Notable (Smith High) (12 page)

P
hnom Penh made quite a first impression.

Enormous colored umbrellas simultaneously protected baskets of produce and shiny tourist wares; people bustled and wove around stalls; motorcycles zipped in and out at breakneck speeds. Everywhere I looked appeared to be bursting with color, movement, and the sound of outraged tuk-tuk drivers honking their discontent.

It was nothing like Oregon, but it also made me feel . . . alive. I didn’t even try to suppress my grin as I pressed my nose against the window.

“It’s beautiful!”

Houston rubbed his eyes blearily. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done to Chelsea Halloway?”

“What do you mean?”

“You
hate
Cambodia.”

“No,” I corrected, “I
hate
being tossed around in a game of parental hot potato. Cambodia, on the other hand, is . . . growing on me. A little.”

My parents were always so incredibly wrong, it was hard to admit that this time they’d actually had a point. Not about the program being a nonstop intellectually stimulating adventure—I’d nearly fallen asleep during all of Mr. Horny’s lectures—but about admiring the strength of the country. It had taken a while for me to appreciate it; mostly because of the jet lag, humidity, and y’know, whole eating-gigantic-spiders thing, but the air had a vibrancy to it I’d never experienced before. Maybe because the temples stood as proof that when hundreds of thousands of people come together to create something beautiful, even decades of genocide, starvation, and the ever-present land mines couldn’t erase it with one bloody streak. Cambodia had been kicked around and treated like crap for years, but judging from the view out my window, it was doing more than just surviving. It was thriving.

It made me feel like maybe I could figure out a way to do the same.

Although I quickly discovered it was a lot easier to enjoy the exotic atmosphere when a Plexiglas window was filtering the experience. Not quite as magical when I was part of the crowd, clutching my bags, and signaling for a tuk-tuk—only to be swarmed by four hollering drivers who each swore that
they
would give the best price.

Ben turned to me. “Where are we going, Chelsea?”

Maybe that’s what I should have said. But I couldn’t simply accept our failure before we had even tried to change the outcome.

“The Royal Continental Hotel, please,” I instructed the two nearest tuk-tuk drivers before I climbed into one of them behind Amy.

“Are congratulations in order?” she asked me. “You sat next to Houston for a five-hour bus ride without attempting to strangle him even once. That seems like a good sign to me.”

Liz slid into the tuk-tuk behind me, cutting off all means of escape. “Did the two of you finally work out your weird damage?”

“Weird
damage?
” I instinctively tossed my hair, only to find that with my shorter haircut it didn’t produce the same effect. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Liz.”

“Uh huh.”

“As long as Houston doesn’t start bossing me around again, we’ll be just fine.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Sure. And there was no weird tension between the two of you whatsoever. Nope, not at all. Phew, glad we got all that cleared up.”

I stared at Amy while I tried to process the implications of what she was saying. She thought Houston actually . . . liked me? And not just in a
hey, I think you should probably look into getting some serious psychological help
kind of way—assuming that was even a thing.

Interesting.

Usually, I had no trouble figuring out exactly where I stood with a guy. Then again, most of the guys who tended to approach me at parties weren’t exactly subtle in letting me know that their interest was directly correlated to the amount of clothing I happened to be wearing. But I had yet to get a good read on Houston, which made it extra strange to think that
Amy
had a better take on the situation.

Not that this was really the time to obsess over whether some guy liked me.

That was way too high school. Even for me.

“All weird tension will just have to take a backseat,” I said wryly as we drove through the very impressive gate to the Royal Continental Hotel. “This is going to be a working vacation.”

The girls’ jaws dropped as they soaked in their first views of the hotel I had researched back in Siem Reap. The pictures hadn’t done it justice. Everything was sleekly perfect, from the stone wall outside with its gold lettering, to the cream-colored foyer with its mahogany furniture, to the immaculate cream-colored couches.

“What are we doing here?” Liz muttered nervously. “What happened to playing it safe and staying at hostels?”

“That plan got an upgrade. We’re staying in the dragon’s lair now.”

I didn’t give her a chance to demand an explanation. Instead, I sauntered over to the front desk as if I were simply strolling across the quad back at Smith High School. I learned a long time ago that if you look like you own the place, people will accept your authority without question.

Even if you smell like you’ve spent the past five hours on a Cambodian bus.

“Hello.” I smiled confidently at the woman behind the concierge desk. “I’d like to book a suite for the next four days. What do you have in the way of availabilities?”

The woman tried ineffectively to hide her surprise as she typed my request into the system.

“Smoking or nonsmoking?”

“Nonsmoking,” I answered readily, as Houston and Ben quickly moved across the lobby to join us. They both looked determined to pull me back before I could do something reckless.

Too late.

“And how many beds will you be wanting?”

“At least three. Ideally, four.”

She nodded and added in that detail.

“Our deluxe suite is available. It comes with wireless Internet, access to the club floor, continental breakfa—”

“I’ll take it.” I slid the emergency credit card my dad had given me across the desk, without so much as a shred of guilt. Trying to rescue my professor from a Cambodian jail ought to count as an “emergency situation” by anyone’s standards.

