“He knows it,” Isobel grumbled, getting more annoyed by the second. Was it any of Gwen’s business who she gave her locker combination to? They were locker neighbors, not locker roomies. “What does that have to do with what happened?”
“It was right after last period. Your big football player ex-guy—did you say his name was Ben?”
“Brad.”
“Right, well, for some reason, that guy was in your locker. Now, I wasn’t there yet, so I can’t say exactly what the deal was. I sort of figured out this much after the fact—from what other people said they saw.”
“Other people?” She cringed.
“Well, apparently, this Brad guy was getting stuff out of your locker, planning to take it with him, it looked like.”
Isobel tried to remember exactly what she’d stored in her locker. All she knew she had in there was her binder, some books, and a box of tampons—what could he want with any of that? Evidence, she realized at once. He must be looking for some kind of proof about her and Varen. Maybe. What else would it be?
“But then guess who shows up.”
“No.”
“Yeah.”
Something in her middle turned a wobbly somersault. Varen approaching Brad? Bad. Very bad.
“What happened?” Her voice almost cracked.
“Well, this is the part that I saw. Apparently, Varen wanted Brad to give him all your stuff. Then Brad grabbed a fistful of Dr. Doom’s shirt and slammed him into the lockers. Hard. I mean, I saw his head bounce. One-handed, too—Bruno never even had to put your stuff down.”
Isobel gasped. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The room around her seemed to tilt. She cringed, and the hand holding the phone felt weak.
“And that’s what triggered it, I think.”
Oh God. There was more? Isobel needed to sit down. She sank onto one corner of her bed, waiting for the worst. How bad could it be? she thought. If Varen had called her from work, then he had to be at least somewhat okay. He couldn’t be in traction if he was at work, right?
“Well,” Gwen said, her voice flattening out, “let me just say that when he banged into the lockers—the lockers banged back.”
“What do you mean they banged back?”
The line went quiet and fuzzy for a moment. Isobel squished the phone in hard against one ear, blocking her other ear with a finger. She turned her head to one side, and another roll of static fizzed against her eardrum.
“All the lockers . . . they knocked back,” Gwen said. “One right after the other. Everybody hit the floor, because it sounded like gunfire—I swear. I saw some of the locks jolting around. It happened so fast—and it wasn’t like some sort of crazy chain reaction that had been set off or something,” she interrupted herself to say, as though she’d already wrestled with this theory in her own mind, “because it started at the total opposite end of the hall, on the other side. It only stopped when it reached your locker. Which slammed shut—by itself. And even though he tried, Goliath couldn’t get it open again.”
“Gwen,” Isobel said, standing, a note of hysteria in her voice. Her eyes fell to the Poe book still sitting on her carpet where she’d left it. She kicked it under her bed. “You’re making this up.”
“Sorry, but I’m not that creative.”
“Did somebody set you up to call me and say all this?”
“Look,” Gwen said, “I didn’t call because of some prank. I called you because there’s something really freaked out goin’ on, and since it transpired in the direct vicinity of your locker, I thought you might like to know.”
A scuffling noise had Isobel turning to face the window.
“Of course,” Gwen prattled, “if I’d known I’d be accused of conspiracy on top of lying, I’d have written about the whole ordeal in an article and submitted it to the school newspaper instead.”
“Shh!” Isobel hissed. “Gwen, shh!”
The sound came again. A low, grating noise.
“I don’t think I should have to shush. You know, I didn’t have to call you. I had better things to do. My trig homework, for example.”
“No, Gwen,” said Isobel. She dropped her voice as the dull, scraping noise grew louder. “I hear something.”