Chapter 14

It’s very nearly noon when I resurface from my trance and decide I’m about to rain hell on Mr. Werner’s life. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I have to do something. Something to quell this fire raging inside me, the hatred that drives all my thoughts. Something to avenge Sophie’s death. It’s painfully clear to me that she overdosed because of him, because he drove her to it, and I can’t possibly let him get away with it.

I look up his schedule, my teeth grinding at the sight of his name on the school roster. God, I hate him. Now I know what it’s like to truly hate someone, to despise them with every fiber of your soul. I scroll through DD, unsure what I’m looking for, but lapping up everything ever posted about Mr. Werner and Sophie. Just as I had expected, there are dozens of posts, a couple of them with hundreds of comments, about Sophie. Only a handful of posts are sympathetic, the majority are more on the vein of gleeful shock-horror, people shamelessly trying to troll for more information to use as gossip fodder. I close the app, feeling sicker and angrier than before.

At lunchtime, my phone buzzes.

From: Danny Wijaya

Hey, I hope you’re okay. I’m sorry about last night, and I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful about the ledger stuff. Are you coming to lunch? Would love to be able to talk about everything.

I smile sadly. I start typing: No. I’m getting kicked out. Mandy Kim and her friends filed some bullshit reports about me bullying them, and between that and your uncle, I’m done here. But then I hit Delete. I look at the blank screen. I just. I don’t have it in me to get into everything with Danny right now.

From: Lia Setiawan

I’m not feeling great, I think I have food poisoning.

From: Danny Wijaya

Oh no! Can I get you anything? Do you have Norit?

From: Lia Setiawan

Of course I have Norit. What kind of Indo would I be if I didn’t have it?

From: Danny Wijaya

Ok. I’ll come by after class.

Crap. He can’t do that.

From: Lia Setiawan

No, don’t bother, I’ll probably be napping. And I don’t want you to catch whatever I have. I’ll see you tomorrow!

I spend the rest of the afternoon pacing about my room again, opening and closing my hands, talking myself into and out of and into my crazy plan. At 3:55 p.m., I wait outside of Collings. I lurk around the corner and pretend to look at my phone while scanning the faces of people trickling out of the building. I wish I could cover my head, but wearing something like a hat or a hoodie would only make me stand out here.

Finally, I catch a glimpse of brown tweed and blond hair. I stuff my phone in my pocket and follow Mr. Werner, careful to keep some distance between us. Even this far away, the sight of him ignites the hatred inside me. I want to rush up and strangle him. Somehow, I manage to wrestle those instincts to the ground and focus instead on my plan. No brown leather ledger, but he is carrying his briefcase. Maybe the ledger’s in there.

We walk past the tennis courts, all of which have been booked out by students. Their steady whacks and occasional shouts make me feel even more bitter, more untethered. I should be like them, spending my afternoons running and playing with my schoolmates, instead of literally stalking my teacher.

Finally, we arrive at the teachers’ parking lot, which is deserted. Mr. Werner takes out his car remote, and a hundred feet away, a champagne-colored Nissan beeps to life and unlocks.

Now! my mind screams. I hide behind a tree, take out my phone, almost dropping it thanks to sweaty hands, and send a message I drafted earlier in the day. Less than a second later, Mr. Werner’s phone beeps. He takes it out of his pocket and looks at it. I memorized the message I just sent, and I wish I could see his hateful face as he reads it.

“Mr. Werner, this is Janice from the admin office. Mandy’s mother, Mrs. Alicia Kim, is here to see you regarding an urgent matter.”

Succinct, believable, and totally, undeniably unignorable. I couldn’t hide my number, but I’m hoping the thought of Mandy’s mom waiting in his office would be enough to shock Mr. Werner into rushing back. Sure enough, as I watch, Mr. Werner curses out loud and then turns and heads back toward campus.

No time to hesitate. I sprint from behind the tree to his car. My heart explodes into a gallop. Oh god, oh god, what am I doing—

I ease the back door open and crawl inside. Lean over the front seat—shit, where’s the trunk release button—there. I pop the trunk open and hurry out of the car, my heart in my throat, my hands slick with sweat. It’s got to be there. It’s not in his house, and after last night, he must have removed it from his office, so it must be here, it MUST.

The trunk’s empty. No ledger. Hope crumbles to ash inside me. I close my eyes. That leaves his briefcase, which he still has on him. God. Why can’t something go smoothly for once? I want to sink to my knees and burst into tears. I slam his trunk shut, not bothering to be quiet about it. Let him catch me at his car; what do I have to lose?

Just as I’m about to close the back door, something comes over me. Something wild and dangerous, snaking its way through my guts and all the way down my arms and legs. I find myself sliding back inside the car and curling up as small as possible on the back floor. I pull the door closed behind me, and I’m cocooned in sudden, complete silence.

