With her girls—and me—around her, Mary Katherine lifted the lid. It was filled with candy, diet soda, back issues of Cosmo, energy drinks and clove cigarettes. It was like a supermodel’s necessities kit.
“Well?” M.K. prompted. “Pretty sweet, huh?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again with a snap. Surely they weren’t so sheltered that issues of Cosmo—which were probably available at every drugstore, bodega, and grocery store in the United States—were contraband. Still, I was a guest in enemy territory. Now was not the time for insults. “There’s definitely . . . all sorts of stuff in there.”
Veronica reached in and grabbed a box of candy cigarettes, then pulled out a stick of white candy. “We have friends who bring it in,” she said, nipping a bit off the end.
“And Mary Katherine’s parents practically make shipments,” Amie added, disapproval ringing in her voice.
M.K. rolled her eyes. “We need it,” she said. “St. Sophia’s is all about health and vigor, organic and free-range and vitamin-enhanced. Weaknesses like these don’t figure into that. And if Foley ever found this stuff in our room, we’d be toast.” She gave me an appraising glance. “So—can you keep your mouth shut?”
My gaze on a small bag of black licorice—my greatest weakness—I nodded. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
Mary Katherine snorted and, seeing the direction of my gaze, reached over, grabbed the packet of licorice Scotties, and tossed it to me. I pulled it open—not even pausing to question why she was offering me candy—and began to nibble the head off a tiny, chewy dog.
Veronica looked at her BFFs, then slid a glance my way, her eyes bright with promise. “You know, Parker, we don’t keep all of Mary Katherine’s stash up here, just in case Foley decides to start doing room checks again. The rest of it is in our little hidey-hole. We call it our treasure chest. We were going there, you know, to replenish our stack.” She glanced back at Mary Katherine. “M.K.’s almost out of Tab.”
When Veronica looked at me again, her gaze was cool . . . and calculating. “You can go with us if you want. Share in the bounty.”
I’d have been stupid not to be suspicious. The stash these trendy big-city girls played at being so excited about wasn’t really that exciting. More important, they were being unusually nice. While I guessed it was possible they were still making some kind of misguided attempt to steer me toward “better” pals, it seemed more likely that something more nefarious was on their agenda.
But they weren’t the only ones with secret plans. Foley had nearly ripped the rug out from under me earlier today; this was my chance to retake control, to take charge, to act.
“Where, exactly, is this stash?” I looked at Amie, thinking she offered the best chance to get an honest answer.
“Downstairs,” she said. “Basement.”
And we have a winner, I thought. A trip downstairs would get me one step closer to figuring out what Scout was involved in—and what else was going on at St. Sophia’s School for Girls.
I nodded at the group. “I’m in. Let’s go treasure hunting.”
8
We were armed with pink flashlights, Amie having produced the set of them from a bottom- drawer stash. I also saw a set of pink tools, a pink first aid kit, and some pink batteries in there. Amie was apparently the prepared (and single-minded) type.
I was also armed with a pretty good dose of skepticism at their motives. I assumed the brat pack was leading me into trouble, that the “treasure” at the end of our hunt was a prank with my name on it. Given the strong possibility that I’d have to make a run for it, I was glad I’d worn boots. I figured they offered at least a little more traction than the flip- flops, and they’d probably pack a bigger wallop, if it came to that.
Scout was still gone when we left the suite, three brat packers and one hanger- on, Veronica in the lead. It was nearly ten p.m., and the hallways were silent and empty as we followed the same route I’d taken behind Scout two days ago—down the stairs to the first floor, back through the long, main corridor to the Great Hall, then through the Great Hall and into the main building. But instead of stopping at the door Scout had taken, we took a left into the administrative corridor I’d taken with M.K. earlier in the day.
We hadn’t yet turned on our flashlights, so I’m not entirely sure why we had them. But when footsteps suddenly echoed through the hall, I was glad we hadn’t turned them on. Veronica held out a hand, and we all stopped behind her. She turned, excitement in her eyes, and motioned us back with a hand. We tiptoed back a few steps, then crowded into one of the semicircular alcoves in the hallway. I gnawed my lip as I tried to control my breathing, sure that the thundering beat of my heart was echoing through the hallway for all to hear.
After what felt like an hour, the sound of footfalls faded as the person—probably one of the clipboard-bearing dragon ladies—moved off in the other direction.
Veronica peeked out of the nook, one hand behind her to hold us back while she surveyed the path.
“Okay,” she finally whispered, and we set off again—Veronica, then Mary Katherine, Amie, and I. I couldn’t help but glance behind us as we moved, but the hall was empty except for the cavernous silence we left in our wake, and the moonlight-dappled limestone floor.
We continued down the administrative hallway, but before we got as far as Foley’s office, we turned down a side corridor that dead-ended in a set of limestone stairs. The air got colder as we descended to the basement, which didn’t help the feeling that we were heading toward something unpleasant. We probably were headed toward the nasty that had been chasing Scout, but I couldn’t imagine the brat pack had any clue what lurked in the corridors beneath their fancy school. If they had known, they surely would have tortured Scout about it. They seemed like the type.
“Almost there,” Veronica whispered as we reached the bottom of the staircase. True to St. Sophia’s form, we entered another limestone hallway. I’d heard about buildings that contained secret catacombs, but I wondered why the nuns had bothered building out the labyrinthine basement of the convent—a task they’d taken on without trucks, cranes, or forklifts.
“Here we are,” Veronica finally said as we stopped before a simple, wooden door. The word CUSTODIAN was written in gold capitals across it, just like the letters on Foley’s office.
I arched an eyebrow at the door. “We’re going into the janitorial closet?”
Without bothering to answer, Mary Katherine and Veronica fiddled with the brass doorknob, then opened the door with a click.
“Check it,” Veronica said, grinning as she held the door open.