moment before shaking her head. “Yeah, I’ll just take the bus with Clea. Thanks for asking, though.”
“Okay, suit yourselves,” Brendan said and started walking away.
As Jade and Clea made their way to the bus stop, Jade said abruptly, “I could’ve used the ride, you know. I’m having a high pain day and the bus stop is a few blocks from my dorm. But I didn’t want you to ride the bus alone.”
Clea stiffened. Jade was leaning more heavily on her crutch than usual. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”
“You were really quick to turn him down, and I’ve been through worse, so I didn’t want to make it into a big thing,” Jade muttered as the bus pulled up. “I know it’s hard, but maybe stop and think for a minute how your anxiety-induced decisions affect your chronically ill friends, huh?”
“Chronically . . . ill?” Clea asked feebly as they boarded the bus, swiped their IDs, and sat down. “What do you mean? Is that why—?”
“Yeah.”
“I never wanted to ask.” Clea nodded at the crutch. “I figured you’d just tell me it was none of my business.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong. But I feel like this should’ve been enough of an indicator for you that maybe walking is a little difficult for me.” She held up her crutch pointedly.
Clea was abashed but also a little bit angry. “How was I supposed to know you’re having a . . . having a ‘high-pain’ day if you don’t tell me? Invisibility is my superpower, not mind reading. You’ve gotta tell me these things. I feel like I’ve been pretty open about my anxiety and depression. You think I’m gonna judge you?”
Jade let out a dark laugh, then sighed. “I guess you’re right. It’s just hard to talk about. People either think I’m faking or exaggerating or just being lazy. . . .”
“You’re preaching to the literal choir,” Clea said.
They sat in comfortable silence the rest of the way, and Clea got off at Jade’s stop, even though it would mean a longer walk for her back to North Campus. The night was especially cold, but Clea found she didn’t mind it.
“I’ve got more health problems than I can count,” Jade said out of nowhere when they were almost at her dorm. “I literally had to pester the doctors into diagnosing me with fibromyalgia. They wouldn’t listen to me. Said I was too young.”
“That sucks,” Clea said and meant it. “My parents thought my depression was just teen angst. I begged for years to go to a therapist and get on meds, and even then, they wouldn’t take me until my school counselor recommended it.”
“Looks like we have more in common than I thought,” Jade said with a crooked smile as they approached the door of her dorm. “Well—see you Monday at the next meeting?”
“See you,” Clea said, and as Jade disappeared inside and Clea turned to begin her long trek north to her own dorm, she remembered her assignment from Finn. Felt her face heating up as she remembered his words.
“They’ll never know it was you, but you will have done some good in the world. I do believe you might enjoy it. In fact, I’m not sure there’s anyone who’s better suited to this sort of work.”
Clea quickened her pace, eager to find out if he was right, and wanting more than anything to believe him.
Chapter Five
When Clea got back from class on Monday afternoon—after barely leaving her room all weekend, composing emails for Finn’s campaign deep into the night, forgetting to shower or eat—she stood in the doorway of her dorm and stared, her backpack falling limply at her side where she’d began to sling it off her shoulder.
Someone had dumped an entire burrito on her pillow, unwrapped and facedown, the sour cream and taco sauce and oil from the ground beef soaking into the fabric of her pillowcase.
And all she could do was stand there, shoulders shaking, willing herself not to break down.
Don’t cry, she thought, stiffening her upper lip as tears welled in her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
She had been up all night to finish emailing her list of donors, and the zeal of doing something had not worn off by morning, so she’d decided to go to her freshman English composition class and Psychology 101. However, she’d almost fallen asleep in the latter and had been looking forward to going back to her dorm for a nice long nap before her Common Cause meeting.
Still trying fervently to hold back her tears, Clea shuffled into the room, kicked her backpack inside, closed the door behind her, and took the pillowcase off her pillow, maneuvering such that she turned it inside out around the burrito and used it as a sort-of bag for its contents. Beneath it, her heart sank at the sight of the grease and condiments soaking into her actual pillow.
She picked up the pillow in one hand, the dripping pillowcase in the other, and went down the hall to throw them in the trash room. Willed herself to keep it together in case she ran into Hannah—or worse, Delaney, the likeliest culprit of this cruelty, although Hannah must’ve been a willing bystander to have let her into the room to do it.
The smell of burrito still lingered in her room when she returned, making her stomach churn unpleasantly. When was the last time she’d eaten? She couldn’t say. The smell of food made her sick, but she knew she should probably eat something before the meeting tonight.
As if on cue, her phone buzzed in the pocket of her parka, and she pulled it out and read the umpteenth text from Jade she’d received since Friday morning:
Clea. Please respond. Please tell me you didn’t send those emails.
Her heart lurched in her chest, but she didn’t reply to the text.
The first had arrived Saturday morning, and the text was so long that it almost took up Clea’s entire screen: Hey, so I looked up some of these people on the donor list before I started this project. Some of them really are superrich, but others, they’re just regular-ass people, and the info he has on them in these profiles for us to go off is like . . . really invasive. So I would maybe hold off on doing his “assignment” and we can talk to him about it on Monday, k?
Then, after Clea hadn’t responded, she’d added: Look them up if you don’t believe me.
She hadn’t. She’d just kept writing and hitting send.
And then, Sunday morning: Clea. Just talked to Brendan. He clicked the link that Finn told us not to click, and it crashed his computer.
