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“I can get it off your laptop,” Dell said, looking back down at it. “It’s simple—a spyware update will take care of it.”

“Great,” I said. “Thanks.” I wanted to get her off of my computer as fast as possible. The fact that she was peering in on my life like this was giving me the creeps.

“Wait,” Peyton said sharply. She nodded at my laptop and smiled. “I think we might be able to use this to our advantage.”

An hour later, we had what could almost be called a plan. We had hooked Dell’s computer up to the TV, so we could all see what was being sketched out. We’d been passing around the laptop as we took turns adding ideas—except for Peyton, who said she wasn’t able to touch a computer until next year, for reasons she declined to go into—making Dell wince a little every time it passed to someone new. Ruth was hitting the keys especially hard when it had been her turn, but it seemed like Dell’s presence had been accepted, as nobody “accidentally” dropped his computer or ran it over with a mini monster truck.

Dell hadn’t been able to find the Nate file anywhere on Isabel’s computer, which had put a momentary hitch in our plan, until Ruth, using her scientist’s brain, had
made me talk through exactly what I’d heard when Isabel had described the Nate photo to me. I had thought back as hard as I could, and when I’d described how I’d heard the sound of metal hitting metal, her eyes had lit up, and soon, another piece of the plan was falling into place.

I looked up at the screen now, lifting my legs automatically as the monster truck, piloted somewhat erratically by Dell, swerved around the room. I was just hoping the plan would work. It
had
to.

ISABEL RYAN IS A LYING, SNEAKING LITTLE—
Madison’s Nine
REVENGE!
!

The Plan
Objectives:

Take AWAY Isabel’s power re: secrets
Get back “Nate stealing mascot” evidence
Do this without her realizing it/before she can retaliate

*Monday, July 1*
4
P.M.
J working 1st concession stand
J distracted—invitation
Madison, Peyton, Schuyler, Mark—J loses phone

4:30
P.M.
Madison—J texts IR—makes plans to meet at SYC at 7

6:30
P.M.
J arrives OAB
Glen, Dave, Ruth—J chills out

7:00
P.M.
D&J—IR arrives SYC
Madison—KEYS

7:30 P.M
.
Madison—J calls IR
D&J—IR leaves SYC
Dell—information retrieval

8:00 P.M
.
EVERYONE—PHS lacrosse
Evidence safe (fingers xed)

I let out a long breath as I looked at the plan that we would attempt to pull off just two days from now. It all seemed fairly daunting. And it relied, pretty heavily, on all three of my less-than-reliable coworkers. I had assured everyone that they would agree to help, but secretly wasn’t a hundred percent convinced of that. The prom plan had been complicated enough. But with this one, it seemed like there was even more that could go wrong. More locations, people spread out more places, more uncontrollable variables.

“Man,” Mark said as he stared up at the screen. He sighed and turned to look at the rest of us. “Is it just
me, or does it seem like we’re always stealing stuff from this girl?”

“We wouldn’t have to, if she’d stop taking things that didn’t belong to her,” Lisa said firmly. “
C’est simple
.”

“I still feel bad about what we’re doing to Justin,” Schuyler said, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” Kittson and I said together.

“We’re going to turn it off,” Turtell assured her. “Most likely,” he added, under his breath.

“Do you guys really think this will work?” Dave asked, then yelped in pain as Dell ran the truck into his ankle.

“Sorry,” Dell muttered, reversing. “My bad …”

I looked back at the screen. In all honesty, I had no idea if we’d be able to pull it off. We’d managed it at the prom, but just barely. And we’d had luck—and a streaker—on our side.

I couldn’t be sure we’d have luck on our side again. But I was pretty sure that there would be no semi-naked people involved this time, as the plan was streaker-free. I hoped it would work. Because if we didn’t pull it off, Isabel would know what we’d tried to do. And all our futures would be hanging in the balance.

“It has to,” I said, leaning back against the couch cushions.

“Okay,” Schuyler said, looking up from Dell’s laptop. “So I’ll save this, right?” She closed out the document, and Dell’s desktop filled the TV. Dell turned even paler
than usual, dropping the controller and prompting an outraged “Dude!” from Dave.