Oh my god. What am I doing? I can’t be here. I can’t, I should go, I need to get out of here.

But my body refuses to comprehend. Or maybe my brain refuses to send the necessary messages to get my body the heck out of Mr. Werner’s car. I don’t know. I can’t tell anymore. What’s the new plan, genius? The new plan is—

New plan.

Okay.

New plan: The ledger’s clearly inside his briefcase, which he’s still carrying. I’ll hide in the car until we get to Mr. Werner’s house, and then I’ll steal out and go inside his house while he’s in the shower or his study room or whatever, and then I’ll grab the ledger out of his briefcase and then get a Lyft back to Draycott, where I will slam the ledger on Mrs. Henderson’s stupid mahogany desk and tell her to read it, and then I’ll watch as that smug expression melts off her stupid plastic face and gets replaced by the perfect combination of shocked horror and shame. Maybe I’ll bring a little bell so I can pull a Game of Thrones moment and shout “shame” while she reads it.

New Plan is good. I’m going to carry out New Plan.

NO. Dumbass, New Plan is bad. VERY BAD. You are literally sitting on the floor of his car. He’s going to find you!

Time does that weird taffy-stretch thing where it goes fast and yet slow as my brain battles my brain. I should go. No, I won’t get another chance like this. I should stay. But it’s dangerous. I should go. Yes, I should definitely go. What the hell was I thinking? I can’t be here, lying on the floor of my teacher’s car. This is insane. I should—

The front door opens. The swirl of voices in my head abruptly goes silent. Mr. Werner throws his briefcase onto the passenger seat before sliding in. The car fills with the scent of his cologne. The sound of my breath is deafening. He’s definitely, for sure, 100 percent going to hear it. And what will happen then?

For the first time today, I feel a sense of true fear stabbing deep into my belly. I haven’t given this crazy thing I’m doing much thought beyond I’m out of options, must do something, anything! But now, a small, insistent voice is whispering, What if Mr. Werner turns out to be dangerous? What if he hurts you?

He wouldn’t. He’s cruel, and greedy, and awful, but I can’t see him physically hurting anyone. I think.

But what if he reports this to the police? What if he spins it so that I’m stalking him? Coupled with all those false accusations about me bullying, maybe this would land me in juvie. Holy shit. This is bad. This is so bad.

But then he turns the engine on, and the sound of the AC and the engine help mask other sounds in the car. I take the chance to steal a few deep breaths and try to bring my heart rate from Quantum Computer Whirr down to Mere Gallop.

Before long, we’re out of Draycott and on the main road. Maybe this plan isn’t too crazy after all. I’ll make it all the way to his house without him even knowing I’m here. I breathe a small sigh of relief and relax my muscles a little. Then Mr. Werner takes something out of his pocket. I tense up again. He’s got his phone in his hand. What is he doing—

It hits me a second too late. He’s dialing the number that sent him the message. As in, MY number.

I scramble for my phone just as it begins to ring.

“What the—” Mr. Werner turns in his seat, his mouth dropping open, his eyes going so wide they’re almost cartoonish. The car swerves to one side, horns blare, and I yelp as the momentum throws me against the door. He regains control of the wheel, makes a sharp turn, and screeches to a halt. “What in the fuck?” he screams, jumping out of the car.

I clamber up onto the back seat and hit the lock just before he wrenches the door open. He curses, hits the Unlock button on his remote. I hit the lock again.

“Get out of my car!”

It takes a lot—it takes everything—to shake my head at him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He’s a blur of movement, prowling outside the car. The front door is open, but it’s hard for him to try and reach me from the front. He throws up his hands. “You’re insane! You know how much trouble you’re in right now? Do you? Unbelievable. First Sophie, now this.”

“Can’t get much worse than being expelled. Which I will be after the next board meeting, apparently. Mrs. Henderson told me herself. And don’t talk about Sophie like that.”

That stops him dead. He sighs. “I’m sorry.” Bastard actually sounds like he means it. “And I am sorry about Sophie. God, of course I’m sorry about her.”

My voice comes out as a poisonous whisper. “I don’t think you are. You pushed her into being depressed, into killing herself. And now you’re the whole reason I’m about to get kicked out of school. And it’s not even about staying at Draycott now.” To my horror, tears are sliding down my cheeks. “No school will have me. I’m finished.”

“Christ,” he mutters. “Look, I’m sorry. I truly am. I wish there were another way.” A woman comes out of a nearby shop, pushing a stroller, sees me crying in the car, and gives Mr. Werner a funny look. He blanches. “Come on, I’ll take you back to school.”

“No!” My shout’s loud enough for the woman to turn her head.

