shrugged happily, and went back to working trig problems, occasionally sneaking in a glazed-eyed perusal of a page or two of the comic.
“Weirdo,” I muttered, but said it with a grin.
After we’d done our couple of mandatory hours in study hall—not all studying, of course, but at least we were in there—we went back to the suite to make use of our last free hour before the sun officially set on my first day as a St. Sophia’s girl. The suite was empty of brat pack members, and Lesley’s door was shut, a line of light beneath it. I nudged Scout as we walked toward her room. She followed the direction of my nod, then nodded back.
“Cello’s gone,” she noted, pointing at the corner of the common room, which was empty of the instrument parked there when I arrived yesterday.
Music suddenly echoed through the suite, the thick, thrumming notes of a Bach cello concerto pouring from Lesley’s room. She played beautifully, and as she moved her bow across the strings, Scout and I stood quietly, reverently, in the common room, our gaze on the closed door before us.
After a couple of minutes, the music stopped, replaced by scuffling on the other side of the door. Without preface, the door opened. A blonde blinked at us from the threshold. She was dressed simply in a fitted T-shirt, cotton A-line skirt, and Mary Janes. Her hair was short and pale blond, a fringe of bangs across her forehead.
“Hi, Lesley,” Scout said, hitching a thumb at me. “This is Lily. She’s the new girl.”
Lesley blinked big blue eyes at me. “Hi,” she said, then turned on one heel, walked back into the room, and shut the door behind her.
“And that was Lesley,” Scout said, unlocking her own door and flipping on her bedroom light.
I followed, then shut the door behind us again. “Lesley’s not much of a talker.”
Scout nodded and sat cross- legged on the bed. “That was actually pretty chatty for Barnaby. She’s always been quiet. Has a kind of savant vibe? Wicked good on the cello.”
“I got goose bumps,” I agreed. “That song is really haunting.”
Scout nodded again, and had just begun to pull a pillow into her lap when her cell phone rang. She reached up, grabbed it from its home on the shelf, and popped it open.
“When?” she asked after a moment of silence, turning away from me, the phone pressed to her ear. Apparently unhappy with the response she got, she muttered a curse, then sighed haggardly. “We should have known they had something planned when we saw her.”
I assumed “her” meant the blonde we’d seen outside at lunch.
More silence ensued as Scout listened to the caller. In the quiet of the room, I could hear a voice, but I couldn’t understand the words. The tone was low, so I guessed the caller was a boy. Michael Garcia, maybe?
“Okay,” she said. “I will.” She closed the phone with a snap and paused before glancing back at me.
“Time to run?”
Scout nodded. And this time, there was a tightness around her eyes. It didn’t thrill me that the tightness looked like fear.
My heart clenched sympathetically. “Do you need backup? Someone else to help clean up the litter?”
Scout smiled, a little of the twinkle back in her eyes. “I’d love it, actually. But community improvement isn’t ready for you, Parker.” She grabbed a jacket and her skull-and-crossbones bag, and we both left her room. Scout headed for a secret rendezvous; I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going.
“Don’t wait up,” she said with a wink, then opened the door and headed out into the hallway.
Don’t count on it , I thought, having made the decision. This time, I wasn’t going to let her get away with mumbled excuses and a secret nighttime trip—at least not solo.
This time, I was going, too.
She’d closed the door behind her. I cracked it open and watched her slip down the hallway.
“Time to play Nancy Drew,” I murmured, then slipped off my noisy flip- flops, picked them up, and followed
“Weirdo,” I muttered, but said it with a grin.
After we’d done our couple of mandatory hours in study hall—not all studying, of course, but at least we were in there—we went back to the suite to make use of our last free hour before the sun officially set on my first day as a St. Sophia’s girl. The suite was empty of brat pack members, and Lesley’s door was shut, a line of light beneath it. I nudged Scout as we walked toward her room. She followed the direction of my nod, then nodded back.
“Cello’s gone,” she noted, pointing at the corner of the common room, which was empty of the instrument parked there when I arrived yesterday.
Music suddenly echoed through the suite, the thick, thrumming notes of a Bach cello concerto pouring from Lesley’s room. She played beautifully, and as she moved her bow across the strings, Scout and I stood quietly, reverently, in the common room, our gaze on the closed door before us.
After a couple of minutes, the music stopped, replaced by scuffling on the other side of the door. Without preface, the door opened. A blonde blinked at us from the threshold. She was dressed simply in a fitted T-shirt, cotton A-line skirt, and Mary Janes. Her hair was short and pale blond, a fringe of bangs across her forehead.
“Hi, Lesley,” Scout said, hitching a thumb at me. “This is Lily. She’s the new girl.”
Lesley blinked big blue eyes at me. “Hi,” she said, then turned on one heel, walked back into the room, and shut the door behind her.
“And that was Lesley,” Scout said, unlocking her own door and flipping on her bedroom light.
I followed, then shut the door behind us again. “Lesley’s not much of a talker.”
Scout nodded and sat cross- legged on the bed. “That was actually pretty chatty for Barnaby. She’s always been quiet. Has a kind of savant vibe? Wicked good on the cello.”
“I got goose bumps,” I agreed. “That song is really haunting.”
Scout nodded again, and had just begun to pull a pillow into her lap when her cell phone rang. She reached up, grabbed it from its home on the shelf, and popped it open.
“When?” she asked after a moment of silence, turning away from me, the phone pressed to her ear. Apparently unhappy with the response she got, she muttered a curse, then sighed haggardly. “We should have known they had something planned when we saw her.”
I assumed “her” meant the blonde we’d seen outside at lunch.
More silence ensued as Scout listened to the caller. In the quiet of the room, I could hear a voice, but I couldn’t understand the words. The tone was low, so I guessed the caller was a boy. Michael Garcia, maybe?
“Okay,” she said. “I will.” She closed the phone with a snap and paused before glancing back at me.
“Time to run?”
Scout nodded. And this time, there was a tightness around her eyes. It didn’t thrill me that the tightness looked like fear.
My heart clenched sympathetically. “Do you need backup? Someone else to help clean up the litter?”
Scout smiled, a little of the twinkle back in her eyes. “I’d love it, actually. But community improvement isn’t ready for you, Parker.” She grabbed a jacket and her skull-and-crossbones bag, and we both left her room. Scout headed for a secret rendezvous; I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going.
“Don’t wait up,” she said with a wink, then opened the door and headed out into the hallway.
Don’t count on it , I thought, having made the decision. This time, I wasn’t going to let her get away with mumbled excuses and a secret nighttime trip—at least not solo.
This time, I was going, too.
She’d closed the door behind her. I cracked it open and watched her slip down the hallway.
“Time to play Nancy Drew,” I murmured, then slipped off my noisy flip- flops, picked them up, and followed
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