It’s hard to keep my head down, to pretend nothing is happening while the message passes from student to student. Subtle nods come my way all day, a few with tears behind them, more with the relief someone is finally doing something.
I feel like I’m who I’m supposed to be at last.
Of course, this could all go wrong if anyone lets the plan slip. All it will take is one fearful victim to run to Tom and spill the beans. But, as the day goes on and my careful surveillance of him shows no reaction outside the normal, I begin to believe this will actually work.
Mind you, it will, regardless. Tate’s father is in on it, after all, and I have faith in law enforcement, even if she doesn’t. Sure, he wasn’t able to help her last time, but she has me on her side—and the bulk of a school tired of being blackmailed and bullied.
Yes, things are going to end badly for Tom very soon. It’s just that I’d love for my plan to pan out. Because it will mean not only his complete end, but a retaking of power for each and every student involved.
That’s more important than Tom being brought to justice.
It helps we have Officer and Principal Cradle on our side. When Mom agreed to call them and have a meeting in our kitchen, it gave weight to the story Tate and I had to tell last night. It was hard to watch Tate sit there and grieve while her mother cried, but when she hugged her terrified daughter, Officer Cradle’s lower lip trembling, I knew it was going to be all right.
“No,” I said when her dad asked. “We don’t have proof of the drug thefts, or who specifically ordered the druggings.”
Tate shrugged. “My word against his,” she said, sounding defeated. She’d been here before.
“But we can connect Tom Brown to the photos.” I nodded officially, because yo. “That has to be enough.”
“To bring him in for questioning,” Officer Cradle’s grim reply made me glad it was Tom in trouble, “absolutely. And, if he’s truly behind everything you girls say he is, we’ll get him on all of it.” He squeezed his daughter’s hand. “I promise this time.”
Tate’s return smile was so brave I wanted to clap my hands and squeal.
They fought me on my plan, wanting to act immediately. But, it was Tate who convinced them to listen.
“If he has any warning, this is over.” She stood tall, shoulders back, her determination making me proud. “Just like last time. I want him to go down, Mom, Dad. Not just for me. For every kid at school he’s ever bullied.”
And so, they finally agreed. After all, we weren’t doing anything illegal.
“Promise me.” Officer Cradle ran one big hand over his mouth, staring at me. “Promise me you won’t break the law. This has to stick.”
“Don’t worry.” I shook my head, smiling at him. “Everything I do from here on in will be with permission from an adult.”
And that was the most amazing part of all, wasn’t it?
“I don’t understand.” Principal Cradle hugged Tate to her. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go to the one person he fears,” I said. “And she’s going to give me everything I need.”
“Who?” Tate giggled against her mother while my own looked suddenly shocked.
“Kit MacLean.” Mom’s cheeks flushed and she laughed. “That’s diabolical.”
I grinned in answer, loving the word diabolical and my name tied together. It made me feel like Grace Grant and Kitalia Ore were with me. “You bet it is. And I can’t wait to turn the tables on him.”
***
Tatiana slips into the seat next to me, her heels sliding free of her feet as she sighs in relief. “Are we ready?”
I nod, gunning the engine of my Cobra. “I know how to defeat him now,” I say. “He uses other people’s fear against them, Tat. Why would he do that if he didn’t know how debilitating fear can be?”
“What is he afraid of?” She sounds confused but confident.
***
As I ring the doorbell in front of me in the pleasant afternoon sunlight, I let all my happy out. Mrs. Brown doesn’t stand a chance against my million watt smile as she opens the door.
“Hi! I’m Kit, I’m friends with Tom. Can I come in?”
***
I sit and sip my tea as Mrs. Brown hustles around the kitchen, plating cookies, her expansive hips bumping into the table and cupboards with alarming regularity. But, when she turns back to me with her beaming smile, cheeks rosy with delight, brown eyes buried in the soft rolls of her happiness, I almost feel sorry for her.
This part I hadn’t anticipated, this surge of compassion for his mother. She’s lovely, at least to me, if not to others. So gushing and generous with her emotions, her time, always has been, no matter how she acts with adults. Makes me wonder if it’s all their fault she’s so hard to deal with sometimes. An open book for me to exploit against her rotten-to-the-core child. It’s only his downfall I’m after, not hers. And yet, what I’m about to do will hurt her, I’m positive of it.
He has to pay, to be punished for what he’s done. But can I also punish this sweet woman—no matter her failings and baggage—who slides a plate of chocolate chip cookies in front of me?
I must. I have no choice. The plan is in place and everything must move forward. All I can do is soften the blow as much as possible.
“It’s so nice to have one of Tommy’s friends over.” Mrs. Brown’s chair creaks under her ample bottom as she thumps down into place, taking the seat next to me and helping herself to a cookie. Gold rings shine on her sausage fingers as she dunks the hard circle into her tea.
I avoid them, though the tea is delicious, the rattle of the overbaked treats making my teeth ache. “Thank you so much for inviting me in,” I gush at her with my sweetest smile. It’s not hard to be this Kit, she’s so familiar. And yet I feel like a fraud even more than I have been, if only because I’m pretending. But, I have a role to play and so many are counting on me. Grace Grant would do the same. So would Kitalia—though she would simply go into Mrs. Brown’s mind for what she needed.
