SATURDAY 8:02AM
Jerry walked back from the gym. It occurred to him that Darla said she’d be working out this morning, but he didn’t see her. He didn’t think he’d ever seen any of the cheerleaders at the gym. Maybe they had their own workout facilities, like the football and basketball teams.
He powered on his phone and checked his texts. Darla wished him a good morning. That brought a smile to his face, and he replied in kind. Mike suggested breakfast at the Student Center. Jerry texted that he’d meet him there. He showered and dressed back at the dorm, then found Mike in the breakfast line at the cafeteria.
“There you are.” Mike grabbed a set of utensils. “You were up early for a Saturday. Things didn’t go well with Darla?”
Jerry grinned. “Au contraire. We had a most amazing evening. I was so jazzed up, I hardly slept.”
“Really? I want details. Now!”
“A gentleman never tells. What about you and Talia?”
Mike grimaced. “Ha, ha, very funny. Actually, the next-level jammer prototype is almost done. Some minor adjustments and we’ll be ready to field test.”
“Sounds romantic.”
Mike’s phone buzzed. “It’s Talia. She wants us to sit with her.” He scanned the room, spotted her, and waved.
The line moved forward. Mike filled his tray with a plate of pancakes, a side of bacon, and four slices of toast. Jerry grabbed a granola bar, a banana, and a carton of whole milk. The line advanced, and they paid for their breakfasts.
Mike grabbed his tray. “Follow me. The twins are this way.”
“We’re having breakfast with both of them?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah, I expect they’re going to be part of our new social circle. Maybe even the entire squad. And we’re going to need some new friends.”
“How so?”
“Since things went well with Darla, I’m guessing that means no more Busby. Then Miranda won’t hang out with us anymore. Rick too.”
Jerry shrugged. “Rick’s not much of a loss. But I don’t think it will be that bad.”
“When Busby learns you’re going out with a cheerleader, she’ll go nuclear.”
Jerry and Mike navigated the tables and found Talia and Veronica near the center of the room. Mike sat opposite Talia, and Jerry across from Veronica. The twins wore their auburn hair up in ponytails, no make-up, and identical desert camo T-shirts that read: Statesmen Cheerleader Boot Camp.
Talia grinned, displaying perfect white teeth. “Jerry, you were never introduced to my sister Veronica.”
Jerry peeled his banana. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Veronica replied.
Mike drenched his pancakes in butter and syrup. “Those are some big breakfasts.” He pointed with his fork at the twins’ plates loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns.
Veronica raised her right arm, slid back her sleeve, and flexed a tan bicep. “We need the calories. We’ve got a long day of being on our feet: practice, then the game. Five-Hour Energy can only take you so far.” She gulped a glass of grapefruit juice.
“Jerry, I heard it went pretty well with Darla last night.” Talia waggled her eyebrows.
Jerry glared at Mike. “Big mouth.”
“Mike didn’t say a word. It’s Darla.” Veronica held up her phone. “She’s been blowing up Snapchat all morning.”
“Really?” Jerry thought the evening went well but welcomed the confirmation.
“I bet it was the way I knotted your tie.” Talia laughed.
“That had to be it,” Mike agreed. “It certainly wasn’t Jerry’s winning personality.”
“You’re such a good friend.” Jerry grabbed a packet of grape jelly from the condiment tray and tossed it at Mike, bouncing it off his forehead.
Veronica slid her phone across the table. “Jerry, look at these photos.”
Jerry picked up the phone and squinted at the image: an antique car from the 1930s. He scrolled through photos of more cars: antiques, sports cars, high-end imports. After the cars, a blonde in a red one-piece swimsuit wearing a sash proclaiming her Miss Michigan USA. The caption read: Jennifer Johnson. More photos: Jennifer in an evening gown, in a cocktail dress, in a green bikini.
Veronica leaned over the table to look at the screen. “Notice a resemblance?”
