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ROLAND SAT NEXT TO PETER and across from Caitlyn and her friends Kiara and Phoebe, the chatter and electricity in the school cafeteria disrupting his thoughts about the investigation. Or maybe something else distracted him more. A swirling pattern of royal blue leaves, stems, and flowers edged the neckline and sleeves of Caitlyn’s crinkled white dress. Elegant and homey, it reminded him of their live-in maid’s heirloom china.
Nanny had served her husband, Mr. Digby, cherry streusel on those plates just last night while they’d had a one-sided conversation. Mr. Digby never shared his feelings or opinions about anything. Not that Roland blamed him. He preferred to keep things to himself too. Maybe it was a guy thing.
A slight breeze and movement in his peripheral vision snapped Roland from his thoughts and alerted him to something whizzing by overhead.
Peter laughed and jumped up, planting one foot on the bench seat and standing like a lumberjack as he peered across the cafeteria. “Was that a meat patty?”
“It’s like a zoo in here. We should’ve met outside.” Caitlyn dipped a potato stick into a chocolate pudding cup. Her peanut butter and jelly sandwich lay untouched. She peered over her shoulder for the fourth time in five minutes. “I wonder what they’ve been whispering about.”
Roland looked.
A group of River Run High’s most popular junior and senior girls sat together, filling an entire table. One whispered to another, who turned . . . possibly looking at the table of outcasts. The outcasts tended to sit at the table by the garbage cans, each in their own world for the most part. The girl with the headscarf walked past the outcasts, not making eye contact. She carried a water bottle and a flowered lunch bag to the far cafeteria doors. Did she have friends? Would her house be next?
Roland took a deep breath, forcing his mind to task. They needed to move on their investigations. He couldn’t organize the ideas in his mind, at the moment, but maybe if they talked about it . . .
“So, hey.” Roland tossed a grape from his lunch and hit Peter on the forehead.
“Oh, you want in on the food fight?” With a look of challenge, Peter sat down and stabbed a bowtie pasta with his plastic fork. He’d brought leftover pasta salad, cold kielbasa, and a slice of cake.
“Don’t be a zoo animal,” Caitlyn said to Peter, just before turning toward the popular girls again.
“There’s no food fight,” Roland said to Peter. “It was just one meat patty.”
“But it could be the beginning.” Peter waggled his brows and grinned.
“You act like you’re six years old,” Phoebe said with a condescending tilt of her head.
“You have room to talk,” Peter retorted, imitating her head tilt while his gaze roved over her spiky purple-streaked hair and the black plaid jacket she wore over her lemon-yellow tie-die shirt. Then he faced Caitlyn and flung the bowtie pasta at her. “I can’t believe you already told people. It was supposed to be the three of us, cloak-and-dagger style.”
The pasta got stuck in a tangle of curls on the side of Caitlyn’s head. She felt around for it, missing it by inches. “I didn’t tell anyone but them. And they’re not going to tell anyone. They can help.” She still couldn’t locate the pasta.
Roland resisted the urge to help her. “Yeah, maybe having more people is a good thing.”
“Huh. We’ll see.” Peter reached across the table and flicked the pasta from Caitlyn’s hair. “But everyone needs to promise to be discreet. I don’t want anyone knowing we’re doing this. Got it?” He eyed everyone in turn, everyone nodding in reply. Then he slammed his palm on the table near Roland. “Okay, Sherlock, let’s get started.”
“Okay, we’ll start with what we know from last night.” He’d made a list at home of all the damage, from the most obvious thing—the burnt tree—to the least obvious thing—the trail of two-inch circles in the yard.
Caitlyn leaned across the table, her eyes on Peter. “Did you ask Brice?”
Peter’s face flushed. He gave Roland a wary glance, maybe thinking Roland had told her about Peter’s infatuation. “Ask her what?”
Knowing where Peter’s mind had gone, Roland laughed. “She’s talking about the bracelet.” It could’ve belonged to Brice or one of the other foster kids. Then again, one of the vandals could’ve dropped it by accident.
“Oh.” Peter hunched over his lunch. “Not yet. So . . . we know they used gasoline to torch the tree.”
“Right. And they tossed the gas can in the nearest wooded area,” Roland added. “It wasn’t a new can either, so they hadn’t bought it for the occasion. It was probably one of theirs, and they might even plan to come back for it.”
“If it belonged to one of them, why would they have left it?” Kiara asked.
“Eh.” His complexion returning to normal, Peter gestured with his fork. “Maybe a car came down the road, they got scared, tossed the gas can, and bolted. Maybe they took off through the woods.”
“Or the gas can didn’t belong to them,” Roland said.
“Oh, like they stole it?” Caitlyn said, her eyes round. And green, like two shiny emeralds. And surrounded by pale whispery lashes. . .