“That’s okay,” Dell said, hustling over to the couch and reaching for his laptop. “I’ll just take that—”

“What’s
Poem for Peyton
?” Kittson asked gleefully, pointing to the Word document on his desktop. Peyton looked up at the screen and rolled her eyes, but I could have sworn I saw her give a tiny smile as she looked away again.

“Nothing,” Dell said, flustered, as he wrenched the laptop away from Schuyler and tapped at the keyboard frantically. “Nothing at all. Just … um … about football. I’m a big fan of, uh, Peyton Manning and the, you know, team.”

“The
Colts
,” Turtell said, shaking his head.

“Right, them,” Dell said, shutting his laptop and looking at his phone. “Wow, look at the time. I had better get going….”

Dell started to pack up his enormous backpack, and this seemed to be the cue that the get-together was breaking up. Everyone stood, gathered up purses and motorcycle helmets and mini monster trucks, and headed out of the pool house.

Once outside in the warm, humid night, Dell turned to us, shouldering his bag. “So I’ll check in tomorrow to confirm we’re set for Monday,” he said. His eyes fell on me, and he sighed. “Well, except for you, Mad. You’re really going to need to get another phone before then.”

“I know,” I said, stifling a sigh. I wasn’t sure how this was going to happen, but it needed to. And fast. I turned to Schuyler. “Hey, you know all those Razrs your dad bought for you when you kept throwing your phone out the window?”

“What about them?” she asked. Peyton turned to her, eyebrows raised. “I don’t do it anymore!” Schuyler said defensively.

“Do you think I could borrow one?” I asked. “Just for tomorrow and Monday?”

“Sure,” Schuyler said. “But you know they don’t have internet capability, right?”

“Oh,” I said. I would be needing to update my location—and see where my friends were—if this was going to work out. “Well, never mind.”

“We’ll think of something,” Ruth said encouragingly. “Want me to make a list?” I shook my head at that, but couldn’t help smiling.

“If there is nothing else,” Dell said. “Then
adieu
.” He looked around at us, his gaze lingering on Peyton the longest before he headed for Dave’s driveway.

“Glen, you got a minute?” Dave asked, taking a few steps toward the edge of the property and the rock wall that overlooked Long Island Sound.

“Sure,” Turtell said. He kissed Kittson on the cheek, then headed over to where Dave was waiting. The boys turned their backs on us and Dave began speaking, Turtell leaning close to listen.

“What’s that about?” Schuyler asked, looking over at them.

“Who knows?” Peyton asked. “Who cares? Schuyler, shake a leg. Let’s motor.”

“I should go, too,” Ruth said, pulling out her phone and checking the time. “I need to call Andy. He was pretty confused about why I cancelled on him at the last minute.”

Schuyler said goodbye to all of us, Peyton did not, and the two of them took off. Ruth took a step closer to me. “Mad,” she said in a low voice.

I looked around, but didn’t know what the caution was for—Lisa and Kittson seemed to be involved in a discussion about toy trucks and how best to dismantle one. “Ruth,” I repeated back to her in the same quiet voice.

She smiled at that, but only fleetingly. “I think we need to be careful,” she said, still speaking quietly.

“About Dell?” I asked, and she nodded. “I know,” I started. “We’ve all had issues with him, but I think this time—”

“I’ve just never known him to do anything without getting something out of it,” she said. “I don’t think you wake up one morning and suddenly become a different person.”

I could see how worried she was. “But then what is he getting out of this?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “And that’s what worries me.” Her phone beeped with a text, and she looked down at it. “That’s Andy again,” she said.

“Tell him I say hi,” I said. “Actually, don’t,” I amended. “No need to scare him.”

She smiled at me. “TTYL?” she asked.

I felt myself smile back, a real, genuine one, the kind I’d had far too few of over the last few days. “TTYS,” I replied. Ruth smiled back and headed for the driveway, texting as she walked.

I turned to Kittson and Lisa and saw that Kittson was in the foot-tapping stage of her impatience dance. “This is ridiculous,” she huffed, staring at Turtell and Dave, still deep in conversation. “I didn’t come back from the Hamptons so my boyfriend could talk about toy trucks.” She flipped her hair and stalked over to the boys.

