An hour later my eyes were dry, my neck was tight, and a headache throbbed at the back of my skull. I checked my watch every two-?and-?a-?half minutes, wondering exactly how long it was going to take Orlando to find love. Did I have fifteen minutes or another hour?
“Okay, come on, Reed,” I said through my teeth, shaking out my hands.
I flipped to the next page in Ariana's planner and turned it over on the floor at my side. Taylor's theory had turned out to be both a boon and a curse. At first I had thought I would just check Ariana's birthday and see if she had anything written there. That was before I realized that I had no idea when Ariana's birthday was. So instead I had started to flip through page by page, figuring the special days would be obvious, that she'd have written Dad's birthday on a certain date, or Parents' anniversary somewhere in there.
I was wrong. Nothing was obvious in Ariana's planner, other
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than the fact that she was a doodler. A doodler and a jotter who brainstormed poems and titles in every available space on every available page. Yes, there were poem titles on some dates, but there was no way of knowing if the dates held any significance. So I had spent the last hour typing in pretty much every word I found in any given date square.
Pretty soon, my knuckles were going to seize up. Early onset arthritis. That was where this mission was going to get me.
I took a deep breath. I just had to keep at it for a few more minutes. Then I would call it a night and at least wipe down Noelle and Ariana's windows--which looked streak-?free to me--so that they would think I had followed orders.
I was on April. April fifth had a single word in its square. I took a deep breath and started to type.
Rubber band. R-?U-?B-?B-?E-?R-?B-?A-?N-?D. Enter.
Invalid password! the screen replied.
Okay . . . next. Slammed. S-?L-?A-?M-?M-?E-?D. Enter.
Invalid password!
I groaned. I scanned the calendar, looking for something even remotely intriguing, and my eyes fell on the last day of April. April 30. In big, red letters was the word home. Then, underneath that, in much smaller letters, the title of one of her more recent poems: “The Other.” That one had been published in last month's Quill.
I took a deep breath. My fingers were trembling. Okay. “The Other.” Two words.
T-?H-?E [space] O-?T-?H-?E-?R. Enter.
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Invalid password!
Somewhere nearby a door slammed. My heart was in my mouth. I closed the computer and was about to stash it away, but instead I froze. I froze and listened. Footsteps. Footsteps coming closer...
Oh, God, no. I scrambled to put everything back. I almost dropped the computer. I was never going to get it all in there in time....
And then the footsteps passed by the door. They were going back downstairs. I sat down hard on my butt and breathed. Everything was shaking. I should just bag this. Just bag it and start over tomorrow. But when was I ever going to get an opportunity like this again?
Slowly, I opened the computer again. I would just try this last one and that would be it.
Okay. Theother. One word.
T-?H-?E-?O-?T-?H-?E-?R. Enter.
There was a beep. My pulse raced. The drive whirred to life, the screen went black, then came up with a blue sky background and the two sweetest words I had ever seen on a computer screen.
Welcome, Ariana!
Holy crap. I was in! Holy mother of-- I had done it! I wanted to jump up off the floor and scream and yell and improvise a dance of joy. But that wouldn't have been the best idea, what with the old creaky floors and the fifteen girls watching Orlando in rapt silence under my feet.
Deep breath, Reed. I scrounged in my bag and found the
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floppy disk I had brought along just in case there was anything worth copying. I shoved it in the slot on the side of the computer and tried to calm my heart. If it kept pounding that loud, it would drown out any noises from downstairs, and I couldn't get caught. Especially not now.