Roland averted his gaze and shrugged. “And . . . and as far as time-frame, they had to have set the fire last.”
“Oh, right.” Peter nodded. “Time frame. So, like, they probably did less obvious things first: destroy the flower bed, paint the graffiti—”
“Spray cans rattle,” Phoebe interrupted. “So, they probably did that just before igniting the tree or at the same time.”
“Right.” Peter rubbed his chin. “Then they took off. Think one of ’em had a car for a quick getaway?”
“Nah, they wouldn’t want to risk anyone seeing their license plate.” Roland thought about it a second longer. “But they could’ve parked on another street.”
“Right.” Peter’s index finger shot up. “Maybe cut through the wooded area where you found the gas can.”
“Why do we care about the order of things?” Caitlyn said, then she gave the popular girls another glance and grabbed her purse.
“I don’t know,” Roland said. “We have to gather all the information we can and see how it all looks together.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her gaze lingering as if thinking through what he’d said. Then she dug through her purse.
“So, what now?” Peter spoke with a mouthful of food.
“We should eavesdrop.” Caitlyn glanced up, still digging through her purse.
“No, we should talk to people.” Phoebe craned her neck and peered around the cafeteria.
“Oh, right.” Peter gave Roland a look to show his disapproval. “Like, hey, what’d you do last weekend? Vandalize Brice’s house?”
Phoebe curled her lip, making a childish face at Peter. “No. Questions like ‘What do you think about the vandalism?’ and ‘Who do you think would do something like that?’”
“Oh,” Kiara said, “and maybe we can ask if anyone thinks they’re targeting specific kids.”
Caitlyn pulled something from her purse and set her purse on the bench seat, next to Kiara.
“Good idea,” Peter said to Kiara with a sarcastic tone. “Then we’ll have everyone pointing the finger at everyone else, and we’ll start something worse than a food fight at River Run High.”
“No, I think she’s right,” Roland said just as Caitlyn swung her leg over the bench seat and stood.
“Will you watch my purse?” Caitlyn asked Kiara, who nodded in reply.
“Wait. Where you going?” Peter’s face twisted with worry.
“That table of girls.” She nodded to indicate it. “They’ve been whispering to each other and glancing around for the past ten minutes.”
Peter laughed. “You think they vandalized Brice’s house? No way. They’re too prissy. They’re all about hair, clothes, and makeup. No way they’d set a tree on fire or spread trash in the lawn.”
“Why not?” Caitlyn shook her head. “Girls can be mean.”
“And risk damaging an acrylic nail?” Peter gave Roland a cheesy grin.
“So, you think guys did it? Why would they?” Caitlyn said. “What could they have against a new girl?”
Peter scrunched his face up at Caitlyn. “How can you not know—?” Not finishing his sentence—probably something about the rumors about Brice—he turned to Roland. “So, what do you think? Guys or girls?”
“Well, they did a lot of damage,” Roland said. “So, we know it was more than one person. Could’ve been both girls and boys. Probably not those girls, tougher girls.”
“Wish me luck.” Caitlyn smiled at Roland and turned away, her red curls swishing across the back of her white dress. The royal blue pattern circled around the bottom edge of the skirt too. And what was that in her hand? A flip phone?
“She’s got the right idea,” Phoebe said. “Come on.”
“You’re staring.” Peter nudged Roland’s arm.
“I-I didn’t know she had a phone.” Roland turned back, trying to look nonchalant.
Phoebe and Kiara had gotten up and headed toward the opposite side of the cafeteria.
“Disappointed she didn’t give you her number?” Peter said, glimpsing Phoebe and Kiara as they neared a table of freshman. “What are they—”
Before Roland could think of a response to Peter’s comment, his cell phone vibrated in his back pocket, so he settled with shooting Peter a glare. He yanked the phone out and accepted the call, vaguely aware that he didn’t recognize the number. Suddenly, a warning flashed inside, and he turned just in time.
Drawing near the table of popular girls, Caitlyn somehow tripped on . . . her own feet? A tray she must’ve picked up along the way sailed through the air and slammed to the floor with a bang. “Oh,” she shouted, losing balance, one hand landing on the popular girls’ table, the other near a big purse on the bench seat.
The popular girls drew back, their mouths falling open and eyes narrowing, as if they all blamed Caitlyn for tripping. Then cruel laughter came from one girl and spread to the others.
“Sorry.” Caitlyn raised her hands, backed away, and smiled sweetly. Then she took off toward Roland and Peter, speed-walking. As she drew near, she glanced at Roland’s hand.
“Oh, yeah.” Embarrassed that he’d left the caller hanging, he lifted his phone to his ear. “Hello?”
