One of Us (21 page)

A
T LUNCHTIME, GREG
'
S
already in the canteen, sitting next to Jeremiah. I join the line for food and look over at him. He has a black eye. The cut on his cheekbone is an angry red but it's starting to close up. When I put my tray down opposite him, I feel a big smile spread over my face. I can't help it. But Greg doesn't look up.

“Greg?”

He looks at me briefly and smiles a businesslike little smile.

“How's your face?” My hand drifts up to touch my own cheek.

“Much better, thanks.” He turns back to Jeremiah.

What happened in Brer Magnus's office?

“Hello, Verity,” says Celestina, sitting down next to me. “What's this I hear about you two staying out all night?”

I look at Greg, but he's concentrating on his food. I turn back to Celestina and hand her the shoes. “I'm sorry I spoiled them.”

Celestina waves the shoes away. “Keep them,” she says.

“And I lost your hat. I'm sorry. I'll get you a new one.”

“Really, Verity!” She gives me a stern look. “What a liability you are!” Then she laughs.

I didn't know how much I liked Celestina until now. And I realize I've forgotten Greg's jacket. I left it behind on my bed. Maybe I just don't want to give it back.

“Anyway,” says Celestina, “I don't mind losing some shoes and a hat for a good cause.” She smiles at me. “Greg's been telling us the Reconciliation Rally's going to be held in the Old City Meeting Hall, on the day before the Agreement is signed, in five months. It's on the anniversary of the massacre.” She nods her head. “They're finally acknowledging it. That has to be a step forward.”

Jeremiah leans across the table. “Did you like Yoremouth?”

I look up in surprise. Jeremiah never speaks to me. “Well, yes,” I say. He's assuming I've never been there before. “Apart from the muggers.”

Jeremiah's mouth curls up. “Greg told us,” he says. “Nasty.” I can tell he only believes me because he heard it from Greg first.

My eyes meet Greg's for a moment, but again his slide quickly away. He isn't the Greg who joked and talked on Limbourne platform. It's impossible to believe that he held me close all last night.

Lunch the next day is the same. I can't stand sitting here while Greg ignores me. And I have a job to do. I just want to get it over with now. I leave quickly and go to the library, because this is the perfect time to get the visitors' book. Then maybe I
can sneak it back to Brer Magnus's office this afternoon while he's talking in the auditorium.

“Hello, Verity.” The librarian, Mrs. Shelley, looks up as I come in, but then she goes into her office to make coffee, so I have time to get the book down and put it in my bag, tucked inside a file and hidden by a scarf. It would be better if I still had the fastener to hold the bag shut.

Then the loudspeaker cuts through the hush of the library: “All students please make your way to an emergency meeting in the auditorium.”

Mrs. Shelley comes over to me. “I think you'll have to go too, Verity,” she says. “I know you're working hard.” She looks so worried at the thought of my reading being interrupted that I feel a stab of guilt.

On my way down the stairs I start to panic.
Don't take the book into the meeting!
But where can I hide it? The courtyard is filling with pupils waiting to get into the narrow passage that leads into the auditorium. I duck into the bathroom at the bottom of the library stairs and wait for an empty cubicle. If only I had something waterproof, the tank would make a perfect hiding place.

But this is a very old toilet and the tank is one of those high ones, with a chain. If I close the lid and stand on it, I can reach above it. I'm about to tuck the book on the top, toward the back, when something stops me. Fingerprints. Can you leave them on paper? Just in case, I get some paper and wipe the covers.
Hurry up, don't be the last one in!
I
wrap the whole book in white toilet paper so that its dark cover is hidden, and place it on top of the tank.

Then I remember to pull the chain, and hurry out to join the stragglers going into the auditorium. I push past a few people so that I can go in as part of the crowd. Jeremiah is hovering near the doorway.

“There you are,” he says when he sees me. His eyes flick over to the stage where Brer Magnus is talking to one of the teachers in the doorway.

I bet Brer Magnus has told him to check up on me. “Hello, Jeremiah,” I say. “Shall we sit down?”

He turns red. “Yeah, sure,” he says. He follows me to a seat.

Brer Magnus takes his place on the stage and sweeps the room with his searching gaze. “A shocking thing has happened,” he says. “I don't wish to alarm you, but something has been removed from my office.”

A little rustle goes through the room.

That's when I remember: the names! They're still in my art pad, right here in my bag!

Brer Magnus continues. “It was the visitors' book that was taken. It can only be because someone wants the names of those who attend our meetings. I don't have to explain to you what that could mean.”

Now an angry murmur goes around the room.

“Your families, your friends. Under the spotlight.” He stops and stares around the hall. “I think you all know the kind of attention they could receive.”

What kind of attention does he mean? Surely if people aren't terrorists they have nothing to fear?
All the same, doubt takes hold of me. I grip one hand in the other to stop it from flying to my mouth and giving me away. Jeremiah doesn't look shocked at all. Brer Magnus probably told him already. Maybe that's what he was telling Greg when we got back.

“So I've decided to take an unprecedented step.”

Stay still, don't move. Keep breathing.
I know what he's going to say.

“I very much regret this, but we're going to have to search everyone before you leave this room.”

Now there's a buzz of outrage. Could I slip the pages out of my bag and hide them in my clothes? Not now, everyone will be watching. Why didn't I put them with the book or leave them in the library?

“Please make an orderly line past the teachers at the front,” says Brer Magnus. “I apologize to you all for this intrusion, but you will appreciate that this could only have been done by someone from within.”

Yes, that's me. The enemy within. I want to throw up.

