Autumn Falls (20 page)

“Wait … are you upset that I’m hanging out with Reenzie, or with Amalita, Jack, and J.J.?”

Taylor rolls her eyes and shakes her head as though I don’t understand anything at all, then stalks away.

I can’t deal with whatever insanity is going on in her head. Hamlet and I both have more pressing plans that require my immediate attention. I stay in the library as long as I can, then go back home the minute school ends, plant my butt in front of the computer, and don’t move until two a.m. Then, finally, with my paper done, I have the chance to sleep, perchance to dream.

After only four hours of sleep I should be running on fumes. Instead I’m buzzing. Not only do I have in my bag a fully completed and just-this-side-of-brilliant
Hamlet
paper, but tonight is the night I go to Reenzie’s and find the evidence that will bring her down.

Jack and Amalita run outside to meet J.J. and me just before we walk into the school. They look around before they speak, as if to make sure no one is watching.

“You’ll want this,” Jack says, as if we’re on some super-secret spy mission.

He slips something into my hand. I look at it.

“A tiny rubber Wonder Woman?” I ask.

“A flash drive,” Jack says, “that yes, happens to be hidden inside a tiny rubber Wonder Woman.”

“For tonight,” Amalita says.

“Best place to find evidence is on her computer,” Jack says. “Hopefully it’s not password protected.”

“Most likely her computer’s in her room,” Amalita says. “You’ll have to get there alone with time to check everything out.”

“Anything you find, drag it onto the flash drive,” Jack says.

“And don’t get caught,” J.J. says. “Ramifications for getting caught, very bad.”

“Mortifying, for sure,” I say, imagining Reenzie finding me alone in her room for no good reason.

“Embarrassment a minor issue,” J.J. says. “Worst-case scenario, she finds you downloading files, it’s stealing. Might be a tough prosecution in court, but definitely enough to get you expelled.”

“In
court
?” I ask. “Like an actual court of law?”

“Sure, but that would never in a million years actually happen,” Amalita says.

“Agreed,” J.J. says. “Far more likely her mom would turn you in to Mrs. Dorio. Hence, expulsion.”

“That makes me feel much better,” I mutter.

“You don’t have to worry about it because it
won’t happen
,” Amalita says. “You’ll be careful. And any time you start to freak out, remember why you’re doing this.” She turns her phone screen to me. On it is a page from the
Winter of My Discontent
site.

“It’s back up?” I ask.

“No. I took a screen shot for motivation. I have this too.” She scrolls around, then holds up the picture from the student portal: the lump on my forehead, the delusionally vacant eyes, the dazed pucker.

“Right,” I say, filled with a renewed sense of purpose. “I’m going to nail her.”

By now I’m late for homeroom, though naturally Reenzie saved me a seat. I can’t look her in the eye. She doesn’t seem to notice.

The school day drags horrifically. Lunch is a highlight. I sprawl next to Sean on the lawn like yesterday, and he sits
so close we lean against each other the whole time. We’re not quite together, but we’re definitely not
not
together.

There are worse places to be.

Since my paper’s finished, and since I’m going with Reenzie and Sean after practice, I head down to the track after school for the first time in ages. This time I sit with Reenzie, right at the edge of the track. She’s intently focused on the pole-vaulters, and gives me a running commentary of every little improvement in someone’s approach, or glitch in their plant and takeoff. I can tell her teammates know she’s talking about them, but they don’t seem to mind. In fact, they want her opinion. After each vault they look to her, right after they get feedback from their coach.

When the vaulters aren’t working, Reenzie turns her attention to the ever-widening circle of people who plop down around us to talk about Kyler Leeds and the Night of Dreams. Everyone knows it’s this Saturday, and it’s obvious they’ve been talking to Reenzie the last couple days, because they know every detail, including what Reenzie’s dress and all her accessory options look like. Reenzie’s practically a celebrity herself, basking in the glow of their jealousy and generously telling everyone she’d
love
to get them the tiny little signature/recorded message/picture they want, but if she does it for one person she’d have to do it for everyone, and that simply wouldn’t be fair.

Listening to her hold court, I wonder … The plan is that Reenzie will look and feel like a fool when she ends
up
not
going on the Night of Dreams, but for the first time I wonder if she’ll look foolish or I’ll look evil for dropping her. Small beads of sweat dot my forehead as I think about this.

It doesn’t matter. The crowd happy to gather around me now is the same group that happily believed the worst about me before. They don’t know the truth.

Yet.

After practice, Sean drives Reenzie and me to her house. Her cast gives her automatic shotgun, but I’m happier shoved in the back. This way they won’t expect me to talk, and right now my heart is thudding so violently I know they’d hear it in my voice.

I reach down and feel the little Wonder Woman in my shorts pocket. This is it. Sometime tonight I’m going to commit an illegal act. Two of them, actually. Breaking and entering, and theft.

Except I’m not breaking into anything. Reenzie’s inviting me into her home. I’m entering into her computer files, but that’s not illegal so much as generally amoral and not okay. As for any files I grab, I’m only
copying
them. It’s not theft if I don’t take anything away.

Besides, it’s all for a good cause. Robin Hood never went to jail for stealing from the rich, right? Wait—was Robin Hood even real or just a story? I pull out my phone to do a quick search, but we’re at Reenzie’s house before I find out.

