Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (2 page)

He abruptly turned to Serena, and it was then that she saw the similarity. Those were the same steely gray eyes, eyes she had prayed never to see again. The shock of recognition caused her knees to buckle, and she fell into her chair.

The man’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile. “...Some-
thing,
” he finished, sidling toward her desk. “I can see by the blood draining from your face that you’ve noticed the family resemblance.”

He paused in his progress to snort another laugh, slapping a hand against his thigh. “You should see yourself, Professor! It’s like you’ve seen a ghost.” Imitating her expression, he waved his stubby fingers in the air like spider legs, adding, “Mwa-ha-ha-ha.”

“What does he know of my recent research?” Serena managed, the “some-
thing
” ringing through her head.

The man stopped before her desk. “Oh, come on, Professor. Let’s cut to the chase already. What
don’t
we know about Formula 10X?”

Hearing the classified name of her secret formula come from his mouth drove the air from Serena’s lungs.
What other intelligence has he gathered? Does he know of the accelerant?

“What don’t we know about…you?” He shoved stacks of folders aside and heaved himself onto her desk, dangling his legs off the side. “You really need an extra chair, Professor, but then you’re not so savvy about social etiquette, are ya?” The little man sighed, quoting, “‘Serena has her head in the clouds,’ he always says.”

“What does he want?”

The gaudy man went on as if she hadn’t spoken, his gaze bouncing around the room. “Phillips is a household name for us. The magnificent Phillips family! Serena Phillips…Gavin Phillips…and, drum roll, please!” His hands drummed the desktop; his steely eyes bore into hers. “Emery
Phillips.”

Oh, God in heaven, no!

Her eyes dropped to her notebook, staring unseeing at the data. “What does he want?” she repeated, knowing the answer full well.

“I’ll tell it to you in one word, babe…Assassin.”

One

“Robin! Robin! Robin!” the adoring crowd shouted.

Actually, the adoring crowd consisted of three members of Robin Newton’s girl squad, or the “remoras,” as I liked to call them, and a few infatuated ninth-grade boys who had decided there was safety in numbers to show their admiration for our school’s shining star.

The rest of us in seventh-period P.E. silently watched her pull herself up the rope like a monkey. Not that she looked anything like a monkey, because monkeys aren’t tall, blond, and beautiful.

The first thing I thought while watching her move up the rope was,
Why does someone so mean have to be so knock-out gorgeous and good at everything?
The second thing was,
Why do I have to be next?

When she reached the top of the rope, Robin lazily tapped the ceiling. Sliding back down, she looked at us below with a bored expression. About three feet from the floor, she released the rope, landing easily on her feet.

I’d be lucky if my scrawny arms could pull me up three feet.

Robin didn’t look at me as she walked past. It wasn’t an intentional snub. I literally don’t think she saw me. Honestly, I’m not even sure if she knew my name. I wasn’t the type of girl whose presence registered with her, being neither a threat nor completely pathetic.

Wishing I had some monkey in me, I stepped up to the rope. No cheers came for “Cassidy.” We all knew what to expect.

But no one can say I didn’t try.

Gripping the rope high, I pulled with all my might. I attempted to look bored like Robin had because I didn’t want anyone to think I actually cared about any of this. That alone would have been humiliating. No one was fooled, I’m sure. They all knew I was giving it all I had, and they all knew that I cared what they thought.

I pulled myself off the floor.
Yes!

My arms started shaking.
No!

I quickly reached further up the rope and wiggled a few inches up. It was progress, but all the progress my measly muscles were willing to make. For seconds, I fought to squirm a couple of more inches before dropping the whole two feet I’d crawled up.

Mr. Saunders blew his whistle.“Lockers,” he shouted.

Turning from the rope, I met the relieved faces of my friends, who had been silently waiting their humiliating turn. My sad rope-climbing abilities weren’t uncommon among girls my age. Robin’s were, and if she hadn’t been so good and so fast skirting up that rope, the whistle would have saved me, too. Too bad my stellar performance ended the whole miserable period.

Five minutes later, when the final bell rang, we rushed through the gym doors. This rush of bodies always felt like getting swept up in a wave. We poured into the halls and let the tide of fellow students carry us to our lockers.

Pulling in close to my locker, I let the roaring current flow by. On autopilot, my fingers quickly dialed the locker combination. Yanking the door open, I unhooked my backpack and stuffed in the gym clothes, saturated with five days of stinky sweat. Slamming the locker door, I streamed back in.

While flowing with the current, I thought more about this sea imagery. If we were like the sea, then we were also like the creatures that lived in the sea. Most of us were just trying to survive in an unpredictable, sometimes cruel ocean. There were definitely predators out here, such as the shark. Those who didn’t want to be potential shark prey became remoras, suctioning themselves to the cold-blooded fish. Being a remora didn’t appeal to me, so, to avoid the sharks’ radar, I adopted the strategy of being a sardine. A sardine wasn’t exciting, but it was safe.

