Private 12 - Vanished (6 page)

“Oh! A cinnamon chip scone!” Astrid said, hugging me a bit closer to her side. “Brilliant! That’s why you’re our fearless leader.”

Fearless? Hardly. Leader? I definitely didn’t feel like one. Finally I gave up on an escape plan and simply allowed them to drag me across campus. I decided that I would hit the bathroom when we got inside and try to reply-text to the last text I’d been sent. What else could I do? I had to let my evil puppeteer know I was ready for my next assignment.

As soon as the door to Mitchell Hall slammed behind us, my phone beeped. My heart launched into my throat, a sensation that I seemed to feel ten times a day lately, but could not get used to.

“I’ll catch up with you,” I said, pausing near the door.

“We’ll get in line!” Kiki said, tugging her hat off as they made their way down the hall toward the bustling conservatory. “Oh! Maybe I’ll get a chocolate chip scone.”

“It’s only fair. Equal time for all manner of chips, I say,” Astrid agreed.

Envying their carefree banter, I whipped out my phone. I had one new text. Fingers trembling, I somehow managed to open it.

ASSIGNMENT ONE COMPLETE. GOOD WORK. STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

I looked out the slim window in the door, but there was nothing. No one. Just a couple of guys walking from Ketlar to the library, and a pack of freshman girls headed to the gym. A chill went down my spine. Apparently the kidnappers had been telling the truth. They were watching me.

I just wanted to know how.

In 1903, Ida M. Tarbell published an article that launched the reform journalism trend and had great ramifications on big business in America. What was the article titled? What was it about? Discuss the impact reform journalism had on government regulations and business practices in the Unites States.

I read the question, trying to make the words stick in my mind.

Ramifications. Ram-if-ick-a-shunnns. That’s a funny word.

I snorted in the back of my throat. Cooper Banks, the guy in the next desk, and the only dude on campus who insisted on wearing a tie to class every day, shot me an annoyed look and continued to scribble his essay answer in his tiny, psycho-killer style scrawl.

I looked down at my paper. Each of the first three questions had answers, but I’d written them in huge, loopy script, trying to fill up the space with as few words as possible. I was so going to fail this thing.

My eyes started to close for the ten billionth time since I’d sat down to take this exam. I’d been up all night, staring at the clock, waiting for my next set of instructions, which had never come, and now I was paying the price. I shook my head, gave my cheeks a quick pinch, and sat up straight, but nothing worked. It was like a team of tiny strong men were clinging to my upper lashes, using all their weight to pull them back down. Maybe if I just closed them for one, tiny second. …

Suddenly my hand hit the desk, my watch smacking against the wood with a noise loud enough to wake the dead. A couple of people around me flinched. I looked at Constance, who was seated to my
left, and tried for a “silly me” smile. She scowled a very un-Constance-like scowl, and leaned over her paper, but she wasn’t working on her test. The exam paper—which was completed, I noticed with chagrin—had been pushed off to the side, and she was now jotting down notes on a list entitled “V-Day Dance.”

My face felt hot and I looked away. Clearly Constance was on the planning committee for the dance, something she would have announced to me with her particular brand of hyper excitement if we’d still been on speaking terms. We hadn’t spoken since our fight in the cafeteria over her not getting into the Billings Literary Society. Not one word. And I seriously missed her.

From the corner of my eye I saw someone at the door. I flinched when I saw that it was Headmaster Hathaway. He was just standing there, watching me. And when he saw me look, he didn’t turn away.

Now my face was on fire. What was he doing out there? Spying on me? I forced myself to look at my paper but couldn’t get my brain to focus on the question. Not with Double H staring me down. Then I glanced up at the door again, and he was gone.

Okay. Deep breath. He’s probably just doing the rounds. He wasn’t looking at you, he was just … looking at the room.

I read the question yet again. Maybe all this weirdness would keep me awake.

In 1903, Ida M. Tarbell …

Instantly, my eyes started to close again.

Then something beeped.

My head popped up and my hand was in my bag before I
registered the fact that everyone around me was getting up from their seats, gathering their things, handing in their exam papers at the front of the room. It was the end-of-class tone that had sounded. Not my cell phone. I had fallen fast asleep. There was even a spot of drool on my test paper. My heart sunk to my toes. I looked down at the screen on my phone, just in case, but there were no new messages. Aside from the usual texts from the other Billings Girls and some check-ins from my brother, Scott, there had been nothing since Saturday morning. It was as if the kidnappers were enjoying keeping me in the dark, torturing me.

Did that mean they were torturing Noelle, too?

Constance was just getting up from her chair. As she picked up her V-Day dance list I saw that among the “to-do’s” were “Call the caterer” and “Have London confirm napkins and favors.”

“Are you planning the Valentine’s Day dance?” I blurted.

Constance turned to me with a scowl. “Yeah. I am.”

“That’s cool,” I said, my heart pounding.

“Yeah, well, I read this article that said that when all your friends dump you, it’s good to throw yourself into something new. You know, as a distraction from your misery,” Constance said in an acerbic tone.

I cleared my throat. The fact that I’d made her sound like that made me feel like ralphing. “Is London helping too?”

“Yeah. She’s all into it,” Constance replied. “We’ve been hanging out a lot since you decided to ostracize us.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and I felt her
itching to leave. My pulse raced. I felt like the parents in one of those kidnap movies, when the FBI agent tells them to say anything to keep the kidnapper on the phone so they can trace the call. I was so stunned and excited that she’d talked to me for this long, I just wanted to keep her talking.

“Is Missy doing it too?” I asked, deciding not to acknowledge all the accusations.

“Missy? Please. Like she’d get involved in anything that might bring people joy,” Constance said with a laugh. I laughed too. And for a moment, just a moment, things were the way they used to be.