Her home is gorgeous, but it’s also enormous. When
Mrs. Tresca opens the door and we pile into the foyer, I’m blinded by the marble floors, the spiral staircase, and the gigantic crystal chandelier. I can’t even imagine how many rooms there are, but I can easily imagine myself scrambling hopelessly into each one while whatever alone time I manage to carve out slips away.

“Your house is so beautiful, Reenzie,” I say. “Can you give me a tour?”

Reenzie looks down at her giant purple cast, then back up at me. “Seriously?”

“I’ll take you, Autumn,” Mrs. Tresca says as Reenzie tugs on Sean’s arm. “You are staying, Sean, right?”

Sean answers her, but he’s looking right at me. “Yeah, sure.”

I’m thrilled and devastated. Of course, I’m light-headed knowing Sean wants to spend time with me, but I’d feel much more secure wandering into Reenzie’s room when the only person really aware I was missing was on crutches.

My mind is racing as Mrs. Tresca starts the tour, but luckily she’s a talker and I don’t have to say much of anything. I do, however, find out some salient facts: (1) Reenzie’s room is on the second floor. (2) There is indeed a computer on her desk. (3) The door to the room is left slightly ajar, thus making it blissfully easy to get inside and have some protection from prying eyes while there.

“Do you have any pets?” I ask as Mrs. Tresca leads me back downstairs after the tour. “I love animals,” I add when I realize she might think it’s an odd non sequitur.

“I do too, but Mr. Tresca’s very allergic,” she says. “No pets.”

Good. Nothing to bark or meow if I’m someplace I shouldn’t be.

The screening room is back on the first floor, and the name is fancier than the space. It’s not like it’s a mini movie theater, just a large room with blackout shades, a massive-screen TV on one wall, and several couches with sections that open out to recliners. Reenzie’s on one of those sections, tilted back in the cushions with her broken leg stretched in front of her.

“I promise, just one more,” Sean says. My eyes flicker to the
SpongeBob
episode on the screen.

“We’re going to miss the opening part,” Reenzie whines, then turns to me. “
Mean Girls
is on,” she says by way of explanation. “I love that movie.”

I bet.

I sit down next to Sean on the couch and watch as they fight good-naturedly over the remote, switching the channel every few minutes.

“Are you guys hungry?” Reenzie asks. “Dinner will be ready soon, but I think we’ve got chips and salsa in the cabinet.”

“No thanks,” I say too loudly. “My stomach’s kind of bothering me.”

My stomach is fine. We could be watching
SpongeBob, Mean Girls
, or CNN. To me, it’s just background noise. Even though Sean sidles close to me and rests his arm
across the back of my couch cushion so he basically has his arm around me, I can’t relax and enjoy it. At last Sean and Reenzie get sucked into some show about real-life ghost hunters. They won’t notice if I’m gone for a little while.

“I’m so sorry,” I stage-whisper. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall and make two lefts,” Reenzie says.

“Want me to show you?” Sean asks, looking concerned.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

I walk down the hall and make the left turns. I can hear Mrs. Tresca puttering around in the kitchen, which means everyone in the house is accounted for. As quickly and silently as possible, I race up the stairs and duck into Reenzie’s room without touching the door, as if someone might notice even the slightest change in its position.

My thudding heart and gasping breath are way too loud. Someone’s going to hear. I stand right behind the door and take deep breaths until I calm down. I leave the lights out and move to Reenzie’s desk. When I look toward the door, I can see I’m safely hidden. Still, I can only stay away for so long.

I sit at the desk and tap a computer key. I’m positive I’ll get a password screen and this whole thing will be useless, but I don’t. The screen saver shudders to a Word doc. I scan a few sentences. Something about
Brave New World
. A paper for her English class.

I check the time: it’s 5:05. I can get away with ten minutes, maybe. Fifteen, tops.

What were my friends and I thinking? This is crazy. Even if she has incriminating files, how am I going to find them?

I click the Finder, then Documents. In the search bar I type “Autumn.” A list of files comes up and I enlarge them with the space bar to scan through, but none of them has anything to do with me.

Of course not. Who’d be dumb enough to label their libelous files with the name of the person they trashed?

I could search something in the document. Something that she wrote in
Winter of My Discontent
. What did she write?

For the first time I wish she hadn’t taken down the site.

Amalita!

I quickly text her.

Thankfully she’s around. I get the picture a second later. I enlarge it and look for a phrase unique enough that it wouldn’t be in a lot of other documents.

Really bad choice, or klepto?
I type into the search bar. It’s from something she wrote about Sofia Brooks. As I type each word, the list of matching documents gets smaller. I’m sure by the time I key in the final question mark I’ll come up empty.

But I don’t.

One file
is left on the list. It’s called “Richard III.” As I proved with
Hamlet
, I know exactly zilch about Shakespeare,
but I’d bet that play is where the “winter of my discontent” quote appears.

I highlight the file. It was created at the end of January, almost a month before the website went up. I press the space bar to preview it.

It’s all the text for the website—the whole list of people with their dirt, right there in front of my eyes.

Oh my God. I forgot how hideous some of this is.