Twenty-Two
Dad and I spend most of the evening arguing. I manage to convince him the photo is fake, but he says we still can’t prove it was Lewis. Exhausted and worn out, I go to bed, vowing to hammer him again in the morning.
Unfortunately, Dad leaves before I do the next morning. Mom hugs me and says he’s stressed out, that I should take the light rail to work. While I’m on the train, Trish sends a group text to the Scooby Gang.
Check Twitter. Don’t freak out, princess.
Dread fills the pit of my stomach as I open the app.
@RockiesRoast Don’t go with @Emergent. Just ask @StockwellSuds. Local yokel @KristoffRhett can ruin your image.
This is bad. So, so bad. My dad’s been testing different blends of Rockies Roast coffee at home and is excited about wooing them as a client. Bad as it is, the next tweet sends me reeling.
@KristoffRhett keeps his daughter & beer-chugging intern on staff. #paperclipprincess #paidfornothing #nepotism #drunkintern
I panic when I read this, so much that Trish forbids any more texting until we meet in person at the bakery. None of us cares if we get to work late this morning.
“Jason’s not fired yet,” Elijah reassures me as he swoops into the bakery. “This guy just wants him to be.”
“That’s total crap what he said about you.” Trish’s eyes are as dark as her steaming espresso.
“We have to do recon today and stop this guy.” Elijah looks determined. “All these tweets prove it’s someone in-house.” He frowns. “Heck, I could be blamed, since I can get access to financial data if I poke around, but you guys know it’s not me, right?”
“Of course we do.” Trish rolls her eyes. “You’re a Boy Scout, just like Carlos.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those uniforms,” Elijah insists.
“Even when you were little?” I tease, and he glances away, embarrassed. “Ah ha!”
We laugh, then refocus on our mission, planning to hide out on the roof terrace after work, then snoop around the office. I have no idea what we’ll find, if anything, but doing something feels better than doing nothing.
Back in the office, the finance crew glances at us curiously. Carlos’s eyes stay on me as I turn on my computer. I feel heat spread up my cheeks, but I don’t look at him.
When I open the urgent email Dad has sent to the entire company, I struggle to breathe.
Emergent Employees—I’m sure you’re all aware of the social media problems we’re experiencing on Twitter. Unfortunately the tweets have not stopped, and have turned personal, attacking my daughter. I won’t stand for this and I urge anyone who knows anything—and I mean anything—to come forward. We will get to the bottom of this, and if anyone is hiding information, that’s just as bad as sending the tweets yourself.
Whoa. Vader’s on a roll.
We’ve built a strong company with a collegial environment. I want to believe everyone likes their job and believes in our mission. If you don’t, and if you’re expressing that via social media and trying to harm this company, know that I won’t stand for that, either. No one attacks my company, my clients, or my family without repercussions.
Wow. I glance up and meet Trish’s wide-eyed gaze.
“I want your dad leading me into battle if we ever take on the Empire,” Elijah calls out from across the room, and the employees in the finance corner give him a thumbs-up.
My desk phone rings. “This is Laurel.”
“Laurel.” Dad’s voice sounds relieved. “Please come to my office.” He hesitates. “Why didn’t you come see me as soon as you got here?”
“Oh…I guess I…thought you’d be too busy.”
“Why would you—” His exasperated sigh whooshes into my ear. “I’m not too busy for you. Get down here. Please.”
I expect Dad to be sitting behind his desk, but instead he’s waiting in Ms. Romero’s outer office and pulls me into a one-armed hug. “You okay, kiddo?”
“Not bad for a paperclip princess.”
“Don’t say that.” The shadows under his eyes remind me of Jason. I can’t imagine the toll this is taking on him. But I have to ask him again.
“Dad, the photo—”
“We’re close, Laurel. So I’m asking you—no, telling you—please stay out of this—you and your little posse. I don’t want anyone getting hurt or impeding our investigation.”
I grin up at him. “I have a posse?”
“I’m starting to think so.”
“Okay, we’ll stay out of it.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “Oh, and, uh, Lexi’s meeting me here after work. We’re going to a movie at the Pavilions. She’ll drive me home.”
“What?” Dad’s distracted, his mind already elsewhere. “Oh—Lexi. Fine. I don’t know how late I’ll be here, anyway.”
Ruh Roh. I don’t want him around when we’re doing our Scooby thing. “You should go home at five, Dad. Get some rest, or at least work sitting by the pool.”
