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Chapter 18

Maybe "A" appreciated the amount of guts I showed when I vandalized Macy's bedroom.

Or maybe they didn't appreciate it at all, and now I'm being punished.

Or maybe this isn't an order from Red Coat at all, but one from Mona. Considering what I'm about to do, that makes the most sense.

Pulling the hood tighter around my face, I press myself flat against the side of the school and pull out my phone one last time, skimming over the "A" message.

It's a yearbook photo, of some slightly nerdy-looking guy a grade above me. Eliminate the competition. –A is written below it.

There aren't any other details about what I'm supposed to be doing, so I guess it's a good thing that I know what this is about. Mona has decided that not only is she going to join the academic decathlon team, but she wants to be team captain as well. That means that I somehow have to make sure that the current frontrunner for the position is not able to return to school for a while. Like, the rest of the year.

"A" sent me the picture and the message this morning, and I spent the entirety of the school day first figuring out who this kid is, then discreetly following him to figure out just how to make this happen. I still don't know his name, but I do know that he eats with his fingers, rides his bike to and from school every day, and has basketball practice until eight tonight.

I try and make myself invisible against the dark wall as a few kids pass, then check my watch. 7:52. I should have gotten here earlier, but I was still trying to figure out a plan.

Once the sidewalk is clear of people, I walk around the side of the building until I'm right outside the gym. I hop up on a bench and peer in one of the high windows. Basketball practice appears to be winding down, with the players putting the balls back on the rack and heading for the locker room.

I jump down and reach into the pocket of my hoodie, pulling out a wrench that I managed to steal from the toolbox in the garage. Then I sprint across the gym parking lot toward the bike rack. Not only do I need to be out of here before the team comes outside, but I also need to be home within half an hour, before my mother realizes that I've been doing my homework for a little too long.

Thank god there's only one bike locked to the rack, or I would have a serious problem. I'm pretty sure the kid I'm after rides a dark blue one, but I'm not sure enough. It's bad enough that I'm doing this to anyone at all. Inadvertently doing it to someone else would be way worse.

I kneel down beside the bike and secure the wrench around the bolt holding the front wheel in place. Trying to hurry without being reckless, I twist the wrench, but the leather gloves that I'm wearing don't have a strong enough grip to hold it properly. I groan impatiently and slip one off, being careful to touch only the wrench with my bare hand – I don't want to leave fingerprints on the bike, after all.

I loosen one bolt, then the other, leaving the wheel attached…but barely. I pull my glove back on and step back, contemplating doing the same to the rear wheel. Will one wobbly wheel be enough to cause a crash? I gently grab the handlebars of the bike and shake it a little, stopping when it becomes apparent that the front wheel is on the verge of falling right off.

I breathe a sigh of relief just as the gym doors burst open behind me. I gasp, shoving the wrench back into my pocket and darting around the corner, ducking into the nearest doorway just before the basketball team comes into view. I sit on the cold cement, pulling my knees up to my chest and holding my breath, trying to make myself as small as possible.

For a few moments, all I hear is typical boyish joking around as the team begins to part ways. I turn my head slightly, just able to see the bike rack, a few yards away. After another minute, the decathlon boy high fives another boy and heads over to it. To my relief, he unlocks the bike and hops on.

Before he even starts pedaling, I duck my head down and cover my eyes. I know what is going to happen, but that doesn't mean I necessarily want to watch, especially while he's riding on the concrete sidewalk.

I'm expecting the crash, but still jump practically out of my skin at the sound of the bike toppling over, accompanied by a cry of pain. I let out my breath, slowly, finally looking up. The boy is on the ground, the bike half on top of him. Its front wheel is rolling away, finally coming to rest a few feet away from me.

I squint in the dark, studying him. One of his legs seems to be twisted a little under the bike, and I can see a small pool of blood beginning to form under his head. But he appears to still be breathing, thank goodness.

The few other kids who have not yet vacated the parking lot run over, and I take the opportunity to leap up and dash off in the other direction. I'm happy to find that I at least feel guilty about this. Vandalizing someone's bedroom was one thing…but I just actually caused someone legitimate injuries. He'll probably have to go to the hospital because of this. Because of me.

My lungs are burning by the time I get to my car, which I parked all the way on the other side of the school. As soon as I close the door behind me, I pull out my cell phone and make a quick call to 911, reporting a bike accident by the Rosewood High School gym. I'm sure one of the other kids did the same thing, once they ran over. But making sure he gets help makes me feel at least a little less horrible.

