Page 7 of They're Watching You
***
Back then, I didn’t know there was a secret society.
I still don’t know for sure. But if Annabelle has any information, I’ll have to start with her. Unfortunately, her giggling groupies are still swarming her table across the room. Instead of discarding my tray, I turn left to the drink station, my mind swimming with bad excuses to interrupt her dinner.Hi, Annabelle. I believe we met once? Before you stole my best friend and then managed to completely lose track of her?
I have to pass her table to get to the soda dispenser, and as I do, her distinct, softened vowels drift into my ears. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m off to bed. Early morning at the studio tomorrow.”
I start to turn, ready to abandon my plan in order to catch her alone. She stands, bringing her iron-curled hair in front of one shoulder with a grand flipping motion, and my eyes catch on a wink of metal at the nape of her neck. There’s something unusual about the clasp on her necklace. It’s only a second before her hair tumbles back down to cover it.
My heart beats faster, and I press on before Annabelle’s tablemates can catch me staring. Continuing to the drink station, I set my tray down to give my now-shaky arms a rest.
Annabelle more thanknowsabout the secret society. She’s in it.
The clasp at the back of her neck might not have caught the attention of some random observer. But it caught mine. It was shaped like a very particular symbol. A circle with a thick bar through the center. I’ve seen it before: the wax seal on Polly’s society invitation.
And it’s just the leverage I need.
Three
The next morning, I wait for Annabelle outside the dance studio, but I have to head to my first class before she ever emerges. I try throughout the day to get her alone, but people are always stuck to her like barnacles.
After lacrosse practice, I throw my warm-ups on over my sweaty workout clothes and head across campus to where I learned (thanks to all my eavesdropping) she’d be at this hour.
She’s seated on the marble steps of the performing arts center now, clothed in tights and leotard, a fluffy gray scarf her only protection from the afternoon wind. She must’ve just finished rehearsals for the spring ballet. I’m not sure what they’re performing this year, but I have no doubt Annabelle’s the star. Last year, she got the lead in the Christmas production, even though she was only a Form III and the role always goes to a Form IV.
She’s engrossed in a textbook as I tiptoe up the steps, my lacrosse bag heavy on my shoulder. Up close, Annabelle’s blond bun is pristine, and there’s a barely there post-workout sheen to her airbrushed skin. When I stop in front of her, clearing my throat, her gaze flicks up, and then she’s back to reading.
“Hi,” I say, smiling as I lower my bag onto a step. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”
“Maren Montgomery,” she says, the strange accent drifting off her tongue in a way that makes me want to copy her. “Form III. Soccer, basketball, and lacrosse. Last year, you were the leading scorer for both the soccer and the lacrosse teams. You were also the only Form II in the ISL to be named All League for soccer.”
A wave of relief rolls through me. She remembers. “I think you know my friend. Polly St. James?”
Annabelle’s perfectly straight neck dips in the world’s curtest nod.
“She talked about you all the time,” I lie.
Annabelle doesn’t move, but I can tell by the slightest twitch of her eye she’s no longer reading. “Did she?” My heart sinks at her skeptical tone. Polly must’ve told her we were barely on speaking terms this year.
“Well, I’m trying to get ahold of her,” I say, my attempt at posh talk coming out like a lousy attempt at an English accent. “She isn’t answering my calls, though.”
“That’s a pity.”
A knot forms in my throat. It’s pathetic, begging someone who only knew Polly a few months to get her to speak to me. “Can you help me get in touch?”
Annabelle looks up at last, and her finely sculpted features soften. “I would if I could,” she says, the words dusted with compassion. “But Polly hasn’t answered my calls either. I think she needed to make a clean break. At least for a while. She’ll return, though. Like she did before. Polly told me all about the last time this happened.”
My neck heats, because I believed I knew everything about Polly St. James, and she never once confided inmeabout running away from home in middle school. I didn’t even find out until her parents mentioned it. “It doesn’t make sense. She had plans to meet me that night. Why would she ask to talk one minute, and then just…leavethe next?”
Annabelle shrugs, brushing a fallen leaf off her tights. “Couldn’t handle the pressures of a school like this.”
Anger needles at me. If that’s true, it’s because of Annabelle. The Polly I knew had no problem handling her course load on top of debate club and theater. The Polly I knew loved this school.
I dig my fingers into my warm-up jacket pocket to grasp the edge of Polly’s invitation to the Gamemaster’s Society. “Yeah, I guess all the late nights and partying might make it difficult to hang in there.” I lower onto the step beside Annabelle as I pull out the card, setting it on my lap. She isn’t wearing the necklace today, and a worry that she’ll simply deny knowing anything about the society plants itself in my head. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to tell me about Polly before I take this to the headmistress?”
Annabelle’s blue eyes cut to mine like a blade. For a moment, I think she’s going to whack me in the head with her textbook. Instead, she laughs. Her gaze, her cheeks, her entire face lights up. “Maren Montgomery,” she says, like she’s learning my name for the first time again. “You think some parties drove Polly away?”
“I think you and yoursocietyare bad news, and now my friend is gone.”