Muttering under his breath, he gives my shoulder a squeeze, then heads into his inner sanctum, closing the door behind him.
…
Carlos heads my direction as soon as I’m back at my desk.
“I saw the tweet.” His voice is low and gravelly.
I nod but keep my eyes on my Hello Kitty notebook as I run my finger down the spiral coil.
“Laurel, please look at me.” His voice is urgent, with frustration or desperation, I’m not sure which. Slowly, I look up and meet his inscrutable gaze.
“That tweet about you was BS. You know that, right?”
“What about the troll’s swipe at Jason? Do you think that’s BS, too?”
Carlos rubs a hand across the back of his neck, but says nothing. I flip open my Hello Kitty notebook to his sketch and get to work while he watches me. I finish quickly, rip out the page, and hand it to him.
I’ve underlined his message to me, and added my own:
“I kissed a soccer star/pre-law/waiter and I liked it. A lot.” I’ve drawn Princess Leia with hearts for eyes and blushing cheeks. Next to that, I’ve drawn a heart with a jagged crack down the middle. Two letters flank the crack: an L and a C.
Without a doubt, it’s the most dramatic thing I’ve ever done to a guy, but I want him—need him—to know how heartbroken I am today…and how happy I was until he threw Jason under the bus.
…
As soon as Carlos and the finance employees leave for the day, my Scooby Gang sneaks upstairs. We take our backpacks with us so it looks like we’ve left for the day and stash them under a patio table. I worried other employees might be up here enjoying the warm summer evening, but we’re the only ones on the roof.
“How will we know when everyone else has left?” Elijah asks.
“We’ll have to wing it,” Trish says. “Most people are out of here by six.” She glances at me. “Except for our dads, especially with the Twitstorm. But they’re usually closed up in their offices.”
We’ve come up with a cover story for why we’re here late—working together on my “school project”—but I hope we don’t have to sell it. We sit on the ground behind large potted plants in case anyone else shows up on the roof.
“Comic Con is this weekend,” Elijah says, grinning. “I can’t believe they moved the date to July this year. I feel like I’ve been waiting for years.”
Trish snorts. “You guys are such dorks.” She side-eyes me. “Is it better than Christmas for you?”
“Absolutely.”
We all laugh, even Ashley, who’s nervously braiding her long hair and darting anxious looks across the rooftop.
“Holy crap!” Trish exclaims, staring down at her phone. She holds it up so we can all see it.
@PRTruth has tweeted a photo of the basement mannequin. It’s even creepier now, with a strip of duct tape across its mouth. “Do clients know how deranged you are @KristoffRhett @Mantoni411? Or is this your interns’ handiwork? #DontBringYourDaughtersToWorkDay.”
We stare at each other, our faces reflecting shock and panic.
“When was the tweet?” I ask.
Trish checks her phone. “Five minutes ago.”
Elijah exhales a curse. “I bet he’s in the basement right now.” Ashley pales and I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.
“Maybe not. Maybe it’s an old picture and he just now decided to tweet it.” I’m freaking out on the inside, but I know what we have to do. I take a deep breath. “Are we ready?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Elijah raises a hand and we all high-five him, then creep across the rooftop like cat burglars.
We sneak down the stairs to the main floor. As we tiptoe past my dad’s office and approach Ms. Simmons’s office, we hear a rattle and flatten ourselves against the wall. My heart races and Trish squeezes my hand. We wait until there’s nothing but silence, then resume our tiptoeing.
Ms. Simmons’s door swings open. Panic shoots through me, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Brian.
“Oh, thank God it’s you,” I whisper. Trish, Ashley, and Elijah stand right behind me, so close I can hear them breathing. “Are you working late?”
Brian eyes us warily, clutching a folder in his hand. “What are you doing here?” He grips his phone tightly.
Crud. Maybe he thinks we’re the Twitter trolls, slinking around after hours for dirt to tweet. I hope he’s not going to call security. That guard already thinks we’re nuts.
“We could ask you the same thing,” Trish says. I shoot her a glare. Brian’s a good guy; we need him on our side. He scowls at her and I realize I need to talk fast.
“We want to help,” I say. “With catching @PRTruth. We thought maybe if we poked around—”
“He just tweeted something creepy from the basement,” Elijah interrupts. “Now’s our chance to catch him red-handed. Wanna help us?”
Brian’s eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously?” His fingers fly across his phone. His body tenses when he reads the tweet, then he peers at us through narrowed eyes. “Are you responsible for this mannequin?”
