Her footsteps, far down the hall. And then the snick of the bathroom door, closing.
Now.
I was spying, but it was for Hannah’s own good. I had to get her out of whatever mess she’d wandered into. What she thought was an exclusive prep school was, for her, a kind of prison. Or maybe worse.
I pulsed out a message, hoping to track down the VPN signal and trace the stream back to her phone.
Nothing. My gut twisted.
She must have switched it off.
I had to find it the old-fashioned way.
Back in the room, I went for her bag first. I rustled through every pocket. No phone.
The desk was next. I combed through papers, books, drawers. Nothing.
The dresser? I opened the top drawer, feeling weird and creepy pawing through her socks. The next drawer down was more of the same. Just junk. A tangled assortment of vitamins and pills. Vitamin C, multivitamins, fish oil, and ibuprofen.
I glanced along her bookshelves. Textbooks and literature. A stash of granola bars, almonds, Red Vines, coffee, and sweetener packets.
I squatted to peer under her desk, then straightened.
An image formed of Hannah drinking coffee in the cafeteria. Black coffee. No cream, no sugar. So why did she drink it differently in her room? Nicole always took her coffee the same way, no matter what.
The sweetener packets were in a jar, more organized than the rest of Hannah’s stuff. I picked up the jar, lifted the lid, and removed a packet. Tearing open a corner, I sniffed. Then I licked my finger and touched the tip to the white grains before sticking it in my mouth.
And almost gagged. Something unbelievably bitter, rather than sweet, coated my tongue.
I took another sample and slid it under the nail bed of my index finger.
Chemical components: Modafinil.
Uses: Sleeplessness-promoting agent. Only legal use in US for treatment of narcolepsy.
Somehow, I doubted that Hannah had narcolepsy.
I put the lid back on the jar and shoved the packet in my pocket, to dispose of later. The drug itself wasn’t that surprising. Illegal, yes, but it sounded like the kind of thing kids might use if they were pushing themselves to work too hard. But the packets . . . those had been specially made. Designed to hide the evidence, not something your run-of-the-mill student dealer was likely to bother with. Or even know how to do.
Hunter had mentioned J.D. had headaches. I wondered if he took the same stuff to “fix” them.
Holland was involved. I was sure of it, though I didn’t know his motive, and I still lacked proof. But he probably had someone on the inside too, dispensing this stuff to the grant kids. Grassi was right about drugs, it turned out. This just wasn’t the sort of drug I’d thought he meant.
Hannah’s phone might tell me more, if I could ever find it.
I hunted through the room one more time. If she hadn’t powered it off, I could just scan the room and find it.
Wait. Did that mean she had taken it to the bathroom?
I opened the door to the hall. Still clear. I rushed toward the bathroom, praying that none of the other girls would pop out of their rooms. This spur-of-the-moment plan only worked if no one else was around to see.
I eased open the bathroom door and walked into a wall of hot air. Clouds of steam fogged the entry and water pounded a tile floor somewhere in the distance.
She was still showering. But for how much longer?
I ran a quick scan.
1 human presence detected.
Just me and Hannah. For now.
On careful feet, I crept past the toilets. I moved into the hallway that led to the showers.
I rounded the corner and counted three stalls. The first two were empty. The last one had the curtain drawn, with steam rising over the top.
I could see her shower caddy on the bench just outside the door. Only steps away. But also only a few steps away from Hannah.
I would have to creep in and grab it.
I crouched, drawing up against the section of wall that served as a divider from the middle shower. When I got closer, my heart lodged in my throat. Hannah’s curtain was partway open. Not much—only three inches.
But if she turned around, that three inches was enough to ID me.
Over the top of the wall, I watched white, soapy bubbles foam up on her head. I’d never felt more like a stalker than I did right now.
New low, Mila. Stakeout in the girls shower, waiting for your naked