The Nightingale Files : The Rook and Queen Page 10

  “I wanted to see how you were doing. It wasn’t all business.”

  “Oh,” I said, softening back the sarcastic bristle. “Thanks. Sorry, proceed.”

  “Two guys were talking in the showers about a list. I couldn’t hear the whole thing, but it sounds like there’s a list about Mr. Hickham. That’s all I could make out. I didn’t want to seem like I was lurking in the showers.”

  “Hmmm,” I said in a very British-detective sort of way, “a list, you say.”

  “A list,” he repeated.

  “A list of people, a list of names, a list of games won or lost, a list of money owed, a list of bodies buried with corresponding coordinates…”

  “Bodies?”

  “Too far?” I joked.

  “A bit.” He laughed.

  Suddenly, I realized that we were getting along. Talking on the phone like friends. Were we friends? Frenemies? I didn’t know, but something was starting to feel different…natural?

  My phone beeped at me. It was Felix calling in. I didn’t want to hang up on Nate, but I knew Felix wouldn’t take no answer as an answer.

  “Felix is calling. I gotta let you go.”

  “Oh. Oh, okay.” He tried to mask the disappointment with nonchalance at the end. It didn’t work.

  “We’re just friends, you know?” I felt the need to finally clarify that to him.

  “You and Felix?” he asked in an obvious way.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “I do have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for calling.”

  “Sure. See ya.”

  I clicked over just at the last ring from Felix.

  “Keeping me waiting, lady! What were you, in the bathroom again?” Felix harassed.

  “No.”

  “What? It seems to be where you hang out these days.”

  “Gosh, Felix, like it’s any of your business. And, if you must know, I was on the phone with Nate.”

  He perked right up. “Oh, do tell.”

  “He called to check on the article, but then, we just got to talking.”

  “Uh-huh. I spy with my nosy eye a relationship.”

  I brushed right past that. “I don’t really think he called to talk about the article, because, come to think of it, we didn’t really talk about it. I think he was just worried after what happened today.”

  “What. Happened. Today? And why didn’t you call me on your way home if something happened? I’ve just been watching football with the Colonel all night, but I would have come over if I’d known there was something to be told.”

  I laughed and then recounted the whole story of the counselor, Ace, and the supply closet. Which, in and of itself, sounded like a game of CLUE. Nate, with the crutch, in the supply closet.

  “I can’t believe what you’re telling me! Sylvie is getting blackmailed in two directions, and somehow Ace is involved in both. Nate and Sylvie did not have a baby together because they never had sex. Which thank god. And Mr. Hickham is still a bit of an unknown.”

  “That about covers it.”

  “And…you were in the supply closet with Nate Reinhart!” he exclaimed a little too loudly in my ear.

  “Yes, but not like that. Don’t make it sound so ‘spin the bottle’.”

  “But the supply closet…” Felix teased.

  “Stop it.”

  “Fine. So what, he’s, like, helping you now?”

  “Yeah. He’s seeing what he can find out on the coach’s end of things since we think we’ve figured out the Ace blackmail end of things. I really feel like it’s all connected somehow.”

  “And you. What are you getting yourself into?”

  “Nate told me to lay low. Keep my head down. Make Ace think he’s gotten to me and I’ve dropped it.”

  “I like that guy. He says good things.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You know…,” he said thoughtfully, “what I don’t get is why Ace is threatening Sylvie to come forward but then threatening you to keep quiet and stop digging. If he wanted something exposed, shouldn’t he be asking the reporter to help him?”

  I leaned back in my chair and tossed my hair a bit. “That’s a great point. Maybe he’s not the one that wrote the note? But he did threaten me in the hall. He wants something to come out, but he’s controlling it?”

  “I do hear he does that.”

  “For a bunch of Christians, we sure do gossip a lot.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You going to the game on Friday?”

  “Yep. Dinner first?”

  “Yep. I’ll tell Mom you’re coming.”

  I wanted to hang up and text Nate about the idea I’d just had, but I needed finish the article, and I also wanted to call Carol. It was going to be a long night.

