CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The violin was considered the leader of the orchestra before conductors became common.
SAMANTHA
In some ways Liam North was an indulgent guardian. He would spend two hundred thousand dollars on a violin. He persuaded an infamous violin teacher to move to Kingston so that I could visit him once a week. There were an endless supply of books and music. I always had the latest model phone, some before they were released to the public due to his connections at the major tech companies.
In other ways Liam was the strictest guardian.
My transient existence as a diplomat’s daughter had given me its own education. I knew how to barter for fish in an Indonesian market and how to counter the early signs of frostbite, but I couldn’t name most of the states. School, he decided. Not private tutors. Not correspondence courses. I should attend an ordinary school with ordinary classes. I’m not sure how ordinary it is to be driven every day by an armed guard in a limo, but St. Agnes did give me a normal experience.
As normal as you can be when the tuition costs thirty thousand a year.
“You ready?” Laney murmurs.
I’m fiddling with the Bunsen burner, nudging the beaker with my tongs. According to Mr. Washington there should be precipitate once the molecules get hot enough to release the sodium. “I’m ready to be done with this experiment.”
“Forget about the experiment.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re going into finals with a ninety-nine.” Laney is freakishly smart, which means she can get straight As without even paying attention. Meanwhile I can’t figure out whether I missed something crucial not going to elementary school or whether I’m just naturally terrible at chemistry. If these were sheep intestines that needed to be stretched, if I needed to figure out the precise frequency of a note, I could muster up some interest.
Impatient, Laney taps the beaker. A small pile of white powder appears at the bottom. “We should be grateful he agreed to meet us here.”
“Seriously?” I mutter, writing down my findings in the lab notebook. “I know that, but I still don’t know how we’re going to get past the hall monitors.”
St. Agnes could pass for a high-security prison. Every school shooting that happens somewhere in the country is another excuse for them to add metal detectors and cameras—all of it expensive. It makes doing something as simple as skipping class a tactical maneuver worthy of North Security. Luckily I have the daughter of one of the greatest strategists for a partner.
She pulls a key card from her pocket, letting me see it for only a brief moment before slipping it back into her navy blue sweater. “Simple.”
I stare at her, incredulous. “You stole Mr. Washington’s security pass?”
“Don’t freak out. He’s always losing his pass, so much that the secretary at the front office keeps an extra one for him in her desk.”
“What happens when she sees that it’s gone?”
“That won’t be for days. We’re going to graduate next week.”
I’m simultaneously impressed and horrified at how casually my friend has broken the rules. “You realize we’re upgrading from breaking school rules to illegal activity, right?”
She scoffs. “What’s illegal about swiping a key card?”
“Theft.” I tick the words off with my fingers. “Trespassing. Oh, not to mention blackmail.”
“All for the greater good.”
Acid rises in my throat. If she weren’t right about that, I would refuse to do it. I’m not a rule breaker. Not a rebel. At least I didn’t use to be. That seems to be changing. “All I’m saying is that if we wind up in jail, I’m blaming you.”
“Please. I have about three fake passports that could get me out of the country.” At my expression, she adds, “I’m kidding, of course.”
I don’t think she’s kidding. “And leave me here to take the fall?”
Like the way she did at the club. But I know that about her. She’s the one who found the guy selling a tape that we can use for blackmail. She also set up the meeting. That’s actually a high amount of planning for someone who flew to Coachella in a hot air balloon. I’m the one with the envelope of cash in my backpack. I have to be the one to finish this.
“Nothing is going to happen,” she says. “No one is going to fall. This is exactly how my mom got into a Nicaraguan embassy and aided the rebellion.”
“Which rebellion?”
“Does it matter? We’re speaking truth to power right now. Coach Price is going down.”