19
“What if the teenage FBI program has MB out doing fieldwork again?” Dominic says.
I nearly drop the plate in my hands. A woman across from us in the hotel breakfast buffet line gives us both a strange look. I busy myself piling eggs onto the plate. “What program? And MB? No idea who you’re talking about.”
Dominic looks like he’s dying to roll his eyes but doesn’t. I told him about seeing Miles. I had to tell someone, and he’d been so worried. I also told him Miles was acting strange, but we’ve never talked about why “MB” was at Holden last semester outside of hunting Simon’s killer.
“I know about the honors program at Marshall Academy.” Dominic reaches around me for a doughnut, putting us closer, our heads nearly touching, and he lowers his voice. “And I know about his secret spy parents.”
“Secret spy is redundant.” I shuffle farther down the buffet line and scoop some fruit onto my plate. I have no idea where he got this information from, but I know I can’t confirm it. I won’t be the one to do that. “All I know is that the Becketts have government jobs. Like DMV workers do or the IRS.”
“That night after the cabin in the woods…?” Dominic prompts, and I nod him on. “I went to see MB at the hospital. I was pissed off because I thought he was a cop or a Fed. I told him shit. Personal shit. You know?”
“Yeah, I know.” But really, for Miles and me it was the reverse. It was me who had been let into Miles’s life, offering little in return until only recently.
“So he told me why he was at Holden.” Dominic points to an empty table with two chairs, and we head that way. “Around three in the morning that same night, MB’s dad showed up in my room, freaked me the fuck out, and gave me the talk about being in the circle. Did you get that talk, too? I got the feeling it was a regular thing for them.”
“Uh…yeah.” My talk was more like a weekend vacation full of home-cooked meals and unconditional kindness, but I guess it had its freaky moments.
Dominic slides into the seat across from mine and unrolls his silverware. “What do you think? Could he be on an assignment?”
“I don’t know what he’s doing, but I do know one important thing.”
“What’s that?”
I sigh before saying, “If he needs us to know what he’s doing, he’ll tell us. Otherwise try to put it out of your head. Digging could get him hurt, especially if he’s undercover.”
Dominic gives me a bewildered look. “That is so not an Ellie Ames move. Or are you and MB playing me?”
“In the future I plan to avoid letting anyone else earn my trust. The ethical dilemmas are a nightmare.”
I’m about to take a bite of my eggs, but Harper just texted me a picture, and I set my fork down so I can open it.
“Report cards are in,” I tell Dominic, and then I lean down to scrutinize my grades in true honor-student fashion with butterflies in my stomach and all my second-guessing during final exams replaying.
AMERICAN LIT A+
GERMAN, AP A+
US HISTORY A+
PHYSICS, HONORS A
PHYSICS LAB A+
ALGEBRA 2 A-
PHYSICAL EDUC PASS
UNWEIGHTED GPA 4.61
JUNIOR CLASS RANK 7/132
“Oh my God,” I practically scream, and then I ignore Dominic’s efforts to hush me. “Oh my freakin’ God. How did I pull off an A minus in algebra? That final was impossible, and I had a B plus going into it.”
It becomes clear how loud I’m being when people nearby halt their conversation to look over at us. I drop my phone onto my lap and look up at Dominic. “So how about you? Did you do okay? I know finals week was crazy, and we missed the first review day, but—”
Dominic has suddenly become very interested in his breakfast. His eyes are focused downward, onto his plate, and he shoves in bite after bite of pancakes.
I knew Dominic wasn’t a stellar student, but he looks like someone who bombed finals. “Hey,” I say, getting his attention. “You did good yesterday. With my dad and with the Australian accent, and your performance.”
He looks up. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Definitely.”
“Tell anyone about that performance and…” He points a bite of pancake at me threateningly.
“Right.” I roll my eyes. “Because that would be easy to explain.”
Justice approaches our table with Chantel and Jacob trailing behind her. “Ellie, we need your help.”