  After another cup of coffee, I had finished the article and was about to email it to Nate when he texted me.

  I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING ELSE.

  WHAT IS IT?

  I REMEMBERED THE GUYS SAYING THAT HE KEEPS THE LIST IN HIS DESK…

  YOU’D MAKE A TERRIBLE SPY.

  I KNOW.

  SERIOUSLY WORST SPY EVER. BURIED THE LEAD.

  I KNOW

  I HAVE AN IDEA.

  WHAT?

  CAN YOU GET MY INTO THE LOCKER ROOM OR COACHES OFFICE DURING THE GAME?

  TRICKY…

  I KNOW

  I’LL THINK OF SOMETHING

  MAYBE I SHOULD. YOU’RE NOT A VERY GOOD SPY.

  TRUE.

  LET’S TALK TOMORROW.

  K. REMEMBER. LOW KEY. HEAD DOWN.

  YEP. OH! LAST THING. I JUST TALKED TO FELIX AND HE POINTED OUT THAT ACE WAS CONTROLLING EVERYTHING. HE WANTED TO EXPOSE SOMETHING; HE’S JUST MAKING SURE IT’S ON HIS TERMS AND SPUN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.

  HE’S GOOD AT THAT. MAYBE WE CAN BEAT HIM TO IT AND MAKE SURE THE WHOLE TRUTH COMES OUT, NOT JUST HIS VERSION.

  WE?

  I’M A TERRIBLE SPY. YOU DID SAY YOU WANTED HELP.

  I DO.

  HENCE, THE WE…

  ALSO. EMAILING YOU THE ARTICLE. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. TOMORROW. I’M CRASHING IN TEN SECONDS.

  9,8,7…NIGHT AVERY BRAVE

  NIGHT.

  7.

  The next day, I was so low-key several teachers asked if I was there halfway through class even though they’d called roll. I ate lunch in the newspaper room with Mr. Knight and Felix, then left campus early to cover the soup kitchen with Nate, who ended up not being able to show because practice ran late. I thought that was odd considering he was on crutches, but he texted me later.

  I DIDN’T EVEN SEE YOU TODAY. WHERE YA BEEN?

  HEAD DOWN, REMEMBER?

  OH. YOU’RE GOOD.

  SORRY TO BAIL ON THE SOUP KITCHEN.

  NOT MAD. IT WAS SOUP.

  NOT SALAD?

  OR BREADSTICKS.

  The next day was Friday. I tried to be as low-key as the day before, though I felt like I was so good at it that it was drawing more attention to me than usual. But in keyboarding class, Nate kept looking at me around his computer, and he wouldn’t stop. Finally, I nodded for him to change computers since I was in the back row. He made up an excuse to the teacher about how his crutches were in the way and his ankle was aching and he needed room to stretch it out and came over to the only other vacant computer by me. I leaned down in front of my screen, hidden from the teacher. He did the same, though he was so tall that it didn’t really work, so he slouched down in his chair low enough that he was finally hidden.

  “What? Why were you staring at me?”

  “I wasn’t staring!” he whispered defensively.

  “Okay. Not staring. But you kept looking at me.”

  “I think I have a way in tonight. But we’d have to time it perfectly.”

  “Okay.”

  “Meet me outside the field house after school. I’ll explain it then.”

  “Don’t you think it’s better if we’re not seen together near the field house just befo
re I break into it?”

  “You’re not breaking in. But good point. Can you give me a ride home after school? That would give us a chance to plan. Alone.”

  The way he said alone made my spine tingle. “Sure,” I managed to whisper, though my tongue was dry and heavy. The days when I’d thought he couldn’t stand me had been easier to navigate than whatever just happened. Nothing happened, Avery. Get over it, I scolded myself.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you out front.”

  My stomach twisted with anxiety as the bell rang and I gathered my books. Can I prolong this by going to my locker first? Maybe he will think I left without him? Why am I so nervous to drive Nate home? It wasn’t like we’d never been alone before in a dark classroom against the wall, I scolded myself, and in a supply closet. You’re being childish Avery Brave!

