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She and Cabel accidentally park near each other at school, which makes Ethel very happy, Janie thinks.
7:53 a.m.
Carrie whaps Janie on the back of the head. “Hey, chica,” she says, her eyes dancing, as usual. “I’ve hardly seen you over the holiday break. You all better?”
Janie grins. “I’m good. Check out my cool-ass scar.”
Carrie whistles, impressed.
“How’s Stu? Did you have a good Christmas?”
“Well, after the whole jail experience, I was pretty bummed out for a few days, but hey, shit happens. We had our court thingy yesterday, and I did what you suggested. I got my charges dropped, but Stu had to pay a fine. No jail time, though. It was a good thing he didn’t do any coke.” She whispers this last bit.
“Good job.” Janie grins. She knew Carrie’s drug charges would be dropped. She just couldn’t tell her that.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Carrie continues. She digs around in her backpack and pulls out an envelope. “Here’s your college money back,” she says. “Thanks again, Janie. You were awesome to come out in the middle of the night to bail us out. So, what’s the deal with your seizures, anyway? That really freaked me out.”
Janie blinks. Carrie-speak is almost always at full-speed, and it changes direction often. Which is okay. Because Janie can usually dodge any questions she doesn’t want to answer without Carrie noticing.
Carrie is a little self-centered.
And immature at times.
But she’s the only girlfriend Janie’s got, and they’re both loyal as hell.
“Oh, you know.” Janie yawns. “The doc’s gotta run some tests and stuff. Made me take off work from the nursing home for a while. But if you ever see me do that again—have a seizure, I mean—don’t worry. Just make sure I don’t fall and crack open my skull on a rusty coffee cart next time, will you?”
Carrie shudders. “Gah, don’t talk about it!” she says. “You’re giving me the heebs. Hey, I heard Cabel’s in some deep shit with the cops over this whole cocaine scandal. Have you seen him? I wonder if he’s still in jail.”
Janie’s eyes widen. “No way! You think? Let me know what you find out from Melinda and Shay.”
“Of course.” Carrie grins.
Carrie loves a good scandal.
And Janie loves Carrie. Wishes she didn’t have to keep secrets from her.
2:25 p.m.
Janie and Cabel have study hall last period in the school library. They don’t sit together. Nobody looks sleepy. Things are going smoothly.
Janie, tucked away at her favorite table in the far back corner of the library, finishes a boring English lit assignment and then tackles her Chem. 2 homework. Her first impression of that class is positive. Only a few geeks take it—it’s a college-credit course. But Janie, having satisfied all her required courses, is taking whatever she can to help her out in college. Advanced math, Spanish, Chemistry 2, and psychology. Psychology is a Captain requirement. “It’s crucial to police work,” she’d said. “Especially the kind of work you’ll be doing.”
A paper wad lands on Janie’s page of homework and bounces to the ground. Janie picks it up while still reading her textbook, and opens it up, pressing out the wrinkles.
4:00 p.m.?
That’s what the note says.
Janie glances casually to the left, between two rows of bookshelves, and nods.
2:44 p.m.
Janie’s chemistry book thumps to the table as everything goes dark.
She lays her head on her arms as she gets sucked into a dream.
For crap’s sake! thinks Janie. It’s Cabel’s dream. It figures.
Janie goes along for the ride, although normally she tries to pull out of his dreams now that his nightmares have quieted. But, ever curious, she rides this one out, knowing the bell will ring soon, ending the school day.
Cabel is rummaging through his closet, methodically putting on shirts and sweaters over one another, layering more and more pieces until he can hardly move his blimplike body.
Janie doesn’t know what to think. Feeling invasive, she pulls herself out of the dream.
When she can see again, she stacks her books into her backpack and waits, thoughtful, until the bell rings.
4:01 p.m.
Janie slips in the back door of Cabel’s house, shakes the snow off her boots, and leaves them inside the heated wooden box next to the door. She folds her coat and sets it next to the boots, and heads to the basement.
“Hey,” grunts Cabel from the bench press.
Janie grins. She stretches out her slightly aching muscles, picks up the ten-pound barbells, and begins with squats.
They work out in silence for forty-five minutes.
Both of them are mentally reviewing the day.
They’ll talk about it—soon.
5:32 p.m.
Showered and settled at the small, round conference table in the computer room, Cabel pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen while Janie fires up the laptop.