The phone in Lisa’s hand beeped, and she looked down at it and sighed. “Tricia again,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know about her. She’s getting kind of clingy and
un peu
annoying.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to seem too happy about this.

“
Je ne sais …”
she said, with a one-armed shoulder shrug. “Just kind of a feeling. But you know what was really weird?” So much of this had been really weird that I had no idea where to begin with that, so I just shook my head. “When Dell was saying goodbye,” she said, “it was in French.”

“I caught that,” I said. “I think you’re rubbing off on him.”

“Not the language,” she said. “The word. He didn’t say
au revoir
, which means goodbye. He said
adieu
.”

“So?” I asked. I had taken—and somehow passed—Latin last year, so I wasn’t sure what Lisa was getting at with her vocabulary lesson.

“
Adieu …”
Lisa paused, her expression troubled. “It means farewell. It’s what you say when you don’t plan on seeing someone ever again.” She looked at me closely. “Mad, are you sure we can trust him?”

“So!” I said as cheerfully as I was able, looking at my fellow employees and hoping we wouldn’t have to go through this a third time. “Is everyone clear on the plan?”

Daryl and John shook their heads as Kavya, from her perch on the counter, sighed loudly. “I’m clear on the
plan
,” she said. “I’m just not clear on why I should do this in the first place.”

I resisted the urge to wave some carrots at her. “Because it would be really helpful,” I said, giving her a big smile. “And we’d really appreciate it.” Kavya just folded her arms over her chest. “And,” I said quickly,
scrambling for something that might convince her, “I’ll work Fridays alone for the rest of the summer.”

Kavya looked at me for a moment, as though considering this, head tilted to the side. “Fine,” she finally agreed. “I’ll help you out tomorrow, and then you work Fridays for me for the rest of the summer
and
every other Tuesday.”

Since I already worked on Tuesdays, this did not seem to be that much of an imposition on me, and I nodded. “Deal,” I said. She hopped off the counter and walked to the back, emerging a moment later with her purse slung over her shoulder, phone already in hand.

“Is it quitting time already?” John asked, looking puzzled. He took out his phone and checked the time.

“No,” I said, staring at Kavya. Since the store closed at six, and it was just a little after noon, it was certainly not quitting time. “What’s going on?”

Kavya looked up from her phone and sighed. “Madison, I thought this whole plan rests on me being able to seduce this guy.”

“You’re not actually seducing him, remember?” I said quickly. “You’re just getting him to
think
that you are.”

“Well, anyway,” Kavya said, “if I’m going to do that, I’m going to need to look good.”

“You do look good,” I said as encouragingly as possible.

Daryl nodded. “Thumbs-up,” he said.

“But I’m going to need to look
really
good,” she said. “So I’m going to need time off, to relax, get some
beauty sleep….” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Unless you’d rather I don’t help you out,” she said. “I could do that, too.”

“It’s fine,” I said through gritted teeth. I had a suspicion that the rest of the summer might be a series of ultimatums. But since Kavya had never done much work anyway, it wasn’t like her contribution was really going to be missed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she said vaguely as she headed out the door. “Later!” The bell jangled and I just looked out the window for a moment, hoping against everything I knew about her that she would come through for us. Because we were pretty much dead if she didn’t.

I took a long sip of my Straw-Mango, hoping that the extra scoop of energy powder I’d mixed in would start kicking in soon. “Okay,” I said, turning to Daryl and John. “Let’s go over the details again.”

Daryl shook his head. “This whole situation, Mad,” he said. “The secrets … the lies … if you’d have watched this spring’s episodes of my
telenovela
, you’d have known that they never lead to anything good. You know what Rosa learned last week?
La verdad te hará libre
.”

I waited for a translation, but none seemed forthcoming. “What does that mean?” I finally asked.

Daryl smiled at me. “Aren’t subtitles great? Check it. It means ‘the truth shall set you free.’”

John shook his head. “That’s deep, dude.”

