Harper Madigan: Junior High Private Eye (12 page)

Reluctantly, I play the princess. Her calming presence supposedly makes all the dragons leave and go to sleep, but in my experience girls stir up more trouble than calm. At least when it comes to Danigail, anyway.

Connor slides his dragon into the bottom of his deck. “You can’t beat me,” he says.

“You say that a lot. Almost like you don’t really believe it.”

“Who’s the one who’s still got all his hit points?” He takes his turn and sets up a couple of defensive spells. “Why don’t you just call it quits while you’ve still got a little dignity intact?”

“Why? Because last summer you pushed Oliver off that ledge right there, and he’s never going to walk again, while you walk away scot-free. And now, because of you, Danigail’s going to get expelled and sent to some boarding school for thugs like you. Oliver’s hardly going to see her again, and… and
I’m
probably never going to see her. That’s twice now something you did ruined her life, and mine, and Oliver’s, so
no
, I’m not just going to call it quits.”

“You accusing me of something? Why don’t you just come out and say it already?”

“I’m saying you pushed Veronica, because you thought she was Alexis. Just like you pushed Oliver because you thought he was me.”

Connor goes silent, studying the cards in front of him, even though it’s my turn. I take another card off the deck. There has to be something good in here, something I can
use
. The card I get says to shuffle it back into the deck and take two more.

The first card I get is another attack spell, but it’s too small to make much of a difference. I swallow and shut my eyes, willing the next card to be something usable. Something that will save me, because it seems like my luck’s run out and it’s going to catch up to me any minute now. I slip my hand in my trench coat pocket and feel the remains of Eugene’s lucky pencil. I know the luck was all in Eugene’s head. I know there’s no such thing as an actual lucky pencil, and even if there was… This one’s broken. Totally destroyed. And still… I rub the two broken halves between my fingers. If it ever had any power, if it ever had any luck at all, I will it to work for me now.

“We don’t have all day,” Connor mutters.

And maybe there’s something to lucky pencils after all, because the second card I pull off the deck is a black dragon. It’s not a great card—it’s just regular paper, not gold or foil or anything, and its hit points aren’t anything to write home about—but sometimes it’s the regulars who make the difference. Sometimes it’s the little guy who brings down someone like Connor. My hand shakes as I set it in front of me. I attack, but I don’t roll high enough to do any damage.

Connor grins like the wolf getting ready to eat the three little pigs. In his mind he’s got me trapped in my little straw house, and all he has to do is blow it down. He laughs a little to himself. “Just give up. This is so easy, it’s almost embarrassing.”

“You want me to give up? Then
make me
.” I gesture at the table. There’s a chance he’ll not only take out my little black dragon with its measly four hit points, but take me along with it. This next round is all or nothing. Either Connor takes out both me and the dragon, or he only gets the dragon, and then I get my shot at turning the tables.

He rolls the die and gets a nine, taking out my dragon and hitting me. I throw down a defense card, blocking three of the hits. It leaves me with only two points, but at least I’m still in the game.

“One more turn,” he says, cracking his knuckles and looking smug. “What if I told you that mishap last summer was just an accident? Did you ever think of that?”

I squint at him, my blood suddenly boiling. “I’ve thought an awful lot about it. I’ve thought about it every day since then, and I know it was no accident. You pushing Oliver when you meant to get me? Maybe that was an accident. But you hurting somebody just because you could? That’s something you did on purpose.” Maybe everyone else could convince themselves otherwise, but not me. “I know what you did, so why don’t you just admit to it? You’ve already admitted to pushing Veronica and Alexis. It’s your style, making it so people can’t walk, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t admit to
anything
. I didn’t do anything, not now, not last summer, and you’re… you’re losing it, Madigan.” He spins his finger near his head, indicating I’m crazy.

His cronies laugh, like this is all a big joke.

“Am I? Maybe you didn’t confess out loud, but you made it pretty clear.” I dig through the discard pile and pull out the four dragons. Green, red, white, and black. Then I use the card Eugene gave me to switch hit points with Connor, and I watch that arrogant, untouchable smile on his face wither. Now who’s got twenty hit points, huh? “Are you ready to admit defeat?”

“No, I—”

“Good, because my turn’s not over.” I pull out one of my attack cards, one of the weak ones that can only do, say,
two
points of damage. The exact number Connor has left. I clutch the die in my hand and shake it. “The thing is, Connor, maybe you’ve been able to convince yourself none of it was your fault. Maybe that’s how you convince other people, how you get away with everything. But this time you’ve met your match. I know you’ve got records from all the bets you’ve taken, and I know exactly where they are.”