  I skipped my locker and walked toward the front of the school only to be met by the pretentious Mr. Hickham. He stood in the center of the lobby with his whistle and badge, clearly trying to stand his ground or mark his territory.

  “Ahhh, Ms. Nightingale.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hickham.” I reminded myself to stay calm. I hadn’t done anything wrong and, as of yet, I hadn’t accused him of anything.

  “How’s the paper going? Got any nail-biting exposés coming up?” I could see him trying not to smirk, but it unfurled at the corners of his mouth as he mocked me with his words.

  “Yes, sir.” I nodded, trying to think of a way out.

  “And hopefully you’ll write an exciting victory story about tonight’s game?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it, sir.” I mustered a smile and excused myself out the front of the building where I finally let the shiver I’d held back run down my spine.

  Nate was posted up by the Saints sign with his crutches leaning beside him. Here we go, I thought as I walked over to him.

  “When do you get to get off those things?”

  “Hey,” he said, getting off his phone and shoving it in his back pocket as he reached for his crutches. “Next week, I go back in to get my cast off I think, but I’ll still have to have a boot or something and probably can’t put weight on it for a little bit. But I think I can drive maybe next week.”

  “Oh. That’s good.”

  “Yep. Ready to go?”

  “Sure.”

  The ride to his house was shorter than expected and less awkward than I had envisioned. He told it all, planned out and timed to the minute during the opening song as the team and the coaches ran out on the field. I’d have a small window, and it would be a risk for no one to see me go in or come out, but it was my only chance to see what was on that list.

  “You’re actually wearing school colors!” Felix exclaimed in an accusatory voice as we walked into the stadium.

  I looked down. I thought I had been subtle about it, but apparently not. My red skinny ankle jeans that were rolled at the bottom and my Navy tank top were a little too close to our school colors for Felix’s taste, but at least I didn’t wear my school spirit shirt, which I almost had but decided against considering I was about to perform a covert mission in the assistant coach’s office. I felt like that would’ve been in bad taste.

  “And you have makeup on. What’s happening? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing!” I scolded him. “Can’t I wear real clothes and makeup without getting undermined by you?”

  He gave me a suspicious look as we sat down next to my parents in the stands. I pensively watched the field as the cheerleaders lined up next to the enormous blowup cloud tunnel that the team and coaches ran through. The fake smoke began to billow out from behind it. That was my queue to start heading down the stands to the field house.

  Just as I was about to stand up, Ace ran through the tunnel holding a hand-painted sign that read, THE QUEEN IS DEAD.

  I looked around to see if anyone had seen it, and ripples of gasps rolled through the crowd, but my parents seemed to be oblivious.

  Well played, Ace. But you have no idea what’s coming. I stood up, held my head high, because I knew people were watching, and kept to the mission.

  “I’m going to go get a soda. You guys want something? Felix—popcorn?”

  “Nah. I’m good. Hurry back. You love the part where they burst through the clouds to ‘when the saints go marching in’,” he joked.

  Mom and Dad both shook their heads, and I headed down the steps but only made it down three before Felix caught my arm.

  “What?” I said. “Did you change your mind?”

  He leaned low and whispered, “Are you rendezvousing with Nate? Did you see that sign? Maybe you are not laying as low as you think,” he talked quickly.

  “No!” I wriggled free from his hand and slapped it jokingly. “And nobody says ‘rendezvous’.” Now, I was behind. I had to hurry.

  “I say it,” he retorted as I hurried away from him, “and that’s all you need to know.”

  Once I was down the stairs, I jogged a few steps to hopefully make up the time I’d lost with Felix. I heard the band warming up in the stands, and, ahead, the team jogged out of the field house and gathered at the entrance of the cloud tunnel. I caught Nate’s eye at the back of the mass of helmets, and he quickly looked down. Just as the band began to play and the team began to chant, I got a text from him.

  NOW

  The music bellowed across the stadium, and the team, unified and fired up, chanted like an army. I could hear people beginning to sing the words to the song until the team began to run through the tunnel, and then the stands erupted in cheers and hollers.