“Before we begin, I must inform you that today a security firm will be installing cameras and other devices in the school, starting with the Reception and Meeting Hall block.”

While he speaks, teachers are moving to stand behind the small tables positioned at the front. There's nothing I can do except try to look innocent. I avoid Ms. Cobana's table, though. I don't want her keen eyes looking at me today.

Jeremiah follows close behind me. I think he disapproved of me from the start—he's probably longing for me to be busted. I empty my bag onto the table
before I'm asked, and wait there looking casual, my heart pogoing under my blouse.

And it's fine, because there's clearly no visitors' book there. Just a wallet, my pencil case, my file, and my art pad. Containing two hundred and forty names. It's a teacher I don't know. He opens the file and gives it a little shake, just to be sure.
Don't open the pad!
I hold my breath.

“Sorry about that,” he says, and hands me both the file and my bag.

Jeremiah's face falls. I still can't breathe.

When I get out of the auditorium I decide that if I can get the book back somewhere where it could have been mislaid, maybe Brer Magnus will stop thinking there's a spy in the school. Maybe now Greg will have to tell Brer Magnus about the hole in the fence. Best not to think about it too much. I hang back so that Jeremiah is ahead of me in the crush of students and I wait until I see him turn the corner toward the canteen.

Then I go back to the toilet and get the book down. I flush away the toilet paper and hide the book in the bottom of my bag. If I can get it back to the Meeting Hall before they set up the cameras, might Brer Magnus think it's been there all along? I'm sure they'll be watching his office. Better go now, before I lose my nerve.

But as I go into Reception, I hear footsteps running up behind me. Jeremiah has followed me. He must have turned back and watched until I came out of the toilet.

“Where are you going?” he asks. His face is happy and excited. He thinks he's caught me.

“Jeremiah!” I say. “I'm glad you're here. I just wanted to go and sit in the Meeting Hall for a little while, after that horrible meeting.”

He stops, confused. Everything shows on Jeremiah's face.

“You wouldn't come with me, would you?”

“Er . . .” He takes a backward glance across the courtyard. He looks surprised now. “Well, OK.”

“Thanks. It's just nice not to be alone,” I say. “It's horrible thinking of someone sneaking around the school.” And actually I really mean this. It
is
horrible. A little shudder escapes me.

We walk up the stairs in silence. I watch Jeremiah go over to the bench to take off his shoes, and before he turns, I crouch beside the little table where they kept the visitors' book the night of the Spring Meeting, and slide it out of my bag and under the brocade cloth. Then I move away, still kneeling on the floor, and start to take off my shoes, my breath light and fast, heart racing. I'm banking on Jeremiah not thinking how I could just kick them off while standing.

He's not looking at me. He's undoing his own shoelaces. By the time he stands up, my shoes are neatly deposited in the girls' shoe compartment and I'm waiting by the door. He didn't notice. We go into the hall and sit on our separate sides, divided by so much more than gender.

I look through the windows at the treetops as they sway their gentle dance. I think I've gotten away with it. My heart rate starts to calm. Jeremiah sits quietly across the hall, his head respectfully bowed. Greg
would never have fallen for this. A creeping, nauseous guilt takes hold of me. I hate myself.

CHAPTER 23

O
SKAR ARRANGED OUR
rendezvous in the woods near the big oak, after school. I go back to the Sisters' house and in the bathroom there I transfer the folded sheets of art paper into the top pocket of my jacket. It's sunny and warm, with a breeze that smells of blossoms.

As I walk into Reception, I hear the noise of banging upstairs. They're installing the new cameras and I wonder if they've found the visitors' book yet. Mr. East is happy for me to take Raymond for a walk. He opens the gates for us and we cross the road and walk down toward the clearing where Oskar parks his motorbike. I'm early so I take off running through the woods, Raymond loping beside me, enjoying the sunlight and the washed-out stripes it throws onto the earth. Not far now.

Then I hear voices, just ahead. I stop and listen. Serafina's voice, then Emanuel's.

“What's that?” Celestina's there as well.

I walk forward. “It's only me,” I say.

They're all there. Greg and Jeremiah too. All going somewhere without me.

Serafina flushes bright pink. “Verity!” she says. “We couldn't find you, and it's such a nice day.”

I look at Greg, but he turns away. “That's OK,” I say. “Where are you going anyway?”

“To the Trembling Rock. Celestina's never seen it.”

I've never seen it either.

“And where are
you
going?”

Look at that, Greg's talking to me again. I stare hard at him, then down at the dog. “Me? Walking Raymond.”

Jeremiah smiles at me. “Now you can come too,” he says. “Lead on, Emanuel!”

Greg's eyebrow shoots up. We walk on. The conversation seems to have died now that I'm here. Oskar must be waiting for me not far away on the other side of the clearing. It would be much too risky to try and meet him now. I hope he's not angry.

It's nice in the trees. The sun is warm on my face and our feet crunch pleasantly on the carpet of brown fir needles as we head downhill. Raymond is busy, nose to the ground, following interesting smells.

“It's not far from here.” Emanuel jumps down onto a narrow path below us.

Celestina looks back at us. “Come on, then. Let's put him out of his misery. Is it really worth it?” she calls down.

But Emanuel is already pushing his way through the bracken. I'm last, behind Greg. He stops at the bottom of the steep slope and turns back. “Do you want a hand?”

“I'm OK. But you can take Raymond.” I pass him the leash. My pumps slip on a tree root as I slide down.

Greg passes me the leash, silently. Our fingers don't touch. I know what's different. He didn't use my name, and he always says my name. I'm surprised by the tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
I blink them away. It's not even my name, is it?