Authors: Carol M. Tanzman
Yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.
Seamus Heaney
MP LOG
I zoned out listening to the usual boring crap on
Campus News
until I heard someone say, “Right,
Skeletor?” I glanced up. The TV screen was all black with two words stenciled
across it:
Listen carefully.
For the first few seconds, I was confused. I heard the
others talking but still didn’t see anything. That’s when it hit. The
initiation! I looked down quick so no one could see my face. My mind was
whirling. I was trying to figure out what was going on and then I realized
someone used their cell to record what happened in Red Hook.
Somebody in MP sold us out. Again. Phantom didn’t know
anything about the second initiation so another person is to blame. Someone told
that news bitch a few details about the initiation—but not everything. Because
if they told her everything, MP would’ve been shut down by now.
Just as I was thinking that, she came on the screen and in
her fake reporter tone said, “If you recognize any of these voices, leave a note
in the
Campus News
box in the office or talk to
me, Valerie Gaines.”
That meant I was right. She couldn’t name names. At least
not now. That was good, but I wasn’t sure how long it would last. I snuck a look
around, but no one was staring at me. Yet.
My blood boiled as I remembered the oath and how we promised
to keep quiet. I’m pretty sure I know who the traitor is.
If I’m right, I can kill two birds with one stone.
31
At the end of the day, Raul waits by my locker.
“Carleton’s looking for you.” I’d ducked out of class as soon as the broadcast
began. “You have to talk to him sometime, Val.”
“I just want a couple days. The same time Marci’s giving me.
Then I’ll confess.”
I twirl the combo and pull the door. A piece of paper, folded
in half, sits on the top shelf.
Stay tuned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
Raul crumples the note in disgust. “Just the usual controlling
MP crap. But I’ll walk you home in case it’s something more.”
Outside, the sky is what everyone calls 9/11 blue. Cloudless,
sunny, crisp; the afternoon is more September than December. The year’s first
major snowstorm is scheduled to blow in by sunset, though, so it’ll get cold
soon enough.
“I hate this, Raul. Waiting for their next move.”
As if in answer, my cell vibrates. Raul’s does, too. He gets to
his first.
“Omar got that section with the whispering kid boosted.”
Eagerly, he holds up his phone, presses Play. “Let’s hope it’s Liam!”
The instant it plays, it’s obvious that it’s not. Raul’s face
colors with frustration.
“It’s clearer,” he says, “but I don’t know who it is.”
It’s funny. He doesn’t ask if I can identify the voice. He must
figure I’d say something if I do. The shock of recognition is so strong I’m
literally stunned into silence.
At my side, Raul babbles on. “…hospital and ask Mrs. Voorham to
listen. What do you think, Val? Maybe she’ll know who it is.”
“Um, sure. Okay. But you’ll have to go by yourself. I want to
stay home in case ‘stay tuned’ means MP is planning to contact me there.”
“Let me know if they do.” Raul waves his phone. “This didn’t
work out the way we thought, but we’re close. Something’s going to break. I can
feel it!”
He waits until I unlock the front door before hustling down the
street.
The house is quiet. Taking the steps two at a time, I burst
into the bedroom. Bethany’s not home yet. Quickly, I check email. Nothing from
MP, although Omar sent the audio in a file so I could listen at home.
With pounding heart, I press Play in the dim hope that from the
computer’s speaker, it will sound different. Be different.
It’s done. Can we get him down—
The voice hasn’t changed because the person’s the same. Bethany
Ann Gaines.
My world spins crazily, a kaleidoscope of confusion. My own
sister’s
a member of MP? It doesn’t make sense.
She wouldn’t leave Jagger in the warehouse. She couldn’t. She’s in love with
him. Sinking onto her bed, I take a couple of deep breaths. Try to think it
through step by step.
As much as I fight it, the logic is undeniable. The secret
emails that came from this very computer. It wasn’t some sort of genius hacker
trick; it was Bethie, sending them to me when I wasn’t home.
Making me go to Promenade Park first and then leaving notes all
over the Heights. She had to do that so she’d get home before I did.
I also figure out how she changed her voice to make me think
the double agent was a guy. It wasn’t a phone app. Grandma bought the twins a
microphone toy last year. It shifts tones higher or lower. The boys played with
it for weeks until they got bored. Left it lying in the toy chest….
A fury unlike anything I’ve ever felt runs through me. I wham
Bethany’s pillow against the mattress. Over and over and over again. It isn’t
until a piece of paper falls out of the cotton pillowcase that I stop. My combo!
She freaking stole it from my backpack! That’s how MP got into the locker to
hang the bird.
I’ve been such a fool. Blind to everything.
