Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

DONTÉ WAS WAITING FOR KITTY AT THE SIDE ENTRANCE OF school Monday morning. His face was pained, and Kitty immediately knew something was wrong. “You aren’t going to believe this,” he said, holding the door open for her.

Kitty halted the moment she set foot inside the building.

The rows of dull, metallic lockers that lined both sides of the wide hallway had been plastered with neon pink fliers. Each taped below a locker number, hundreds of fliers fluttered in the breeze like a blinding fringe.

“What the . . .” Kitty’s voice trailed off. Her eye caught the letters printed in massive, boldface type on the top of the fliers:

REWARD: DGM

Kitty pulled a flier off the nearest locker. Her hand shook, her throat closed up, and her brain only took in about every other word.

“‘Reward: DGM,’” Donté read over her shoulder. “‘The administration of Bishop DuMaine Preparatory School hereby announces the following reward: any student who supplies information that leads to the identification of DGM will have their tuition fees waived for one full year.’”

“A bounty,” Kitty said, her voice raspy. “He’s offering a bounty on DGM.”

“‘In addition,’” Donté continued, reading more quickly, “‘by special directive from Father Uberti, the student service organization known as the ’Maine Men is now under the direct command of Coach Creed. You will offer them every support and compliance during this time of crisis.’”

“You . . . you don’t think anyone will actually go for this, do you?” Kitty paused, as if afraid of the answer. “I mean, with all the rich kids at this school, it seems kind of silly.”

“Maybe for the Rex Cavanaughs,” Donté said. “But once word gets out to the parents, you can bet your ass they’ll be pressuring their kids to squeal.”

Bishop DuMaine was about to morph into a school of DGM bounty hunters, complete with their own gestapo, the ’Maine Men.

Donté reread the flier and shook his head. “When I signed up for the ’Maine Men, it seemed like a good way to help the school, you know? But now . . . I don’t know. The stuff they’ve been doing lately makes me really uncomfortable. I’m glad I dropped out.”

Kitty wanted to throw her arms around Donté’s neck and kiss him right there in the hall, she was so elated. Instead, she just nodded. “Me too.”

He squeezed her hand. “Look, try not to let all this bother you, okay?”

Kitty closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ll try.”

“How about we do something fun this weekend? Something to take our minds off the drama around here?”

“Like what?”

“There’s a show at the Ledge Sunday night. That band everyone’s talking about? The lead singer goes to our school?”

“Bangers and Mosh.”

“Right! They’re in the school play and we’re all supposed to go and support them.” He pulled her close. “What do you say? Ready to make our relationship DuMaine-official?”

Coach Creed was addressing the leadership class—beefy hands planted on his hips, legs shoulder-width apart like he was a drill sergeant instead of a second-rate gym teacher—when Kitty entered the classroom after prepping the announcements. He paused, clearly annoyed at the interruption, and glared at her while she took her seat.

“It has been one hundred and twenty-five hours since a member of the ’Maine Men was cut down in cold blood,” Coach Creed continued. “And there are still no suspects in custody. So we’re taking matters into our own hands.” He was wearing a blue ’Maine Men polo shirt two sizes too small, tucked into a pair of camo pants. A complex flowchart drawn in multiple colors adorned the whiteboard behind him.

A smattering of applause rippled through the room. It made Kitty’s skin crawl.

Coach Creed pulled a laser pointer from his pocket and aimed it at the whiteboard. “Based on your assignment from last week, I’ve assembled a profile of the most likely perpetrator. Our primary suspect—the DGM ringleader—is male, between the ages of sixteen and seventeen. He’s a loner, quiet. Maybe with a dangerous, artistic temperament. He’s got a smart mouth, but for the most part he keeps it shut. He doesn’t have many friends, maybe one or two at most, and he feels safe here at Bishop DuMaine, almost like he’s an insider or has a relative who works on staff.”

Kitty licked her lips, which had gone bone dry despite a layer of balm. Coach Creed wasn’t describing some anonymous profile of a suspect, he was describing one person quite specifically. He was describing John Baggott.

Coach Creed smiled wickedly. “Last of all, he’s cocky.” He leaned forward on his desk. “I think we all know the kind of student I’m talking about.”

“Hell, yeah!” Rex said. Tyler reached out and high-fived him.

“That’s what I thought.” Coach Creed straightened up and began to pace behind the desk. “We must be diligent. If we put enough pressure on him, he’ll cave.” He paused. “Did everyone see the fliers around campus?”

“Yes, sir,” Rex said.

“One year of free tuition,” Coach Creed said. “To whoever can force our suspect to confess to his involvement with DGM.”

Force our suspect to confess? This couldn’t be good.

Coach Creed folded his arms across his chest. “It’s time to take back our school.”

A cheer went up, as Rex and a group of ’Maine Men rushed to the whiteboard, where Coach Creed was diagramming the school, circling certain target areas like the quad and the baseball field, as if they were planning an attack.

Coach Creed had whipped the ’Maine Men into a frenzied mob that was about to be unleashed.

She needed to warn Bree.