“She was kidnapped and tied to a chair at the time, though,” Daryl added thoughtfully after a minute. “So maybe they meant it literally.”

“Maybe,” I said, nodding as though this stoner wisdom was sinking in. “It’s something to think about. Now, why don’t we go over this again?”

I pulled into our driveway that night feeling utterly wiped out. It didn’t help that when I wasn’t going over different aspects of the plan, I was thinking about Nate.

My mind kept circling back to him, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal, because I refused to stop poking at it. Mostly, though, I just
missed
him. It was like a physical ache somewhere deep inside, some vital part of me that had been ripped away. Throughout the day, I kept thinking about things that I wanted to say to him, when it would hit me that was no longer an option. It was like my mind was refusing to accept that the reality of the world had fundamentally changed.

So as I headed up our driveway, I was looking forward to a long bath and seeing if I could convince my father to pick up a pizza for dinner again. I parked in the turnaround and headed into the house—and nearly fell on my face as I tripped over the huge, overstuffed duffel that was directly inside the door. T. MACDONALD was stenciled across it. “Oh, no,” I groaned. I had a feeling I knew exactly what its presence meant.

“Hey, Mad.” I looked up and saw my brother standing in the kitchen doorway, looking several inches taller and entirely too pleased with himself. “You miss me?”

I walked into the kitchen, giving him a slight shove—our version of a hug—as I passed him. I beelined
for the fridge, feeling acutely in need of a restorative Diet Dr Pepper. “What are you doing here?” I asked, grabbing a can out of the fridge and gulping it gratefully. “What happened to camp?”

“Camp was good,” he said, following me to the fridge, giving me the opportunity to see that he had, in fact, grown enough that he was now officially taller than me. He reached over my head for a Mountain Dew, then slouched over to the kitchen table. “But I was just doing the first session. I go to art camp next week.”

I had known this. In the pre-breakup, pre-disaster version of my life, I’d been well aware that Travis’s camps were split into two sessions. “Right,” I said. “Of course.”

“I’m going to need your input on these craft projects I made for Olivia,” he said. “Oh, and then for you to mail them for me. Cool?” He pulled out his phone and started typing on it, not waiting for a response. In times past, I absolutely would have said something snarky to him about this. But there just didn’t seem to be any point to it now.

“Sure,” I said. I turned to head upstairs, and Travis put his phone down on the table and looked at me.

“Uh,” he said, then cleared his throat a few times. “Dad said that you, um, stayed in bed for a while last week.”

I took just a moment to wonder what my father had been thinking, sharing this information with my former Demon Spawn brother. Even though Travis and I weren’t on the outs as much as we traditionally had been, I still didn’t want my father arming him with information like
this. “Yeah,” I said, looking down at my soda can. “But I’m fine now.”

“Was it about Nate?” he asked, and I looked over at him, shocked that he would have put this together. He shrugged. “I saw on Constellation that you changed your status.”

I felt my bottom lip threatening to tremble, and I bit down hard on it, certainly not about to let myself cry in front of my brother. “Yeah, well,” I said when I’d pulled myself together.

“What happened?” Travis asked, taking a sip of Mountain Dew.

“Let’s just say it wasn’t my idea,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “And that if it had been up to me, we wouldn’t have broken up.”

Travis looked at me for a long moment, then nodded and jumped to his feet. “I’m going for a bike ride now,” he said, a little louder than was probably necessary. After all, it was just us in the kitchen.

“Oh,” I said. “Um, okay.” Travis nodded and, looking oddly determined, headed out of the kitchen. Then he turned back, walked toward me, and before I knew what was happening, gave me a quick, awkward hug.

“Be back soon,” he said, stepping away and practically running out the door. I watched him go, slightly bewildered, not sure where this sudden need for exercise had come from. But maybe camp did those kinds of things to you.

I was about to head upstairs when I saw Travis’s phone sitting on the kitchen table. I picked it up and
turned it over in my hands. It was new; my parents had bought it for Travis for his eighth-grade graduation. Unlike the now-antique box of phones Schuyler’s father had bought, this phone certainly had internet capabilities. Which meant that it might be just what I needed.