  I walked backwards for a few steps, pretending to cheer with everyone and counting coaches and players, like Nate had told me to. Everyone was out. I slipped in the side door of the field house. The pungent locker room smell made me take a step back, but I recovered by pulling my shirt up over my nose. I had a minute and a half before someone was bound to come back in, whether it was a water boy or a defensive coordinator or a referee. They might not…but they might.

  I ran to the desk Nate had told me was Assistant Coach Hickham’s. The top of the desk was a mess, covered in papers and whiteboards with plays written on them. If the list was as secretive as the players said, it wouldn’t just be sitting out on the top for anyone to find. I check the drawers. The drawers didn’t match the top. The methodical and organized placement of pens, notepads, and name tags suggested that Mr. Hickham was not the same person underneath as he appeared to be on the outside. But I was reading too much into it. There was no list.

  The handle jiggled. I jumped and hid under the desk. The footsteps were light and quick, a younger kid—the ball boy or the water boy, probably. He paused in front of the desk I was under, and that was when I saw it! A folded piece of paper was taped underneath the desk in the back right-hand corner. It would have been hidden under the drawer, but I had pulled the drawer out! The boy picked up something off the floor and turned back toward the door. As he left, he turned the lights off. I grabbed my phone and shined it up toward the paper. I didn’t want to take it, because, if Hickham came looking for it, he’d know someone was onto him. But, if I could get the information without taking it, he’d be blindsided when a picture of it showed up in the front page of the newspaper.

  I snapped several photos with my phone and carefully slipped out the door and wove my way through the concession stand line.

  “Avery?”

  I spun around to see Sylvie in my face. “Oh, hey, Sylvie. Did I step on your foot? I’m sorry.” I hoped she wouldn’t notice that I had just cut in front of her to try to blend in.

  “I didn’t see you there,” she sneered.

  “Here I am.” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Shouldn’t you guys be out there, you know, cheering?” I asked snarkily.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but, as you can see, the whole squad isn’t here; just us three. Coach told us we could have a break while the rest did some fly cheers. We just needed a snack.”

  I nodded, only half
listening and trying to keep an eye on Nate and the locker room door.

  “So…what, are the King and Queen together now?” Sylvie blurted out abrasively. Whitney and Brooklynn giggled behind her.

  “No! We’re not together. We just have to work on the paper together.”

  “Oh.” She started to twirl her high ponytail that had a navy bow the size of Texas perched on top. “Ace said you guys were together now,” she said matter-of-factly as if it would ruffle me to hear that.

  “Well,” I said stepping up to the counter, pausing to order my soda, taking it, and turning back to her, “Ace says a lot of things that aren’t true.” I winked at her and walked off, not letting it show how fast my heart was beating. I texted Nate as I walked back to the stands.

  GOT IT.

  In the second half, raindrops began to fall from above the stadium lights. Everyone got out their umbrellas, and we tried to stick it out, because, so far, there was no lightening. I caught Nate’s eye once when he turned around to look up in the stands. It did something strange to my stomach to see him standing there in the rain, in his jersey, looking at me.

  Felix scooted closer to share my umbrella. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s raining, and we’re winning.”

  “Not that. That,” he said, nodding toward Nate with his chin.

  “Nothing.”

  “It can’t be nothing, because it’s definitely something.” He scooted even closer and whispered in my hair. “Either a) you’re up to something or b) you just rendezvoused to make out behind the bleachers.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs, “a) Nobody says rendezvous because it implies a tryst or something sketchy and b) I can’t tell you. I need you to be innocent by admission. And c) did you see him leave the field? No.”

  “I don’t think you did that right.”

  “Which part?” I sassed.

  He squinted at me and tilted his chin up. “Probably all of it. But definitely B.”

  “You know what I mean. If I tell you, then you’ll be guilty because you knew.”

  “Are you guilty because you know?”

  “No. Because I’m going to do right thing with what I know.”

  “Is this a revenge story on a certain person that has a name that trumps most any other card in a deck?”