Jerry didn’t. He had no idea what she was showing him. “No. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Last summer, Talia, Darla, and I coached cheer camp in Michigan. Afterward, we stayed at Darla’s house. That’s her dad’s car collection and her mom.”
“Actually, the house is more like a mansion.” Talia spread her arms wide.
“Castle.” Veronica made a circular motion with her glass. “It had those round things. Gables?”
“Towers?” Jerry replied.
“Turrets?” Mike suggested.
“Yes, turrets!” Veronica pointed with her fork for emphasis. “Her room is at the top of one.”
“Darla lives in a castle?” For a moment, Jerry imagined Darla as a fairy-tale princess protected by a moat and drawbridge.
Talia nodded. “Yeah, her dad’s somebody real important in finance or business. I think he might be the boss of the secretary of the treasury or something.”
“That would make him the president,” Mike explained. “Of the United States.”
“Whatever. The point is: the house is amazing.”
Jerry munched his banana. Darla’s family was rich. Did she expect lots of fancy dinners at places like Cascata? That would break him pretty quickly. He kept scrolling. Darla’s mom behind the wheel of a red BMW. He squinted. No, this photo was Darla herself. “This is Darla’s car?”
Veronica nodded; her mouth full of scrambled eggs.
Mike looked at the photo. “Her parents bought her a convertible.”
Talia shook her head. “Darla bought it. Actually, I think it’s a lease. She does part-time work as a model. Local department stores. Cheer University. That sort of thing.”
“There’s a university for cheerleaders?” Mike laughed.
“It’s a brand. For uniforms, equipment, and such.”
“How about that, Jerry?” Mike slapped him on the shoulder. “She’s rich and a model.”
Jerry was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, and the coming realization that Darla was probably out of his league. He slid the phone back to Veronica. “Can we change the subject?”
Mike checked the weather on his phone. “I hope the storm holds off until after the game. I don’t want to risk the water damaging my camera equipment.”
“And it’s no fun for us cheering in the rain.” Talia made an exaggerated frown.
“Huh.” Veronica tapped her phone. “This is wild.”
“What’s that?” Talia leaned over to peek.
“This article on The Underground. You know the three students that died? It claims the deaths of those students are tied to some kind of bad luck. Like when Cassie split the group.”
“Let me see.” Talia grabbed the phone and scrolled through the article. “This is creepy.”
Mike pulled up the story on his phone and stared wide-eyed at Jerry. “You’re writing for The Underground?”
“What?” Jerry’s heart skipped a beat. “The Underground? Don’t be crazy. I work for The Chronicle.”
Mike pointed to his phone. “But this is your story. Exactly as you described it to me. It has to be you.”
“It could be Fallon. She was with me when Noah opened his umbrella.”
“But how would Fallon know about the salt that Vince knocked over?” Mike pointed to the shaker on the table.
“Or that Cassie split the group?” Veronica added.
“What does that even mean? Split the group?”
Talia rolled her eyes. “The group needs to stick together. We were running up the steps leading to the gym and Cassie was on the other side of the railing from us.”
Mike scrunched up his face. “And that’s bad luck?”
You don’t have to believe us.” Veronica tapped the phone. “It says so right here in Jerry’s article.”
Jerry’s stomach flip-flopped. Writing for The Underground was supposed to be a secret. He fought to remain calm. “Look, I don’t know who wrote that article. Anyone could have done a bit of investigating and learned the facts. Please don’t suggest to anybody that it could have been me.”
Mike eyed Jerry suspiciously. “All right.”
“Okay,” the twins agreed in unison.
“We’ve got to head off for practice.” Veronica stood.
Talia leaned across the table and kissed him on the cheek. “Bus our trays for us?” She winked at Mike.
Mike blushed and nodded. The twins waved goodbye and headed for the door, causing necks to crane at nearby tables.
“Did you see that?” Mike pointed at the twins as they disappeared out of the cafeteria.
“What?”
“How all the guys watched Talia and Veronica walking to the door? We’ve finally arrived.”
“Funny, I thought I was already here.”
Mike punched Jerry in the arm.
