Sylvie thought back to her own injury. “Madame Lopez’s epazote broth healed my leg in a few hours. I’m sure her pozole can fix a broken wrist in a day.”
Georgia’s face suddenly grew pale. “But our plan … now it’s ruined. We can’t give Godard the letter.”
“True… . Or at least it would be”—Sylvie gave her a mischievous grin—“but luckily I managed to slip it into Godard’s pocket when we were helping Kitty.”
Georgia looked at her. “I can’t believe you kept your head at a time like that … and in front of the whole school. Impressive!”
Sylvie wiped a streak of custard off her shirt. “Well, no one was focused on me. So, in some ways, it was perfect. Besides, Bass will be here in the morning, which means pressing pause wasn’t an option.”
Sylvie stole a final glance at Godard as she and Kitty disappeared outside. The dining hall doors swung shut, but not before Sylvie saw the headmistress pulling the envelope out of her pocket.
SIFT
THE CHAOS OF THE ASSEMBLY WAS NOW DYING DOWN. THE ROOMhad converted itself back into a cafeteria. Kids were discussing Kitty’s broken wrist over plates of quiche Lorraine and quenelles of salmon mousse.
Sylvie couldn’t help but imagine Madame Godard reading the letter and confronting Ms. Honeycut.
“Look! There’s Flora and Maggie,” said Georgia, pulling Sylvie from her daydream.
Sylvie stared at the booth parked near the far wall and fingered the mentor badge in her pocket. Maggie hustled off.
A flurry of flour started falling around Flora before vanishing into the ground.
Sylvie clutched the badge tightly as she turned to Georgia. “I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“I have to talk to Flora alone for a few minutes. When you see me scratching the back of my head, it means it’s safe to come over.”
“Okay.” Georgia raised a brow. “But are you going to tell me what this is about?”
Sylvie poked uncomfortably at the custard stain on her shirt. “I can’t … at least not yet. For starters, it’s not my story to tell.”
Georgia nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll wait for your signal.”
“Thanks,” said Sylvie, ducking past several disks of tarte Tatin as they sailed toward the buffet table.
Flora looked up from the stack of pamphlets she was neatly arranging. “Hey, Sylvie! Are you interested in learning more about SIFT?”
“Yes. But first I wanted to give you this.” Sylvie slid the mentor badge onto the counter as she studied Flora’s face. “I found it yesterday in Agnes’s kitchen.”
Flora scooped it up. “Thanks. It must’ve slipped off when I went into the kitchen to deliver some supplies to Madame Lopez.”
“That’s funny,” said Sylvie calmly. “I saw Madame Lopez yesterday and asked her if she’d seen you. She said she hadn’t. I also saw you rifling through a teacher’s desk a few nights ago.”
The pamphlets Flora had been stacking slipped out of her hands and scattered across the table. “It wasyouI heard?”
Sylvie nodded.
Flora didn’t look up as she hooked the badge onto her uniform. “Have you told anyone about this?”
Sylvie noticed Flora’s hands starting to tremble. “No. I wanted to give you a chance to explain. But I am tempted to report this to Godard. I know you’re up to something. Are you stealing school supplies?”
“Of course not!” Flora looked into her eyes. “But you’re right. I am up to something; it’s just not what you think. I’m helping Godard search for something … or someone. But that’s all I can say.”
Sylvie heard Kitty’s voice in her head.There’s a few Godard knows she can trust. We’re helping weed out the rat.A new idea rolled through Sylvie’s mind.If the spy is a teacher, who better to enlist than a student to help hunt them down?
Sylvie spotted Maggie, carrying a box loaded with clipboards. She didn’t have much time to test out her theory. “Is this about finding the spy?”
