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“I’m okay,” I say slowly. Something’s going on. I better figure out what before I screw it up.
“We just want you to know that we’re very sorry for your loss, Cassel. And I hope everything went as well as it could today.”
“Thank you,” I say, trying to look somber.
I head for the door, thinking over what just happened. One of Zacharov’s people must have called and pretended to be the family lawyer—maybe it was even the fellow driving the tow truck—to give me not only the car, but time to tool around in it. Being courted by a mobster sure is sweet. Hard for the offers of the federal agents to compare.
I am crossing back toward my computer class when I see Daneca come out of the office.
“Hey,” I say. “I didn’t see you in there.”
“I was in Northcutt’s office,” she says dejectedly. Then she kicks a clod of dirt off the quad. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that.”
Looks like Daneca just got her first demerit for cutting class.
“Sorry,” I say.
She makes a face like she knows I’m not that sorry. “So, what’s Lila up to?”
“Lila?” I am feeling very stupid lately.
“You know, your girlfriend? Blonde? Cursed to love you? Ringing any bells yet?” Daneca holds out her phone to show me a text from Lila: Come to Spanish classroom. Third floor. Urgent.
“No idea,” I say, looking at the words. I pull out my phone, but there are no messages.
Daneca laughs. Her voice is teasing. “So, wait, you don’t know who Lila is?”
I realize my mistake and laugh. But it makes me think. The Lila I remember was fourteen. She hadn’t spent three years as an animal in a cage and hadn’t been forced to feel anything, and even then she was a mystery to me. I wonder if I have any idea who Lila is after all.
* * *
We find Lila sitting on one of the desks in the empty classroom, swinging her legs, when we walk in. Propped in another is Greg Harmsford. He’s wearing sunglasses, but his head is tilted all the way back and it’s clear he’s unconscious. At least I hope he’s unconscious. In front of him are two cans of Coke, both open.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Oh, hi, Cassel.” A faint blush has started at the tips of her ears. She holds out a piece of paper. It’s a printout of an e-mail. I take it from her but don’t really look.
Daneca clears her throat and points to Greg’s prone body, widening her eyes to emphasize that she wants me to do something.
“Is he dead?” I ask. Someone’s got to.
“I roofied him,” Lila says matter-of-factly. The late afternoon light has turned her blond hair to gold. She’s wearing a crisp white shirt and tiny blue stones in her ears that match one of her eyes. She looks like the last girl in the world who would drug a boy in the middle of the day. Like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, the old folks in Carney would say.
“Look what I found on his computer,” Lila says.
I finally look at the page in my hand. It’s from Greg and is addressed to a bunch of e-mail addresses I don’t know. The text informs parents that “Wallingford supports a club encouraging criminal activities” and that “worker kids are allowed to openly brag about their illegal exploits.” I look at the e-mail addresses again. I guess they’re the addresses of our parents. There are photos attached, and although Lila has printed out only the first page, the two there make it pretty obvious that he attached stills of everyone at the HEX meeting. “Wow,” I say, and pass the paper to Daneca.
I don’t mention that to get that off his computer before he tried to drown it in his dorm sink, she must have been working him. I don’t mention that Greg’s passed out now, asleep, vulnerable to any invasion of his dreams.
“I’m going to kill him,” Daneca says. She looks angrier than I have ever seen her.
Lila takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “This is all my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
She shakes her head, avoiding my gaze. “It’s not important. What matters is that I’m going to make it right. We’re going to get him back. For Ramirez and the video. For that e-mail. I have a plan.”
“Which is…?” I ask.