“Gimme a break,” Trish snaps. “That thing has ‘designed by sicko dude’ written all over it.” Her chin juts out as she stares him down. “We all know it’s Lewis. Or Cruz. Maybe both.”
Brian squeezes his eyes shut briefly, then blows out a breath and regards us warily. “Maybe we should call security and have the guard check out the basement.”
“There’s four of us and one security guard,” I say. “Five if you come with us.” I turn and head down the hall, knowing my Scooby Gang has my back even if Brian doesn’t.
It’s like Qa’hr has inhabited my body. I’m not usually brave, but her kick-ass attitude has seeped into me, maybe because I’ve moved on to the second book in the series. She’s even tougher in that one. Also, there’s a lot more kissing in that book, which earns no complaints from me.
“Crud,” I whisper when we reach the door to the basement. “We need the code to open the door.”
Brian steps forward, his lips twisting to the side in an almost-smile. “Good thing you ran into me.” He punches at the keypad, then pins us with a stern glare. “I think you should stay here. Let me handle this. I can’t risk any of you getting hurt. You’re just kids.”
Trish shoves her way to the front of the pack. “You did not just say that. It’s either all of us or none of us.”
His gaze sweeps over us and his shoulders heave in resignation. “Fine. But be quiet and stay behind me.”
Trish opens her mouth to argue again, but I shoulder-bump her and put a finger to my lips. We follow Brian down the metal stairs, doing our best to tiptoe. None of the bare lightbulbs are on in either of the hallways. Maybe @PRTruth isn’t down here after all.
“Let’s split up and check both hallways,” I whisper. “Elijah, you come with me. You three check that hall.” I point toward the shortest half of the L hallway that ends at the file storage room. “Nobody use your phones as flashlights. We want to catch him by surprise.”
I take off before Brian can argue, Elijah breathing heavily behind me. A whispered argument rages behind us, then silence. I smile, confident Trish just triumphed again. My heart is pumping double time, but my earlier resolve fades as we stop outside the door to the creepy mannequin room. Maybe we should’ve stuck together after all. Or called security.
“You okay?” Elijah whispers, and I nod, even though I’m not. We eyeball each other like panicky droids who don’t know what our next move should be.
“Finn and Rey would bust the door down,” Elijah whispers.
“So would Han and Leia.”
Elijah squares his shoulders like a true Resistance fighter.
“May the Force be with us,” I whisper.
Together, we shove the door open and rush into the room…and crash into the evil mannequin, which topples onto a hulking figure crouched on the floor.
“Hey!” hollers the blob on the floor. “What the hell?” He pushes the mannequin aside and stands up.
Elijah and I jump back. I squint my eyes, scanning the room for something we can use as a weapon, but no lightsabers leap to my hand.
The guy points his lit phone screen at us, and when he does, I can see just enough to make out Lewis’s face.
“Of course it’s the princess,” he growls, “and her lackey.”
Something inside of me snaps. All of my worries about Jason and my dad and his company explode inside of me. I dart forward and smack the phone out of his hand. He reaches out to grab me, but I’m smaller and faster. I grab the mannequin from the floor and ram it into Lewis’s stomach like a knight with a lance.
“We have him!” I yell at the top of my lungs as Lewis doubles over, gasping for air.
“It’s Lewis!” Elijah fist pumps the air. “We got him!”
I hold onto the mannequin, pointing it at Lewis like a weapon. Elijah blocks his exit as footsteps thunder down the hallway. Lewis knocks the mannequin out of my hands and shoves Elijah out of the way. He makes it through the door, but just barely.
A vigilante posse awaits, trapping him where he stands. We encircle him like vultures with roadkill. Trish yanks the string on the bare bulb in the hallway, revealing Lewis’s sputtering, tomato-red face.
“You son of a bitch.” Brian pokes him in the chest. “How could you do this?”
Lewis shoves Brian, but Brian stands his ground, and the rest of us move in close. He’s a big dude, but we outnumber him, and I can feel our outrage powering us. Even Ashley looks like she could poke his eyes out.
“It was worth it,” he snarls. “I don’t need this crappy job anymore.”
“It’s not a crappy job!” Trish’s vehemence startles me. “I can’t wait ’til my dad cans you.”
“I should’ve had Jiang’s promotion.” Lewis’s voice vibrates with anger. “But she got it because she’s a chick, and a minority.”
Brian steps in close to Lewis, looking ready to punch him. “Shut the hell up. Jiang’s a million times smarter than you.”
