Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

“TELL ME AGAIN WHY WE’RE EATING LUNCH IN THE LIBRARY?” Bree asked.

John snuck a bite of his turkey sandwich, clandestinely hidden in his backpack. “More comfortable than my mom’s minivan.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

John sniffed the air. “Well, the library doesn’t make my lunch smell like car freshener, so yes.”

“Point taken.” Bree slouched in her chair. Shane was out in the quad eating lunch with his friends, while she was stuck in the library, hiding. “But why can’t we eat in the quad like normal pariahs? You heard the news: Theo confessed. The ’Maine Men have been called off. Isn’t that the end of it?” Bree hoped more than believed that the case was closed.

“Please,” John sputtered through a mouthful of turkey. “He didn’t do it.”

Bree stiffened. The moment the rumor swept through school, Bree had felt a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders. If Theo had killed Ronny, it meant that the list she’d seen in Ronny’s room had everything to do with his death, and DGM was totally innocent. Now John was bursting her bubble, and she prayed that he was wrong. “How do you know?”

John chewed thoughtfully. “Theo confessed to protect DGM. It’s pretty obvious. Probably feels he owes it to them after what they did to Coach Creed.”

“Confessing to a murder you didn’t commit is kinda overkill on the payback, don’t you think?”

“I bet he has an alibi,” John said. “Ten-to-one odds he’s back in school tomorrow.”

Bree wasn’t sure how she felt. Part of her wanted to believe that Theo had killed Ronny. His name was on the list that had disappeared from Ronny’s room—clearly they had a connection no one knew about.

On the other hand, Bree cringed at the thought that Theo had only confessed to protect DGM. She couldn’t let him go down for a crime he didn’t commit, could she?

While thoughts of Theo and Ronny did a square dance in her head, John pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper out of his bag and studied it closely. From what Bree could see, it was a list, in John’s frenzied scrawl, and the anonymous envelope in her locker rushed back into her mind.

If someone other than John had slipped that envelope into her locker, it could only be a warning: someone’s on to you. Thankfully, since Bree and John were the prime suspects on Father Uberti’s DGM short list, such a warning wasn’t totally off the wall.

The other option was significantly more terrifying. If John had left her the envelope, was he trying to tell her that he suspected her involvement with DGM? Of course, he could simply be showing off his deductive powers. But if that was the case, why all the cloak-and-dagger crap?

Bree didn’t even realize she was staring at the list in John’s hand until he snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.

“It’s a set list,” John said, patting her hand. “It won’t hurt you.”

“I take it they haven’t kicked you out yet?”

“No,” John said with an exasperated sigh. “Your boyfriend hasn’t kicked me out yet.”

Bree rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest.”

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you don’t have a crush on Shane White?”

“I don’t know where you get the idea—”

John interrupted her. “Stay on target.”

“I mean, how can you—”

“Stay on target!”

Bree took a deep breath. “Look, Shane White doesn’t even know my name. And that’s the beginning and the end of it.” It was painful to admit, but it was almost as if Bree needed to hear herself say the words out loud. She hadn’t told John that she’d transferred into fourth-period drama, and suddenly the reality that she’d changed her class schedule in order to chase a boy who barely knew she existed felt simultaneously pathetic and embarrassing.

John stared at her for what felt like an eternity, then slowly turned his attention back to the set list. “If you say so.”

Peanut wrung her hands as she and Olivia approached the theater. “I’m so nervous,” she said, glancing at Olivia. “Aren’t you?”

“It’s just a play, Peanut,” Olivia lied. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I know, but what if . . .”

Peanut’s voice trailed off, but Olivia knew exactly what she was going to say: What if you don’t get cast?

Olivia pushed the thought from her mind. She had to trust that her audition, coupled with Mr. Cunningham’s assurance that he’d do everything he could for her, would be enough to counterbalance whatever power Amber currently wielded over the theater department.

Now that Ronny’s killer had confessed, Olivia could turn her attention back to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. This cast list could make or break her.

A crowd of drama students had already gathered around the door; their voices drifted across the courtyard.

“Can you believe it?”

“Duh, she practically told everyone she’d get it.”

“Who’s that?”

“The smoking new guy.”

“Gang Member Number Two? Do I even get any lines?”

Peanut made a beeline for the door, but Olivia paused as Jezebel and Amber appeared at the far side of the courtyard. Jezebel raced up to the cast list and practically danced a jig in front of it.

“You got it!” she squealed. “You’re playing Olivia.”

Amber breezed through the crowd, looking as nonchalant and uninterested as possible. “Logan as Count Orsino,” she read aloud, starting at the top of the list. “Excellent. Our acting styles are remarkably complementary.”

Olivia suppressed a gag.

“Donté as Sebastian? Intriguing choice.” Amber continued down the list. “Oh look, Peanut. Even you got a part!”

Peanut squeezed her head in front of the cast list. “I did?”

“Fabiana. Originally Fabian, a male role,” Amber lectured. “Mr. Cunningham confided that he’d be taking some liberties with the play.”

“Look!” Peanut squealed, her head still lodged in front of the cast list. “Olivia got Viola.” She stood on her tiptoes and waved. “Liv! You got it!”

“What?” Amber roared.

A wave of relief engulfed Olivia. “I did?”

Peanut rushed up and hugged her, and soon other members of the drama class gathered around, offering their congratulations.

Everyone except Amber. She stood in front of the door, her fists balled up so tightly her hands were turning white. After a moment, she grabbed Jezebel and dragged her into the theater.

Olivia didn’t need to hear what Amber was saying. Her body language implied enough. She was furious that Olivia had been cast in the play, and a pissed-off Amber was a dangerous Amber. Olivia would need to watch her back.

It was going to be a long three weeks.

Bree was practically in front of the theater before she realized that John was still at her side.

“Where are you going?” she said with a nervous laugh. “You’ll barely make it to art history before the bell.”

“I’ll be fine.” John just stood there, without making the expected dash across campus.

Bree didn’t open the theater door. After the conversation at lunch, she didn’t want John to see that she’d transferred into drama class with Shane. At least not yet.

“The bell’s going to ring any second and . . .” She was getting impatient.

“Didn’t I tell you?” John said. “I transferred into drama.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know. But Shane asked me to.” John yanked the door open and smiled over his shoulder as he ducked into the darkened theater. “See you later?”

Bree stood outside the theater as John let the door close in her face. Well, crap. For some reason, the idea of flirting with Shane in front of John made her uncomfortable. Maybe she should march herself to the office, say she made a mistake, and go back to fourth-period French?

Bree sighed and opened the door. No, she was going to do this, John or no John.