Eyes popping open wide, Caitlyn snatched the phone from him and put it to her ear as she sat across from him at the table.
He opened his mouth to ask why she did that, but she shushed him with a finger to her mouth.
Peter laughed. “So that’s your plan, huh, Caitlyn? Brilliant.”
She glared at him, held up her index finger, and mouthed, “Wait.”
“So, to put you at ease,” Peter said, elbowing Roland’s arm, “I picked up that generic phone yesterday because we need to be able to get a hold of each other during the investigations. I didn’t think she’d be planting her new phone in girls’ bags.”
“Oh.” Finally understanding what Caitlyn had done, Roland glanced at the table of girls. Could she really hear their conversation with her flip phone in the bottom of a purse?
“Plus, she’s wasting minutes, yours and hers.” Peter glanced from Roland to Caitlyn. “Hear that, Caitlyn? You’re wasting Roland’s minutes.”
Roland shrugged. “I don’t care.” To prove he didn’t care, he turned away and found Phoebe and Kiara still at the freshman table, Phoebe doing all the talking . . . Kiara taking notes?
“Yeah, your father probably pays for yours. And even if he didn’t, you’d go along with whatever she wanted.”
Roland shot a glance at Caitlyn. Had she heard that? “No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“Ha. Like she’d ask you to do that.” His crooked grin faded. Then he groaned impatiently and leaned toward Caitlyn. “So, what are they saying?”
With a sigh, Caitlyn handed the phone to Peter. “Nothing interesting. They’re talking about boys and stupid reality shows.”
Peter pressed the phone to his ear for two seconds, made a face, and ended the connection. “Take your phone back, Roland.”
“Forget eavesdropping.” Caitlyn jumped up again. “I’ll just do what Phoebe and Kiara are doing and go talk to people.”
“Wait!” Peter jumped up too and lunged for her, but she skipped around a passing student and got away. Face beet red again, Peter sat down. “This is a bad idea, isn’t it? She shouldn’t have told Kiara and Phoebe. I shouldn’t have told Caitlyn. Everyone’s gonna know we’re investigating.”
“Everyone’s going to know they’re investigating. So distance yourself from them.”
“Yeah, and we should only meet in private, not during school hours. I don’t want it getting back to . . .” He threw Roland a panicked glance.
Feeling merciful, Roland decided to rescue Peter. “I know you like Brice. Don’t worry about it. And you don’t want her to know you’re doing all this in case she wouldn’t like it.”
Peter didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe. Staring at Roland, he sat frozen with his jaw slack for two seconds. Then he sucked in a breath and exhaled. “Okay, good. But don’t tell anyone. Especially not Caitlyn or the other two. And we’ve gotta watch them. They’re so obvious.” His gaze shifted to some distant point, and his eyebrows scrunched up. “Is she crazy?”
Roland turned. He blinked twice, not believing what he saw. He would never do what she was doing.
Caitlyn stood in the corner of the cafeteria, in the midst of a group of varsity football players. She folded her arms but otherwise appeared unfazed as she looked up at them and asked them questions. One of the jocks said something and gave her a crooked smile. He’d probably said something lewd. The other jocks laughed.
Caitlyn either didn’t get it or didn’t care. She asked another question. When they responded in the same way, her shoulders lifted and sagged. Then she marched away, heading toward the table by the garbage cans.
“Wow, she’s so brave.” Roland hadn’t meant to comment aloud. Caitlyn, Kiara, Phoebe . . . they had no problem going up to anyone.
“That or stupid. She’s not gonna find anything out. Of course, she did suggest talking to the neighbors. That might be a good idea. Maybe you and her can do that.”
“Me?” As much as he liked the idea of hanging out with her, he couldn’t see himself knocking on doors and asking strangers questions. He should probably get used to that though. Maybe it would help him overcome his fear of speaking before groups. Maybe even help him get the courage to give his lousy speech.
“Or maybe she can do it with Phoebe and Kiara. Everyone knows you’re my friend.”
“Yeah, good idea.” A wave of relief rushed over him.
After a few minutes, Phoebe and Kiara moved to a table of seniors and Caitlyn disappeared.
“What is she doing now?” Peter stared through the windows that overlooked the hallway. “Man, she can’t just go up to anybody. I mean some people are just too . . .”
Arms folded across her chest, Caitlyn stood in the hallway talking to a dark-haired kid who leaned against the wall with a somewhat arrogant posture.
Wait. Roland’s mouth went dry. Was that . . . Was she actually talking to . . . Jarret?
Peter was still babbling, but Roland couldn’t focus on what he said. Switching into high-alert mode and not comfortable with the idea of Caitlyn talking to his brother, he shifted so he could glimpse Jarret’s face. What was she saying to him? How would he respond? He could get rude with people. Would he be rude to her?