Then something in her eyes changed, as if she realized she was speaking to the devil. She stood up straight and the scowl was back on. “I gotta go.”

“Constance—”

But she was already down the aisle and I suddenly felt a hulking presence behind me.

“Miss Brennan?”

Mr. Barber’s voice sent an unpleasant sizzle of warmth across my shoulders and down my back. I turned to face him. His dark eyes traveled over the half-empty test page on my desk, and his lips pursed ever so slightly.

“Ida M. Tarbell is not our favorite subject, I see,” he said, his bow tie bobbing up and down over his Adam’s apple as he spoke. He lifted the test sheet and looked down at it over the top of his new, gold-framed glasses.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I just … I haven’t been sleeping well
lately.”

“Or perhaps you’ve been spending too much time texting and Twittering and whatever else it is your sad generation does on those contraptions all day long,” he said, glancing derisively at my phone, which I still clutched in my hand.

My face burning, I shoved the phone back into my bag and yanked the strap off the back of the chair. It got snagged three times and finally I pulled so hard I almost knocked the chair over. Mr. Barber calmly reached out to steady the furniture, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. I could practically hear his silent prayer for patience.

“Maybe I could … uh … do an extra-credit assignment?” I said.

“See me after class tomorrow,” he replied, turning around and tossing my paper onto his desk.

“Okay. I will. Thanks.”

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I slid past him for the door, shoving my arms into my coat as I went, and found Lorna Gross hovering outside, waiting for me. Her long, dark hair was back in a messy bun and she wore a rhinestone headband just behind her ears. Her gray cashmere sweater was adorned with glittery snowflakes and she wore about four strands of pearls. Lorna used to copy her style right out of her BFF Missy Thurber’s closet, but lately she had started to take on a look all her own, and even though it was something I could never pull off, it worked for her.

“What was that all about?” Lorna asked as she tugged on her
heather gray coat and donned a pair of furry earmuffs.

“I didn’t exactly finish my test,” I replied, starting down the hall.

Lorna rolled her eyes and scoffed as she sidestepped a couple of senior guys who were barreling down the center of the hallway, oblivious to the world. “Who did? Ten essay questions in less than an hour?
Maybe
if he let us use our laptops.”

“Really?” I asked as I pushed open the door. I felt a slight surge of hope. Perhaps I wasn’t in
such
bad shape. But how many questions had I managed to answer before I started to nod off? Four? Five? I swallowed back a sour taste in the back of my throat as I realized it was probably more like three.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get an A,” Lorna said, pushing open the front door of the class building with both hands. “You’re Reed Brennan.”

The comment actually brought tears to my eyes. Was I mourning over the straight-A student I used to be, or feeling guilty because I wasn’t living up to her image of me? I had no idea. Either way, I clearly needed some sleep.

“So … everyone’s wondering. Are we going to have another meeting of the literary society any time soon?” Lorna asked as we descended the steps. They were covered with salt to keep the ice at bay, and our shoes made crunching sounds as we walked. Part of me wanted to shush her. It was a secret society after all. But that was the beauty of calling it a literary society. We could talk about it in public with no fear of spoiling our secret.

But the very thought of the society brought a heavy weight down on my shoulders—the weight of yet another responsibility. I wished I could just put it off until I’d found Noelle, but it had been days since we met—prank meeting notwithstanding—and since none of my Billings Literary Society sisters knew that anything was wrong, they were all still flush with the newness and excitement of our secret endeavor.

“Yeah, actually. I was going to call one for tonight,” I said, seeing my dream of crashing into my bed being pushed further and further away.

“Yeah?” Lorna said excitedly, giving a little jump from the bottom stair to the cobblestone walkway. Her enthusiasm brought a smile to my face, briefly anyway.

I nodded. “I’ll send out the e-mail after lunch.”

“Cool,” Lorna said, grinning. “I think it’s so awesome that you
did all this, Reed. It would have sucked if the whole Billings thing had just died because the dorm got torn down.”

“Thanks,” I said, a flutter of pride masking my sadness for a moment. Part of me wondered what, exactly, she meant by “the whole Billings thing.” I thought most people just saw Billings as a cool place to live, but clearly it meant more to Lorna than that—just like it did to me–which made me like her more.

Lorna took a deep breath of the crisp winter air and squinted across the quad. “Who’s that guy with Ivy?” she asked.

I followed her gaze and saw that Ivy was standing near the library steps with the shaved-headed, leather-coat-wearing dude I had come to refer to in my mind as Tattoo Guy, due to the extremely intricate tattoo on the back of his neck. I had seen them together the month before, having an early-morning snowball fight on campus. She and Josh had still been together at the time, and I remembered thinking that she was acting kind of flirty with Tattoo Guy. Inappropriately flirty. And now, here he was again, and they seemed to be having some kind of intense conversation. Ivy gestured angrily with her hands, while he had his own hands stuffed under his armpits, looking like he was about to explode.

“That guy does
not
go here,” Lorna said, wrinkling her nose.

“No. He definitely does not.”

There was an odd, twisting sensation in my gut as we drew closer. We were a few feet away, about to pass them on our route to the dining hall, when Tattoo Guy glanced in our direction. I thought he was just looking away from Ivy, but when he saw me, he simply
stared. Stared as if he knew and hated me. As if he could tear me to shreds with that one glance.

Stop it,
I told myself.
You’re just being paranoid because of everything that’s going on. He’s clearly arguing with Ivy and you just happened to be in his line of sight.

Ivy touched his arm, drawing his attention back to her. She gave me a quick, almost apologetic wave. Lorna and I kept walking, but all the way to the dining hall, my spine felt tingly and cold, like he was still staring at me.