Perfect Mistake (Privilege 3)

Finally, Ariana lifted her head. She reached one shaking hand for the handle and flushed. Her butt on the cold ceramic floor, she drew the back of her hand across her mouth and hugged her knees to her chest.

Out in the hallway, Brigit shouted, then Tahira screamed, and Ariana knew that I Caitlynn had hit the others again, just for good measure. But little did they know that all of this was for Arianas benefit. All of it engineered to remind her just how crazy and capable Kaitlynn was.

This week had gotten away from her what with class and the Allison plan and the Lexa and Conrad thing and everything else. But she couldn't put off safeguarding herself any longer.

It was time to take action.

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INSURANCE

That morning, Ariana did the unthinkable: She skipped English class. As her cab pulled up to the covered front doorway of Wolcott Hall, she felt as if she was being watched. As if at any moment Headmaster Jansen was going to jump out from behind a potted plant and slap her with some kind of demerit. But it wasn't her fault. Circumstances were forcing her to break the rules. Right then, Kaitlynn was sequestered somewhere, taking her final placement test of the week, and it was the only time Ariana could be sure that the girl would not be able to follow her.She got into the back of the cab, swallowed back her guilt--induced nausea, and gave the driver the address she'd printed off the Internet.

You're skippingfor a reason, she told herself. A very important reason. It's just one class and you can always get the notes from someone.

From Conrad.

Her skin tingled as the idea occurred to her. It was perfect, actually

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She could use her transgression as an excuse for throwing Conrad and Lexa together again. She might have been committing a crime against academia, but at least she could make something good come out of it. The thought comforted her, eased her racing pulse, and she sat back against the vinyl seat, feeling much more relaxed.

Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of stately white columns of the First American Bank. Ariana paid the driver, got out of the car, and walked purposefully up the stone stairs. The guard at the door eyed her disinterestedly as she strolled past the tellers and right up to the information desk. The elderly gentleman behind the counter looked up at her and smiled. His teeth were yellow, but his white hair was perfectly coiffed and his brown eyes alert. His burgundy wing tips, Ariana noted, were freshly buffed, and his gold name tag read Bernard.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes. I'd like to rent a safety--deposit box," Ariana said confidently. Sometimes older men saw a teenage girl and refused to take her seriously. Ariana found that an authoritative tone could often preclude a lot of patronizing talk.

"I can assist you with that," he said. He opened a slim drawer and pulled out a white card. "You'll need to fill this out and sign at the bottom, and then I'll just need to see an ID."

Ariana quickly filled out the card with all her information and signed Briana Leigh's name at the bottom. She placed the pen down and removed her Texas driver's license from her wallet. Bernard slipped the card from the counter to inspect it and held the license up against the signature. Ariana snapped her bag closed and waited.

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And waited. And waited. The man stared at the signatures, looked up at Ariana's face, narrowed his eyes. Ariana's heart started to pound.

She told herself to relax. The man was just doing his job, that was all. It was Ariana in the picture. Ariana's Briana Leigh signature on both documents. There was no reason for him to suspect anything.

Then Bernard reached for the phone on his desk. Ariana stopped breathing. He was calling security. Ariana surreptitiously looked over her shoulder at the door, wondering how fast the security guard could possibly be. Wondering if she was faster.

Bernard picked up his glasses, which were resting on the counter next to the phone, and slipped them on.

"I apologize," he said with a chuckle. "I keep telling myself I don't need them, but obviously I do."

Ariana let out a breath, relief flooding her body like a cool drink. Bernard was simply blind as a bat. Seconds later he handed back her ID and got up from his stool.

"This way, Miss Covington."

Her knees trembled--a lingering side effect of the abject fear--as she followed him across the gleaming red stone floor and into a small room outside the deposit box area.

"Wait here, please."

She did as she was told, falling into the wooden chair at the tiny counter with relief.

"All right, you'll have box number 167," Bernard said, returning with a long silver tray covered by a sliding top. "Here are your keys."

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