Get Even, page 20
The door of his office flew open, banging violently against the wall. “Good afternoon, Father Uberti.”
Bree cringed. How the hell did her dad get there?
“Senator Deringer,” Father Uberti said. A jagged row of sweat beads materialized on his forehead. “I didn’t realize you were in town.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Or you wouldn’t have tried to expel my daughter without due process.”
Father Uberti pointed at Bree like a petulant child placing blame on the playground. “But she hit a student. Punched him in the face.”
“After he threatened her and her friend.” Bree’s dad looked down at her. “Did you feel your physical safety was in jeopardy, Bree?”
Bree put on her best “I’m a victim” face. “Yes,” she said through a sniffle. “I was terrified.”
“That is absolutely not true!” Father Uberti cried.
Bree’s dad remained utterly calm. “Really? Were you there, Father Uberti?”
“Well, no.” The priest smoothed down the shoulder flaps on his capuche. “But I have an eyewitness who says—”
“I’ve spoken to six eyewitnesses,” Bree’s dad said, cutting him off. The sternness in his voice made Bree feel like a naughty five-year-old again. “Six eyewitnesses who state that Rex Cavanaugh, Tyler Brodsky, and Kyle Tanner purposefully sought out John Baggott and my daughter during the lunch hour, cornered them in a confined space, and threatened them with bodily harm unless they confessed to their involvement in a murder.” He strolled to the window and gazed out onto the lawn. “I also understand that these boys operate under your orders. Is that correct?”
“Senator Deringer,” Father Uberti started. His voice shook with a mix of fear and anger. “Perhaps you’re not aware of the situation at Bishop DuMaine, considering how frequently you’re away in Sacramento.”
“I am well-informed of all the goings-on at Bishop DuMaine, Father Uberti. All of them.”
Father Uberti straightened up. “If you’re accusing me of authorizing student-on-student violence, I suggest you contact the Archdiocese directly.”
Bree’s dad glanced sidelong at Father Uberti. “I already have.” He returned his gaze to the manicured front lawn of Bishop DuMaine. “However, I might be willing to withdraw my complaint about your obvious lack of good judgment in this matter, if all charges against my daughter are dropped, and she and her friend John Baggott are protected against any and all retribution in this matter.”
“I . . .” Father Uberti’s mouth worked up and down like a codfish in its death throes. Then he slowly sank back into his chair, defeated.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Bree’s father strode to the door. “Bree? We’re leaving.”
Bree’s stomach dropped as she followed her dad out of the office. She detected the icy tone in his voice, the one reserved for the minority leader in the Senate and for reprimanding his youngest child.
“Dad, I can explain,” she said, as soon as they were clear of the school building.
He didn’t even look at her, just continued to storm toward the car. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“But—”
“Bree!” Bree spun around and saw John jogging toward them across the front lawn of the school. “Bree, wait up.”
Crap. This was not going to go well.
“What happened?” John asked, panting slightly. “What did F.U. do?”
“Nothing,” Bree said quickly. “It’s okay.” She glanced at her dad, who had turned his critical eye on John. She could practically see the judgment telegraphed across his face as he registered John’s jet-black hair and his beat-up Doc Martens.
“Oh,” John said. Then he quickly turned to Bree’s dad. “Senator Deringer, I’m John Baggott. What happened today wasn’t Bree’s fault at all. She was trying to help me and . . .”
Bree kicked John’s foot with the toe of her boot. “Shut up,” she mouthed.
“John Baggott,” her dad said. “You called me this afternoon to inform me of the situation at lunch, correct?”
“Yes,” John said. He swallowed, then added, “Sir.”
Bree’s jaw dropped. “You called my dad?”
“And you’re the boy my daughter sneaks into the house through the servants’ entrance.”
Bree groaned.
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you dating my daughter?”
“No!” Bree said quickly. Sheesh, why did everyone think they were dating?
