Here sits the former model student and one-time valedictorian hopeful at her desk with a stolen calculus exam stuffed up the vest of her hastily assembled uniform. As I was pulling the test out of the file, I was relieved to see two more copies because there was no way I was going to be able to photocopy this and get it back into the drawer without detection. Will anybody miss one exam out of three? I have no idea. But leaving two behind has to be a whole lot less suspicious than leaving none. My next problem is how to get the exam to Isabella without raising any questions from Sloane or Carling. I lean forward over my desk—directly behind the three of them—and whisper, “I have to pee.”
Isabella snorts. “Thanks for the internal update. Just don’t do it in a South American river.”
I say nothing until Carling turns around, then I reach out to Isabella’s chair with my foot and give it a gentle nudge. She doesn’t turn right away. First she makes sure the others aren’t looking, then glances in my direction. I pat my vest and nod, then put up my hand.
“Yes, Sara,” says Mr. Curtis from the blackboard.
“May I go to the restroom?”
“Go ahead. But be quick, we’re going to be covering polynomials in a few minutes.”
Isabella raises her hand. “Can I go too? I don’t want to miss a minute of the polynomial discussion.”
He plants one chalky hand on his waist and tilts his head. “The perfect loophole to my one-at-a-time rule. Well timed and well executed, Miss Latini.”
“Thank you,” she says, unfolding herself and following me out of the class.
We lock ourselves into the handicapped stall and I pull out the exam. All the answers are right there in red ink. She starts to take it from me, but I don’t release it immediately. This is it. My last crime.
“Give it,” she says.
“We’ll be even with this, Isabella. Do you swear?”
“Yes. Even.”
“This means everything is as it was, right?”
“Right.” She tugs on it, stronger than she looks, but I hold tight.
“And no one is to know where you got the test. I don’t want my father implicated in any way. Not ever.”
She rips it from my hand and backs away, stuffing it into her waistband and heading for the door. “Don’t get tough with me, London. I’ll win every time.”
Knowing full well I could snap that spindly neck like a fresh carrot, I walk away.