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“That,” Scout confirmed, reaching out her own hand, and taking a menacing step forward. When she spoke again, her voice was low and threatening. “Keep in mind, Lively, that in all the years you’ve been here, some interesting little facts have crossed my path, too. I assume you’d like to keep those facts between us, and not have them sprinkled around the sophomore and senior classes?”
There was silence as they faced off, the weirdo and the homecoming queen, a battle for rumor mill supremacy.
“Whatever,” Veronica finally said, handing over the folder between the tips of her fingers, lips pursed as if the paper were dirty or infected. “Have it. It’s not like I care. We’ve gotten everything we need.”
Scout pulled the file from Veronica’s manicured hands. “I’m glad we’ve concluded our business. And in the future, you might be a little more careful about where you get your information from and whom you share it with, capiche? Because sharing that information with the wrong people could be . . . costly.”
Thunder rolled and rippled again, this burst louder than the last. The storm was moving closer.
“Whatever,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes. She turned and, like a spinning dervish of plaid, took her seat on the couch again, attendants at her feet, the queen returned to her throne.
“Come on,” Scout said, taking my wrist in her free hand and moving me toward her bedroom. It took a moment to make my feet move, to drag my gaze away from the incredibly smug smile on Veronica’s face.
“Lily,” Scout said, and I glanced over at her.
“Come on,” she repeated, tugging my wrist. “Let’s go.”
We moved into her room, where she shut the door behind us. Folder in hand, she pointed at the bed. “Sit down.”
“I’m fine—”
“Sit down.”
I sat.
Thunder rolled again, lightning flashing through the room almost instantaneously. The rain started, a sudden downpour that echoed through the room like radio static.
The folder beneath her crossed arms, she walked to one end of the room, eyes on the floor, and then walked back again. “We’re going to have to put it back.” She lifted her head. “This came from Foley’s office. We needed to get it out of their hands, which we did—yay, us—but now we’re going to have to put it back. And that’s going to be tricky.”
“Great,” I muttered. “That’s great. Just one more thing I don’t need to worry about right now. But before we figure out how to sneak into Foley’s office and drop off a student file without her knowing it was gone, can I see it, please?”
“No.”
That silenced me for a moment. “Excuse me?”
“No.” Scout stopped her pacing and glanced over at me. “I really don’t think looking through this is going to help you. If there’s anything weird in here—about your parents, for example, since Foley likes to discuss them—it’s just going to give you things to obsess over. Things to worry about.”
“And it’s better if only Veronica and M.K. have that information?”
Silence.
“Good point,” Scout finally said, then handed it over. “You read. I’ll plot.”
My hands shaking, I flipped it open. My picture was stapled on the inside left, a shot of me from my sophomore year at Sagamore North, my hair a punky bob of black. On the inside right was an information sheet, which I skimmed—all basic stuff. A handful of documents was stapled behind the information sheet. Health and immunization records. A letter from the board of trustees about my admission.
The final document was different—a letter on cream-colored stock, addressed to Foley.
“Oh, my God,” I said as I reviewed it, my vision dimming at the edges again as the world seemed to contract around me.
“Lily? What is it?”
“There’s a letter. ‘Marceline,’ ” I read aloud, “ ‘as you know, the members of the board of trustees have agreed to admit Lily to St. Sophia’s. We believe your school is the best choice for the remainder of Lily’s high school education. As such, we trust that you will see to her education with the same vigor that you show to your other students.’ ”
“So far so good,” Scout said.
“There’s more. ‘We hope,’ ” I continued, “ ‘ that you’ll be circumspect in regard to any information you provide to Lily regarding our work, regardless of your opinion of it.’ It’s signed, ‘Yours very truly, Mark and Susan Parker.’ ”
“Your parents?” Scout quietly asked.
I nodded.
“That’s not so bad, Lil—she’s just asking Foley not to worry you or whatever about their trip—”
“Scout, my parents told me they were philosophy professors at Hartnett College. In Sagamore. In New York. But in this letter, they tell Foley not to talk to me about their work? And that’s not all.” I flipped the folder outward so that she could see the letter, the paper, the logo.
“They wrote the letter on Sterling Research Foundation letterhead.”
Scout’s eyes widened. She took the folder from my hand and ran a finger over the raised SRF logo. “SRF? That’s the building down the street. The place that does the medical research. What are the odds?”
“Medical research,” I repeated. “How close is that to genetic research?”
“That’s what Foley said your parents did, right?”
I nodded, the edge of my lip worried between my teeth. “And not what they told me they did. They lied to me, Scout.”
Scout sat down on the bed beside me and put a hand on my knee. “Maybe they didn’t really lie, Lil. Maybe they just didn’t tell you the entire truth.”
The entire truth.
Sixteen years of life, of what I’d believed my life to be, and I didn’t even know the basic facts of my parents’ careers. “If they didn’t tell me the entire truth about their jobs,” I quietly said, “what else didn’t they tell me?” For a moment, I considered whipping out my cell phone, dialing their number, and yelling out my frustration, demanding to know what was going on and why they’d lied. And if they hadn’t lied exactly, if they’d only omitted parts of their lives, why they hadn’t told me everything.
But that conversation was going to be a big one. I had to calm down, get myself together, before that phone call. And that’s when it dawned on me—for the first time—that there might be huge reasons, scary reasons, why they hadn’t come clean.