He looks again to the desk behind me, his eyes wide. He swallows and tries to laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I toss the die onto the table. It skids to a stop in the middle, showing a twelve, meaning I do two points of damage to him. Meaning I
win
. But I don’t stop to gloat, because I’m already on my feet. “It’s funny,” I say, edging my way towards the desk, “because your mouth might be saying you don’t have the records, but your eyes are saying they’re… right…
here
.” I turn and grab one of the binders off the desk. Austin takes my cue and grabs another one.

“Stop them!” Connor shouts, and chairs scrape against the floor and he and his lackeys come after us.

“This one’s a dud,” Austin says, throwing the binder on the floor and grabbing at all the loose papers on the desk, desperate to find something we can use.

I don’t know what I’m looking at, I’m flipping pages so fast, but I notice the weird symbols scrawled across a page. Maybe there’re more records hidden somewhere, Connor’s been doing this so long, but I don’t need them all—just enough to prove he’s behind this. “Got it!” I shout, tucking the binder under my arm.

Austin and I scatter as Connor and his lackeys run right at us. I dive out of their way, just missing getting my face pounded by Connor’s fist.

And then I hear Austin’s terrified scream, and it’s coming from the direction of the ledge.

I picture him falling to his doom, just like Oliver.

I hear another scream, almost as terrified as the first, a primal sound of fear and anguish and despair, and this time I realize it’s my own.

Everything happens in slow motion. I turn to see Austin tumbling off the ledge. Maybe no one pushed him, but it still flashes through my head that this is my fault. He wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me. He would never have gotten involved, he’d never have been scrambling to avoid a beat down from Connor and his goons, if not for a certain detective who should have stuck to his guns and stayed a loner.

But that’s not how this played out. And history isn’t going to repeat itself. Not today, not here, and not with Austin. Before I’m even aware of what I’m doing, I’m diving towards the ledge. Not off the ledge—I’m not crazy—just towards it. I fall to my knees, lunging at Austin as he just manages to grab the edge of the loft with one hand. It’s enough to stop him from falling, but his fingers are slipping. He’s going to fall, all the way down, and then I’ll have lost two partners. Two friends who believed in me enough to stupidly follow me to Connor’s lair and paid the price for it.

“Austin!” I scream, just as his fingers slip all the way off the ledge.

I grab his wrist and feel his weight pulling me with him.

“Let go,” he says, his voice full of resigned panic. Like he’s already decided his fate is inevitable. “Before we both fall.”

“
No
.” I grit my teeth. My face feels hot from the effort of trying to hold him up and not go over the edge myself. I dig my knees into the hard wooden floor and get a grip on Austin’s arm with both hands. “I’m not… letting you… go.” It takes all my effort, but I haul him up enough so he can grab the ledge with his free hand. Then we both pull until he gets his knees up, and then I finally let myself breathe again. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and try to catch my breath.

It’s then that I remember what I came here for. I had to throw down the binder I’d nabbed when I went to save Austin. My evidence, my proof, and now, when I turn my head, there’s Connor, holding the binder, the most arrogant smile I’ve ever seen plastered across his face.

“I don’t even have to try,” he says. “You got
yourself
cornered.” He gestures to himself and his two lackeys, who are all blocking our exit, unless we want to make a jump for it off the edge of the loft, and I don’t consider that an option. Plus there are four more guys down there who, most likely, wouldn’t be too happy about us trying to waltz on out the front door like nothing ever happened. And that scenario ends with us leaving empty handed and Connor getting away with ruining more people’s lives.

“Now you’ve got nowhere to go. But, if you ask me, I think you made the right choice.” His voice is patronizing. “Picking your friend there over this.” He holds up the binder, the one with enough evidence in it to make somebody pay attention and get him convicted. He flips it open and rips out a page, tears it up, and lets the pieces float to the floor. “Oops, did you need that for something?”

He tears out another page, and that’s when I lose it. I let out an angry war cry I didn’t know I had in me as I charge towards him. He’s so surprised when I collide with him that he drops the binder. I drop to the floor to grab it, and as soon as it’s in my hands, it’s like some signal for all hell to break loose. Connor’s lackeys dive for Austin while Connor himself kicks me in the ribs. White hot pain shoots through my side, a horrible ache mixing with it a second later. It hurts so bad that I bite my lip and draw blood, determined not to cry out, but I don’t think anything’s broken. I attempt to twist out of the way as Connor kicks at me again. The pain slows me down and I don’t get away in time, catching his foot in my shoulder.

Austin makes a loud
oof
sound and doubles over as one of the lackeys punches him in the stomach.

