Spies and Prejudice (3 page)

“Nice!” Dad admires the photographs. “How’d you get in so close?”

“I didn’t. I field-tested a new camera for Mary Chris.” I pick the glasses off the desk and hand them to my dad, grateful to have something to talk about besides the pictures I got today.

“Unbelievable.” Dad tries on the glasses and plays with the buttons on the frame. “Mary Chris is a genius.”

“Don’t get too excited. She’s already promised them to me.”

Dad takes the glasses off and hands them back. “You can use them again on a new job for Shauna Waterson. She invited us to dinner on Thursday. I’ll let her fill you in on the details then.”

“Please don’t tell me you expect me to go to dinner at the Watersons.”

“Shauna refers us a lot of business. Is it too much to ask for you to fake your way through a two-hour meal?”

Way, way too much.

“Two words. Collin. Pepper spray.” Technically it’s three, but my point is made.

Dad reaches down to pet Lulu. “If I recall, Collin got the sharp end of that stick.”

He wouldn’t say that if he knew that my desire to avoid Collin Waterson has less to do with his attempt to kiss me with tongue in eighth grade and more to do with his current tendency to turn every conversation into a crude proposition. I try another tack. “I’m buried right now. I’m helping Mary Chris with her mechanical science project.” I hold up the glasses.

“The same project that worked perfectly in the field today?” Dad is not buying it. “Shauna specifically asked for you to come.”

I hate being beholden to anyone, but as a divorce attorney, Shauna Waterson does feed us a steady stream of business. Turns out there’s nothing like uncovering a dirty little secret to gain an edge in a custody battle.

“It’s not like I’m the face of Fields Investigations.” It’s been less than two years since Dad even trusted me to handle my own stakeouts. And it’s not like Dad parades me in front of his clients. Most don’t care how we get our information. Just that we get it.

Dad sighs and sits on the couch. Dots of pale skin peek through the thinning brown hair at the top of his head. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.” He wipes his brow, avoiding eye contact. “You know I never meant for you to get this involved in my business. You need to spend more time with kids your own age. Enjoy high school.”

“You say that like it’s remotely possible.”

“Maybe if you gave it a chance.” He stares across the room to the kitchen. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Then don’t make me go to the Watersons.”

Dad smiles at me like he always does, a pity smile meant to comfort or encourage me. I’m never sure which. “You can’t a hold a grudge forever. I’m sure Collin is looking forward to seeing you.”

“That is not a selling point.”

“Six thirty Thursday.” End of discussion, as far as Dad is concerned. Before I can protest again, he deftly changes the subject. “So tell me about the pictures you shot today.”

I finger the memory card in my pocket. I know he’s talking about
the photos of the mark, but I can’t stop thinking about the picture of Mr. Moss with my mother’s letterhead. I can’t tell Dad about the letter in the folder.

I won’t.

“It was no big deal,” I finally say. “The guy was bound to slip up sooner or later. They always do.”

Dad smiles again, a real smile. It catches me off guard.

“Great. This job was for one of Shauna’s clients. You can bring Shauna up to speed on Thursday.”

Argument over. Dad: 672. Berry: 3. Not that I’m keeping score.

Lulu, the product of one of my three victories, lies back down across my feet.

“I’m close to a breakthrough too,” Dad says. “On the school board case.”

“No way.” At least Dad doesn’t ask any more questions about my pictures or launch into a pep talk on how I should be hanging out with, or worse, dating boys like Collin Waterson. So far that’s one of the other arguments in my favor. Dad’s convinced it’s just a matter of time before he wins that one too.

“Way.” Dad heads into the kitchen. “Should we order a pizza?”

I let out a breath as soon as Dad is out of the room. Mom’s letterhead could be nothing.

It’s probably nothing.

I make a run for my bedroom while Dad calls Martucci’s. By the time I toss the little memory card into a drawer and flip on the television to a
Cops and Lawyers
marathon, I’m nearly convinced.

It’s definitely nothing.

W
hen I get to school on Monday morning, Mary Chris is in our usual spot, a low wall on the southeastern corner of the quad. She leans back on her palms, long blonde hair blowing in the breeze, her face raised to the sun. Most people never get past her face. They assume that Mare is exactly as she appears, sunshine and light personified. It isn’t too far from the truth, but a person doesn’t make it through eleven years as my best friend without collecting a few battle scars along the way.

