Vicky punches in a number and a canned soda falls to the bottom of the machine with a thud. She bends to collect it. As I pass her, I check that there are no eyewitnesses, then raise the vial. A twinge of guilt stops my hand in midair.
I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t thrown the first punch. She did this to herself—
A kid bumps me from behind. I stumble forward, and a few droplets in my vial spray the back of Vicky’s neck. In a hot panic, I retreat, tucking myself into the classroom across the hall. My heart pounds like a jackhammer, but I don’t dare breathe.
Vicky pops the tab off her diet soda. Thank the lilies, she didn’t see me.
I slump back against the wall, which feels cold and rough through my worn cardigan sweater. Well, that’s that. Vicky will fall in love with Drew, forget about Court, and Kali will be off the hook. Everyone will be happy, even, perhaps Vicky.
Vicky’s on the move again. She continues down the checker-tiled hall, then stops by an emergency exit. The door makes a metal crunching sound as she presses her back to it and slips out.
She’s probably going outside to smoke. The door leads to a small grassy quad and an equipment shed.
Kids hurry to their classrooms. Chem lab will be starting soon.
Suddenly, Principal Swizinger hurries up the hall, her eyes and mouth all pulled into severe lines. She stops at the emergency door, then follows Vicky out.
I know a bust when I smell one. I’m not the only one who can smell the tobacco breath that Vicky covers with mint gum.
I emerge from my hiding place. I should get to class, but I suddenly have the urge to peek out the door. As I reach the emergency exit, the door swings open, and a sour-faced Vicky followed by the principal sweep by me.
“But I only wanted some fresh air,” says Vicky. “You have no proof.”
Her face screws up when she sees me. The principal gives me a curt nod. I pretend like I was about to get a drink from the water fountain and dip my head.
Principal Swizinger taps her toe. “I don’t need proof. This isn’t a courtroom. I’ve smelled it on you several times before. I’ll need to call your stepmom.”
“No, you can’t do that. You don’t understand. She’ll ground me fromhomecoming.”
“Maybe she should.”
“But it’s so unfair.” She hiccups like she’s about to cry.
The principal makes uncomfortable throat-clearing noises. I stop drinking and head back down the corridor.
“Mim?” The principal’s voice resonates off the tiles.
I freeze, then slowly turn back around. Behind the principal, Vicky puts her hands on her hips and mutters something coarse.
“You’re in charge of volunteers at Puddle Jumpers this year, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How many volunteers do we have so far?”
“Thirty-two students, two faculty.” I cringe, as a vision of Mr. Frederics breaking into the Latin Hustle in front of Ms. DiCarlo’s startled eyes crosses my mind.
Her eyes become sly. “Make it thirty-three. Miss Valdez, you are lucky I have a soft spot for the Puddle Jumpers. Volunteer,and I will consider clemency.”
Vicky’s arms drop to her sides and her mouth falls open. Snapping it shut, she narrows her eyes at me. Either she’s going to thank me or spit at me, and my nose tells me they’re equally venomous.
EIGHTEEN
“TRAVEL WIDELY. WHEN YOUR FEET
EXPAND, SO SHALL YOUR NOSE.”
—Marjoram, Aromateur, 1784