But not completely.

…

I'm at my locker the following day after school, finishing putting books away when my phone goes off. I pull it out, smile at Justin's name on the screen, and answer. "Hey."

"Hey," he replies.

After a long pause, I furrow my brow, check the connection, and say, "Uh, what's up?"

"Oh, sorry. Just getting used to hearing your voice again, I guess," he says jovially.

I sigh guiltily, even though he's clearly kidding. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I feel like I haven't been to gymnastics in forever."

"You haven't," he confirms. "Last time you came to class was back in the beginning of September."

I know this, but hearing him say it still makes me wince. I remember last year, when gymnastics used to be a huge part of my life. I went to class every single week, no matter how much homework or activities I had, just because I enjoyed it (and getting to see Justin didn't hurt, either).

But lately, it seems like all of my time outside of school is spent either doing "A" team related things or worrying about them. I can't tell Justin that, of course, so I say the next best thing, which is also not necessarily untrue. "Junior year's been a killer."

He laughs, and I close my locker and lean against it, relieved that he's not too upset. "I get it. I remember," he adds, because he's a senior and just that much closer to getting out of high school. I almost hate him for it.

There's a pause, and I open my mouth to speak when he does first. "Hey. Guess where I am right now?"

"I have no idea," I say truthfully, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder and using both hands to shove my history book into my bag.

"At your school," he says, and I stop for a moment, stunned. I had expected him to say the gym, or Main Street, or even my house…definitely not my school. "You haven't left yet, have you? I thought I could pick you up, we could go somewhere. I can drop you off at your car later."

There are few things that I would like to do more than that. I haven't seen Justin in weeks, and haven't talked to him either, besides texting. But I look down the hallway, watching Spencer walk into a classroom, and groan. "I can't. There's something else I have to do."

"Cancel it," he insists. "Come on, Viola, we barely see each other anymore."

"I can't cancel," I say, taking a few steps down the hallway, as slowly as possible. "But hey. Why don't you come with me? Meet me at the main doors."

"Are you going to tell me what we're doing?" Justin asks, but I can tell that he's no longer angry.

"I'll explain in a minute," I tell him, and put my phone back into the pocket of my jeans. Two minutes later, I meet Justin in the main hallway. As soon as I'm beside him, he turns back to the door, but I grab his arm. "We're not going anywhere."

"What?" he asks, his brow furrowing. "What's going on here?"

"Come on," I say, linking my arm through his and pulling him toward the history wing. "I have to watch the quiz off for the academic decathlon team. The winner gets to be team captain."

"You're on the decathlon team?" he asks in amazement, catching up to me. "I didn't know that."

"I'm not. My sister is."

"Wait." He stops in his tracks, and since my arm is still linked with his, I jerk backwards, too. "I thought your sister was in an institution."

I grimace. Since our conversation after the masquerade, we never talk about that. My goal has always been to keep those two sides of my life very separate. I almost wish I hadn't told him to come with me today. "Um, she was. Not anymore."

I'm expecting him to react the same way that most people in my school do. But he shrugs and says, "Alright. Let's go."

I'm afraid that we're late, but the team is still milling around when I walk in. Two chairs have been set up behind a table in the front of the room, with two bells in front of them. A large rolling blackboard is a few feet away, split into two sides.

Justin walks over to lean against the back wall while I head over to my sister. "Hey."

"Hey!" Mona says cheerfully, tucking a large card under her arm. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem," I reply, narrowing my eyes at the card. "What's that?"

She pulls it out, opening it up to show me. "Oh, just a card for Brad. After he fell off his bike? I'm sure he could really use some support from the team."

I stare at her for a long moment, not sure how to respond to this. Is this some kind of trick? Or was she really not the one to send me that order?

An awkward amount of time passes before I finally give up and shake my head. "That's nice." I force a smile. "I'll stand in the back. Good luck." I pat her shoulder and walk over to stand beside Justin, just as Andrew Campbell, the secretary of the team, stands up from his chair.

"Three rounds," he announces as Mona and Spencer take their seats behind the table. "Most correct answers wins. You've got ten seconds after you ring the bell. I'll read the questions, and Sam and Conrad will keep time and score. We good? Let's do this.

"Alexander Hamilton emigrated to the United States in 1772 from what Caribbean island?" he asks, and Justin glances over at me, his eyebrows shooting up. I shrug. I had not been expecting the questions to start off so severely.

