Prep School Confidential (A Prep School Confidential Novel) (13 page)

What was she looking for?

I swallow, thinking of how Alexis missed Isabella’s wake. Could she have hated her enough to kill her?

*   *   *

Professor Andreev is in his office during lunch. My plan is to talk to him just long enough to figure out how hard it’ll be for me to break into his office when he’s not there.

The door is closed, but through a narrow pane of glass I can see Andreev sitting at his desk, eyes fixed on his computer screen. I take the opportunity to examine the lock on his door. It’s old—even older than the locks at St. Bernadette’s. I should be able to wiggle this one open, but there’s no telling what kind of locks he might have inside his office, especially if the flash drive is there. If I had killed someone to steal something from them, I’d definitely want to lock away whatever I’d taken.

It’s not that hard to think like a criminal. But I guess if you want to get technical about it, I
am
a criminal.

I rehearse my lines in my head quickly before knocking on the door. Andreev looks up and ambles over, his body tilted forward slightly under the weight of his round gut. He blinks when he sees me.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, Professor Andreev. I’m Anne Dowling. Isabella Fernandez’s roommate.”

Andreev’s cloudy eyes fill with regret. “Ah, yes. Such a tragedy. She was the most brilliant student I’ve ever had. Come in, come in.”

His office smells like sulfur and old people. The chair he gestures for me to sit in is vinyl and leaks stuffing. My breath catches in my throat a bit as he closes the door behind us.

Andreev leans back in his desk chair, which lets out a groan. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Dowling?”

“Well.” I shift a bit in my seat. “I was thinking about my schedule for next year, and I think I’d like to take AP physics.”

“Ah. Let me bring up your records.” Andreev’s hand trembles as it hovers over his mouse. I look away, glancing around the office. File cabinets are stacked upon file cabinets, overflowing with folders and papers. There’s a counter behind his desk, covered with boxes of lab equipment. As far as looking for the flash drive goes, I’ve got my work cut out for me. The guy’s a hoarder.

“I see here you are enrolled in calculus AB. Is good, but I recommend students complete calculus BC before taking physics.” Andreev peers at me. “The math involved is very advanced.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, I was really hoping to earn some extra science credits. Maybe through an independent study or research internship?”

Andreev pauses. He looks from me to the computer screen, which is probably still displaying my transcript. Suspicion works its way into his eyes: My lowest grades are in science. The whole extra-lab-period thing never worked for me.

“The research assistant positions in this department are very competitive,” he says. “But I think Professor Chavel is looking for a laboratory assistant for next year.” He pronounces it “la-
bore
-atory,” which actually sums up my feelings on the subject perfectly. “Unfortunately I only accept one student each year, and the position has been filled.”

“That’s too bad.” I draw up my best puppy-dog eyes. “Isabella loved working with you.”

Andreev pauses, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. My heartbeat stalls as I wait for him to speak. A small, crooked smile takes over his mouth. “It is interesting you tell me this. You see, despite my encouragement, Isabella did not apply for the position again this year.”

His smile fades. I wait for him to call me on my lie and tell me to get the hell out of his office, but he folds his hands and presses his thumbs together. “It troubles me, this world we live in. Where such a brilliant and kind soul can be taken away in an instant.”

A knock at the door startles Andreev, as if he were in a trance speaking to me. The door opens and Sebastian stumbles in, his eyes widening when he sees me. “Oh. Sorry, Professor.” He holds up a manila folder. “Should I bring this back later?”

“Leave it on my desk,” Andreev says, but I’m already standing up to excuse myself.

“Thank you, Professor,” I say. I’m both nauseated and relieved to see Sebastian. He follows me out the office door, then Andreev calls his name.

“I have a meeting at the end of the day,” he says. “Please continue what we were working on yesterday and lock up before you leave.”

I can barely contain my excitement as Sebastian and I make our way to the stairs. “You’re Andreev’s research assistant?”

“Oui,”
Sebastian says with a grin. I fight off the urge to tell him to cut the crap, that I know he’s as American as a Happy Meal. Instead, I smile back and say, “That must have been really hard to get,” and watch him flush with pleasure.