“What are you doing?” Houston hissed under his breath. “This is insane!”

I ignored him, accepted the key cards with my most gracious smile, pointed to our luggage for the bellman, and headed straight toward the elevators.

“I can’t wait to discuss our sightseeing plans,” I said pointedly to the group, “
once we’ve gotten settled into our suite.
”

Houston shut up, but he didn’t look happy about it. Although when I opened the door to suite 17, everyone else started grinning broadly enough to make up for his blatant frustration.

“Holy crap.” Liz hurried over to the windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city below. “This place is amazing!”

Amy flopped down on the nearest bed. “I can definitely get used to this. Maybe we should book it for a full week. You know . . . just in case our rescue takes longer than expected.”

“We can’t afford this place!” Houston pulled the credit card receipt out of my hand, looked down at the total figure, and blanched. “We
really
can’t afford this place!”

“Nobody is asking you to pay for it. So just relax and enjoy.”

“I can do that, Chelsea,” Ben said easily as he prowled around the room. “
Hmm,
I wonder if the minibar is complimentary. . . . ”

“Of course it’s not!” Houston snapped. “Don’t eat anything in there!”

Ben raised his hands in the universal gesture for “Don’t shoot!” “Okay, man. Calm down.”

But it didn’t look like Houston would be capable of doing that anytime soon.

“Chelsea, you can’t book a room like this on your credit card.”

I couldn’t help smirking. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure I just did.”

“How are you going to pay for this?”

I briefly considered lying and then straightened my shoulders. He
definitely
wasn’t going to like the truth, but I refused to let that stop me from saying it. “I’m not the one picking up the tab.”

“The credit card belongs to your parents, right?” Houston’s voice was one of hollow acceptance. “That’s why you don’t care about racking up a bill. Anything to stick it to them. Am I right,
princess?
”

The spacious suite suddenly felt unbearably small and claustrophobic.

“Listen up,
El Paso.
I’m trying to rescue a man from a Cambodian
prison
by making a deal with a
drug tycoon
. On the off chance that everything goes to hell, I’m spending my last few nights on earth sleeping on sheets with a high thread count.”

Everyone soaked in that information for a painfully long moment before Amy broke the silence.

“Do you really think we’re going to die?”

I shrugged. “Technically, we could all die in a tragic tuk-tuk accident. Or get blown up by land mines or something. But yeah, I’m sure the odds of things ending badly increases whenever drug dealers are involved.”

Amy nodded, but the way she began worrying her bottom lip was a dead giveaway that she wasn’t as comfortable with the idea as she wanted to pretend. I seized the opportunity to make eye contact with each of them.

“This is the last time I’m asking. Does anyone want out?”

Liz let out a disgusted sigh. “We’re staying, Chelsea. You’re not the only one who cares about Neal.”

“Then welcome to our new headquarters.”

A
s far as top-secret lairs go . . . ours wasn’t exactly state-of-the art.

We couldn’t access military information off the television or watch the hotel grounds via a live camera feed. But it did come equipped with something else almost as good: room service.

After more than a week of eating nonstop Asian dishes, the first bite of hamburger was downright heavenly. I mainlined french fries with a low hum of satisfaction.

It tasted like home.

I’m not even usually a hamburger person, but that didn’t stop me from keeping pace—bite for bite—with Ben and Liz. Everything on the room service tray tasted irresistible, and I wanted to do nothing more than gorge before sleeping off my food coma.

But that wasn’t really an option.

So instead I cleared off a portion of the table and positioned my laptop so that everyone could see the screen before I began my impromptu presentation.

“This is Rithisak Sovann.” I gestured with a ketchup-dipped french fry at the image of the dark-haired man. “He invested heavily in Cambodia right after the fall of the Khmer Rouge. Rithisak enjoys taking cruises and the finer things in life. He also has more money than even I could spend in a lifetime.”

“Okay,” Liz said around a large bite of lasagna. “So do you want to rob him or nominate him for the Cambodian version of
Dancing with the Stars
?”

“Neither. Rithisak Sovann happens to be Cambodia’s most notorious drug dealer.”

Ben grinned and cocked his head while he pretended to study the photo. “That doesn’t mean he can’t tango. I bet he could pull off some sequins too. A feathered boa would set off his shoulders nicely.”

“You’re hilarious, Ben. Now let’s try to focus. Even if it wasn’t his deal I accidentally derailed, he will definitely have heard the rumors about a missing drug shipment.”

“And if you stole it directly from him?” Houston rubbed his forehead wearily. “What’s your brilliant plan then?”

“Then we’ll do some backpedaling. The last thing we want to do is anger Rithisak Sovann. His Wikipedia page practically comes with a warning. Especially since he’s been known to start shooting when he doesn’t get his way.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. “Explain to me again why this guy isn’t already in jail.”

“Because it pays to be disgustingly rich and have friends in the government. Oh, and it helps when you own the biggest newspaper in Cambodia. He’s got that too.”

Ben ruffled my hair. “Look at our girl—going into spy mode. I’m so proud.”

