I stand for a moment, watching and waiting, before I walk back to the library.
“What the fuck, Chiamaka? You let them get away!” I shout as I open the doors again, but she doesn’t even seem to really hear me. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Her face is drained of color, mouth hanging open.
Before I can say another word, she rushes out of the library too.
After all that talk of wanting to take “the bitch” down, Chiamaka bails when the mission needs her most.
As I bend to pick up the rope, my eyes catch the blaring bright screen of computer 17 instead.
I lean in. The girl left the computer logged in to a page with black spades symbols decorating the border.
I sit down and scroll to the top of the page.
ACE OF SPADES SECRET SOCIETY
Generosity, Grace, Determination, Integrity, Idealism, Nobility, Excellence, Respectfulness, and Eloquence.
Aren’t those our school values?
An animation of a smirking guy dealing cards grins at me in the corner. The wordsPress enter for some fun!appear across the screen, and even though I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack, I press enter. The school values dash across the screen, swirling and spinning, before arranging themselves in a line.Press enter again!the screen tells me, and I do. In a flash, most of the letters disappear, leaving the first letter of each word, like an acrostic.
N
I
G
G
E
R
D
I
E
Cold rushes through me; it feels like someone is walking over my grave.
Nigger die?
The fuck?
There’s an arrow pointing down at the bottom of the screen, so I scroll, heart hammering. A folder comes up titledCheckmate.I double-click, and three more folders appear, labeledRook,Bishop, andKnight.Chess pieces? I click onRook, and a short table full of names loads on the page, some I recognize, some I don’t. In one row I spot the nameJack McConnel, a sharp checkmark next to it, and beside that a short sentence I have to reread to make sense of.
Distribution of DR’s messages.
Distribution of DR’s messages.
DR… Devon Richards.
Messages… All the shit Aces has been sending to everyone. The screen blurs and I shut my eyes, squeezing the tears out. Jack’s been sending the messages to people. Jack’s the reason Dre found outabout all of this. Jack’s the reason Dre broke up with me. Jack’s the reason I can’t breathe whenever I enter the school.
I wipe my eyes and drag the mouse down, watching as more familiar names appear. Unable to process, I’m numb as I click back and choose theBishopfolder. Like before, there are rows of names, with short sentences detailing moretasksnext to each one—all of them checked off. The lists in the files aren’t long enough to be the names of every single person at Niveus, but I recognize a lot of them as students. Anger bubbles inside as I read more familiar names, likeMindy LionandDaniel Johnsonand other people I’ve shared conversations with, sat next to in classes for almost four years. All of them, in on this.This.
What is this?
