Get Even (Don’t Get Mad)

THE SURPRISE ALL-SCHOOL ASSEMBLY THE NEXT MORNING was less “surprise” and more “duh” as far as Bree was concerned. Actually, as far as the entire school was concerned. No one in first-period religion even unpacked their bags; they just waited for the perpetually flustered Sister Augustinia to make the announcement before they lined up and filed into the gym.

She passed Olivia in the bleachers. She was nervous, Bree could tell right away. She was biting her lower lip with a savagery that threatened to take off a layer of perfectly pink skin. Olivia was paler than usual too, with purple circles under her eyes that indicated how little sleep she’d gotten the night before.

John walked behind Bree in line, slow and steady, and shimmied onto the bench next to her. She wanted to breach the hideous silence that had descended between them. But what would she say? Sorry I’ve been such an idiot? I know I’ve lost my chance with you, but I hope you don’t hate me? It all sounded hollow and pointless and lame.

The gym was electric, but not in the same chattery way it had been on the first week of school when a similar assembly had played out. Today it was more like the entire student body was tensed, preparing for a punch in the face. No one more so than Bree.

It was surreal, in a way. Total déjà vu—Mr. Phillips setting up the microphone, the cadre of police officers, Father Uberti and members of the administration huddled together in conversation. Bree sat in practically the same row, John by her side, with the same knots in her stomach. And yet the world had changed so drastically in the last few weeks as to make the gym almost unrecognizable, and the excitement Bree had felt then had been replaced by sickening dread.

Bree spotted Kitty as soon as they took their seats. She was standing near Father Uberti, her hands clasped before her. Bree wondered when she planned to turn herself in.

Father Uberti left the school officials and approached the police officers for a quick chat. Looked like things were about to get hopping. Bree slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and looked at the prewritten text she had prepared. Yep, that would do nicely.

“If everyone would quiet down and take their seats,” Father Uberti said. The announcement was needless. Every butt was on a bench, every mouth was closed, every set of eyes trained on the microphone.

“Good,” he said. “Before we begin today, our student body vice president, Kitty Wei, has asked to say a few words.”

Shit. She was going to do it right this freaking second. It’s now or never. Bree hit Send on her phone, and sent two little words barreling out into the cybersphere.

My turn.

“What are you doing?” John whispered.

But Bree ignored him. She watched Kitty with bated breath, registered the moment her phone vibrated in her pocket, the instant she decided to see what it was.

“Kitty?” Father Uberti said, none too patiently. “We’re waiting.”

Then, the moment Bree had been waiting for. The moment Kitty realized what Bree was about to do.

Olivia turned around at the exact instant Bree shot to her feet.

“Don’t!” Olivia cried out. But it was too late.

Bree shouted into the silent gym. “I’m the one you’re looking for. I’m DGM.”

The entire gym pressed in on her at once. Voices shouted—some angry, some congratulatory, all extremely loud.

“You crazy bitch.”

“I knew it was you!”

“Way to go.”

“Free DGM! Free Bree!”

Bree felt her body being jostled in every direction as people reached out and patted her on the back. Didn’t they believe she was a killer?

Then Olivia’s face, tears streaming down her gorgeous cheeks. “Why?” she mouthed.

But Bree just smiled. She had the least to lose, and Kitty had said it herself: this was the only way. Mr. Anonymous would be satisfied. For now.

Fingers laced between her own, and Bree turned to find John looking down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” she said, desperately hoping he wouldn’t hate her forever. “It was too dangerous for you to know.”

“But . . .” His voice trailed off and Bree watched as weeks of emotion cycled rapidly across his face—anger, frustration, sadness, pride, understanding. “Your dad won’t bail you out this time,” he said at last. “You’ll be on your own.”

“I know.”

Then he pulled her to him as the police pushed their way into the bleachers, enveloping her fiercely with his arms as if he’d never let her go. “I know you didn’t kill them,” he whispered in her ear.

Several pairs of strong arms pried her away from John, but she hardly felt them. The only thing in the world was John’s body pressed tightly against her own, as she gazed up into his eyes.

“Bree Deringer,” an officer said. “You are under arrest for the murders of Ronald DeStefano and Richard Creed.” They wrenched her from John’s arms, but her eyes never left his face. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she needed him to know. Her Miranda rights faded into the background as they pinned her arms behind her back and handcuffed her. Still, all she could think about was John.

“I love you,” she said.

John stared at her silently, then a grin spread across his face. Lopsided and wicked, and every inch Han Solo. “I know.”

She smiled as the police led her away. John had been right all along.

Nothing would be the same.