Her dad looked from Bree to John and back. “I see. Well, understand this, both of you. Today was the last time I intervene on your behalf. I’ve given you nothing but the best advantages in life, Bree, but I will not continually bail you out and become the laughingstock of California parents. Next time, you’re on your own.”
“Fine,” Bree mumbled. And she meant it. She’d never ask for his help again.
“I understand, Senator,” John said.
“Very well, then.” Bree’s dad grabbed her by the arm and escorted her to the passenger door of his SUV. “Nice to finally meet you, John.”
THIRTY-NINE
BY THE NEXT MORNING, BREE’S FIGHT WITH REX WAS FRONT-PAGE news. Olivia wished she’d been there to see the look on Rex’s face when a girl kicked his ass.
It was hard to hide. Even sporting a pair of Ray-Bans, Rex’s left eye was a disturbing mix of purples and reds, and the swelling hadn’t completely gone down yet.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t spend too much time fantasizing about Rex’s humiliation. Olivia had other problems to deal with. Like the mysterious envelopes. A cheating scandal and a photo of Kitty with some random chick—what did they have to do with her? Absolutely nothing, as far as Olivia could tell.
But after the blowup at the DGM meeting the other night, Olivia realized just how vulnerable she was. One of the girls could turn on her at any moment. Maybe whoever had sent her the clues was trying to warn her? He or she clearly thought the information was important, but Olivia had no idea why.
Thankfully, she knew someone with a talent for ferreting out information.
She found Ed the Head at lunch, lurking in the courtyard outside the boys’ gym.
“Olivia,” he said with an exaggerated frown. “I’m all out of Ding Dongs today.”
Olivia shook her head. “I’m not here for a fix.”
Ed the Head arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I need some of your, um, other services.”
A wide grin swept across his face, crinkling his eyes into thin slits. “Olivia, baby doll. So word of the Head’s love machine has finally reached your ears?”
“Huh?”
Ed the Head placed his hand over his heart. “I’m honored, truly. A fox like you coming after me? It’s the chance of a lifetime.”
“Have you lost your—”
He held up his hand for silence. “Wait! I want to savor this moment.” Ed the Head closed his eyes and bobbed his chin back and forth as if dancing to an imaginary techno track.
Olivia cocked her head. “Really?”
Ed the Head opened his eyes and sighed. “That was magical. However, I’m sorry to disappoint, but the Head’s heart is already engaged. I wouldn’t want to lead you on.”
“Stop!” Olivia cried. “You’re making my stomach hurt.”
“I’ve got some Tums in here somewhere. I’ll sell them to you retail.”
Why could he never engage in a normal conversation? Olivia shook her head and tried to refocus. “I need your help.”
Ed opened his mouth to respond, but his attention was caught by something behind her. His face instantly lit up. “Margot!” he cried. “Hey, why are you running away?”
Olivia turned slowly. Margot had stopped in her tracks, hesitating between fight and flight.
“I’ve been looking for you all day,” Ed said.
Margot reluctantly walked toward them. “I’ve been around.” She studiously avoided Olivia’s eyes.
“Do you know Olivia?”
“I know who she is,” Margot said.
Ed the Head laughed. “Right. Who doesn’t? Anyway, I just wanted to confirm that we’re still on for Sunday night. I can pick you up around seven? Your parents might want to meet the future son-in-law.”
Margot’s eyes grew wider and wider during Ed’s speech, until Olivia was afraid they were going to pop right out of her head. “I can’t go Sunday night.”
“What? But we had a deal!”
Margot winced. “I know. I’m sorry. I can do any other night but Sunday.”
Ed the Head eyed her. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Maybe we could—”
But Margot had already turned on her heel and was scurrying down the hall as fast as her legs could carry her.
So Ed the Head asked Margot on a date? How freaking adorable was that?
“Okay,” Ed said, staring after Margot. “What can I do for you, Olivia? Apparently, I’m free Sunday night if you need a date.”
