Hush, Hush #1 (7 page)

“I think I could end up next to Vee.” His smile appeared just as polite.

66

“I’m not going to press my luck.”

Vee appeared beside our table, glancing between me and Patch.

“Interrupting something?”

“No,” I said, yanking my backpack shut. “I was asking Patch about tonight’s reading. I couldn’t remember which pages Coach assigned.”

Vee said, “The assignment’s on the board, same as always. As if you haven’t already read it.”

Patch laughed, seemingly sharing a private joke with himself. Not for the first time, I wished I knew what he was thinking. Because sometimes I was positive these private jokes had everything to do with me.

“Anything else, Nora?” he said.

“No,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.” He winked. Actually winked.

After Patch was out of earshot, Vee gripped my arm. “Good news.

Cipriano
. That’s his last name. I saw it on Coach’s class roster.”

“And that’s something to smile about because … ?”

“Everybody knows students are required to register prescription drugs with the nurse’s office.” She tugged at the front pocket of my backpack, where I kept my iron pills. “Likewise, everybody knows the nurse’s office is conveniently located inside the front office, where, as it happens, student files are also kept.”

Eyes aglow, Vee locked her arm in mine and pulled me toward the door.

“Time to do some real sleuthing.”

67

CAN I HELP YOU?”

I forced myself to smile at the front office secretary, hoping I didn’t look as dishonest as I felt. “I have a prescription I take daily at school, and my friend—”

My voice caught on the word, and I wondered if after today I would ever feel like calling Vee my friend again.

“—my
friend
informed me that I’m supposed to register it with the nurse. Do you know if that’s correct?” I couldn’t believe I was standing here, intending to do something illegal. As of late, I was exhibiting a lot of uncharacteristic behavior. First I’d followed Patch to a disreputable arcade late at night. Now I was on the verge of snooping in his student file. What was the matter with me? No—what was the matter with Patch, that when it came to him, I couldn’t seem to stop exercising bad judgment?

“Oh, yes,” the secretary said solemnly. “All drugs need to be registered.

Nurse’s office is back through there, third door on the left, across from student records.” She gestured into the hallway behind her. “If the nurse isn’t there, you can take a seat on the cot inside her office. She should be back any minute.”

I fabricated another smile. I’d really hoped it wouldn’t be this easy.

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Heading down the hall, I stopped several times to check over my shoulder. Nobody came up behind me. The phone out in the front office was ringing, but it sounded a world apart from the dim corridor where I stood. I was all alone, free to do as I pleased.

I came to a stop at the third door on the left. I sucked in a breath and knocked, but it was obvious from the darkened window that the room was empty. I pushed on the door. It moved with reluctance, creaking open on a compact room with scuffed white tiles. I stood in the entrance a moment, almost wishing the nurse would appear so I’d have no choice but to register my iron pills and leave. A quick glance across the hall revealed a door with a window marked STUDENT RECORDS. It too was dark.

I focused my attention on a nagging thought at the back of my mind.

Patch claimed that he hadn’t gone to school last year. I was pretty sure he was lying, but if he wasn’t, would he even have a student record?

He’d have a home address at the very least, I reasoned. And an immunization card, and last semester’s grades. Still. Possible suspension seemed like a large price to pay for a peek at Patch’s immunization card.

I leaned one shoulder against the wall and checked my watch. Vee had told me to wait for her signal. She said it would be obvious.

Great.

The phone in the front office rang again, and the secretary picked up.

Chewing my lip, I stole a second glimpse at the door labeled STUDENT

RECORDS. There was a good chance it was locked. Student files were probably considered high security. It didn’t matter what kind of diversion Vee created; if the door was locked, I wasn’t getting in.

69

I shifted my backpack to the opposite shoulder. Another minute ticked down. I told myself maybe I should leave… .

On the other hand, what if Vee was right and he was stalking me? As his bio partner, regular contact with him could place me in danger. I had a responsibility to protect myself … didn’t I?