She checks her watch. “Morning stakeout?”

I shake my head. I’m usually rushing to get to my first class before the second bell, but today I’m here early. I wanted to get out of the house without talking to my dad. I may be good at uncovering secrets, but I’m not used to having my own. But I can’t tell Mare about seeing her dad with my mother’s letterhead either. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you can mention in casual conversation.

So, do you think something was going on between your dad and my mom?

Is that what I think? No.

No way.

“Don’t tell me you’re hoping for some quality time with the McHenry student body?” Mary Chris smiles in the direction of the growing crowd gathered on the quad.

“Please, no.”

“They’re not so bad.” Mary Chris has a massive blind spot when it comes to people’s faults. The more pathetic and alone someone is, the more likely Mare is to take them under her wing. It explains why we’ve been friends for so long.

Mare pushes a lock of hair behind her ears. “Plus, Jason’s bringing lattes to celebrate his role in the musical production of
Hamlet
.”

“I didn’t know there was a musical version.”

“There is now. Some sophomore wrote the music.”

“Tell me we won’t have to go to every performance.” Not that I can ever say no to Jason. I’ll probably end up at the dress rehearsals too.

Most of Mare’s strays hang around for a couple of months or so, until they find a more permanent home. While Jason could’ve moved on to the drama crowd full-time years ago, for some reason, he stuck.

Mare sits up. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the guys from the coffee shop?”

“Should I?”

Mare looks out at the quad with a satisfied smile. “Ryan might’ve asked to hang out with us today.”

“Please let it be just Ryan.” Surely his stepbrother has found a groupie by now.

“What do you have against Tanner? He doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Trust me, he is.”

I catch a flash of Jason’s highlights out of the corner of my eye. He walks as fast as he can without running, balancing a cardboard tray of coffee in his hands. He somehow manages to keep the coffee from splashing on his purple skinny jeans and fitted button-down. “You guys!” He’s slightly out of breath. “Have you seen them?”

Mare reads the chicken scratch on the coffee cups, searching for her extra-shot mocha. “Who?” But she’s smiling again, like she knows exactly who Jason is talking about. Sounds like the stepbrothers from Irvine have graced McHenry with their exalted presence.

Jason sets the remaining two drinks down on the wall next to Mary Chris. “Only two of the hottest guys to ever set foot on the campus in the history of McHenry.”

Bingo.

Jason’s eyes travel out across the quad. “You guys,” he says again, as his eyes come to rest on someone in the distance.

It’s impossible to miss Tanner, standing in the center of the grass at the top of the knoll, on display for the entire student body. His hands rest casually in pockets of jeans that are faded to just the right degree. A light-blue golf shirt hugs close enough to show off the fact that he’s ripped, loose enough to look like it isn’t intentional. The ice king cometh.

If my heart rate kicks up a notch, I’m sure it’s just the anticipation of watching the feeding frenzy that’s already starting to stir on the quad.

Kennedy Patton and her entourage, which consists entirely of girls named after dead American presidents, move in. Reagan, Madison, and Taylor form a semicircle around Tanner, an impenetrable wall of miniskirts and high heels. Tanner nods, but still scans the crowd over their heads while they chatter.

Next to me, Jason audibly sighs. “Did you see the one with dark hair?”

Like there’s an eye in the place that isn’t gawking at Tanner. The quad buzzes with energy. Even the guys seem impressed.

Mary Chris hops off the wall to get a better look. “Wait until you see his brother.” She points to where Ryan stands just behind Tanner, looking slightly lost.

My gaze gravitates back to Tanner. I know the second he sees me. His eyes stay fixed on me as he lifts his chin in greeting. When I don’t respond right away, he lifts his hand over Kennedy’s shoulder and waves.

No, no, no, no, no.

Before I can look away, he shouts across the quad. “Berry!”

Three hundred heads turn in my direction. The Dead Presidents’ jaws fall to their chests in unison. It must be a cheerleader thing.

Tanner marches past them without a backward glance. His brother Ryan falls alongside, grinning at Mary Chris. They walk straight toward our little wall.