As I drifted along, I thought of what creatures my best friends resembled. My playful, mischievous friend and neighbor, Miriam Cohen, resembled an otter. Carli Cooper, the cheerful friend, reminded me of a dolphin, and a barracuda best reflected the tiny but mighty Bren Dawsen.

“Cassidy.”

Speaking of the otter…

Going against the flow, I stopped and turned toward her. A few heavy backpacks tossed me about while rolling by. “Hey, Miriam,” I called.

Beaming, she bobbed toward me with bouncing black curls and sparkling cobalt blue eyes. Her pretty features looked especially dazzling because they were always so alive and animated.

A boy in my freshman class flowing next to me attempted the same maneuver I had made, turning against the current of bodies. Unfortunately, he made this move in front of Dixon Pilchowski.

“Get out of my way, idiot!” Dixon yelled at the boy, viciously shoving him into the lockers.

Flanking Dixon’s sides were his toadies, Toby Crocker and Rodrigo Perez. When the boy slipped to the floor after the locker impact, the toadies obediently laughed at him.

A spontaneous crowd of gawkers formed around Dixon and the boy.

Scrambling to his feet, the wide-eyed boy mumbled, “Sorry.”

His apparent terror and embarrassment probably would have been enough to appease Dixon; his mood seemed generous. Unfortunately for them both, Miriam witnessed the event.

“Dixon, you are such a jerk,” she said loudly.

His menacing eyes whipped to her. “Did you say something to me, Big Mouth?”

Miriam, of course, rose to the challenge. “You’re a jerk, Dixon.”

Dixon glared down at her in seething hatred, while she smiled up at him victoriously. As far as Miriam was concerned, she’d already won.

A pit always formed in my stomach during their confrontations. So far, Dixon hadn’t crossed the line by sticking his fist in her mouth that he so obviously detested, but how far could a guy like Dixon be pushed? Miriam definitely tested the limits of his self-control.

Pushing further, Miriam motioned to the boy who looked like he wanted to run. “Shouldn’t you apologize?”

Dixon appeared ready to implode. Smart gawkers stepped back. Attempting to intervene, I tugged at Miriam’s arm, urging her away. She ignored me, holding her position.

Dropping his face close to hers, Dixon bellowed, “Will you just shut up!”

When Miriam didn’t flinch, he proceeded to call her a string of swear words. With each profane word spewed, Miriam appeared more powerful. Her satisfied grin spread from ear to ear.

Noticing Dixon’s hands clenching and unclenching, I scanned the faces around us, searching for a hero. There were none. No one was stupid or brave enough to step between the biggest bully in school and the silly, bold girl who decided to take him on. However, someone had to intervene, and that someone would have to be me.

Sucking in a breath, I asked, “What, Dixon? Are you bullying girls now?” This question was super lame, because Dixon would bully his own grandma.

He cut me a look, and I felt my legs wobble.

“You’re both losers,” he snarled.

To my horror, Miriam began to laugh hysterically. She wasn’t mocking him. He genuinely made her laugh.

Jaw tight and face red from the building pressure, Dixon turned from her before his clenched fist could plow into her face. I was amazed he could resist. With toadies in tow, he stomped down the hall.

The gawkers, as always, gaped at Miriam. Though she didn’t purposely seek it out, attention never bothered her when she did get it. A couple of gawkers cautiously joined her laughter when Dixon was out of earshot.

Without a spectacle to observe, the crowd disbanded. At this point, Miriam’s laughter had reduced to giggling.

I gave her a disapproving look. “Only you
would think that was funny.”

My reaction produced a new spurt of giggles. “Cass, I can’t help it. He’s
soooo
pathetic.”

“At some point, he’ll become more than pathetic,” I warned.

This made her laugh, too, as we returned to the current.

Surging out of the brick building, I felt the energizing rush of cool October air, settling the nerves Miriam’s confrontation had put on edge. We were having one of those rare sunny days in Seattle. When the gray that usually blanketed the area lifted, I was always surprised to see how big and blue the sky really was. Sometimes, it seemed too big, and I would wish for the gray blanket to cover us again, making everything cozy.

Miriam prattled the entire half-mile walk to our homes. Every so often, I grunted in response to something she said so it felt like we were having a conversation. When she was like this, she really didn’t need my participation, anyway. Knowing Miriam was self-entertained, I decided to lose myself in thoughts about Jared Wells.

I was secretly, and hopelessly, in love with Jared, and it wasn’t one of those crushes where the guy doesn’t know the girl exists. At one time, Jared very much knew I existed. In fact, from what I understood, he felt very much the way I did now. However, I had missed that boat, so to speak, and now that it had sailed off, all I had were silly daydreams. Daydreams were better than nothing, though.

While Jared formed a pleasant thought in my head, Miriam’s voice formed a pleasant hum in my ear. Suddenly, the hum hit an irritating pitch.

“You’re not listening, Cassidy Jones,” Miriam accused.

“I’m listening.” I did hear the hum, after all.