“Letters of recommendation? Embellished résumé? Compromising photos of your ex?” I guess because Dominic’s panhandling of my skills to get me on this trip has led to even more classmates asking me to do their dirty work, much of which I have to turn down for ethical reasons. “I’m not writing anyone’s Ellis Island Ancestry paper. I had a hard enough time with mine. And you guys…if your ancestors are from Virginia…well, we know how they paid for labor in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Even I can’t find an honorable spin on that history.”
Justice points an accusing finger at me. “Someone’s been listening to Hamilton.”
“Most of my ancestors were persecuted for being Jewish,” Jacob says.
I pause to look him over. “Okay, I’ll write your paper. Or better yet, you write it and I’ll read it and probably learn something new.”
“Some of my ancestors were Cherokee Indians,” Chantel declares.
I lift an eyebrow. “You know that for sure? Might want to look into it before you go public. Hate to see you in an Elizabeth Warren situation.”
Chantel opens her mouth to argue, but Justice cuts in. “We don’t need anything like that. Just report card gossip. Mary Henley bombed fall semester apparently and fell from number six to fifteen. I’m still number nine. We know one through six, but we’re missing seven and eight.”
“And someone said we should ask you,” Jacob adds.
“Oh yeah?” I look at them and realize my reaction to report card time was nothing compared to my classmates. I guess eleven or twelve years of high-achieving prep-school brainwashing will do that. “Who told you to ask me?”
“Ms. Geist,” Jacob says.
Justice adds, “And Lance.”
“But seriously, can they even rank you?” Chantel asks all snooty. “You haven’t been here very long. You only have two semesters—”
“Two semesters is the minimum required to be ranked at Holden,” Jacob tells her, and she sends a glare that has him snapping his mouth shut.
“Oh please, that’s bullshit,” Justice says to Chantel. “Both of us would be ranked much worse if we only counted this semester’s grades. Junior year is hard.”
Finally the arguments have quieted, and now three pairs of eyes stare at me, waiting. All the report card talk must have gotten to Dominic, because he snatches the phone from my lap—the screen is still on—glances at the picture, and then hands it back to me.
“She’s number seven.” He pushes his chair back and stands. “Planning to be late for the college reception?”
Justice looks at her cell. “Oh shit, we only have one minute.”
While she tugs me from my chair by the uniform sweater, I glance longingly at my plate of breakfast. I’ve only taken two bites. She follows my gaze and then, with a sigh, snatches the muffin from Dominic’s plate and sets it in my hand. The other three are ahead of us, making their way through the hotel lobby and toward one of the ballrooms. I spot Agent Sharp leaning against the front desk, an opened newspaper concealing his face.
I turn away from Sharp and peel the wrapper off my muffin. All these roles I’m playing have majorly cut into my meal times, and I woke up starving this morning and really looking forward to trying out the all-you-can-eat feature of the hotel buffet.
“Who are you going to talk to first?” Justice asks. “I’m thinking Brown and then maybe Columbia…”
I tune her out when I get a look at the ballroom. The center of the room is clear this morning, and instead of round tables, rectangular ones line the room. The tables are decorated with trifold display boards and brochures.
We walk past a booth for Duke University, and Justice wrinkles her nose. “Gross. Ivy League wannabes.”
I guess, when I studied today’s itinerary, I hadn’t thought about what “Reception with Universities” might mean.
“Ellie!” Mr. Lance says, appearing out of nowhere. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
Something that looks a lot like envy crosses Justice’s face, but she conceals it quickly. “I’ll see you in a bit. I’m gonna find Columbia. My dad knows the rep here, and I promised him I’d introduce myself.”
“Yeah, sure,” I tell her, but a stab of guilt hits me. I don’t deserve to be Mr. Lance’s favorite student. I don’t even know how I got this part. I mean, yeah, I’m good at sucking up, but so are most of the students at Holden. In fact I’ve picked up a few ideas from my classmates.
Mr. Lance leads me to the Brown University booth. The man seated behind the table straightens in his chair and holds out a hand. “Eleanor Ames, correct?” Ames. Correct. I shake his hand, feeling like a major poser. “I work in admissions at Brown. Your teacher and I go way back. I heard you might have an interest in our summer enrichment program?”