“Not a chance,” she said clearly, leaving no room for innuendo. “I need your detective skills. I have a photo and I need help figuring out—”
“A photo?” he asked. “You too?”
“What do you mean, me too?”
Ed the Head shrugged. “You’re the second person who’s asked me to help them with a mysterious photo.”
The second person?
“You got it on you?” he asked.
Olivia slipped the manila envelope out of her bag and placed the photo in his hand.
Ed the Head immediately flipped the photo over and examined the back side. “Weird.”
“Um, the image is on the front.”
Ed the Head ignored her. “Same photo paper.”
“Same as?”
He turned back to the image on the front and held it close to his face, studying it intently. “Interesting.”
Olivia’s patience was wearing thin. “Look, can you help me or not?”
Ed the Head smiled. “You haven’t told me what you want.”
That’s because I don’t know. “I need to know who it is,” she said.
“Kitty Wei, our student body vice president.”
“I know that,” Olivia snapped.
“And Barbara Ann Vreeland,” he continued. “Former captain of the junior varsity girls’ volleyball team, kicked out of Bishop DuMaine as part of the grade-fixing scandal two years ago.”
As soon as Ed the Head recited her bio, Olivia realized where she knew her from. The barista at the Coffee Clash.
Ed the Head beamed at her. “Anything else?”
“I wonder what it means?” Olivia mused more to herself than to him.
“It means you owe me ten bucks,” he said.
Olivia sighed. “I need more information.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . .” Olivia’s mind raced. “Like how Kitty might be connected to the grade fixing,” she heard herself say. It was the only reason someone would have sent her both the article and the photo.
Ed the Head nodded. “Twenty bucks. Unless you have another form of payment in mind?”
Olivia was starting to think asking for Ed the Head’s help was a bad idea. “You know what? Never mind.” She snatched the photo out of his hand. “I’ll take this to someone else.”
“Really? Who?”
She blurted out the first person who popped into her head. “Margot Mejia.”
Ed the Head’s eyes grew wide. “That would be interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because that other photo I told you about? It came from her.”
FORTY
OLIVIA STARED AT ED THE HEAD AS IF HE’D SPOKEN IN tongues. It took her brain several seconds to grasp his meaning.
“Are you telling me that Margot got an envelope like this with a photo in it?”
Ed the Head flashed his braces. “That’s exactly what I’m—”
He hesitated and flitted his head back and forth, like a hawk who’d been alerted to prey. “Do you hear that?” he whispered, even though they were utterly alone.
Olivia listened, expecting to hear sirens or screaming or something violently horrible, but all she heard was the wind rustling through the elm tree in the middle of the courtyard.
“What am I supposed to be hearing?” Olivia asked.
“Sh!” Ed the Head hissed. His eyes scanned the sky, then his head began to bob up and down rhythmically. “Bah. Bah. Bah bah, bah bah,” he chanted. Then louder. “Bah. Bah. Bah bah, bah bah. Bah. Bah. Bah bah, bah bah.”
Olivia thought Ed the Head had finally lost his mind, until she heard a faint cheer in the distance, like a crowd at a sporting event.
“What is that?” she asked.
“That, my darling Olivia, is the sound of public uprising. And where there is social unrest, there is money to be made.” He bolted from the courtyard. “To the Bat Cave!”
Olivia had to jog to keep up with Ed the Head as he wove through the hallways. The chant got louder and louder with every step they took, and positively exploded the moment they burst into the quad.
Ed the Head stopped short. “Holy shit.”
The amphitheater at the far end of the quad was packed with students, some holding signs with slogans like “’Maine Men = Gestapo” and “Down with Uberti!” Others punched their fists in the air to articulate the beats of their chant. “Hey! Ho! ’Maine Men must go!” they cried in rhythmic unison. “Hey! Ho! ’Maine Men must go!”
And smack in the middle of the stage, megaphone in hand as she led the rally, was Mika Jones, with her best friend, Kitty Wei, by her side.
