As soon as the door to Mitchell Hall slammed behind us, my phone beeped. My heart launched into my throat, a sensation that I seemed to feel ten times a day lately, but could not get used to.
“I’ll catch up with you,” I said, pausing near the door.
“We’ll get in line!” Kiki said, tugging her hat off as they made their way down the hall toward the bustling conservatory. “Oh! Maybe I’ll get a chocolate chip scone.”
“It’s only fair. Equal time for all manner of chips, I say,” Astrid agreed.
Envying their carefree banter, I whipped out my phone. I had one new text. Fingers trembling, I somehow managed to open it.
ASSIGNMENT ONE COMPLETE. GOOD WORK. STAND BY FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.
I looked out the slim window in the door, but there was nothing. No one. Just a couple of guys walking from Ketlar to the library, and a pack of freshman girls headed to the gym. A chill went down my spine. Apparently the kidnappers had been telling the truth. They were watching me.
I just wanted to know how.
In 1903, Ida M. Tarbell published an article that launched the reform journalism trend and had great ramifications on big business in America. What was the article titled? What was it about? Discuss the impact reform journalism had on government regulations and business practices in the Unites States.
I read the question, trying to make the words stick in my mind.
Ramifications. Ram-if-ick-a-shunnns. That’s a funny word.
I snorted in the back of my throat. Cooper Banks, the guy in the next desk, and the only dude on campus who insisted on wearing a tie to class every day, shot me an annoyed look and continued to scribble his essay answer in his tiny, psycho-killer style scrawl.
I looked down at my paper. Each of the first three questions had answers, but I’d written them in huge, loopy script, trying to fill up the space with as few words as possible. I was so going to fail this thing.
My eyes started to close for the ten billionth time since I’d sat down to take this exam. I’d been up all night, staring at the clock, waiting for my next set of instructions, which had never come, and now I was paying the price. I shook my head, gave my cheeks a quick pinch, and sat up straight, but nothing worked. It was like a team of tiny strong men were clinging to my upper lashes, using all their weight to pull them back down. Maybe if I just closed them for one, tiny second. …
Suddenly my hand hit the desk, my watch smacking against the wood with a noise loud enough to wake the dead. A couple of people around me flinched. I looked at Constance, who was seated to my left, and tried for a “silly me” smile. She scowled a very un-Constance-like scowl, and leaned over her paper, but she wasn’t working on her test. The exam paper—which was completed, I noticed with chagrin—had been pushed off to the side, and she was now jotting down notes on a list entitled “V-Day Dance.”
My face felt hot and I looked away. Clearly Constance was on the planning committee for the dance, something she would have announced to me with her particular brand of hyper excitement if we’d still been on speaking terms. We hadn’t spoken since our fight in the cafeteria over her not getting into the Billings Literary Society. Not one word. And I seriously missed her.
From the corner of my eye I saw someone at the door. I flinched when I saw that it was Headmaster Hathaway. He was just standing there, watching me. And when he saw me look, he didn’t turn away.
Now my face was on fire. What was he doing out there? Spying on me? I forced myself to look at my paper but couldn’t get my brain to focus on the question. Not with Double H staring me down. Then I glanced up at the door again, and he was gone.
Okay. Deep breath. He’s probably just doing the rounds. He wasn’t looking at you, he was just … looking at the room.
I read the question yet again. Maybe all this weirdness would keep me awake.
In 1903, Ida M. Tarbell …
Instantly, my eyes started to close again.
Then something beeped.
My head popped up and my hand was in my bag before I registered the fact that everyone around me was getting up from their seats, gathering their things, handing in their exam papers at the front of the room. It was the end-of-class tone that had sounded. Not my cell phone. I had fallen fast asleep. There was even a spot of drool on my test paper. My heart sunk to my toes. I looked down at the screen on my phone, just in case, but there were no new messages. Aside from the usual texts from the other Billings Girls and some check-ins from my brother, Scott, there had been nothing since Saturday morning. It was as if the kidnappers were enjoying keeping me in the dark, torturing me.
Did that mean they were torturing Noelle, too?
Constance was just getting up from her chair. As she picked up her V-Day dance list I saw that among the “to-do’s” were “Call the caterer” and “Have London confirm napkins and favors.”
“Are you planning the Valentine’s Day dance?” I blurted.
Constance turned to me with a scowl. “Yeah. I am.”
“That’s cool,” I said, my heart pounding.
“Yeah, well, I read this article that said that when all your friends dump you, it’s good