s I strolled through the halls the next morning, people I’d never met called out a greeting. My probation, it seemed, was officially over.

It wasn’t like Hayden and I were suddenly a matched set, but the truce that started in our room carried over to dinner. Glimpses of the outgoing girl I imagined existed prior to Rose’s death slowly came into view as she became more talkative, and she made a point of including me in the conversation. I’d sat on one side of her, and Quinn on the other. It had been kind of fun.

There wasn’t a set time period for mourning, but pain can only be endured for so long. Then it must be tucked away and revisited only in quiet moments when the wounds aren’t so fresh. At least that’s what my dad once told me.

“Look at you, Miss Popular.” Sam fell into step, grinning all the way.

We’d given up the pretense I wasn’t checking him out at meals. Now he often met my glance with one of his own, usually with a goofy smile or some other silliness.

“I cannot be seen talking to you,” I said with a smile that completely contradicted my words.

He danced ahead a step, so we faced each other for a moment. “Even if it’s to tell me what it is you don’t hate today?” His expression said he, too, was remembering our walk under the stars.

“No,” I said, laughing. “I’d like to be able to sleep at night without worrying about my roommate shaving my head or something.”

“What if I talked to her? Maybe if I tell her I only want to smack you around in the gym, she might even pay to watch,” he teased.

We’d reached my classroom, but neither of us was ready to end our banter. What I wouldn’t have given in that moment to make everyone else disappear just long enough to pull him into a kiss.

I shook off the image. “Maybe she’ll pay to see me smack you around, ever think about that, mon capitane?”

“All the time, Riley, all the time.” With a wink he sheared off, leaving me with thoughts in my head that had no place in World Geography.

I floated into class and collapsed in my seat.

“Somebody’s having a good morning.” Stef’s voice penetrated the fog.

“Oh, you know,” I said, waving my hand airily. He’d seen the change in Hayden at dinner, but hopefully not the way Sam and I had been flirting just now.

He didn’t probe any further as he scrolled through the morning’s Instagram posts.

“Anything good?” I shot a meaningful glance at his phone.

“Too early in the day,” he sighed. “And once again, another Man Crush Monday has come and gone, and I’m still on the shelf.”

All conversation ended with the arrival of the Kraken, and the class immediately shifted gears.

An hour later, the bell finally rang, but before we could push back our chairs Mr. Bracken appeared in front of our table. “Mr. Corbett, you are excused. Miss Collins, a word.” He spun around and marched back to his desk, leaving Stef and me to exchange questioning glances. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I begrudgingly followed my teacher to the front of the room.

He waited until the last student had filed out before looking up from grading papers. His red pencil had already slashed and burned through a small stack of last Friday’s pop quiz on ancient Roman cities. He had a perpetually sour look his face, so it was hard to tell what he was thinking as he met my gaze.

“Would you like to see your quiz?” It was not the question I expected.

“Uh, yes, sir.” He sorted through papers covered in red chicken scratches. One even had ‘WERE YOU HIGH WHEN YOU TOOK THIS TEST?’ scribbled across it. He found my paper and handed it over. It was the same as when I’d turned it in without any grading marks whatsoever.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Is there something wrong?”

He leaned back in his swivel chair, the wood protesting with a loud groan. “No, there’s nothing wrong. In fact, it’s perfect.”

We stared at each a few moments. “Um, thank you?”

He laced his fingers over his slight paunch. “No one has ever gotten that particular quiz completely correct.”

A rush of heat shot through me as I put two and two together. “This is my own work! I swear I didn’t cheat! In fact…” I halted abruptly when he calmly raised a hand, calling for silence.

“It was a pop quiz, for Pete’s sake, it’s not like you knew it was coming.”

My anger cooled, but not completely. The guy was toying with me. “I’m going to be late for my next class, so if that’s all…”

“I need a teacher’s aide.”

I took half a step back in surprise. “What does that mean, exactly?”

He waved a hand over the papers on his desk. “Grading tests, logging in scores, some light filing…” He glanced at his empty coffee cup. “And black with two sugars.”

“And you want me?”

He cut me the thousand mile stare he usually reserved for people who asked absurd questions. “Unless you’re now the head of Human Resources, and I clear my personnel needs through you, yes.”

I shifted my backpack, a delaying tactic while I wrapped my head around his offer. “Would that mean I ace the class?” That wasn’t a real concern, but less homework would free me up to focus more on my mission.

