William opens it, and I wonder whether it was locked. I subtly survey the handle as I walk through the doorway, but I don’t spy any signs of damage.
Her office is a spotless white that practically sparkles. There isn’t a single file, writing instrument, or piece of paper on her marble desk, and her shelves are filled with crystal and stone trinkets and accent pieces instead of books. There’s also a desk chair, sofa, and armchair—all remarkably white and stainless. A strange choice on the director’s part, as students aren’t the cleanest of people.
Zach raises his camera. “At least I can take pictures here,” he says, reviewing the photo in the camera’s display.
Trevor opens the desk drawers but finds only writing supplies. The sole piece of furniture where the letter could be is a white metal storage cabinet with twin vertical doors. Trevor tries one of the handles.
“Locked,” he says in disappointment.
“Move aside,” says William.
“What are you, Superman?” asks Trevor without budging. “You going to break it open?”
“Maybe I am,” says the vampire, standing chest to chest with Trevor. William is only a couple of inches taller.
“Even if you were,” says Trevor in a deprecating tone, “we’d be leaving evidence, and then Minaro would know something was taken. Which is not what we want, given that our friends are out there distracting her, making all of us suspects.”
William doesn’t have anything to say to that, but for my part I’m impressed. This is clearly not Trevor’s first offense.
“Lucky for us, I’m an expert lock-picker,” Trevor goes on, and I’m starting to see why his parents sent him here to be reformed.
That’s really working out for them.
He fishes out a paper clip from the desk drawer, untwists it, and inserts one end into the lock. Then he starts clicking around.
“Got it.”
Inside the cabinet, we find a series of trays with paperwork. We divide up the forms among us and go through everything, but it’s just official school business. No sign of an ancient letter.
William is the only one who doesn’t help. While the rest of us focus on the paperwork, he admires a white box on a shelf, filled with ivory pebbles.Something blurs in the edges of my vision, like a movement so fast that I’m not sure I saw it, then William ducks to inspect a crystal vase.
“Nothing,” says Trevor in disappointment. “Thanks a lot for your help,” he adds to William.
“You are welcome.”
We slip out of Minaro’s office quickly, and apparently right on time.
“I thought she was really hurt!” Salma is saying as the door to the main office swings open.
“I’m sorry,” says Tiffany. “It was just a joke, I didn’t know she was going to tell you guys!”
Sounds like Tiffany’s acting sucked, and they had to improvise a plan B—the practical joke.
“There you are!” I say in relief as we enter the main office area, right as Director Minaro is opening the small door at the end of the counter. “We were looking for Salma and Tiffany in the nurse’s office,” I explain. “We thought Tiffany was hurt.”
“No, she was in the library, wasting my time,” huffs Director Minaro, moving aside so that we can exit. “Find another way to occupy yourselves. If you do not have enough reading and homework to do, I will happily fix that.”
“Sorry,” says Tiffany again.
As we file out of the office, Trevor leans toward me and says, “Youshould’ve pretended to get hurt—that was some good acting.”
I think he means it as a compliment, but it makes me feel a little sick.
I have no idea who I am right now. And for the first time, Salma can’t help me figure myself out.
CHAPTER 19william
William sits at the usual dining hall table.