“Come on, Phelps,” I shout as I twist out of the way of another of Connor’s kicks. “Stop goofing around and let’s get out of here!”

Austin glances towards me and takes a fist to the jaw, his lip splitting open. “You don’t have to tell me twice,” he pants, wincing against the pain. He ducks the next blow and stumbles, half crawling, half running as he gets to his feet.

“Madigan!” Connor shrieks as me and Austin run for the stairs like our lives depend on it. Then, to the guys downstairs, he shouts, “Nobody let them leave!”

The guy counting his profits in stolen lunch money jumps up from the table, coins clattering everywhere. The guy he’s supposed to be spotting grunts and tries to get the bar back in place, but he’s too slow. The two playing dice hesitate, not catching what’s going on for a second, but then they’re on their feet, chasing after us.

Lunch money guy skids to a stop in front of the door, blocking the way out.

I’m ready to fight dirty if I have to, but before I can even think about a strategy, Austin leaps at the guy, taking him—and everyone else in the room, including me—by surprise and knocking both of them to the ground.

“Oh my God!” lunch money guy screams. He crosses both arms over his face, like he thinks Austin’s going to start punching. “I’ve got family pictures this weekend! My mom’ll kill me!”

Austin’s got him pinned to the ground, his nostrils flaring in and out as he takes deep breaths. “Phelps!” I shout, throwing open the door while the way is clear.

He shakes his head, suddenly coming to his senses, and scrambles to his feet.

Right as we duck out the door, I hear Connor’s voice behind us saying, “Let ’em go,” as if our escape is no big deal. And then I hear the unmistakable beeping of someone pressing the numbers on a cell phone. Some part of me registers that that can’t be good, but I don’t stop to think about who Connor might be calling—I just
run
and get out of there while I have the chance, the binder of evidence clutched under one arm and Austin right behind me.

By the time we get back to Bright Oaks, my side where Connor kicked me has started burning again, and I have to hold my arm away from me because it’s so tender. All my muscles are sore, and my left ankle’s gone kind of stiff—I must have done something to it in the struggle—and there’s no way I could run right now, just limp along and pray for all of this to be over soon.

Austin has a black eye and a couple more bruises forming on his face. His split lip’s crusted over with a scab that he can’t stop poking at with his finger, like every time he touches it he somehow expects it to be different. His footsteps are heavy—much heavier than they were not that long ago, when he insisted on accompanying me to my doom.

“It’s one thirty,” Austin says, checking his watch when we reach the school. “Less than two hours until the paper hits the presses.” He clears his throat. “They’re not going to be happy with you, ruining their top story so close to deadline.”

With me? Try both of us. But I don’t know if now’s the best time to remind him that sticking with me might have put him in the bad graces of the journalism department. “And I wasn’t so happy with the idea of them ruining Danigail’s
life
.” Not that it’s all their fault. It’s Connor’s and the PTA’s, and even Danigail’s for getting herself in so much trouble all the time, and… If I hadn’t let Oliver get involved last summer, maybe none of this would have happened. At least, Danigail wouldn’t be being blamed for it. Her life wouldn’t have gotten turned upside down, and she wouldn’t have a rap sheet taller than the school. But it’s too late to think about that kind of stuff. Way too late. There’s only one thing left to do now.

“We’re heading straight for the office,” Austin says, pushing open one of the big double doors at the entrance of the school. As soon as he’s got it open he turns around to face me, blocking my path. He folds his arms over his chest. “No more plans, no more confrontations. We go straight to Dodge with that binder, and that’s
it
.”

I glare at him, staring him right in the eyes. Then I sigh and shake my head. “For once, Phelps, we actually agree. Believe me, I want nothing more than to deliver this evidence”—I pat the binder I’ve got tucked under my arm—“to the proper authorities, and then I’ll gladly sit out the rest of my suspension.”

Austin lets out a deep breath of relief and together we march down the main hallway, heading straight for the office. Dodge won’t be happy to see me, but he’ll listen to the evidence. He might suspend me for the rest of next week and give me detention from now until high school, but he’ll make sure the right people get punished and that Danigail goes free. Right now, that’s all that matters.

In the last twenty-four hours I’ve lost my whole collection of Dragon Slayer cards—I might have won the game, but there’s no way I’m going back to that barn to get them—gotten beat up, and had my agency ripped out from under me. I’ve failed my best client, I’ve almost gotten my new partner seriously injured—as it is, he’s only mildly injured—and revealed my hand to the biggest criminal mind at Bright Oaks Junior High. I’m ready for this to be over, no matter what the consequences.