Mr. Werner gives her a small smile and then leans through the front door and whispers, “Alright, we’ll talk. But not here. Christ, people are probably going to think I’m kidnapping you. Lie low on the floor and don’t let anyone see you.” He straightens his hair and climbs back into the driver’s seat. He takes a deep breath, starts the car, and rejoins the traffic.

From my vantage point, I can see a really huge vein throbbing on the side of his neck and the way he’s strangling the steering wheel. I struggle to control my breathing. What just happened?

Mr. Werner sighs. “I’m not a monster, you know.”

Something in his tone of voice catches my attention, and I still.

“My life was fine, up until two years ago. Then my wife decided she’d had enough of middle-class life and left me. Just took off for Jakarta. She missed the city, she said. I pointed out to her that Draycott is hardly a small town, but oh no, compared to Jakarta, it’s tiny.” His voice drips with resentment, but I get what his wife meant.

People always think that Indonesia’s some third-world country where people live in shacks and bathe in the river. I guess in the rural parts of the country, it’s like that, but Jakarta is a huge city with ten million people. Ibu describes it as a place filled with skyscraper after skyscraper, luxury hotels and shiny nightclubs and trendy hipster cafes all bunched together in a never-ending metropolis. Compared to Jakarta, Draycott is nothing but a sleepy little town.

“She took my kids. You don’t know what that’s like. Losing her—I mean, yeah, that hurt, but losing my kids…it’s like—god.” His voice pitches all weird, and I look away out of embarrassment. I don’t want to see Mr. Werner cry. I wish he’d stop talking already. He’s making everything so awkward.

“You know what’s funny?” he says. “Help came from—of all people—Daniel’s mother. My wife’s sister. Can you imagine that family dynamic?”

“Indonesian families are complicated,” I mutter.

Mr. Werner laughs. “You can say that again! I guess Daniel’s mother has always had a thing against her sister. So she contacted me and said she’d help pay for my lawyer’s fees if I look after Daniel.

“She wanted me to meddle in his life. Make sure he’s taking the right courses to prime him for business school. Make sure he’s spending his time with the right friends. I sent her reports on Daniel and she sent me money to pay my lawyer, my mortgage. I have to be honest with you, the idea that my wife’s own sister is helping me fight my wife tickled me. But it’s a challenge to steer someone in a direction they don’t want to go into. Despite my best efforts, Daniel never showed an interest in business. Then, a year ago, he ran away.”

I know this story. Danny told me about it on our first date. The night we first kissed, under the string lights. God, that feels like a lifetime ago.

“Daniel’s mother was apoplectic. I managed to convince her that I could do more to influence him. But I knew I couldn’t just depend on her for money. I had to find a different way. You know how little teachers earn? Private school teachers earn more than public school teachers, but not much, certainly not enough to cover lawyer’s fees, and my ex-wife has an endless pool of money on her end, them being crazy rich Asians and all.” He spits out the word Asians, which makes my whole body bristle, the way he says it.

“The answer came from one of my students. A student who was failing my class. He came to see me during office hours and offered to pay me ten thousand dollars to let him pass. That was when it struck me. The answer’s been right in front of me this whole time.”

It’s true. I think of Beth and her totally blinged-out room, of Sam and her insane car, of Danny and his three guitars.

“I approached a couple of my wealthiest, laziest students and made them an offer. And they jumped at it. I would’ve stopped, you know, once the divorce proceedings are finalized.”

He pauses and his gaze flicks toward mine in the rearview mirror. The corners of his mouth lift into a—a something. It’s most definitely not a smile. “Then you came along.

“I don’t care what you are. Daniel’s parents do, though. His mother threatened to back her sister’s case, provide her with a character testimony or whatever.” He laughs, a bit hysterically, and gives the steering wheel another squeeze. “I can’t take on another one of them. There is no way I can afford—and my kids—” His voice cracks. “I’m not a bad person. I’m truly sorry that you got caught up in all this, Lia.”

I can’t meet his eye. I can’t see him like this, vulnerable, without his usual sheen of self-assurance. It makes it that much harder to hate him.

Maybe I should just back off. Accept my fate and leave Draycott, forget about all this.

But then I think about Ibu and how she’d react when I tell her I got kicked out of school. The worst part is, she wouldn’t scold me. She wouldn’t even say anything mean; she’s not that kind of mom. She’d try to hide her disappointment, and she’d hug me and tell me everything would be okay, and all the while, she’d be blaming herself for somehow failing as a mother.

And I recall my meeting with Mrs. Henderson and how my folder had been filled with accusation after accusation, all of it arranged by Mr. Werner. How effectively he’d ruined my reputation. This whole vulnerable thing is nothing but an act.

I have to do it. For my sake, and for Ibu’s. I have to go through with my plan. Even if it ends up destroying both Mr. Werner and me.