Mary Chris bounces on her heels as she takes a sip of her mocha.

Jason starts to hyperventilate.

It cannot be a good sign that I am on the same page with Jason Yakamoto. I try to slow down my breathing. As a rule, I avoid the
spotlight. Especially on this particular stage. There’s no room for public displays when you spend your life documenting other people’s private drama.

Tanner stops a few feet in front of me, seemingly oblivious to the hush that’s fallen over the quad. “Hey,” he says. “I was hoping we’d see you.” His low voice thrums.

“Hey.” I stuff my hands in the pockets of my hoodie. Whatever I did to deserve this karma sundae, I take it back.

He pushes a strand of razored hair away from his face. “You’re not wearing your glasses.”

“Can’t get anything by you, can I?”

Jason looks from me to Tanner. “How do you know Strawberry?”

Tanner’s smile is smug. “Your name is Strawberry?”

“Jason is the only one allowed to call me that.” My mother was a Beatles fanatic, even though John Lennon died when she was eight. She gave me the name Strawberry Fields and then died when I was eight. It’s a legacy I’ve been trying to live down ever since.

“You must be Jason.” Tanner shakes Jason’s hand and introduces Ryan.

Mary Chris points to the piece of paper in Ryan’s hand. “Is that your schedule?”

Ryan hands her the paper. “Tell me we have some classes together.”

Tanner starts to roll his eyes before he catches himself, silently but effectively communicating his feelings about any budding relationship between his brother and Mary Chris.

“You have some sort of problem?” I ask.

“Problem?”

I lean my head toward the wall where Mary Chris and Jason are giving Ryan a rundown on the teachers on his schedule. “Is there something wrong with my friend?”

“You caught that?” He doesn’t even bother denying it. He could at least pretend he’s not such a jerk.

“You aren’t exactly subtle.”

Tanner shuffles his feet, his hands pushed back in his pockets. “It’s not your friend, okay?” He glances toward Mary Chris. “She seems nice.”

“Your brother?”

He shrugs. I’m not going to get an explanation. Not that I want one. As far as I’m concerned the sooner that Tanner finds some other poor girl to entertain with his complete lack of manners and unearned snobbery the better.

I cross my arms in front of my chest, hoping he’ll get the hint that he’s not wanted. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. We moved here from Orange County.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I scan the crowd gathered on the quad. Several people have the decency to look away and pretend that they haven’t been staring at us the whole time. Most don’t bother. Kennedy Patton looks like she’s about to have a meltdown. It’s a waste of her energy. She can take him. Please.

“You and Mary Chris are the only people we know here.” Tanner kicks a blade of grass with his sneaker. He doesn’t even believe the stuff that’s coming out of his mouth.

I stare until his eyes come back up to mine. “You don’t know me.”

I think I see the beginnings of a smile cross his lips. He steps closer.
“You’re right.” His low voice drops to nearly a whisper. “Maybe I want to.”

“You’ll get over it.” I step back and turn my attention on Ryan. “So you’re a junior too?”

“We both are.”

Tanner’s presence is like virtual chum. Kennedy Patton and the rest of the Dead Presidents circle our group once before marching up to Tanner, teeth bared in pasted-on smiles.

Kennedy grabs his left arm, wedging herself into the little space between me and him, even though there is barely room. Just one of the advantages of being a size zero. “A bunch of us are going to get some frozen yogurt off campus at lunch.”

There is no mystery to Kennedy’s popularity. She isn’t particularly rich. She isn’t particularly bright. She isn’t even particularly nice. What she has going for her is that she is particularly and singularly beautiful. Her life is mapped out accordingly. Date hottest guy in school, make others’ lives miserable, marry rich, possibly famous man. Repeat.

I ask Ryan a question about his schedule while Kennedy launches into an intellectual discussion on the merits of granola as a yogurt topping. As near as I can tell, Tanner doesn’t participate. He just stands there and bleeds vanity. I try to focus on Ryan’s recitation of his class schedule, even though I don’t hear a single thing.

Then the Dead Presidents are gone and Tanner slips closer to me.

Jason watches the Dead Presidents walk away. “What were they doing over here?”