If only it were that easy. I’m anticipating a fair amount of difficulty in finding what I need, but if anyone has it, it’s Tom’s mother.
“My pleasure, dear.” She pats my hand. “I’m sorry he’s not home yet, but he should be soon. You mentioned a project?”
I bob my head with great enthusiasm, leaning toward her, eyes as wide and entreating as I can make them. “I’m sorry to bother you, and it’s all my fault. I was supposed to take the project home tonight and finish it. Tom’s worked so hard on it and I’m afraid I’m going to let him down.”
She nods constantly, anxious to please. I’m not a very nice person, am I? That sudden realization almost stops me. But she’s already diving in and it’s too late. I’ll just have to live with myself.
“You poor dear. How can I help?”
There it is, the question. I have her where I need her. I have him in the palm of my hand. One tiny sentence and this is all over, if my plan pans out.
“I need his password to his school account.” This will go one of two ways—she’ll blanch and tell me she can’t help, leaving me to dig for the information, or disaster. She’ll call Tom. I’m prepared for both, or think I am. Until she beams a smile at me and stands up.
“I’ll be right back.” I watch her shuffle out of the small kitchen with my jaw unhinged. Where is she going? The sound of her moving through the tiny bungalow makes me want to leap up and follow her. What if she’s looking for the phone? But no, the wireless handset sits on the table next to her plate. Panic rises in my chest, this can’t be good, I’ve lost control of the plan. I lurch to my feet, though I’m ready to bolt out of there when she waves down the hall for me to join her.
Hesitant but needing this to work, I go after her. I walk through the open door she holds for me, beaming in my direction, while my eyes roam the walls of what has to be Tom’s room. Walls covered in images of me.
This. Is. Creepy.
“I always knew he adored you,” Mrs. Brown gushes. “I had no idea the feelings were returned.”
I manage a weak smile, stomach heaving. He’s been photographing me in secret, with my siblings at the park, at the pool. Even drawn pictures of me. But, this makes no sense. If he really does like me, why destroy me?
I turn to find Mrs. Brown leaving the room and follow her, softly closing the door behind us. I just can’t look at it anymore. It’s making my head ache.
It’s not until I sink into my chair at the table again I realize she has something in her hands. A flat and heavy something she sets triumphantly in front of me.
Tom Brown’s laptop.
The screen blinks with a password screen. She neatly taps in a series of numbers before turning it toward me with a smile of delight. And the entirety of Tom Brown’s life and empire flash into existence right in front of me.
My heart skips, repeats two beats, then collapses in a heap. No way could it be this easy.
She’s chattering away at me while my fingers fly on their own. I dig for the files I need—is he really this foolish to store everything on his laptop? But why not? He leaves it home, doesn’t he? No one would have access to it, ever.
Except if they had the audacity to come to his house and ask his mother.
“I hope what you need is in there.” She frets as she sips her tea and eats another dunked cookie. “He’s always telling me to stay off his computer, but I paid for it, so there.” She titters a giggle. “Silly boy thinks I don’t know his password. His father’s birthday, naturally.” She sighs. “Bless his heart, rest in peace.” I didn’t know Tom’s dad passed away. I should be able to muster sympathy. For Mrs. Brown? Yes, of course. But not for Tom.
Does that make me a bad person?
I’ll leave the philosophical contemplation for later. Desperate, I simply grunt to her in response. She doesn’t seem to notice I’m fully focused on the screen in front of me, the file folder that pops up, sealed and locked. It has to be it, labeled, “Truths and Fears”. This is it.
How do I get in?
I choke on my need to speak slowly as excitement builds in my chest and makes a giant ball of swirling anxiety. “What did you say that password was?”
“January 15, 1965.” She sighs again, smiles. “He was such a dear, my husband. Tommy looks just like him.”
It can’t be this easy. That mantra runs through my head as I tap in the numbers, day/month/year and hold my breath.
It can’t be this easy.
It can’t be this—
The file opens, names and dates and images all neatly organized in alphabetical order. My hands shake as I open his email account and begin to send them, one at a time. Surely I won’t survive this tension, the focus, the moment of victory. It feels like I’m ready to explode. No way my poor little body won’t be able to handle winning, not if this is what winning feels like.
The front door slams, jerking my head up. The last email is gone, winging its way to my account at school. Where Principal Cradle waits. I send one last message as Tom Brown enters the kitchen with a grumpy expression, his mother turning toward him with a beaming smile.
His password is 1965.
I hit send. As his mother speaks and he looks into my eyes. Freezes like a squirrel in a hunter’s sights.
“Tommy!” She waves him forward. “Kit’s here.” She aims an equal smile at me. “There, now you’ll be able to fix everything.”
Tom’s entire form twitches. He looks down at the computer. Back to me. And realization dawns while I wave and grin.
“Hi, Tom,” I say. “Your mom was kind enough to let me into the project. I’ve taken care of everything.”
***