She’s
the double agent, not Liam. But what I can’t
figure out is why she didn’t tell me straight up when she wanted to get out of
MP. It’s not like we’re the closest of sisters. Still—we
are
sisters. Why go through all the double agent B.S.?
The answer hits seconds later. Bethany’s terrified. Afraid of
what’ll happen to her if Taneisha talks. If MP gets caught. If
Campus News
breaks the story. She got in over her head
and then couldn’t find a way out without owning up to what she did.
The plan for Jagger’s initiation freaked her out. She kept
giving me clues, hints—hoping, praying I’d talk him out of joining. She didn’t
actually want me to find out she’s in the group because she’s as guilty as the
rest of them. What she hoped was that the initiation would end before it
began.
An all-too-familiar feeling of guilt hits. Big Sister couldn’t
do the one thing Little Sis asked.
Something else occurs to me. I move to the computer. To my
dismay, this last piece of evidence proves it once and for all. The footage Raul
and I downloaded from Jagger’s camera is gone. There’s only one explanation. As
soon as Bethany saw it on
Campus News
today, she
snuck home and deleted it. Perhaps she hoped it was the only copy. If it’s gone,
we can’t do what we said—play another section during the next broadcast. But
Bethany has no idea I did it without telling Carleton. That I might never be
able to show anything again—because as of Monday, there’s a good chance I’m off
the team.
Somewhere in the house, something creaks.
“Bethany?” I scoot across the floor and step into the hall.
Complete silence. “Bethany! Are you home?”
No answer. I clatter down the steps. Her coat’s not hanging in
the entranceway. I check the kitchen, although I’m pretty sure she’s not there.
I’d hear the fridge opening, milk being poured, the crinkling of the cookie
package. My sister isn’t in the living room, either.
I could have imagined the sound. Or the top-floor renter moved
a piece of furniture. As soon as I’m back in the bedroom, I look around. What am
I missing? Nothing’s out of place. Nothing’s gone. Still, I can’t shake the
feeling that something’s wrong. Bethany really should be home by now.
My gaze focuses on the corner. The closet! Perhaps that’s where
the noise came from. Is someone inside? Waiting to spring out…?
With pounding heart, I tiptoe across the room, jerk the
doorknob. No one’s there.
My cell rings.
“Bethany! Where are you—”
“Maritime Park,” she whispers. “Come right now. Alone. No
cameras. No tape recorder.
Don’t
tell anyone or I’m
screwed.”
“Wait. What’s—” The only sound that comes from the phone is the
hum that signals a broken connection. I call her back. Text twice. No
response.
Oh, man. I never want to set foot in that park again. The
garden, the flagpole, the benches next to the river. Just thinking about it
makes my hand shake. Why does she want to meet
there?
Unless Bethany has proof that outs the rest of MP—and gets
her off the hook.
My stomach tightens as I check the time. Not yet four o’clock.
If I hurry, I might be able to get there before both the early December
nightfall, and the promised snowstorm, arrive.
That hope is soon dashed. Standing impatiently inside the glass
bus shelter, staring mindlessly at perfume and clothing advertisements, I text
Bethie:
Waiting for
the bus. Be there as soon as I can.
No response. Why doesn’t she get back to me?
Ten minutes later, I get a text, but it’s from Raul:
Important. Have to
talk
.
I shove the cell into my backpack as the bus finally pulls up.
I can’t tell Raul what I’m doing because I’m not about to sell out my sister.
Not without talking to her first.
By the time I get to Coffey Street, thick clouds cover the
dying rays of the sun. Yet again, I find myself making a nightmare run. Only
this time, it’s
toward
the park. Just as I reach the
flagpole, my cell buzzes. Bethany must be someplace she can spot me, although I
don’t see any sign of her.
Wrong. It’s not my sister but Raul. Ignoring the call, I shout,
“Bethany? Are you here?”
Like a scene in one of those end-of-the-world movies, the park
is eerily empty. The first snowflakes, drifting from gray clouds, look as
forlorn as I feel.
A clanging sound atop the flagpole gets my attention.
Please, no!
With a mounting sense of dread, I glance
up. Let out a breath. No one’s painted a message on underwear; nobody hangs from
a rope.
A flash of movement. A trio spills out of the garden. My heart
lurches. All three wear Halloween masks. Frankenstein. A zombie. The Ghost Face
from
Scream.
None of them is Bethany. I’d recognize
her coat, her shoes…her whole being.
“Where’s my sister?”
The answer is a laugh.
“Where the hell is Bethany?” A rough push is the response.
“What did you do to her?”
“Start walking,” commands the voice behind the Frankenstein
mask.
He attempts to shove me past the flagpole, but I grab the back
of a bench. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where Bethany is.”