Stomach flipping, Roland jumped up. “Hey, I’ll be back.” He glanced at Peter, who was still saying something, then he walked—forcing himself not to run—through the cafeteria and into the hall.
Caitlyn unfolded her arms and gestured as she spoke.
Jarret raised his eyebrows and peered down at her, looking a bit perplexed as to why she would ask him whatever she had asked him. Roland had seen the look countless times before. It usually preceded a litany of rude remarks. Jarret and Caitlyn were black and white. Not just because Jarret was accustomed to a life of maid-service and expensive shirts and she a life of penny-pinching and second-hand clothes, but because she was simplicity and purity itself and he . . . well, he still seemed to struggle, though he’d turned away from the wide and dangerous path he’d been on.
Jarret’s eyes narrowed even more, and he opened his mouth. In a matter of seconds, something snide would come out.
“Caitlyn.” Roland zipped toward her but didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to join the conversation and risk further provoking Jarret.
She turned toward him, flipping her long red mane over one shoulder.
At the sight, Roland’s heart did something funny in his chest. Jarret’s somewhat cold look shoved Roland’s heart back into place. Three steps from her, he gave a nod for her to walk with him.
Her wide eyes showed confusion and a hint of irritation, whether from something Jarret had already said or from Roland’s interruption, he couldn’t guess. But she didn’t look ready to comply.
One step from her, not slowing down, he reached for her arm. She lifted her arm as though she thought he was pointing out a bug or something, and his hand slid down it and right into her hand. Heart pounding from unintentionally holding her hand, he made a split-second decision to roll with it and tightened his grip to drag her down the hall, away from Jarret.
“What’s wrong?” Caitlyn said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Roland caught Jarret’s confused glare. Whatever Caitlyn had said to him, he didn’t seem to understand.
Roland led Caitlyn down the hall to the farther cafeteria entrance, ignoring her puzzled glances as he took the long way back to Peter. Hotly aware of several kids dropping their gazes to their handhold, he weaved around a group of girls. They had to go single-file through a group of boys, so Roland released her hand and breathed.
Caitlyn mumbled something Roland didn’t hear over the chatter. Then she darted back toward the table of popular girls, probably to retrieve her phone. Roland continued back to the table.
“Where’d ya go?” Peter wrinkled his forehead, looking a bit peeved. “I’m talking to you and you take off.”
Taking his seat, Roland shrugged and searched for Phoebe and Kiara. They were getting up from another table.
“Were you two holding hands?” Peter gave Roland a crooked grin. “’Cuz when I saw you—”
“Drop it.” Roland gave a warning look.
Caitlyn returned to the table at the same time as Phoebe and Kiara, who both had proud grins on their faces.
“Okay, so what’d you find out?” Peter leaned across the table toward them.
“Well . . .” Kiara tucked her short stringy hair behind her ear and peered at the pocket notebook in her hand. “The only ones who really answered our questions were the outcasts.”
“I didn’t get much either, but I have a few ideas.” The gleam in Caitlyn’s eyes showed she loved detective work.
“One kid said he didn’t agree with vandalism,” Kiara said, “and he would never do something like that, but he said people have different ways of expressing themselves.”
“What?” Peter burst out. “So, he thinks it’s fine?”
“No, that’s not what he said.” Phoebe pushed her half-eaten lunch aside and hunched over the table. “He said that type of expression shows profound bigotry. Which he thought was the reason for the talk on tolerance and all that.”
“Oh, yeah. Hey . . .” Peter looked at Roland. “One of us should talk to the kids in the diversity group, Empowerment, you know, in the spirit of democracy. Maybe . . .” He slid his folded arms across the table, lowering himself over his half-eaten lunch. “. . . one of us should attend the Empowerment meetings.”
Caitlyn sucked in a breath. “Yes, they’re probably still talking about what happened. I bet they have a ton of ideas about who might’ve done it.”
“Okay, so who’s going to go to the meeting?” Phoebe said. “’Cuz I’m not. Kids already label me. I don’t need more labels.”
“Oh, I can’t go either. I have something else . . .” Kiara’s voice trailed off with her possibly made-up excuse.
“I would but . . .” Caitlyn bit into her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “. . . they meet on a bad day for me,” she said over her mouthful, reminding Roland of Peter.
Peter straightened. “Well, I can’t.” He shot Roland an accusatory glare.
“I didn’t say you could.” Roland didn’t need Peter to tell him again how he wanted to remain anonymous.
“You’ll have to do it.” Peter stared, a half-crazed look in his brown eyes.
Roland shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t picture himself attending even one meeting, but someone had to. They’d likely get their best leads from that group. What would people think? Only the strangest kids belonged to that group. He exhaled long and hard. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
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