Dial Em for Murder (19 page)

It was probably best to keep all of that to myself.

“Um, thanks. I should go. Don't want to be late for my next class.”

I'd nearly slipped out the door when Ms. Pierce said, “This is your last class, Emmy. Tuesday is an early release day.”

I nodded like a bobblehead. “Right. I guess that means I'll go, um, release myself.”

The musical sound of Ms. Pierce's low chuckle trailed me out into the hall.

Oh yeah, I was special alright.

A special kind of idiot.

I swore at my locker after another failed attempt to open it.

The damn thing wouldn't budge, despite the fact that I'd tried the combination roughly fifteen billion times. I had even tested numbers that
rhymed
with the code I had been given, in case I'd somehow misremembered it.

My locker remained shut.

“What have we here?” It was funny how quickly a voice could be identified and detested. I glanced up to see Peyton and her sidekicks smirking at me from the locker room door. “Did someone forget their combination?”

The girl with an asymmetrical bob that looked like her hairdresser had been startled mid-snip snickered at me. “Sucks to be you.”

My back stiffened. “You mean because I'm stuck here? Yeah, it does suck. Good thing this is only a temporary glitch.”

Peyton scowled. The expression should have scrunched her face, like a peeved orangutan throwing a hissy fit over a banana. Instead, she looked regal in her haughtiness.

“Sebastian's grandfather warned me about you.”

I hadn't seen
that
coming. Still, I pretended like this wasn't groundbreaking news, like I chatted about dead guys all the time, which wasn't all that far from the truth anymore.

“Oh yeah? What did my pal Freddie have to say?” I hoped like hell that the nickname sounded flip and sarcastic. If Peyton knew just how badly I wanted her to fill me in, she'd probably turn on the pointy tips of her designer heels and saunter away.

“He said that I shouldn't let you out of my sight.”

I waited for her to continue, but she appeared satisfied leaving me with that cryptic comment. I was starting to wonder if it was against the student code of conduct to give a straightforward answer.

“That's it? He just said, ‘Hey Peyton, give the New Girl my worst, will ya?'”

“He didn't trust you and neither do I.” Her glare transformed into a smile that was so sugary it could put a diabetic into a coma. “He didn't have to spell out every little detail for me. We understood each other perfectly. So watch yourself, Noodle. Because. I. Am. Better. Than. You.” Peyton signaled the other girls to follow her out before letting the door swing shut behind her.

I wasn't so sure about the “better than me” part, but I didn't doubt that she was fully capable of messing with my locker combination. My pulse quickened as I realized Peyton could've done a whole lot more than alter my locker code: She could have stolen my bag.

And taken my Slates with her in the process.

I didn't have the faintest idea how to go about reclaiming my personal property from her either.

Hey President Gilcrest. I'd like to report a theft. Peyton McSomething-or-other hijacked my Slate. Well, technically, it belonged to our dead mutual friend. At this point, I think that's mostly a technicality. So can you make her give it back? Oh, and who comes to mind when you hear, “Potential Hostile”? Anyone? Think it over, okay? Thanks.

Yeah, that wouldn't raise too many red flags.

I sucked in a deep breath and focused on my best course of action. The stupid combination wasn't magically going to open if I kept yelling at it. Not unless, “you inanimate bastard!” was a preprogrammed option. There was nothing to be gained by standing in front of it like an idiot. I had to track down someone with the authorization to remove the lock before I could analyze whatever damage Peyton had done during my one-on-one chat with Ms. Helsenberg. The dance instructor's tirade may have felt like it lasted an eternity, but it couldn't have been much longer than ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.

How much damage could one spoiled debutante manage in that short a timespan?

More than I wanted to consider.

Leaving the gym behind, I went in search of Kayla. If anyone knew the inner working of the girls' locker room, it was my new roommate. There also wasn't anyone else I could ask for help. Colin had smiled at me twice. That was it. And he probably would have grinned at the devil himself if the two of them were forced to waltz under the watchful eyes of Ms. Helsenberg. I hadn't exactly won over the student body. Nobody would be rushing to help the New Girl who had alienated the elite school's most influential students in less than a day.

