Sweet Like Revenge

12 - Slender Threads

Never in her wildest dreams would 10-year-old Ana have thought that her Nancy Drew obsession would be good for something. Turns out, those late nights under the bedcover with a paperback and good old-fashioned flashlight were simply research for something much bigger.

Poppy's scheme was unbelievably trivial. But the more that I thought about it, the more I realized that its beauty lay within that triviality. Ironically, it was all kind of genius.

All Poppy had to do was uncover some seemingly-minor, slightly-shameful secret; nothing too heavy, but enough to make her victims feel uneasy. Then, when she had them nice and scared, she promised them salvation in return for something so minute; doing an assignment or two on her behalf. Her target would surely be relieved — grateful, even — that their problem could be so easily resolved. So what if they had to do a little extra homework? It was just once or twice. No one would find out. No big deal...

But, then, the hole would get deeper. Because, once they were in, they couldn't get out. Poppy's threats to expose their secret would turn to threats to expose their collusion. Two assignments would turn to three, three to six, then to a couple of exams now and then, and on and on it went. Suddenly, without even realizing how, her victims were completely tangled in a web of their making. Poppy had them trapped indefinitely, spun in a silk made from their own secrets and lies.

It was exactly why I couldn't very well go to Walsh, or to any of my teachers, and straight-up tell them what I knew. Poppy would find out, she would know that Kat had told me, and then she would release the grim details about whatever Kat's brother had been doing with his friends. She had no reason to lie, and her family worked in law enforcement. Kat was right; Poppy was credible.

Besides, even if I could tell someone, I didn't even know who I could trust. I knew that at least one teacher had helped Poppy cheat before; who was to say that more hadn't? Who was to say that they all hadn't? I knew firsthand just how far the school would go to protect its elite.

That's why, if I wanted to uncover Poppy's black market, if I wanted to make sure that she faced real consequences, I needed to expose her properly. Publicly.

I just had no idea how.

"Elle." Neabar's voice cut through our Tuesday training session. She handed me a slip of paper titled Interschool Games. "Permission slips for camp. Twenty copies."

Part of me still loathed running Neabar's errands simply as a matter of principle, but another part of me was excited by the opportunity to see Cameron again now that I knew who he was. Like a moth to a flame, I felt drawn to him. He was a relic of my old life, of a life that I now had to suppress, that I had to pretend never even took place.

That time, when I entered the main office, Cameron was typing at one of the computers. I took a moment to study him in a way that I had neglected to the week prior. The more I stared, the more I wondered how it had taken me so long to recognize him. Sure, he was older, and he had traded in his round glasses for what I assumed were much subtler contacts. But underneath those glasses and those contacts, his eyes were the same as I remembered them. Still so wise, so deep, so sincere.

Cameron looked up from his computer with a rehearsed, courteous smile. But then his eyes met mine, and I watched as his mouth stiffened, the highlight reel of our last encounter likely playing in his head.

"Elle," he said, masking the tension between us with strained civility. "Hi."

"Hi, R—" I stuttered, stopping myself short from greeting him as 'Ron'. Idiot, I scolded myself. "R...rainy day today," was the best save I could think of.

Cameron glanced behind him and out of the office window, frowning slightly. "Is it? I miss all the action here."

Lucky for me he did. The sun hadn't shone so bright in weeks.

Cameron cleared his throat and rose from his seat. "How can I help you?" He was so short with me, so formal and... distant. And, now that I knew who he was, I hated it. Because the comfort that once existed between us all those years ago, the mutual understanding and inherent trust, were gone.

I pointed to the permission slip. "I just need some copies made."

Cameron shuffled his feet, then averted his eyes to the clock behind him with a sheepish smile. "I, ah, really need to... finish this." He motioned to the computer. "But I could show you where the copier is?"

"Sure," I agreed. It wasn't like Neabar would feel my absence, anyway.

Cameron motioned for me to follow him to a small room behind the front desk. It was dimly lit, and certainly less impressive than the front office on the other side of the wall. It was fitting, really; behind its fancy facade, the academy was so... dark.

"The copier." Cameron waved to a clunky machine at the back of the room. "Just pop the slip in the top, enter the number of copies you want, then hit the big, flashing button." He smiled as he walked towards the staff lockers to our left. "If I remember correctly, you're good at pushing buttons."

I cocked my head and frowned. Good at pushing buttons?

"Oh!" I exclaimed, remembering my mistake with the intercom the week prior. "I guess I am."

Cameron laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed something from his locker. A large, manila folder.

I felt my eyes linger on the file, for once wishing I had x-ray vision to scan the contents inside. Instantly, I remembered what Kat had told me at the football match, about how Poppy distributed and collected her folders every Tuesday and Thursday. Sometime during gym...

"Shout out if you need me," Cameron said as he grabbed his phone from his back pocket and checked the time again. Then, quickly, he closed the door behind him, leaving me to my own devices.

I explored the settings on the copier, not because I didn't know what I was doing; I was good at pushing buttons, after all. But I needed to buy myself some time. If Kat was right, if Poppy did meet with Cameron and her other little helpers during lacrosse practice, then there was a chance that I could witness their trade for myself. It wasn't that I didn't believe what Kat had told me. It was just that, if my years reading Nancy Drew had taught me anything, it was that a sleuth always needed to do their own sleuthing.

I meandered in the copy room for what felt like forever, but only heard Cameron's typing on the other side of the door. With five minutes before the end of the period, I acknowledged that I might have had it wrong. Maybe the folder that Cameron had retrieved — as similar as it was to the one that I had seen Poppy give to him the week before — wasn't for her after all. Maybe she wasn't visiting that day.

I sighed, punched some numbers into the copier, and folded my arms defeatedly as the loud hum of the machine ricocheted through the small room.

But then I heard it.