Chapter Four
Part 3
“See you tomorrow!” I said to David as I left
his room later that night. Danielle had already bailed an hour ago
to get some studying done, and Christian had never returned. David
had theorized that his
roomie was in the ancient-history section of the library, tearing his
hair out over his video game.
I’d spent the last hour chatting with David about Star
Wars (he knows everything), school and
his social life—or lack thereof. Like Danielle, David seemed to
be a bit of an outcast, which was probably why they clung to each
other’s side. Even though David was such a
gregarious guy
around Danielle and me, I wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t rolling
in friends. He was suspicious of everyone around him, and that could
be a bit off-putting. I had a feeling the only reason he trusted
me so much was because he was attracted to me—which only made me
feel all the more compunction for
messing with his head.
I sighed and trudged down the hall. This undercover gig was tough
on the conscience.
As I rounded the corner toward the stairs I slammed right
into someone and had to hold onto the wall to catch my balance.
Imagine my shock when I realized I was looking down at the battered boots
of none other than Jon Wisnewski.
“Sorry,” I said, looking up into his deep green eyes.
He held my gaze for a split second, then sidestepped around
me and yanked his keys out of his pocket.
“I guess I’m kind of a klutz tonight,” I said, attempting
to get him to respond. Nothing. I stared at his back as he worked
the lock on room 225.
Sheesh. Give a girl a break.
Say something! You know about him now! Mention the
drums! Or snowboarding!
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t supposed to know that stuff about
him, and if I just blurted it out he was definitely going to think
it was absurd.
“Uh—”
But it was too late. Jon slipped into his room and shut the
door in my face.
“I guess Hereford doesn’t have a class in
courtesy,” I muttered, turning
away.
At that point it was easy to surmise that
earning Jon’s trust was going to be the most
arduous part
of my job. I was going to have to get creative with that one. But
I could ponder that
later, in bed, where I did my best thinking. (I always keep a pad
by my bed to jot down my middle-of-the-night brainstorms, and last
semester I’d written an entire paper between the hours of 2 and
5 a.m. My roommate, Cathy, had been slightly
perturbed.)
For now I had to get to my dorm, grab my cell and find a quiet spot
from which to call my mom. She would worry if I didn’t check in
soon.
“Ms. Sharpe!”
Headmaster Cox’s barrel of a chest greeted me at the bottom
of the stairs. How did someone with such
brawn end
up being a headmaster? Shouldn’t he be chopping logs somewhere?
“Headmaster Cox!” I shot back,
mimicking his emphasis.
His jaw clenched at my
irreverence.
“It is after 10 p.m.”
This meant nothing to me, so I just stared back at him.
“Female students are not allowed in the boys’ dormitory past
10 p.m. and vice versa,” he told me. “While you are a student here
I expect you to follow the rules of our institution.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Of course,” I
said. “No problem.”
Then I walked around him and sauntered down the hallway, trying
to show him how little an effect he had on me.
What is that guy’s deal? I wondered. Doesn’t
he want me to solve this case?