I ached to hear Audrey and Ben tell me it would be okay. That I was letting my imagination get the best of me again. That my Slate was still safely tucked away inside my locker, making this nothing more than a minor setback. No big deal.

Except one good hard stomp was all it would take for Peyton to destroy my Slate and officially demolish any trail that could lead to my dad. And yeah, I was fully aware how pathetic that sounded. A dead man's password-protected tablet was my best shot at finding the guy who'd done nothing but fail as a parent. A man who had disappeared on my mom without bothering to scribble his goodbye on a napkin.

But I still couldn't walk away, not without wondering every day if everything would've been better if I'd only been willing to fight a little bit harder.

Trudging outside I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The ache in my legs had only increased after being motionless for the entire duration of Ms. Pierce's class. A long soak in a bathtub began to sound like my definition of heaven. I was daydreaming about scented bubbles all the way to the girls' dormitory before I realized that no bag also meant no swipe card.

Leaving me stuck haunting the steps outside the door like a creepy lurker.

“Waiting for someone, Emmy?”

I twisted around to see Sebastian and Nasir lounging on a nearby bench, neither of them showing any hint of the fatigue weighing on me. They would both probably love the opportunity to turn up their noses at doing me a favor.

Still, desperate times called for really,
really
desperate measures.

That had to be written on a bumper sticker somewhere.

“Have either of you seen Kayla?”

Nasir shook his head. “No.”

A smirk slowly spread across Sebastian's face. “Are you locked out already? That's got to be a record.”

“That's me. Total record-setter.” I straightened my spine, bracing myself for another confrontation. This part was going to be hard to admit. “Can I borrow a Slate?”

Nasir instinctively reached into his pocket to hand me his tablet and I steeled myself against the temptation of checking his outgoing call log. I wanted to know if he'd taken my advice about Audrey. If he'd called her. How long their conversation might have lasted. Except that would be a complete violation of his privacy, and I refused to give up the moral high ground in order to satisfy my curiosity, especially when I could always interrogate Audrey later.

Unfortunately, Sebastian chose
that
particular moment to interfere.

“Where's the Slate I gave you?” Sebastian asked. “You can't have sold it for extra cash. Nobody here needs one.”

“It's—” I cut myself off quickly. Snapping at Sebastian wouldn't help defuse the awkward situation. I still knew what I wanted to say.
Great question, Sebastard. G
o
ask your psycho part-time girlfriend Peyton. She could tell you.

The last thing I needed was Sebastian sticking his nose into my fight with Paydirt. I inwardly smiled at that one. The girl might have hit the genetics jackpot, but her diamonds also had the sheen of dirty money to them. She seemed like the type of girl who wouldn't object to exploiting others if it protected her own bottom line.

The nickname suited the girl to perfection.

“It's what?” Nasir asked me, breaking my quick trip to fantasy land. The great nation of Khazibekustanzia would have to wait for me to get my real life sorted out before I could give my fiction the time it deserved. “Did you break it or something?”

“It's complicated.” Neither boy looked impressed with my evasiveness. “I only need to borrow it for a second. I'll give it right back.”

“Here, use Sebastian's.” Nasir grinned as he held out the glorified smartphone to me. I took it before either of them could reconsider, my own mouth twitching with amusement as Sebastian's hands flew automatically to his coat pockets.

“Damn, Nasir. That was good. I didn't feel a thing.” There was a note of wry respect in his voice that I'd never heard before. Probably because as far as Sebastian was concerned I was nothing more than a temporary annoyance to be tolerated.

“Of course you didn't feel it.” Nasir looked offended by the very suggestion that he might have screwed up a simple snatch.

“Do it again and your dancing shoes will mysteriously vanish right before class.”

Having been on the receiving end of Ms. Helsenberg's undivided attention it wasn't a threat I'd take lightly, but Nasir's answering smirk didn't reveal any unease. “I wouldn't bet on it. I bought a new lock last week.”