He scoffed. “Hardly. You would still be expected to know that the Balkans are not an alien race on Star Trek.”

Extra work and more time spent with a teacher who had the grating personality of an overworked camel? No thanks.

“It’s really nice of you to ask, but I’m just getting the hang of things around here.”

The chair squeaked again as he sat upright. “I gave you more credit, Miss Collins. I would have at least expected you to ask what’s in it for you.”

I felt like smacking my head over such a rookie move. My dad always said to never walk away from a one-sided negotiation without finding some leverage, even if you had to beat it out of them with a crowbar. “You’re right. I guess you caught me off-guard here. Please tell me why I should accept the position.”

His eyes gleamed like a marketplace vendor who was about to close a sale. “First, a letter of recommendation from a highly-regarded instructor at Harrington will carry a lot of weight on your college application.” I had no clue what kind of reputation he had with college administrators, but his tone conveyed I should take this seriously. “And secondly, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss a valuable ally, if I were you. From what I hear, you might need one.”

My shoulders stiffened. “What have you heard, sir?” Had the local police gone over Major Taylor’s head to report the scuffle at the Stop & Shop to McKenna?

“Let me put it this way,” he said, with a Cheshire cat grin. “Something is making people nervous around here, and the only thing I’ve been able to learn is it somehow involves you.”

Everyone had their phones in hand as classes let out for lunch. A lot of people posted just prior to the midday break because it was one of the few times of day everyone checked the school feed at the same time. Racking up “likes” was very important around here.

I didn’t think much of it until entering the dining hall. Several people turned to look at me—too many. My stomach curled. Couldn’t I get through an entire day in this place without falling flat on my face? I hurried toward the food stations and then kept going, bolting right through one of the kitchen doors.

The lunch ladies bustled about the stove and prep area, but paid me no mind as I found a patch of white-tiled wall to lean up against. Embassy kitchens were always warm and hospitable places, and I grew up knowing there were always treats and a sympathetic ear to be found there. Not so at Harrington. The first time I’d said “thank you” to a white-aproned woman handing me a plate of lasagna I thought she’d faint. There was an unspoken divide between the students and the staff.

It didn’t take long to figure out what had everyone’s attention. A photo of Sam and me talking this morning had made the school feed. The picture had captured my body as it leaned toward his. There wasn’t a caption, but my expression betrayed exactly what was on my mind. And Quinn had posted it.

First I wanted to strangle my phone, then Quinn, and then myself. How could I have been so careless? Benson had accused me of ignoring inconvenient truths, and he was right. Quinn had fired a few warning shots, and I’d been too naïve to take them seriously. No wonder she hadn’t mourned the loss of Rose; Quinn was too busy trying to take her place.

Petty rivalry had no place in my mission. Neither did throwing myself at the totally wrong guy, but I’d think about that later. All that mattered now was Hayden, and it was time to do damage control. I straightened up and tugged my skirt into place. Quinn had no right to choose Hayden’s friends, and I bet Hayden felt the same way.

The lunch line had dwindled, so it took no time to grab a sandwich—not that I was the least bit hungry now. I brushed off the stares that followed me to our table where Stef and Von had loyally saved my usual spot. I sent them both grateful nods as I claimed my seat.

Across the table Quinn coolly met my glare, her mouth twisted into a mocking smile. Hayden didn’t look happy, but her friend’s satisfaction wasn’t lost on her. The subdued conversation around the table reminded me of the hushed chatter you hear just before the curtain rises on a play. Everyone waited for the show to start.

I caught Hayden’s eye. “Sam and I are just friends. Why anyone would post something just to create drama is beyond me.” I stared at Quinn, who flushed in anger.

“Yeah, right.” Quinn snorted with indignation. “I sure don’t look at my friends the way you do.”

“Probably because you don’t have any,” Stef quipped.

“Shut up, you little stain,” she retorted.

“God, would you two just stop it?” Hayden glared at her brother and supposed friend. Silence reigned for a few moments before she turned to me. “You’re not full of shit, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” I said simply.

“Fine,” Hayden said, closing the door on the subject. “Anyone want to split a brownie?”

As dessert got passed around, Quinn’s eyes were on me. The hardness in her gaze told me the bad blood between us was just heating up.

“Collins!”

Entering the lobby of Watson Hall a few days later, Sarah Jane motioned me over to the housemother’s desk, where she hovered like a vulture protecting road kill. “This came for you.”