Mona rings her bell immediately. "Nevis."

Spencer smirks, folding her hands in front of her. "St. Croix."

Andrew nods at the boy in front of the chalkboard. "Mona's got the quick draw, but this one goes to Spencer. Next question."

Things do not get much better from that point. The questions get progressively harder, and I do not understand a single one. I would feel pretty stupid if it wasn't for Justin beside me, who continues to give me incredulous looks.

Spencer is on a roll, and I'm getting more and more impressed. I've always known that she's smart, but not like this. Mona, on the other hand, is struggling. She keeps ringing in first, but then misspeaks or gets part of the answer wrong, only for Spencer to jump in and get the point in the next instant.

After about twenty questions, Justin pokes my arm and leans close to my ear. "Are you okay?" he whispers.

I jump at the sound of his voice and turn. I have been getting increasingly jittery and nervous this whole time. "Yes. Fine. Why?"

He raises an eyebrow at me, and I give him a look back, turning away and wiping my hand across my forehead. I'm surprised to find that I'm even sweating a little. But I can't help but be nervous. If Mona doesn't win this, that means I put an innocent boy in the hospital for absolutely nothing. I'm not sure I can handle that.

After another few minutes of Spencer rattling off answers like she has a computer for a brain, Andrew stands up, clearing his throat. "End of round two. Spencer's up by three points. Why don't we break?"

I'm thrilled by this. It's nearly four o'clock and I want to call my mother, let her know I'm not dead. And all of these questions, even though they're not directed at me, are beginning to make my head hurt.

But Spencer doesn't move. "I'm good to keep going."

I glance over at Mona. She is sipping almost frantically from her water bottle, fanning herself with her hand and looking a little green. I straighten up, alarmed, and say sharply, "Spencer…"

Andrew glances back at me and I widen my eyes at him, shaking my head. He looks uncertain. "Mona?"

She caps her water bottle, her hands shaking. "I guess so."

"Are you sure?" He aims his gaze at Spencer. "I think she could use a break."

"She's fine," Spencer snaps, smiling thinly. "Just ask the questions."

"Oh, god." I groan and lean back against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment. Then I turn my head and look worriedly at Justin. "Are you bored? You can go, if you want, but I should probably stay."

He glances at me only briefly, shaking his head. He looks mesmerized. "No way. This is better than football."

"Here we go," Andrew is saying once I start paying attention again. "Round three."

Ten minutes later, the score is tied and I feel like I am going to explode. Justin looks like he is watching the most intense sports event of all time. There is a brief pause, in which Andrew shuffles through his cards, and I say under my breath, "Oh my god, if Mona doesn't win this…"

"Geez," he mutters back, smiling at me. "You're a good sister. I mean, what does this have to do with you?"

More than you could ever imagine, I think, imagining poor Brad, unable to speak with an injured trachea, and feel a twinge of pain and guilt in my stomach. This has to end well, for someone at least.

Andrew finally speaks. "Spencer, you have ten seconds to begin your answer. Get it right, and you win. Name fifteen countries that became independent with the dissolution of the Soviet Union, in alphabetical order."

A triumphant smile spreads across Spencer's face. I grab Justin's arm, feeling my face go white as she begins, her voice full of confidence. "Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus…Estonia…"

Her voice trails off for a moment. Andrew clears his throat. "Spencer."

She shakes her head, her smile slipping a little. "Yeah, sorry. Just one second. Uh, Georgia…uh, Kurdistan…sorry, no, Kazakhstan, then Kurdistan. Um, Lithuania."

I have no idea what she is even talking about, only that these are countries, but apparently Mona does, because she glances over. "You forgot Latvia."

Spencer ignores her completely. "Russia – "

"You forgot Moldova."

I begin to smile just as Andrew speaks up. "Spencer, that's time."

My sister smiles, meeting my eyes for a moment. "Let's see, what's left? Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Ukraine, and Uzbekistan."

But evidently this is not good enough for Andrew. "Mona, if you want the win, I need to hear the entire correct answer from you."

She smiles. "By population or gross domestic product?"
I am so relieved that I nearly collapse against the wall.

I'm still a horrible person who put someone else in the hospital, but at least now I can say that it actually paid off.

...

Let me know what you think! The next chapter is pretty short (which is probably needed after this one!), but interesting. Viola begins to reach her breaking point when she decides that the newest "A" plan is going too far.