The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,57

back fond memories of sneaking around school. I thought I was unique by having this key, but maybe I’m just one of a few. If I have access to a V56 key, then so can the Revenge Artist.

“Diane!” I yell into the hall.

Diane barges into my room. Her eyes immediately travel to my wall of notecards. “Wow. Please tell me your plotting a novel.”

“How did you get that V56 key that you handed down to me?” I ask her. “This Revenge Artist is able to get into lockers, so whoever it is must have the key.”

“I got it from this guy I dated in high school. His dad was the principal back in the day. They’re the only people who have those keys. Principals, vice principals, superintendents.”

“That’s good. I can use that.” I jot down the information (“Connected to principal/VP/superint.”) on a notecard and add it to my investigation.

“You realize this whole—” she waves at my research“—display makes you look a little cuckoo-ca-choo crazy, right?”

I nod because that’s the only way to get her to shut up.

“Trust me, obsessing over this will get you nowhere. It can’t fix what’s already happened. Trust me,” she says with the weight of someone who knows a thing or two about unhealthy fixation.

“Fine.”

She pushes open the mirrored sliding door, shoving the notecards out of her way. Diane rummages through the heap of shoes gasping for air on the floor. “This closet is a total mess.”

“Those with walk-in closets should not throw stones.”

Diane gets on her knees for closer observation. It’s only then that I notice the shimmering, fitted top she has on, something way too nice for a weeknight.

“Going somewhere?” I ask.

“I’m meeting Brock for dinner.”

“This is your fourth date with him in two weeks.”

Diane tosses sneakers and flip-flops behind her. A pair of crocs—don’t ask—sail past my head.

“He does know you’re moving in a month? Less than a month.”

“We’ll see.” Diane seesaws her head, poking holes in what I thought was a factual statement. She yanks out my black heels. “I’ll have them back to you later.”

I block the doorway. “What do you mean ‘We’ll see’?”

Diane tries to play it cool and shrugs her shoulders, but she knows I need more than that. “I don’t know if I want to move to Nashville. It’s a big change. I’ll have to start over. And I don’t even like country music.”

“Over Thanksgiving, you were super excited. You wanted this job. You wanted this change.” And then it bangs into me like a grocery cart. “Brock?”

Guilt splashes across her face. “Things are going really well.”

I throw my hands up. But she talks really fast before I can rebut.

“I’m not saying I’m going to marry him tomorrow. And I still have a job at my company’s New York branch if I decide to stay.”

“But the Nashville position is so much better. I thought you wanted to get out of here, leave all the wedding drama behind you.”

“Brock knows about what happened to me, and he doesn’t care. I know it’s soon, but I feel something here.” Diane doesn’t do sentimental or sappy, which makes this interaction feel like a séance where my dear sister is possessed. “I’ve gone on my fair share of dates. I’ve dated until my bucket was empty, and I’ve never had this feeling. I see you rolling your eyes at me, and I get it, I really do, but at the same time, there’s something there.”

A twinkle lights up Diane’s eyes. She’s brimming with a feeling that’s about to burst out of her fingertips. Hope?

“So you’re just going to turn down Nashville?” I ask. I’m not good with out-of-the-blue life-changing decisions. Well, life-unchanging decisions.

“No.” She steps into the hall and drums her fingers against a framed family portrait. “I don’t know.”

I was looking forward to visiting my big sister in Nashville, working her big fancy job. After her fair share of massive setbacks, she finally is on track for some awesomeness in her life. “I think you’re making a colossal mistake.”

“What if moving to Nashville is my colossal mistake? We never know what mistakes are until we make them. I didn’t expect this, Becca. I don’t want to throw a wrench into my plans, but what if this wrench is part of the plan?” She checks her watch. Her maybe-boyfriend is waiting.

“Have fun.”

Once she’s gone, I close my closet door and stare at my notecards.

The Snowflake Dance is this Friday. Four days away. I’m reminding you, just in case you haven’t seen the