“Hey! Remember, it was because of me you even met Talia.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Mike shrugged.
“So what now?”
“I spent so much time working on the jammer, I’m falling behind. I’m going to the lab to work on my 2250 project. Then I’ll probably knock out some homework before the game. What about you?”
“Going to check to see if the library has reopened. I need to find out if they have archives for the local paper. I’m looking for more exa...” Jerry’s voice trailed off.
“Looking for what? More examples of fatal bad luck?”
“Keep your voice down.” Jerry frowned and leaned close to Mike and whispered, “Okay, yeah. That’s my story in The Underground.”
Mike grinned. “I knew it. But why all the secrecy?”
“That’s how The Underground works. Sam said that—”
“Sam? She’s part of this?”
Jerry groaned. “Keep that quiet too. You know nothing. You don’t know I’m writing for them. You don’t know her.”
“But I don’t know her. I don’t even know her real name.”
The sound of throat clearing caused Mike and Jerry to look up. A campus policeman, tablet in hand, stood at the end of their table.
“Gerald Williams?” the officer inquired.
Jerry and Mike exchanged glances.
“Yeah, I’m Jerry Williams.”
The officer swiped his tablet. “The chancellor has asked me to escort you to her office on a matter of extreme urgency.”
* * *
Jerry sat next to the cop in one of the campus police golf carts as it sped across the quad. “What’s this all about?”
“Don’t know.” The cop shook his head.
“Kind of weird she wants to see me on a Saturday.”
“Maybe they want to talk to you about trying to save that kid’s life with CPR. You might even get some kind of award.”
Jerry didn’t want to think about Noah and stayed quiet for the rest of the brief trip. Two minutes later, the cart pulled to a stop outside the Administration Building.
The cop pointed at the front entrance. “The chancellor’s office is on the third floor. Room 310.”
“Thanks.” Jerry waved as the cop drove away.
Jerry entered the building, climbed two sets of stairs, and walked down the hallway until he came to 310. The door was open, and he stepped inside. The room looked to be more like a waiting room: an unoccupied desk and empty seats against the walls. He spied another open door, knocked on the frame, and poked his head inside.
A Black woman, probably in her early forties, in a green blouse, with gold hoop earrings, sat behind a mahogany desk writing on a notepad. A white man in his fifties sat in one of the two chairs opposite the desk. His cheeks were scarred from what looked like a severe bout of acne as a teen. And the man was severely overweight, barely fitting into a uniform covered with medals and ribbons.
“Yes?” The woman put down her pen.
“Hi, I’m Jerry Williams. There’s no one in the outer office, but I think you’re looking for me.”
She nodded but didn’t smile. “Come in, Mr. Williams. Please close the door and take a seat.
Her lack of a smile and the tone of her voice made Jerry uneasy. “Sure thing, Ms. Thort—”
“Doctor Thornton-Gaston.” She looked at the man in uniform. I suppose you know Chief George Characopus, head of the Campus Police.”
Police? Maybe Jerry was getting an award. “And both hard at work on a Saturday. Van Buren is fortunate to have such dedicated staff.” He smiled and slipped into the empty seat.
“Mr. Williams, what do you know about this?” The chancellor looked at the chief and nodded.
Characopus handed Jerry an iPad. On the screen was his story from The Underground.
Jerry deflated. He wasn’t getting an award. “The name says it all. It’s the school’s underground newspaper.”
Thornton-Gaston harrumphed. “I was specifically referring to the article on the screen. The one about the recent deaths of Van Buren students.”
“Oh.” Jerry scrolled down, pretending to read the article. “Interesting.”
“You took a long time to read that.” Characopus pointed at the iPad.
“Didn’t want to miss anything. It’s pretty solid reporting.”
“You’ve never seen this before?” Thornton-Gaston demanded.
“I don’t have The Underground app on my phone.”
“I’ll come straight to the point, Mr. Williams. Did you write that article?”