“Here’s what your profile sheets should look like,” he says, sketching. “I e-mailed you the template.”
Cabel points out the various columns, explaining in full as to what sort of information should be written in each one. Janie pulls up the template on her screen, squints and then frowns, and fills in the first one.
“Why are you squinting?”
“I’m not. I’m concentrating.”
Cabel shrugs.
“Okay, so first hour is Miss Gardenia, Spanish, room 112, and the list of students. You want their real names or Spanish names?” Janie looks at him, deadpan.
He grins and pulls her hair.
She types quickly.
Like, ninety words a minute.
She uses all of her fingers, not just one from each hand.
Imagine that.
Cabel gawks. “Holy shit. Will you do mine for me?”
“Sure. But you’ll have to dictate. Going back and forth between computer screen and handwritten notes gives me a headache. And it makes me very cranky.”
“How did you . . . ?” He knows she doesn’t own a computer.
“Nursing home,” she says. “Files, files, files. Charts, records, transcribing medical terms, prescriptions, all that.”
“Wow.”
“Why don’t we do yours first. Then I’ll have a better understanding of how to do mine.”
Cabel flips through a spiral notebook. “Okay,” he says. “I already scribbled some notes here, at school—No! Not the evil eyebrow! I’ll decipher them and dictate, I promise.”
Janie glances at his notes.
“What the . . . ,” she says, and grabs the notebook.
Reads the page.
Looks at him.
“Mr. Green, Mrs. White, Miss Scarlet . . . Well, if it isn’t Professor Plum. So where the hell is Colonel Mustard?” She bursts out laughing.
“Colonel Mustard is Principal Abernethy,” he says with a sniff.
Janie stops laughing.
Sort of.
Actually, she giggles every few minutes as she reads. Especially when she finds out Miss Scarlet is actually Mr. Garcia, the industrial tech teacher.
“It’s coded for secrecy, Janie.” He’s really not sounding amused. “In case I lose the notebook, or somebody looks over my shoulder.”
Janie stops mocking him.
But he continues. “It’s a smart idea. You should code your notes too, if you take any. It only takes one stupid mistake to blow your cover. And then we’re all screwed.”
Janie waits.
Makes sure he’s finished.
Then says, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Cabe.”
He looks mildly redeemed.
“All right then, moving on,” he says. “First hour is advanced math. Mr. Stein. Room 134.”
She plugs in the info, including the class list. “Anything of note?” she asks.
“In this space here,” he says, pointing, “write, ‘slight German accen
t, tendency to trip over words when excited, constantly fidgets with chalk.’ The guy’s a nervous wreck,” Cabel explains.
“Next is Mrs. Pancake.” They don’t chuckle at the name, because they’ve known her for years now. “I have nothing of note on her. She’s just that sweet, round grandma type—not the profile I expect we’ll be after, but we don’t rule anybody out, okay? I’ll keep watching.”
Janie nods and goes to the third page, fills in the appropriate information, and within thirty minutes, Cabel’s charts are done for the day. She e-mails them to him.
“I’m going to finish my homework while you’re working on your charts, if you don’t mind,” he says. “Let me know if you have any questions. And be sure to take notes of any intuition, funny feelings, suspicions—anything. There are no wrong things to track.”
“Got it,” Janie says. She clicks her fingers over the keyboard with finesse, and finishes her charts before Cabel gets his homework done. She goes back and lingers over each entry, trying to think of anything of note, and promises herself to be more discerning tomorrow.
“So,” she says lightly when Cabel closes his books, “did you talk to Shay today?” Janie couldn’t help noticing Shay was in three of his classes.
Cabel looks at her with a small smile. Knows what she’s really asking. “The thought of being with Shay Wilder makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a butter knife,” he says. He pulls Janie toward him in a half-hug. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he smoothes her hair. “Are you staying tonight?” He asks after a while. There’s hope in his voice.
Janie thinks about the box of files from Captain on her bed.
She hates that they’re sitting there, untouched. It’s like homework hanging over her head. She can’t stand it.
But.
She also hates the thought of leaving Cabel.
The question hangs in the air.
“I can’t,” she says finally. “I’ve got some things to do at home.”
It’s hard, somehow, to say good-bye tonight. They linger near the back door, forehead to forehead and curved like statues as their lips whisper and brush together.