The hallways are empty, since everyone’s in class right now, and the echo of our footsteps seems extra loud as we approach the office. My heart speeds up and I feel ten times lighter, like I could fly if I wanted to, the burden I’ve carried with me all year finally fading away. Danigail’s not getting suspended, or expelled. She’s not going anywhere. And Connor’s finally getting what he has coming to him. He might have gotten away with what he did to Oliver, but now I’ve got
proof
that he’s been taking bets on school events. And that he purposely injured two girls while trying to sabotage the track meet. I forget about my injuries, feeling almost giddy as I realize today’s his last day here. I did it. I got Connor Mills, and now no one at Bright Oaks—not me, not Danigail, and not Oliver—is going to have to deal with him again.

And on top of that, Connor’s mom’s going to have a hard time convincing anyone to vote for her. Not with a criminal for a son. It doesn’t exactly scream family values and higher moral standards. Delivering this evidence isn’t just going to take down Connor, it’s going to take down his mom’s
entire mayoral campaign
. Maybe it won’t put the PTA out of business, but it’ll keep this town out of their clutches for another few years.

Complete and total victory is so close I can taste it. The office door is only a few feet away—and that’s when a band of a dozen middle-aged women steps out from around the corner.

Some of them are wearing business suits, some sleek, flower-print dresses. One’s got roses on hers, but there are only a few buds pictured in the fabric—I swear the rest is all sharp-looking thorns. No matter how they’re dressed, they all emanate power, and they’re all wearing guest passes that say PTA.

I recognize Mrs. Galverston from the ice cream shop, along with Mrs. Mills as she steps out from the group, a shiny campaign button on her jacket, a sinister smile on her lips. “It seems,” she says, speaking slowly, as if she’s talking to a five-year-old, “that my son has
misplaced
something.” She looks directly at the binder, and there’s no mistaking her meaning.

I clutch it tighter, instinctively wrapping both arms around it. “Did he?” I say, pretending I don’t know what she’s talking about, though everyone here knows that I do. “How careless of him.”

Connor’s mom’s eyebrows scrunch up in annoyance. “Stealing’s a crime, you know.”

“So is gambling. And last I heard, it’s frowned upon by voters.” I share a look with Austin and try to inch my way closer to the office door, but by now they’ve got us surrounded. My heart pounds in terror. The entire
PTA
has come for us, and even though we’re only a few feet away from the office, no one’s going to be coming to our rescue.

Austin turns even more pale than he usually is. He looks like he’s about to faint, but he surprises me by gritting his teeth and saying, “You don’t scare me. You touch either of us, and it’s going
in the paper
. Everyone’s going to hear about it.”

Connor’s mom chuckles. A couple of the other PTA moms smirk or shake their heads and try not to laugh. Connor’s mom plasters this big fake smile on her face and leans forward. “You,” she says, pointing a long red fingernail at Austin, her voice disgustingly sweet, “are obviously new here.
You
don’t know how to appreciate a
gift
. We put you on that paper—”

“I already quit,” Austin snaps. “You can’t fire me.”

“You misunderstand. We put you on that paper like that.” She snaps her fingers. “How hard do you think it would be for us to get a story
canceled
?”

Austin swallows, the impact of her words sinking in.

Now that he’s been put in his place, Connor’s mom focuses on me. She holds out her hand for the binder. “I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

I glance at her, then shift my eyes towards the office door. There’s no way I’m giving up the only real evidence I’ve ever had on Connor. They might have us surrounded, but I could make a run for it, even with my sore ankle. All I have to do is make it through the door and down the hall to Dodge’s office. The PTA moms all have on heels. They might have dressed for success, but they didn’t dress for a chase. I could do it, I could get past them.

My fingers dig into the binder as I mentally plan my escape route. “Tell me something.” I look Connor’s mom right in the eyes, letting her know I’m not backing down. “What makes you think I would
ever
give this to you? What makes you think I’m going to just hand this over when I’ve worked so hard to uncover the truth?” Especially when the truth could do so much damage, both to her and to Connor. I promised Henry I’d stand up to the PTA if I ever got the chance. If there was ever a time to make good on that promise, this is it.

I count down in my head. On three, I’m going to make a break for it. One, two—

“Because if you
don’t
hand that over, I’m going to show
this
to Principal Vickers.” Connor’s mom slips a sleek, portable DVD player out of her purse. She flips it open and hits play.

My blood runs cold as I watch the video. It’s black and white security footage dated two weeks ago—it shows the time in little white numbers in the bottom left corner—and it’s of Danigail, glancing nervously over her shoulder before pulling the fire alarm.