“Shut up, bitch! We’re taking you to her.”
With no real choice, I release the bench and allow them to
guide me past the grassy area. The lights of the Verrazano Bridge are directly
ahead of us.
We’re heading west.
Not that I know if
that’s important, but the knowledge is something I can cling to.
“Who are you? Where are we going?” The questions are automatic.
Nervous instinct. I don’t expect an answer—nor do I get one.
The hill begins to slope downward—straight for the waters of
New York Harbor. Red Hook is the spot where the ocean mixes with the East River.
Dangerous currents. Deep eddies.
To my left, a hulking building looms. Another abandoned
warehouse. No way do I want to be forced into that building—but how do I know
Bethany isn’t there? That they haven’t done something terrible to her?
My knees buckle at the thought of my sister hanging from a
rope.
“Watch it, clumsy,” Ghost Face says.
A few steps farther and it becomes clear that the building
isn’t where we’re headed. Instead, I’m pushed toward the fence separating the
warehouse from the edge of the water. It’s supposed to stop people from getting
to the river. Problem is, the chain link is no more than shoulder high.
“Climb,” the kid wearing the zombie mask tells me.
Are they planning to throw me into the
river? In December? No one would last more than a few minutes.
“And if I don’t?”
My answer is a finger point. Through a thin curtain of
snowflakes, and the dimming of light as dusk descends, I can make out an old
dock. At the far end, broken-off posts, like sharpened daggers, rise from the
water. Two people wait. One is my sister. Even at a distance, her slightly
hunched silhouette is unmistakable. I have no idea who’s with her; he’s too far
away for me to recognize.
Silently, the three MP members and I climb the fence. Scramble
across a rocky barrier. The uneven stones, slick with a glazing of snow, make
getting to the dock hard.
The wooden wharf creaks as soon as the group steps onto its
weather-beaten boards. A terrifying vision flashes before me
:
the entire dock collapses and
everyone
ends up in the water. In the dark. During a storm.
About halfway down, we stop. The guy standing next to Bethany
wears a skeleton death mask. A flash of blue hoodie peeks out from underneath
his jacket. Skeletor. The kid at Omar’s party who gave me the finger. Probably
the dude who set the fire—
“Move it, News Girl!” he yells.
Frankenstein shoves me. “You heard him.”
“You do everything he says?”
“Yeah. If you’re smart, you will, too.”
He pushes me once more. Carefully, I move forward, stepping
across cracks and holes in the old wooden planks. At the end of the dock,
Bethany shivers like crazy. That’s not surprising since the wind picks up speed
as it crosses the harbor. It’s at least ten degrees colder here than on
land.
I also can’t discount the fact that she’s terrified.
“Bethie, are you all right?” No response. “Bethany! Say
something.”
“Shut up!” Skeletor yells.
He’s obviously talking to me because my sister hasn’t said a
word. I stop moving and give him what I pray is a steady,
I’m not afraid of you
stare. “How about we get to why I’m here so we
can go home? It’s freezing.”
The guy takes his time. “How many copies of the tape did you
make?”
“Excuse me?”
“The tape your sister shot. The one you played at school.”
“She didn’t shoot it.” Confused, I stare at Bethie. “Why would
you say…”
The group bristles. Everyone starts talking at once. Skeletor
yells, “Zip it!”
Immediately, they all shut up—except for me. “Bethany did not
shoot that footage. Jagger did.”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s what she said.” He puts a hand on her
shoulder. Bethany flinches. “Point is—it’s her fault. She told you stuff.”
“She did not!”
“Don’t lie. She confessed.”
Has Bethany lost her mind? Moved past terror to…I’m not sure
what to call it. It’s hard to imagine what Skeletor did to force her to lie like
that.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “But the footage on my computer’s been
deleted. As of today. You were probably in the bedroom when she did it.”
Skeletor shrugs, meaning:
big deal. You
figured that out.
“She said you always make a backup copy. Who has
it?”
“My friend Marci.” Defiantly, I toss my head. “She’s giving it
to the cops—”
“Giving?” He sneers “Or gave?”
Shit!
“I don’t know. She wanted to go to the cops from the beginning,
but I wouldn’t let her. We made a deal. She’d wait until after we aired the
piece.”
“How long?”
I glance at Bethany. “I’m not exactly sure—”
“My guess is she hasn’t gone yet. All you
Campus News
freaks would make her wait. See if some asshole at
school rats us out.” Skeletor points a skinny finger at me. “Here’s what you’re
going to do. Call your friend, tell her to leave the copy on the stoop of her
building, or the lobby, or whatever she has, and bring it back here. Someone
will trail behind you to make sure you follow directions. That’s when I’ll let
your traitor sister go.”