The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,55

queasy feeling winds its way through my insides. I can’t enjoy this moment too much.

The Revenge Artist is still out there.

***

Once I get home, I go back to my Revenge Artist investigation. My wave of relief at Val’s innocence quickly ebbs away when I realize I’m out of viable suspects. Back to square one, the worst square ever. I need to do some major catching up. I write details on notecards—the facts I know, what’s happened thus far, a time line—and tape them to my mirrored sliding closet door. Soon I can barely see myself.

When I look at the time line, something doesn’t make sense. Huxley and Steve broke up in August. The next break-up didn’t happen until early October. Why was there such a gap? Maybe Huxley and Steve were a test run, and the Revenge Artist spent the fall devising the rest of the plan. That was the only scheme where this mystery girl was used, while the other break-ups were stealthier. I don’t know. My theories have all dead-ended. My notes seem like a waste of index cards now.

I don’t know.

That’s the worst feeling. Just plain not knowing.

My phone buzzes with a text just as I lay down for sleep.

I’m coming home tomorrow for winter break. Can we put your plan into motion?

Colleges start their winter breaks super early and don’t go back into session until mid-January. None of this barely-two-week holiday vacation my high school gives us.

If I can get Huxley to believe Steve and take him back, at least that will be a step in the right direction. And quite possibly, it could provoke the Revenge Artist to get even and thus get sloppy. Why hasn’t she been sloppy yet?

Yep. You ready?

Only a person like Huxley Mapother can make the town library feel like an exclusive nightclub—where I don’t belong. I almost wonder if a librarian will pull out a velvet rope by the newspaper archives to stop me. Huxley and her friends study at a round table in the back, by the untouched encyclopedias. And by study, I mean watch videos on their phones, text, and gossip. Coming to the library is studying enough, right?

None of them acknowledge my existence. Reagan, my informant, stares extra hard at her notebook. She mentioned to me in class where they’d be tonight in exchange for my notes. I come around with my tablet. I notice Huxley’s jaw clench when she sees it.

“You guys are really hitting the books. We’re seniors. Take a load off!” I sound chummy. I feel chummy. Because I have the truth on my side.

Crickets.

Don’t they realize I’m immune to their silent treatment?

“I know you’re busy studying and pretending I don’t exist, but I have an interesting video to show you. Concerning Steve Overland’s going-away party.”

Now I get some reaction. Addison and Reagan look up just slightly at whatever forbidden fruit I’m offering. Huxley goes back to studying.

I begin my mini-presentation: playing Huxley’s video, pausing at the pill-dropping moment, blowing it up for all to see. I can’t contain my excitement over this development. Huxley may hate me forever, but she can’t deny my master skills.

Reagan and Addison whisper amongst themselves, despite what their leader says. It’s mutiny! Huxley, though, continues staring at me with a stone-cold look, for which I can’t blame her. Even though the truth is setting Steve free, it’s still embarrassing her.

“So there you have it. Steve Overland was framed. He is innocent. Res ipsa loquitor, bitches. I mean, ladies.”

No one says anything, but they look to Huxley for how they should respond.

As soon as I turn off my tablet, Huxley charges out of her seat, grabs my arm, and yanks me into the depths of the Dewey Decimal System. We settle around Civil War history. Fire ignites behind her eyes.

“What. The. Hell.” She doesn’t let go of my arm. Rage builds on her face, but she’s trying to hold it back.

“I would’ve told you all this in private, but you and I don’t do one-on-one anymore ever since you erected your Great Wall of Passive-Aggressive Avoidance.”

“I can’t believe you. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s applicable here. I am mortified.”

“And saved,” I say. “I just cleared Steve’s reputation.”

“That’s not your place! Nobody asked you to.”

“I did.” Steve rounds a corner with flowers in hand. Huxley’s face goes slack-jawed. “I’m innocent, Hux. I was set up.”

“By the Revenge Artist, who I’m still trying to find.” Huxley and Steve both give me shut-up looks. “As you were.”

“What are you doing