She pointed to a small black footlocker on the floor behind her. A combination padlock secured it along with three layers of tamper-evident tape stamped with the words DIPLOMATIC BAG. My heart leapt. Benson’s care package had arrived.

“It doesn’t look like a bag to me,” she said. “What is it?”

I gritted my teeth, annoyed by her challenging tone. “Books. They were too heavy to carry on the plane.”

She continued to block my access to the box. “Have you read the section in the student handbook about contraband?”

As a matter of fact, I had. There wouldn’t be any drugs or alcohol in the shipment, but everything else would definitely be on the list of forbidden items.

“It’s from my dad,” I assured her. “What do you think’s in there, a surface to air missile?” Knowing Benson, it would be the only thing he hadn’t sent.

She begrudgingly stepped aside while I hoisted the box into my arms with a grunt.

“I’ll be stopping by to check out those books,” she called as I made my way to the elevator.

Once in my room I ripped off the tape and checked the back of the lock for the combination. It wasn’t written there, of course, but the clue needed to open it was. In this case, it was MY HOMETOWN.

Going to my computer, I pulled up the longitude and latitude for Benson’s birthplace of Sydney, Australia: 33 52 S/151 12 E. The first three sets of numbers popped the lock. Benson would be proud.

A grin stole across my face as I pawed through the contents. Somewhere in Karachi, a CIA agent was going to get a nasty shock when he found his storage locker cleaned out.

There were cameras disguised as everything from phone chargers to smoke alarms, from books to a bedside clock. I found the promised bug sweeper, along with recovery sticks for digging up deleted phone data, software for hacking just about anything, and a transmitter in the shape of a computer mouse.

On the exotic side, there was invisible UV spray you could apply directly to an object, such as a doorknob, that would later reveal if someone had tampered with it. A UV light could also be used to target a suspect since the residue was a bear to wash off.

There was nail polish that changed colors if you dipped your finger into a drink laced with drugs, night visions goggles, a set of lock picks, a telescopic baton, and Japanese throwing stars, which I’d only recently learned how to use. There were even two smoke grenades, though God only knew what scenario had popped into Benson’s head to make him think they were an appropriate addition to my arsenal.

The first order of business was to safeguard our room from any future eavesdroppers. Using the handheld detector labeled Bug Killer, I performed a thorough sweep, and thankfully the room was still free of both cameras and listening devices.

Then, pulling over a chair, I unscrewed the existing smoke alarm from its ceiling bracket and replaced it with a motion-activated one that, in addition to alerting us to a potential fire, would digitally capture and retain all activity within the room for a seventy-two-hour period.

The camera clock went on my nightstand, its lens aimed squarely at the door. It would provide a live feed on my phone 24/7.

I synced the mouse transmitter with my own computer. Not only would it record every sound made within the room, it would transcribe every word to a file buried deep within my hard drive.

Lastly, a small case of USB sticks containing various hacking applications were fished out before I secured the cache with an electronic thumbprint lock. With few places to conceal it, I had to settle with stashing it under a pile of sweaters in my wardrobe.

Sorting through the software, I deliberated on what to do about Quinn. I could care less if she used Hayden as a stepping stone to social glory, but I couldn’t let her interfere with my orders to win my roommate’s trust. How could I get her to back off?

I read the pamphlet on the benign-sounding Pathways, a program promising to divulge every text, outgoing call, and email from any given phone. I weighed the stick in my hand. Benson wouldn’t hesitate to seek out every advantage he could to ensure a mission’s success, so why did I?

I thought of what a cagey tribal warlord had once told my dad. It was right after a band of radical extremists had retreated from the nearby area, much to the relief of the military and locals alike. As glasses were being raised in a toast, the man whispered in my father’s ear, “Until the snake is dead, do not drop the stick.” Sure enough, the enemy struck again within weeks.

There was no room for delicate sensibilities. I fitted the Pathways stick into my computer. Once it downloaded, I pulled Quinn’s phone number from the student directory and plugged it in.

My phone chimed with a text from Von. Meet me for dinner in 5? The dining hall ran out of gorgeous.

I snorted with laughter before returning fire. But apparently it’s fully stocked with bullshit. See you in 5…

The program needed time to initiate a digital pathway anyway, so I set the computer aside, happy in the knowledge that all of Quinn’s electronic secrets would soon spill right onto my screen.