Sometimes I think it’s like Danigail’s
trying
to give me a heart attack. But I know why she did it. She was protecting Oliver the best way she knew how. Veronica was harassing him again, so Danigail risked adding yet another mark to her record—one that could get her expelled if she got caught—just to make his life easier. Maybe he didn’t want her to, but maybe it was her only way to handle everything that’s happened to him. Like me and my agency, trying to protect him is her way of coming to terms with the things she can’t change. Even if it means putting herself in danger and risking everything.

She’s not the only one.

Austin shakes his head and mutters, “She’s a capital T, all right.” At least this time he sounds regretful about it, like he’s on her side.

Connor’s mom points a long red fingernail at the binder I’m clutching so hard my fingers are going numb. “You could turn that in and get your little girlfriend off the hook.
But
.” She pauses, giving me a second to gape at the now still image of Danigail with her hand on the fire alarm. “But then I’d have to turn this in, and she’d still get suspended.” She purses her lips and shakes her head, like
What a shame
. “And she’d still get expelled.”

But so would Connor. And Mrs. Mills would have to forfeit the election.

“Or,” the PTA mom next to her, dressed in a deep blue power suit, says, adjusting her square wire-rimmed glasses, “we can make an exchange.”

“Give me the binder,” Connor’s mom says, “and all this disappears.” She snaps the DVD player shut. “Principal Vickers drops the charges and your girlfriend’s off the hook.”

The way she keeps referring to Danigail as my girlfriend makes me wonder if she even knows her name.

“Everybody walks away. No one gets hurt.”

No one except Veronica and Alexis, who will miss out on the play and the rest of track season. But there’s nothing I can do to change that, and their meaning isn’t lost on me. My whole body feels cold. It’s not just my fingers that are tingling, but now my toes.

If I hand over the binder with Connor’s betting logs to the PTA, Danigail gets redemption. She gets a second chance and maybe even her brother’s forgiveness. And she stays out of Riverfront Academy. She might not be a saint, but she’s not the delinquent everybody thinks she is, and she’s not beyond help. Not yet.

But Riverfront changes kids. It’s dog eat dog there, and at best, Danigail will end up injured. At worst, she’ll end up not herself. She’ll end up someone mean and violent, concerned only with survival, and any hope she had of pulling herself out of her academic slump will disappear. She’s ready to make a change, but if she gets shipped off to Riverfront, she’ll be so far gone, the Danigail I knew won’t exist anymore. She doesn’t deserve that, and I’m not ready to let her go. Plus I failed Oliver. I can’t fail her too.

But if I turn it in to the authorities and get my revenge on Connor, then maybe
I
can find redemption and finally forgive myself for what happened to Oliver. And I can keep Mrs. Mills out of office and all of Bright Oaks from being run just like this school, with harsh punishment policies and different standards for those of us not born untouchable. If I turn in the binder, the bad guys finally get what’s coming to them, and everyone sleeps a little safer at night.

Everyone except Danigail. She’ll be lucky if she sleeps at all.

They’re all staring at me, waiting for me to say something. Austin searches my face, his forehead lined with worry and anticipation, like he thinks if I don’t decide soon the PTA’s going to take him hostage or something. I remember what Henry said yesterday, and how he made me promise I’d never make a deal with the PTA. Somebody has to stand up to them, he said, but I’m not so sure anymore that this is the kind of situation he had in mind—the kind where someone’s whole life is on the line. I remember the look on Eugene’s face when he found out I failed him. I promised myself I’d never fail a client again, that I’d never let my need for revenge outweigh the needs of a client.

“If you don’t give me that binder,” Connor’s mom says, “
she gets expelled
.”

I’m super aware of my heart pounding in my chest and my pulse racing through my veins. My mouth goes dry, and I’m paralyzed with fear, unable to move.

I’m the one paralyzed from the waist down, but you’re the one who can’t move, the one who can’t get past this.
Oliver’s words come back to haunt me.
I’m the one who got hurt, but it’s you who can’t let go. It’s you who’s obsessed with revenge.

My knees start to shake. I can either have my redemption, or I can save Danigail. Danigail, the girl who used to get straight As and talk about going to college like it was going to be some kind of paradise. The girl who’s had me wrapped around her finger since second grade. I still remember the way it felt, kissing her last summer, like everything was finally how it was supposed to be. Like nothing could ever go wrong.

“Well?” Connor’s mom taps her foot, impatient, the sound of her shoe clacking against the floor echoing in the mostly empty hallway, like a demented clock counting down the seconds. “
What’s it going to be
?”