Holy shit indeed.
Kitty stood stiffly next to Mika, a tight smile plastered on her face, while her friend engaged the crowd.
“Are you tired of their reign of terror?” Mika cried into the megaphone.
“YEAH!” the crowd answered.
“Are you tired of bag searches?”
“YEAH!”
“And interrogations?”
“YEAH!”
“And bribes to get us to turn on each other?”
“YEAH!”
“Can I get a ‘hellz yeah’ on that one?”
“HELLZ YEAH!”
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
So much for keeping a low profile.
Mika handed the megaphone to Theo, who started up the chant with as much if not more enthusiasm than Mika.
“This is pretty amazing,” Kitty shouted above the cheers.
“I’m just tired of the bullshit,” Mika said. “Seeing people like Theo get hurt. DGM made me think that I could be doing more to help people.”
Kitty wanted to hug her. DGM had inspired the protest, had galvanized a movement toward tolerance and freedom. Never in her wildest dreams did Kitty think people would actually be influenced by DGM, but this rally? This was proof. DGM may have been in a shit ton of trouble, but they were doing the right thing.
“Break it up! Break it up!”
A swath of blue shirts forced their way through the sea of students that inundated the quad. Right in the middle of them, his bald head the color of an overripe tomato, was Coach Creed.
The crowd fell silent as he approached the stage, less out of respect and more from curiosity.
“By the authority of Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School,” Coach Creed began, spittle flying from his mouth in all directions, “I demand that you cease and desist this illegal gathering and submit yourselves for punishment.”
Power had clearly gone to his head, and Kitty was seriously beginning to question Coach Creed’s mental stability.
“We’re exercising our First Amendment right to free speech!” Mika cried. The crowd roared in agreement.
Creed leaped onto the stage and got right up in Mika’s face. “There are no rights at this school!”
“You can say that again,” Kitty said without thinking. She didn’t even realize the words had come out of her mouth until Coach Creed swung his sweaty face in her direction.
“Traitor!” he growled. “You are a traitor!” He stuck his index finger right in her chest. “I’ll have you impeached for this, Wei!”
Donté appeared out of nowhere, wedging his body between Kitty and Coach Creed. “Step off, Coach,” he said, his voice steely.
“You’re interfering with the law!” Coach Creed roared. His bald head shifted hues from red to burgundy to purple.
“And you’re out of order,” Donté replied. “You need to get out of here before someone gets hurt.”
Coach Creed’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Are you threatening me, Greene?” Without waiting for an answer, Coach Creed lurched forward and drove his arms into Donté’s chest.
“Donté!” Kitty screamed. But she couldn’t even hear her own voice over the melee. A shoving match had broken out between the ’Maine Men and the students gathered at the rally. Bodies flew as each side traded shoves. Kitty lost sight of Donté and Coach Creed in the chaos.
A blare of sirens floated above the shouts and cries of the brawl, and suddenly dozens of uniformed police officers swarmed the quad.
“Everybody, calm down!”
The fighting ceased as the police broke through the crowd; bodies grew still, voices fell silent. All except one.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Coach Creed screamed. “I’ll do it! I swear to God!”
Donté held Coach Creed at arm’s length, desperately trying to avoid the punches Coach was throwing at him. Sergeant Callahan vaulted onto the stage and hauled Coach Creed away. “Stand down!” he yelled, throwing an arm in Creed’s face.
Coach Creed pointed at Donté. “Arrest this traitor!” he yelled. “By the authority of the ’Maine Men.”
“You don’t have any authority here,” Sergeant Callahan said. Kitty could tell by his voice that the officer’s patience was wearing thin.
“This is my school,” Coach Creed said, jabbing his thumb at his chest. “Father Uberti has given me the authority to use the ’Maine Men as I see fit.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Dick?” Father Uberti bolted up to the stage. He wrung his hands in front of him. “Sergeant Callahan, thank you for getting here so quickly. I think the situation has gotten out of control.”