“You’re a bigot and a chauvinist,” Trish snarls, fire shooting from her eyes. “And a perv, based on that mannequin.”
“What do you know about working hard?” Lewis demands. “You and princess here get everything handed to you—college, an easy summer job.” He scowls at the other interns. “And the rest of you, maybe you need scholarship money, but so did I. Nobody gave me a sweet summer internship where I got paid and a shot at a free ride.”
“Gosh, I can’t imagine why not.” I finally find my voice. “Especially with your sparkling personality.” My friends snort with laughter as Lewis puffs up like he wants to lash out. “You’re pathetic. You sabotaged Jason. I know you Photoshopped that picture.” I step toward him and poke him in the chest like Brian did. “And you cheated at foosball, too.’”
He rears his head like a trapped animal, but the sound of feet trampling down the metal stairs makes all of us turn. My dad and Mr. Mantoni charge toward us, followed by the security guard. Lewis surges forward, trying to bust through our human ring of justice, but we don’t let him.
When they reach us, my dad glances at me, worry creasing his face. “I’m okay,” I mouth, and he turns on Lewis.
“We know what you’ve done, Lewis,” Dad says. “Stop fighting these kids.” He unleashes the full-power Vader glare on Lewis. “It’s over. Laurel figured out someone Photoshopped Jason’s picture with the fake beer, and the tech gurus found the incriminating photo on your laptop today.” Dad inhales, nostrils flaring. “They found the @PRTruth Twitter login and password, too.”
“Go, nerds, go,” Elijah whispers under his breath next to me.
“You’ve been sneaking down here setting up this mannequin so you could tweet it and embarrass Mr. K.” Brian’s eyes are steely with anger. “I saw that Insane Clown Posse T-shirt stuffed under your desk.” He squints like he’s Clint Eastwood, and I bet he’s wishing for his Nerf gun. “You’re a sick fu—”
“Whatever,” Lewis spits out. “This place sucks anyway.”
The Manicotti can’t take it anymore. He points a vibrating finger at Lewis and utters the words we’ve all been waiting for.
“You’re fired!”
…
My Scooby Gang regroups at a nearby coffee shop after the security guard hauls Lewis away. Jason joins us after Ashley texts him to tell him what happened, and he surprises me by hugging me.
“Thanks for proving that photo was fake.” His green eyes shine with gratitude. “Your dad said he’s happy to have me back. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Maybe get my name right,” I tease, playfully slugging him on the shoulder, and he laughs.
We all giddily replay the Twitter drama, our weird night trapped in the basement, and congratulate ourselves on tonight’s bravery.
All that’s missing is Carlos.
Elijah texts him as we huddle over mochas and pastries, flashing me his phone screen after he’s been typing for a few minutes.
Elijah: You missed out, dude. We busted Lewis red-handed. Laurel went all Han Solo on his ass.
Carlos: ??
Elijah: She saved the day. Attacked him with the mannequin. He was @PRTruth. That photo of Jason was a fake. Mantoni fired Lewis. It was epic.
Carlos: Is she okay?
Elijah: The mannequin? She’ll be fine.
Carlos: Don’t screw with me. Is Laurel okay?
“What should I tell him, Jedi?” Elijah asks, smirking.
My heart pitter-patters as I reread the text convo. Maybe Carlos hasn’t turned off his feelings for me after all. Though just because he asked if I’m okay doesn’t mean he’s interested in kissing me anymore. And I’m still mad at him about Jason.
“Tell him we’re all fine here.”
“He won’t get it,” Elijah says with an eye roll. “Padawan, remember?”
“Tell him anyway.” It was true—we all were fine. Jason was relieved and excited to be exonerated. The dads told us how proud they were of our teamwork. My dad lectured me on no violence in the workplace, while also hugging me and telling me he was proud of his warrior princess. Totally mixed message, Vader, but it still made me all warm and fuzzy.
Elijah types quickly, then shows me his phone again.
Elijah: Come meet us.
Carlos: Can’t. I’m working the restaurant ’til closing.
Elijah: Don’t you want to see for yourself that Special K is OK?
Carlos: Gotta go.
“Is that supposed to cheer me up?” I ask Elijah, disheartened by Carlos’s response.
“He’d be here if he wasn’t working. He asked about you, Jedi, no one else.”
I meet Trish’s gaze. Her lips slide up in their usual smirk, but her eyes are full of laughter, the friendly kind.
It’s true—we’re all fine here, even if one of us is missing.