whistle from the front of her shirt and gives three quick tweets. Almost immediately, as if they’d been lying in wait, a group of about twelve girls and guys come marching into the room and line up behind Michaela straight and orderly like soldiers at attention. I recognize several of the freshmen from last night and a few sophomores. It makes sense. Most of my wishes went to the more senior partygoers, which would explain why these were the normal non-wishers left for Michaela to enlist.
“I need four volunteers to escort our visitors to the infirmary,” Michaela announces in her new voice full of steel. It’s a lot like her old voice, except the mean-girl bitchiness has been sharpened as if all this time it was waiting to be perfected for this very moment—when someone would need to step forward and lead.
“I think you’re supposed to do the beating before patching us up, Kayla,” Smith says. I look over at him and see he has this slight smile on his face, as if he finds this all amusing. Normally, I’d be totally convinced, but not after seeing that bit of vulnerability earlier. Now I’m tuned in and can feel the tension thrumming through him.
Michaela steps forward and gives Smith a sharp little slap across the cheek. “It’s tempting. But I can’t really waste manpower on beating your asses. So to keep you out of our way, I’m having you visit Lennie’s friend Larry.”
“Larry!” His name bursts out of my mouth. “Is he . . . okay?”
“He looks like shit. Feels like it too. But he’s alive. No thanks to that stunt you pulled. Were you trying to kill him?”
She doesn’t wait for our answer, but turns back to her troops and quietly confers with them, giving a series of orders that sends them running off in three different directions, leaving only five of them. As she spins to face us once more, the high-pitched screech of whistles blowing permeates the air.
“Come on, come on . . .” Michaela mutters under her breath.
“I got three upstairs and two from the media room,” announces ones of Michaela’s soldiers.
“Are you sure it was three?” Michaela asks.
“I heard it that way too,” another troop member offers.
“That’s what I thought.” And then Michaela squeals with joy and pumps her fist in the air. “We’ve got him. I can feel it. We’ve finally caught him.” She points to the two freshmen who’d spoken up. “You two go upstairs and find out what the message is.”
“Is it Zinkowski?” I demand. “Are my uncles okay?”
I am ignored. It’s like I didn’t even speak.
“What about the other whistle?” another minion asks Michaela.
She waves a hand through the air. “How many shits do you think I give right now about a minor territory skirmish? Turlington doesn’t own the basement. Let him and his followers work it out for themselves.”
“Michaela.” Smith grabs her arm and pulls her close. “Lennie asked if her uncles are okay. Wanna take two seconds to answer her?”
Michaela rips herself from his grasp. “You manhandle me again, Smith, and you’ll be in solitary.”
With a grin Smith holds up our connected hands. “I’d like to see you try that.”
“Hmm, well I guess being stuck with Lennie is punishment enough.” She smirks at her own wit before turning to me. “This has nothing to do with Zinkowski or your uncles. Now shut up and let me run my operation.”
Before I can tell Michaela where to stick it, the two minions who’d left in response to the whistle come running back in.
“We got him!” the girl excitedly announces. “He tried to escape through the laundry shoot and got stuck. They’re pulling him up right now.”
“And is someone on the basement end in case he slips through?” Michaela asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy answers this time, clearly wanting his share of Michaela’s oversized grin. “Both ends are secured. There’s no way he’s slipping away this time.”
Michaela’s fist closes over her heart at the same time her eyes close and two little tears squeeze from them and run down her cheeks. “Finally,” she whispers. “Todd Wilkins, you are mine.”
“Wee Willie Winkie?” Smith laughs in disbelief. I have to admit that my mouth falls open as well. “That’s who you’re hunting? The guy who has spent most of the past year practically stalking you? Are you serious?”
Michaela wheels on him, enraged. “Don’t you call him that! Don’t you dare! I can and will have you killed, Smith. So don’t. Just don’t.”
The smile slides from