If the door was unlocked and the files were alphabetized, I would have no trouble locating Patch’s quickly. Add another few seconds to skim his file for red flags, and I could probably be in and out of the room in under a minute. Which was so brief it might not feel like I’d entered at all.

Things had grown unusually quiet out in the front office. Suddenly Vee rounded the corner. She edged down the wall toward me, walking in a crouch, dragging her hands along the wall, stealing surreptitious glances over her shoulder. It was the kind of walk spies adopted in old movies.

“Everything is under control,” she whispered.

“What happened to the secretary?”

“She had to leave the office for a minute.”

“
Had
to? You didn’t incapacitate her, did you?”

“Not this time.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

“I called in a bomb threat from the pay phone outside,” Vee said. “The secretary dialed the police, then ran off to find the principal.”

“Vee!”

70

She tapped her wrist. “Clock’s ticking. We don’t want to be in here when the cops arrive.”

Tell me about it.

Vee and I sized up the door to student records.

“Move over,” Vee said, giving me her hip.

She drew her sleeve down over her fist and drilled it into the window.

Nothing happened.

“That was just for practice,” she said. She drew back for another punch and I grabbed her arm.

“It might be unlocked.” I turned the knob and the door swung open.

“That wasn’t near as much fun,” said Vee.

A matter of opinion.

“You go in,” Vee instructed. “I’m going to keep surveillance. If all goes well, we’ll rendezvous in an hour. Meet me at the Mexican restaurant on the corner of Drake and Beech.” She crouch-walked back down the hall.

I was left standing half in, half out of the narrow room lined wall-to-wall with filing cabinets. Before my conscience talked me out of it, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, pressing my back against it.

With a deep breath I slouched off my backpack and hurried forward, dragging my finger along the faces of the cabinets. I found the drawer marked car–cuv. With one tug the drawer rattled open. The tabs on the files were labeled by hand, and I wondered if Coldwater High was the last school in the country not computerized.

71

My eyes brushed over the name “Cipriano.”

I wrenched the file from the crammed drawer. I held it in my hands a moment, trying to convince myself there was nothing
too
wrong with what I was about to do. So what if there was private information inside?

As Patch’s biology partner, I had a right to know these things.

Outside, voices filled the hall.

I fumbled the file open and immediately flinched. It didn’t make any sense.

The voices advanced.

I shoved the file randomly inside the drawer and gave it a push, sending it rattling back into the cabinet. As I turned, I froze. On the other side of the window, the principal stopped midstride, his gaze latching onto me.

Whatever he’d been saying to the group, which probably consisted of every major player on the school’s faculty, trailed off. “Excuse me a moment,” I heard him say. The group continued hustling forward. He did not.

He opened the door. “This area is off-limits to students.”

I tried on a helpless face. “I’m so sorry. I’m trying to find the nurse’s offi ce. The secretary said third door on the right, but I think I miscounted…

. ” I threw my hands up. “I’m lost.”

Before he could respond, I tugged at the zipper on my backpack. “I’m supposed to register these. Iron pills,” I explained. “I’m anemic.”

He studied me for a moment, his brow creasing. I thought I could see 72

him weighing his options: stick around and deal with me, or deal with a bomb threat. He jerked his chin out the door. “I need you to exit the building immediately.”

He propped the door wide and I ducked out under his arm, my smile collapsing.

An hour later I slid into a corner booth at the Mexican restaurant on the corner of Drake and Beech. A ceramic cactus and a stuffed coyote were mounted on the wall above me. A man wearing a sombrero wider than he was tall sauntered over. Strumming chords on his guitar, he serenaded me while the hostess laid menus on the table. I frowned at the insignia on the front cover. The Borderline. I hadn’t eaten here before, yet something about the name sounded vaguely familiar.

Vee came up behind me and flopped into the opposite seat. Our waiter was on her heels.

“Four chimis, extra sour cream, a side of nachos, and a side of black beans,” Vee told him without consulting the menu.

“One red burrito,” I said.

“Separate bills?” he asked.

“I’m not paying for her,” Vee and I said at the same time.

