Page 152 of Wicked Brutal

Penny: car is here

Penny: getting in

Penny: gone

I look at Becca. “Nobody comes through that door.”

“Nobody comes through that door.”

Then Ally catches my hand. I look at her. “Come back.”

Two words. Not be careful. Not don’t get caught. Come back. I squeeze her fingers. “Always.”

Then I go. By the time I reach the second floor, Cat is already moving. She passes me near the stairs carrying a folder thick enough to qualify as a weapon. We don’t stop.

“Thirty seconds,” she says.

I take the longer route around the science corridor. My phone vibrates.

Danny: back hall clear

X: main hall clear

Iz: I’m being very distracting

I round the corner to see Iz leaning against the wall outside administration talking to three girls, one guy, and Coach Dempsey. How the fuck he collected five people in under three minutes is a question for another day. He’s laughing about something. Loudly. Everybody is looking at him. Of course they are. He sees me. Doesn’t acknowledge me.

Through the glass doors of administration, I see Cat arrive at Mrs. Halverson’s desk.

“Hi. I’m sorry, but I need somebody to explain this to me because the registrar’s answer makes absolutely no sense.”

Mrs. Halverson looks up. Poor woman. She has no idea what’s about to happen to her. “What seems to be the problem, Catherine?”

“My transcript.” Cat lays several pages across the counter. “I think one of my weighted courses is being calculated incorrectly.”

Mrs. Halverson looks down. “I don’t see an error.”

“Exactly.” I almost laugh. Mrs. Halverson frowns. Cat launches. “The issue isn’t the grade. The issue is the weighting standard being applied to dual-enrollment coursework versus AP equivalency, because the registrar’s email says—“

I slip through the side entrance. Nobody looks at me. The headmaster’s office door is closed. Mrs. Halverson is already pulling something up on her computer. Cat has moved her to the far side of the office. I scan the front counter.

Nothing. Fuck. Desk. Clipboard. Folders. Nothing. Where did Roman sign it?

I look toward the smaller conference desk behind the partition Ally described. There. A cream folder. Edgewood crest. A blue sticky note on top.

O’TOOLE, ALISON

Everything inside me goes cold.

I cross the office. Don’t rush. Don’t look suspicious. Which is difficult when I am, in fact, doing something extremely fucking suspicious. I open the folder. First page.

STUDENT WITHDRAWAL AND TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION

I take the picture. Page two. Academic records release. Picture. Page three. Enrollment verification request. Picture.

I don’t read. Not here. Not with Mrs. Halverson fifteen feet away and Cat eventually running out of creative ways to misunderstand grade weighting. Picture. Turn. Picture. Turn. Picture. Receiving institution. Picture. Supporting documentation. Picture. Financial records. Picture. Travel paperwork.

My hand pauses. Travel? No. Read later. Picture. Turn. Picture.