Jerry swallowed hard. Sam cautioned him against telling anyone he wrote for The Underground. He didn’t feel guilty about hiding the truth from the twins or trying to fool Mike. But lying to someone in the administration was a whole other level. “What makes you think it was me? I’m on the staff for The Chronicle.”
“Your editor, Ms. Howley, informs me that you’re on an extended leave.”
“That was her idea, not mine.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Williams. I have plenty of experience with students who are trying to hide something.”
“And you didn’t answer mine, Doctor. What makes you think I wrote it?”
Thornton-Gaston grabbed the pen from her desk and pointed the tip at Jerry. “According to Ms. Howley, you submitted this same article to her yesterday. Being the responsible editor that she is, Ms. Howley refused to publish such outlandish accusations. Can you provide me with an alternate explanation of how an article that you wrote could end up in The Underground?”
“Hackers?” Jerry forced a smile. “The security on The Chronicle’s server is pretty lax.”
Characopus guffawed. “That’s your best explanation?”
“Actually, it’s not even my article. Sentences have been rearranged and words changed.” Jerry pretended to be in deep thought. “I showed the article to some of The Chronicle staffers before I submitted it to Vanessa. Any of them could be behind it.”
The chancellor let out an exaggerated sigh. “Is that what you really expect us to believe?”
Jerry was careful. He had dodged direct questions and not told any lies. “You can believe whatever you want. Plus, I don’t know why the administration even cares what some random website posts. There are a thousand conspiracy sites on the Internet. What’s the big deal about this article?”
Thornton-Gaston jabbed the pen at Jerry as she spoke. “The big deal, Mr. Williams, is that it puts the spotlight on Van Buren in an unfavorable way. That’s bad for all of us. Administration. Faculty. And students. There’s even a rumor that Channel 37 in Albany is sending a reporter to investigate.”
Jerry sat up straighter. “Maybe someone should ask questions. Three students are dead. Including my friend.”
“Each death is a tragedy. And Van Buren is committed to providing the resources necessary for the student body to face these challenges in such a troublesome time, but the school has enough negative coverage. It doesn’t need sensational accusations with no basis in fact. Really? Bad luck?”
Jerry studied the face of the chancellor. He couldn’t read any emotions. But her tone made her sound more concerned with her own well-being. He flashed on the memory of Sam talking about Vanessa killing his last story. “Negative coverage? You mean like fast running parking meters so the U can make money on fees from tickets and towing?”
Thornton-Gaston flinched, and Jerry knew Sam was right. The chancellor killed his story. Vanessa couldn’t be trusted. She was practically an arm of the administration.
The chancellor ignored Jerry’s accusation. “My goal, the university’s goal, is to provide a safe and secure environment where all students can learn.”
Jerry leaned back. “Then we’re on the same side.”
“Are we?” The chief shifted in his chair. “What about Noah Chen?”
“He was my friend. What about him?”
“It’s possible that in your efforts to save him, you might have accidentally killed him.”
Jerry jumped out of his chair. His face red with anger. “That’s bullshit. The EMTs said there was nothing more I could have done.”
The chief shrugged. “EMTs aren’t medical examiners. They don’t know. A thorough autopsy might bring additional information to light.”
Fear overtook Jerry’s anger. Was that a threat? Would they try somehow to blame him for Noah’s death? That was crazy. Or was it? As he looked from the chancellor to the chief and back to the chancellor, he figured there was no good reason to keep talking with them. “I have nothing left to say.” He slammed the door on the way out.
* * *
Thornton-Gaston glared at the shut door, then fixed her gaze on Characopus. “What was the point in bringing up Chen?” Mixed in her anger was a hint of her long suppressed Southern accent.
“You weren’t getting anywhere with the kid. I thought I’d shake him up a bit.”
“You certainly did that, Chief. What do you think?”
“He wrote the article.”
“Christ! Of course, he wrote the article. Do you think we scared him off?”
Characopus shook his head. “I doubt it. He seemed more angry than afraid.”
“I agree.” Thorton-Gaston picked up her phone. “I think it’s time to get the committee involved.”