After our waiter left, I said, “Four chimis. I’m looking forward to hearing the fruit connection.”

“Don’t even start. I’m starving. Haven’t eaten since lunch.” She paused.

“If you don’t count the Hot Tamales, which I don’t.”

Vee is voluptuous, Scandinavian fair, and in an unorthodox way, 73

incredibly sexy. There have been days when our friendship was the only thing standing in the way of my jealousy. Next to Vee, the only thing I have going for me are my legs. And maybe my metabolism. But definitely not my hair.

“He’d better bring chips soon,” said Vee. “I’ll break out in hives if I don’t eat something salty within the next forty-five seconds. And anyway, the first three letters in the word diet should tell you what I want it to do.”

“They make salsa with tomatoes,” I pointed out. “That’s a red. And avocados are a fruit. I think.”

Her face brightened. “And we’ll order virgin strawberry daiquiris.”

Vee was right. This diet was easy.

“Be right back,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “That time of the month. After that, I want to get the
scoop
.”

While waiting for her, I found myself concentrating on the busboy some tables away. He was hard at work scrubbing a rag over the top of a table.

There was something strangely familiar about the way he moved, about the way his shirt fell over the arch of his well-defined back. Almost as if he suspected he was being watched, he straightened and turned, his eyes fixing on mine at the exact same moment I figured out what was so familiar about this particular busboy.

Patch.

I couldn’t believe it. I thought about slapping my forehead when I remembered he’d told me he worked at the Borderline.

Wiping his hands on his apron, he walked over, apparently enjoying my 74

discomfort as I looked around for some way to escape, finding I had nowhere to go but deeper into the booth.

“Well, well,” he said. “Five days a week isn’t enough of me? Had to give me an evening, too?”

“I apologize for the unfortunate coincidence.”

He slid into Vee’s seat. When he laid his arms down, they were so long, they crossed into my half of the table. He reached for my glass, twirling it in his hands.

“All the seats here are taken,” I said. When he didn’t answer, I grabbed my glass back and took a sip of water, accidentally swallowing an ice cube. It burned the whole way down. “Shouldn’t you be working instead of fraternizing with customers?” I choked.

He smiled. “What are you doing Sunday night?”

I snorted. By accident. “Are you asking me out?”

“You’re getting cocky. I like that, Angel.”

“I don’t care what you like. I’m not going out with you. Not on a date.

Not alone.” I wanted to kick myself for experiencing a hot thrill upon speculating what a night alone with Patch might entail. Most likely, he hadn’t even meant it. Most likely, he was baiting me for reasons known only to him. “Hang on, did you just call me
Angel
?” I asked.

“If I did?”

“I don’t like it.”

He grinned. “It stays. Angel.”

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He leaned across the table, raised his hand to my face, and brushed his thumb along one corner of my mouth. I pulled away, too late.

He rubbed lip gloss between his thumb and forefinger. “You’d look better without it.”

I tried to remember what we’d been talking about, but not nearly as hard as I tried to appear unmoved by his touch. I tossed my hair back over my shoulder, picking up the tail of our previous conversation. “Anyway, I’m not allowed to go out on school nights.”

“Too bad. There’s a party on the coast. I thought we could go.” He actually sounded sincere.

I could not figure him out. At all. The earlier hot thrill still lingered in my blood, and I took a long pull on my straw, trying to cool my feelings with a shot of ice water. Time alone with Patch would be intriguing, and dangerous. I wasn’t sure how exactly, but I was trusting my instincts on this one.

I affected a yawn. “Well, like I said, it’s a school night.” In hopes of convincing myself more than him, I added, “If this party is something you’d be interested in, I can almost guarantee I won’t be.”

There,
I thought.
Case closed.

And then, without any warning whatsoever, I said, “Why are you asking me anyway?”

Up until this very moment, I’d been telling myself I didn’t care what Patch thought of me. But right now, I knew it was a lie. Even though it would probably come back to haunt me, I was curious enough about Patch to go almost anywhere with him.

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“I want to get you alone,” Patch said. Just like that, my defenses shot back up.