“Did you?” I glance at my English teacher, who is trying his best to look innocent. “Enriching summers are always a goal of mine.”
“Actually,” Mr. Lance says, “I was hoping you could sell her on the program. Ellie is a rare Holden student without an educational consultant to force-feed her program information.”
The admissions guy lifts an eyebrow, a hint of interest on his face. “Scholarship student?”
“Financial aid,” I clarify, not sure if there’s a difference. I glance around at my classmates, and I’m suddenly aware of how much I blend in today. All of us are always in uniform, but today, Chantel, Justice, and I emerged from our hotel room accidentally having chosen the same white oxford button-down and navy sweater-vest combo. I can’t imagine being in this guy’s job in admissions and having to choose from a pool of seemingly identical students.
“Your grades are good?” the guy asks me.
“She’s ranked seventh at Holden,” Mr. Lance says. “Great practice SAT score. But you know me, I only recommend students who are a great fit for Brown.”
“Thirty-two students recommended by your English teacher,” the guy says. “You know how many were admitted?”
I shake my head.
“All of them.” The guy smiles and points to the empty chair in front of the table, and I sit like an obedient honor student. “So…what do you know about Brown?”
I glance up at the symbol on the display above his head. “It’s part of the Ivy League.”
“True,” he says. “But we’re also the only Ivy League school with a completely open curriculum. No required courses, you choose what you want to study, you can even choose whether or not you want to be graded on your work.”
“Well that doesn’t sound like my mental picture of college at all,” I blurt out, then add, truthfully, “It sounds better.”
“Yes, if you’re the right type of student. Independent learners are what we seek. Not all students can handle the freedom Brown offers.”
I think about this for a moment. “Independent learning has definitely been a large part of my education.” It’d have to be, because lock picking and pickpocketing aren’t exactly part of the Common Core Standards, certainly not a part of Holden curriculum.
“Ellie,” I hear whispered from somewhere to my right. I glance sideways for a brief moment and draw in a quick breath when I see Oscar carefully peering through a staff door off the side of the ballroom.
Oh damn, I had a feeling he’d pop up somewhere.
“Ellie,” he hisses again.
This time Lance notices and gives me an expectant look. “Friend of yours?”
I laugh, hiding the nerves. “He’s from the Belton Academy. Did you know they’re on a field trip here, too? Justice and I met some of them in the workout room yesterday.” I pull something out of my skirt pocket. “I promised to loan him my laminated map of the subways. He’s taking his girlfriend to lunch today during their free time.”
Lance’s forehead wrinkles, probably due to my thousand-words-a-minute speech. “Belton Academy? Not sure I’ve heard of them.”
“It’s in Russia,” I say quickly. I turn to the admissions guy. “Excuse me for a minute.”
On my way to the door Oscar’s hiding behind, I bump into Dominic. I yank the sleeve of his blazer and lead him out of the ballroom.
“I just saw Oscar,” I whisper to him. But there’s no need to tell Dominic. Oscar’s right outside the door. Probably with Agent Sharp following his every move.
“Dude, why do you keep blowing our covers?” Dominic asks him before I get a chance.
Oscar is wide-eyed and worried, his blond hair sticking up in every direction. His clothes are dirty. “Your dad told me to keep an eye on you—”
“Did he?” So much for family trust. Whatever. It’s not like I trust him. Why should I expect trust in return? “And how long have you been keeping an eye on me, Oscar?”
“Just since you got here. He booked me a room on your floor.”
“You’ve been here for a week?” Dominic says.
“Forget that, okay?” Oscar releases a frustrated groan. “I’m not the one you should be worried about. Someone else is following both of you.” He raises his arm, and I realize he’s holding a jacket. The jacket Miles was wearing yesterday. “I finally got him and now I don’t know what to do with—”
Got him? My family doesn’t do violence, but for a moment I imagine Miles’s body lying somewhere and—
“Where is he?” I say before my imagination gets carried away.
“Locked him in my room,” Oscar tells me, looking even more panicked.
I look at Dominic, trying to send him a message telepathically. It’s MB. I’m not sure if he gets the message or not, but he points to the elevator. “Show us.”