I lift it out, noticing that it is taped to the back of a playing card. I flip it around. The ace of spades.
I look around the hallway as the crowd thins. I think the first warning bell has already gone off. Turning the card back around, I see the edge of a word peeking out from behind the USB. I rip off the flash drive, revealing a handwritten message.
Everything is on here—Aces
The second warning bell startles me, and I throw the USB and card into my blazer pocket, before grabbing my sheets and book and heading to registration.
As soon as the bell rings for lunch, I head to the library, an internal chain of what-ifs swirling through my thoughts as I quickly grab a free computer. I switch it on, then plug the USB in. The library is semi-crowded, with students mostly sitting around tables in the center or getting on with their own work. Even though I picked a seat in the corner, where no one can see my screen, I worry that someonesomewhere is watching me, because they always seem to be lately. Who knows what might be on here?
I sigh, anxiously waiting for the USB to load, leg bouncing up and down.
I could just pull it out. I don’t have a gun pointed at my head. There’s no need for me to be scared.
It loads. My muscles tense up.
I click before I can overthink it.
There is only one folder:The Life and Crimes of Chiamaka Adebayo.
What the…
I let the cursor hover over the file.
Why do I feel guilty? Chiamaka and I aren’t friends. I owe her nothing. In fact, she and I are the furthest fromfriendlythat you can get—if you discount earlier. We are basically strangers.
I click again and the screen flickers as a bunch of subfiles, all with different labels, descend the page. They are all time-stamped to last night.
One labeledTwo-timergrabs my attention. I double-click, ignoring the guilt. It’s a picture of Chiamaka and that guy she’s always with, kissing at some party. It’s probably from when she was dating Scotty, which would explain the label. I got the message about her and some girl’s boyfriend too.
She seems to have a thing for other people’s boyfriends.
My cursor hovers over the other files, but my moral compass is screaming at me to stop.
I wonder if Aces sent files on us to everyone else they’ve spoken about. Does that mean Jack, Scotty, Chiamaka, and her friend have a file on me? But then why don’t I have a Scotty or Jack file?
My chest is heavy, dragging and achy.Why us?Chiamaka and me. We’re at the center of this, even if other people have been pulled in. I mean, there is the obvious thing… I catch a glimpse of my dark skin in the monitor, staring it down like it’s gonna jump out at me. I shake my head. I’ve gone to this school for years, and I’ve never had anyone bother me before. Unlike in my middle school, where I was everyone’s favorite punching bag, because apparently, my whole essence screamsgay easy target. Even when I tried to hide it from everyone and myself.
I look at the list of files again, scrolling a little, stopping when I see one labeledMurderer.
What?I look at it closely, moving forward in my seat. Amurderer? Head Prefect and professional teachers’ ass-kisser, a killer?
If this is true, could I be implicated if I click on the file? Is that Aces’s angle here? I shakily move away, closing the window instead.
I glance around the library. People are still lost in their own worlds, so unaware of the chaos in mine. I pull the USB out of the port, watching the files disappear from the screen one by one.
Who is Aces and what do they want? They’re following me; getting into my neighborhood, my home, my mind.
And I don’t know how to stop it.
I have been watching the clock since I entered the meeting room after school.
I’ve managed not to say a word so far, thankful that the other prefects in here are such smart-asses that they take up most of the discussion with their thoughts and opinions.
We, or more likethey, are discussing the legendary Senior Snowflake Charity Ball, happening in two weeks. It’s legendary because non-seniors are always told about the pranks pulled off at the ball. For most of the seniors, their biggest worries are what dress or suit to wear, and who they’re going to prank—or be pranked by. All I can think about now is that the ball would be the perfect time for Aces to do something. The ball is compulsory—part of “Niveus’s special school spirit”—but I’m considering faking a serious illness.
Headmaster Ward looks at me all of a sudden, as if he can read my thoughts.
“Bringing the meeting to an end with a final point, we’ll be closing parts of the school one day in the coming weeks to do a basic check of the electric networks and facilities in the building. It was meant to be done over the summer but wasn’t, so this may affect events such as the homecoming football game. We will be discussing alternate locations for the match in the next meeting.