And Sunday afternoon: Listen, this is really messed up. Brendan did some more digging on his parents’ computer at home. Some of the “donors” on this list are like sex offenders. Some have criminal records and a history of domestic violence. Some have been arrested for other stuff, too, like robbery and assault. What the hell is Finn playing at, asking people like them to donate to a shelter? This is so fishy.
Clea? Hello?
Clea still had not looked up any of the donors herself, regardless of Jade’s warning. Nor had she clicked the link, out of respect for Finn telling her not to—and in case Jade was right.
She just kept writing and sending emails. She didn’t know what made her do it. At first it had been because Finn wanted her to do it, and it was the first time someone trusted her with such a task, thought she was the only one who could pull it off, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.
But then, as the texts kept rolling in from Jade, another feeling took over: a kind of sick thrill. It was clear to her at this point that Finn had lied to them, and the thought made her a little uneasy. It even crossed her mind that what she was doing was illegal.
Yet she didn’t stop. Because maybe the other “regular” people on the list were like Delaney—not necessarily criminals but evil in their own special way.
And if any of her recipients were dumb enough to click the link, maybe they deserved what was coming to them.
Karma.
And that was enough to make Clea keep going.
So, having not slept and not having anything better to do, Clea went to one of the dining halls and forced some food down, wandered around campus as night fell, and finally made her way to the Community Space.
She was the first one at the meeting, and instead of lingering outside and seeing who else showed up, she went right in. She was the first one there—the only one, it seemed, besides Finn, who was setting up an array of cocoa and doughnuts that, compared to the past two weeks, seemed significantly reduced.
“Clea!” Finn said. “I’m glad you’re here first. I’d like to have a word with you.”
“Um, sure,” Clea said, putting down her backpack and jacket in her usual spot at the table she shared with Jade.
Finn bounded over to her, grinning. He was wearing a dark flannel button-up and black skinny jeans, his long hair pulled back in its short ponytail.
“Clea, your emails are brilliant,” he said. He pressed his hands flat on the table and leaned in toward her. “Yours have had more clicks than even mine. I knew you could do this.”
“Th-thanks,” she stammered, but felt pleasantly warm at the compliment.
“You wouldn’t mind taking over Brendan’s portion of the emails, would you?” he asked. “I’m afraid he had a bit of trouble.”
Clea nodded mutely. “I—I mean, of course I will.”
He grinned at her. “I very much appreciate it.”
“I—of course.” She looked around. “Where’s Ingrid?”
“Ah.” Finn stood up straighter and took his hands off the table, steepling his fingers. “I . . . I’m afraid Ingrid and I have gone our separate ways.”
The warmth Clea had been flooded with a moment before turned to a sudden chill. “Oh. That’s . . . I’m sorry. Can I ask why?”
Finn shrugged. “It just wasn’t working out. It happens sometimes, you know?”
Clea nodded, even though she didn’t know. She was saved from responding any further by Jade entering. She stopped just inside the door, her eyes moving from Finn to Clea and lingering on the latter with annoyance.
“Jade, welcome,” Finn said with a smile. “Your emails were wonderful. I’ve just asked Clea to take over the rest of Brendan’s. He won’t be joining us any longer.”
Clea’s eyebrows show up. Jade sent emails, too? After telling me not to?
But now Jade wouldn’t look at her. Instead, she glowered at Finn.
“Yeah, because his computer is busted from clicking on that link,” Jade said, giving him an accusatory look. “Just what were you having us do, Finn?”
Finn studied her for a long moment before a slow smile spread across his face. “It’s actually quite simple, Jade. I was giving you the tools you needed to punch up, via a low-risk operation from the safety and comfort of your own home.”
“Under false pretenses,” Jade shot back.
“Yes and no. It’s easy to say you want to make a difference. But I’ve found that many people aren’t willing to do what needs to be done. They just need a little push in the right direction.” Finn mimed giving them a nudge.
“By lying to us,” Jade said bluntly.
Finn still hadn’t lost his cheerful demeanor. “Well, I take it you looked up some of the people you were emailing. It seems to me that the reason you’re most upset is that I did lie to you, and I apologize. I’m just not sure you would’ve done it otherwise. . . .” His smile took on a slightly sharp edge. “I see now that I was wrong. Tell me, did you send your emails before or after you realized it?”
Jade shifted on her crutch and gave him a scathing look but said nothing.
“Ah. And there it is.” Finn pulled up a chair and sat down across from Clea, and Jade sat down next to her, still glaring at him.
“I’m sorry. I got all your texts,” Clea said to Jade without looking at her. “I just . . . didn’t want to stop.”
Jade pursed her lips. “Neither did I. The more I found out about the people on the list, the more I wanted to do it. But the link . . .” She looked at Finn. “What does it do?”
“Let’s just say that clicking the link still results in donations to the domestic violence shelter,” Finn said, and then added after a moment, “involuntarily.”
Clea felt a bit sick. Sending emails was one thing—but stealing?
Jade seemed to feel the same way. “But—can people track the emails back to us? To our computers?”
“Could we get in trouble?” Clea asked apprehensively, since this hadn’t previously occurred to her and the thought of the police showing up at her dorm and leading her away in handcuffs, with Hannah looking on in pity and Delaney cackling in the background, was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat.
Finn shook his head. “The email logins I gave you are encrypted. There’s no way to trace it, I assure you.” He raised his eyebrows at her and grinned. “Does that mean you’d be willing to take on more assignments like this?”
Clea and Jade looked at each other, neither quite knowing what to say, but they were saved from answering when some of the Awkward Boys showed up and headed straight for the doughnuts, talking among themselves. Finn leaped up to greet them.