“Oh, I didn’t even apply.” Sebastian runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even straighter. “But I was one of two people to get a five on the AP physics
and
AP calc exams last year, so Andreev asked me.”

I’m betting I know who the other person is. I wonder if Sebastian knows why Isabella didn’t want the position again this year.

“So what are you researching with him?” I ask as Sebastian holds the stairway exit open for me. I sense him stiffen a bit.

“Boring stuff, really. We haven’t found the Higgs boson or anything,” he adds with a nervous laugh. I stare at him blankly. “Physics joke,” he amends.

“Did you know Isabella Fernandez was his research assistant last year?” I ask him.

Sebastian cracks his knuckles. “Yes. I saw him the morning after she was killed. He had to cancel our meeting, he was so upset.”

Or because he needed to get rid of damning evidence or a murder weapon.

The clock tower bongs twelve times overhead, letting us know there’s still twenty minutes left to lunch hour. I don’t know if Sebastian knows anything useful about Andreev and Isabella, but I’m 95 percent sure he has something I
definitely
need: a key to Andreev’s office.

Sebastian has to go back to his dorm because he forgot his history homework. Seconds after we split up, someone calls my name. Brent jogs to catch up with me.

“Why aren’t you at lunch?” he asks.

“Why aren’t
you
at lunch?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Fair enough,” he says, although he doesn’t offer an explanation. But his voice has taken on a smug, singsong tone. “So … Sebastian, huh?”

My cheeks flare up. I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead. “Why not Sebastian?”

“Because. Sebastian is just … Sebastian.” Brent’s voice falters, and I can sense him staring at me as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or not.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I ask innocently. “I think he’s kinda cute.”

“Sebastian is the destroyer of everything cool and enjoyable in this world,” Brent says. “If you play a song for him and he likes it, he’ll play it on repeat until you want to hang yourself. That’s just what he does. He was my roommate freshman year. Ruined all my favorite movies for me, too.”

“And yet you still hang out with him because…”

“He buys the beer.” Brent shrugs. “And he’s kind of grown on me. Like a little French hemorrhoid.”

“Nice. Anyway, I just walked back with him from Professor Andreev’s office,” I say as we start walking to the dining hall. “It’s not like that.”

I wait for Brent to say he didn’t think it was, because I’m so obviously out of Sebastian’s league. But he just keeps walking, confusion building in his expression.

“You’re taking biology,” Brent says. “Why are you so interested in Andreev?”

“I’m not interested in him.” I quicken my pace.

“Come on. I saw you cyber-stalking him in the library yesterday.” His warm brown eyes soften. “I think I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything.” I pull my peacoat around my body tighter. “Can we please go inside? It’s freezing.”

“Look, I know you want to find out who killed Isabella. But Andreev?” Brent shakes his head. “He’s just a half-senile old creep. You’ve got to leave this to the police.”

“I’m only doing what the school won’t let the police do.” I lower my voice. “I’m not an idiot. I know the administration protects their own. If you want to tell on me, go ahead, but I’m not going to stop.”

Brent looks over his shoulder and sighs. “Okay, in that case, what’s our plan?”

I blink at him. “Huh?”

“Our plan.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Obviously you need help.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yup. You know nothing about the inner workings of this school, yet you want to infiltrate it. That’s practically asking to get expelled. Plus, I’m afraid of what you’ll burn down if left unsupervised.”

I feel a rush of excitement. Brent knew my schedule before I did: That could mean he has access to administrative passwords and other things I can only dream of. Then a sobering thought hits me. “How do I know you’re not going to tell Goddard or Harrow on me? The teachers here stare at you like they’re wondering where you hide the halo.”

“Ha,” Brent says. “You must not know me very well.”

“So you’re a big badass now?” I laugh. “Sorry. Must have been the ironed tie that fooled me.”

“Hey, say what you want, but you’re not the only prep-school expellee around here.” Brent grins at me. “And I don’t iron my tie.”

Dumbfounded, I trail after him. “You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not. So does that mean I’m qualified to help you now?”