I had no idea what to make of a friendship based on privacy violations, but apparently it worked for Sebastian and Nasir. If either Ben or Audrey threatened to screw with my stuff, I would be
pissed
. If they replaced one of their locks to keep me out, I'd be offended that they felt the need to erect any extra barriers. These boys didn't seem to play by the same basic rules. If anything, the icy depths of Sebastian's eyes lit with excitement.

“What brand?”

“See for yourself.”

Sebastian grinned in a very cat-that-ate-the-canary kind of way. “Fifteen minutes. Twenty on the outside. I'll even let you time me.”

“Generous of you.” Nasir sighed as if accepting the inevitable. “Looks like I'll be buying a new lock next week. Are you planning on using the Slate or did you just want to hold it, Emmy?”

A new plan began to form, stilling my fingers on the smooth surface of the Slate. “You're good at cracking locks?”

Sebastian shot me one of his patented
you've got to kidding me
looks and my cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Right. Of course he was good at cracking locks. He'd been using that very skill to help himself to some very expensive liquor at the party where we'd met. For a moment, all I could see was that twisted half-smile he'd given me when he'd held up the scotch—thirty-year-old Glenlivet scotch, to be specific—and offered me a tumbler.

“Right.” I wanted to glance at Nasir, at the cobblestones, at
anything
other than Sebastian, but I held my gaze steady. “Great. You need to come with me. Right now.”

Sebastian eyed me warily. “You plan on holding my Slate hostage if I refuse?”

I shrugged. “It gives you an incentive to help me, right?”

He turned on Nasir. “
This
is why you don't hand my stuff to crazy girls. It gives them dangerous ideas.”

I tried to picture that capitalized on my tombstone.
Here lies Emmy Danvers: The Girl with Dangerous Ideas.

Oddly enough, I liked it.

Still, I waggled the Slate temptingly in front of Sebastian. “You know you want it.”

My mouth clamped shut the second it hit me how ridiculously suggestive those words sounded when spoken out loud. They couldn't have been more misleading, because I wasn't interested in flirting with Sebastian St. James.

I just wanted him to be motivated to break a few school rules for me.

That was my story and I was sticking to it.

He raised an eyebrow and examined me so intently that my cheeks turned a darker shade of red. “What do you need me to crack?”

I grimaced and said the words in a rush so I couldn't chicken out halfway through. “
Mylockerinthegirls'changingroom.
”

Nasir burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, I really screwed you over, buddy. We should all have your problems. I'll let you two work out the details.”

And before I could correct whatever screwed-up idea Nasir had in his head, which was undoubtedly as far from reality as my wildest romance novel plots, he cut across the lawn toward the boys' dorm, whistling the whole way. Leaving me alone to deal with an inscrutable Sebastian. His light blue eyes gave absolutely nothing away, even as he began sauntering toward the gym.

“Hurry up, Emmy. Let's go where I've never gone before.” Sebastian's smile took on a wicked bent. “Allegedly.”

I had a feeling “allegedly” was his middle name.

Not that he'd ever confirm or deny it.

My sore muscles protesting each step, I hurried to catch up with Sebastian.

“My locker is the last one on the left.”

Sebastian didn't appear to be in any rush to get there. He turned a complete circle to take in the girls' locker room in all its dubious glory. Actually, it was pretty nice. McKinley High School had gone with a Pepto-Bismol pink color scheme, set off with inspirational cat posters about
never giving up
and
just holding on
. Those posters had always creeped me out. What exactly was the cat supposed to be waiting for to happen? It wasn't like there was a super sexy fireman climbing up the tree, ready to reach the troubled feline. And just how high up was any of this in the first place? Maybe the cat's fear of falling was the only thing preventing the fluff ball from scampering home.

The light blue paint in the girls' locker room at Emptor Academy didn't belong in a special Easter coloring box. It had a glossy sheen that made the space look both sophisticated and sanitary, which was really all you could ask of a changing room.