I chew the inside of my lip. I want Brent’s help, and not just because I want to spend more time with him. Something is telling me to trust him—something about the way he doesn’t fit in with his friends 100 percent and doesn’t gush about how awesome boarding school is all the time.

“Depends,” I tell him. “How comfortable are you with breaking and entering? Oh, and theft.”

Brent looks me up and down as if he’s deciphering if I’m serious or not. I guess he decides on serious, because he lowers his voice. “What do you need to break into?”

“I need to get into Sebastian’s room,” I say. “He has a key to Andreev’s office.”

Brent raises an eyebrow at me. “Ah, I can think of a really easy way to get you into Sebastian’s room, but you probably don’t want to hear it.”

I roll my eyes, although I’ve already thought about that. Yes, the thought of seducing Sebastian to steal his key makes me want a skin-scalding shower, but if journalists can give up their lives in war zones to bring people the truth, I can give up some of my dignity.

The plan is flawed, though. It doesn’t address the problem that Sebastian needs to be
out
of his room while I look for the key. Unless …

“How good are you at creating diversions?” I ask Brent.

“Just give me ten minutes and some matches—”

“
No,
” I squeak. “Are you insane?”

“Fine, fine. I was kidding. Sort of.” Brent leans against the dining-hall entrance, even though by now lunch is almost over. “I have some ideas. Can you meet me outside the dorm Friday night? Say, like an hour after everyone gets back from dinner.”

I nod, even though I don’t want to wait that long. It’s probably for the best though: I can’t risk Sebastian getting suspicious.

“Hey,” Brent says as I turn to go to class. “Boston Latin Academy. Eighth grade. That’s all I’ll tell you.”

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

Molly won’t look at me when she walks into Latin class on Wednesday. She moves her braid so it’s covering half her face, almost as if she’s trying to shield herself from me. I want to grab her and shake her for being such a coward, but at the same time I feel terrible for her, and a little guilty. I never would have been as mean as the girls at her old school, but it’s not like I would have helped, either. Mousy girls like Molly were kind of invisible to me at St. Bernadette’s.

I pretend to be looking over my notes as Molly hovers at the back of the room, considering her seating options. She won’t sit in the empty seat next to me, but her other choices are limited. My notebook pages flutter as she brushes past me, heading for the seat diagonally to my right.

I’m about to look away when she pauses, hovering over the empty chair next to Giant Clark Kent. Upton had said his name is Mr. Andersen. Molly looks nauseous as she backs away a step.

Then she turns and hurries to an empty seat on the other side of the room.

What the hell? I look over at Mr. Andersen to see if he noticed. I can’t see his face, but he’s hunched over his computer, the back of his neck red. After a few moments, he turns and watches Molly scramble through her bag for a pen. The look of embarrassment in his eyes says he saw exactly what I saw.

Molly is afraid of him. And she might have just told me the reason Isabella dropped this class.

I watch Giant Clark Kent for the rest of the class. According to the cover of his notebook, his first name is Lee. I whisper his name, trying it out: Lee Andersen. He never makes eye contact with anyone, even when he’s answering Upton’s questions. He takes notes on his laptop all period, never switching to Solitaire or Tetris, like everyone else who uses their computers in class. The most movement he makes is picking methodically at the scabs on the knuckles of his left hand.

It’s gross, but now I’m dying to know where he got those cuts. I wonder if Isabella fought her killer.

I’m so busy plotting out how I’m going to get more information on Lee that I don’t realize Upton has called on me.

“Ms. Dowling. What is the nominative case of
dictator
?”

“Hold on a sec.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and scan my notes, vaguely aware that the soles of Upton’s ugly slingbacks are tapping against the floor. “Oh!
Dictatora
.”

“Correct.” She gives me a frosty smile, and the look on everyone’s faces says I seriously violated some unwritten rule. Like I was supposed to admit I wasn’t paying attention and let someone else give the right answer.

Upton watches me out of the corner of her beady rat eyes for the rest of the period. Every time she catches me looking at Lee, she bores her gaze into me.

It’s a warning to leave Lee alone. I know that. But Upton doesn’t know that, to me, a warning is a challenge.