I batted away his hand, but I couldn’t conceal my smile. Back at Smith High School everyone had dreaded working on a group project with me because they expected I would be dead weight that they would have to carry. Most of the time they had been right too. Why bother trying when you can successfully do nothing?

Now it made a whole lot more sense to me why Jane and Mackenzie spent so many hours poring over all their assignments ; knowing that you were fully capable of handling any problem felt really freaking good.

Still, I tried to play off the whole thing with a joke. “Looks like all those hours I spent cyberstalking boys in high school are really paying off now.”

“Not funny, Chelsea,” Amy said.

“I’m
kidding!
”

Mostly.

“So did your extensive research tell you where we could find this guy?” Liz asked. “The room service is great and everything, but I’d like to get a move on.”

“Actually, uh, that’s the other reason I booked us a suite. Rithisak Sovann owns this hotel.”

“Nothing like sleeping with the enemy.” Houston’s voice remained steady and calm, but his eyes flashed fire. “Let me rephrase that: Nothing like being booked into the enemy’s hotel room. Who else thinks a hostel sounds a whole lot better now?”

“He’s not the enemy . . . yet. He’s the target,” Liz corrected. “And it’s not like he has any idea we’re here, so I don’t see any reason for us to leave.”

I was nodding in agreement when the words
Jane says . . .
began flashing across the tab of my email account, signaling that she had sent me an instant message. I quickly clicked on the tab, relieved to see one very welcome sentence waiting for me in the chat box.

I debated my response for roughly a nanosecond.

“Chelsea?”

My head automatically bobbed in agreement before I realized I had no idea what anyone had said. “Sorry, what did I just miss?”

Houston raised an eyebrow. “Amy asked if everything was all right.”

“Hold that thought,” I said distractedly.

This better not be an elaborate prank, Chelsea. If Scott’s dad staked his reputation as a journalist on a nonstory, I
will
find a way to kick your butt. He’s working to get a news team out to you soon. You are still in Cambodia, right? RIGHT? *cracks knuckles menacingly* *books imaginary flight*

I laughed in disbelief as I imagined classic good girl Jane Smith landing in Phnom Penh and demanding satisfaction for all the time she spent worrying about me for nothing. It wasn’t a particularly menacing image. After watching her barely manage to white knuckle her way through the singing part of the
Romeo and Juliet
audition, she didn’t exactly scare me. Unless she started singing again.

I winced instinctively at the memory before I firmly pushed it aside.

“Reading something good over there that you want to share with the rest of the class?” Houston asked drily.

Not until I had Jane’s response.

I don’t know how long it will take! Believe it or not, this isn’t exactly my area of expertise! Now I need you to tell me where
exactly
you are in Cambodia. Actually, I have a better plan....

A ringing sound instantly filled the air, and I found myself hesitating as I stared at Jane’s invitation to video chat.

Part of me had wanted to keep my Smith High School life separate from my time spent abroad. Initially, I had thought it would help me pretend that my banishment had never happened. All that mattered was the narrative. So as long as I could dismiss the trip as nothing more than a temporary leave of absence, nobody would dare challenge me for the details.

The less information swirling around back home, the simpler it would be to sweep the whole thing under the rug.

But that plan definitely wasn’t going to hold up now.

Houston pointed at the screen, which placed one very nicely corded male forearm in front of me in the process. “Are you planning on answering that anytime soon, princess?”

I straightened at the note of challenge in his voice and clicked to accept the call.

There was no going back now.

“Jane!” The sight of her familiar face filling the screen had adrenaline surging through me as if I’d just executed a perfect
grand jeté
. “How are you?”

She dismissed that question with a slight wave of her hand. “I’m fine, Chelsea. But . . . um, wow . . . just how many people have you killed?”

I stared at her in confusion. “Me personally? Nobody!”

“Oh,” Jane grinned. “Really? Then maybe you haven’t looked in a mirror recently.”

I fingered the choppy ends of my much shorter—much redder—hair and tried not to squirm. “It’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

“Actually, I kind of like it. In fact”—Jane started laughing—“you’re totally rocking it. Not that I should be surprised. This is
you
after all.” She shook her head and was back to being all business. “But I still need you to give me an exact location for the press.”

Amy reddened slightly before she stuttered, “The press? Does that mean we’ll be giving interviews while we stay here? Wow. That’s . . . wow. How did you manage that?”

I turned my attention back to an impatient Jane. “Good question. How
did
you manage that, Jane? Did you convince some big night news program to cover it?”

“No!”
Jane said, shooting me one of her
you better be kidding me
looks. “Of course not! You do realize that the story isn’t
that
groundbreaking, right? It’s not like the Cambodian government has done anything illegal.”

“They took Neal!” I protested hotly.

“Hey, innocent or not, if they busted him with drugs”—Jane shrugged helplessly—“it’s hard to prove he’s not guilty. That could easily happen in the U.S. with the exact same results.”

“But he would’ve gotten a fair trial before being tossed into jail,” I argued.

“Um . . . sure. Nothing
ever
goes wrong with our justice system. We don’t have overworked public defenders or tainted juries or any problems ever. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“Hi. As much as I enjoyed your insightful take on our justice system, do you think we could agree to focus on the task at hand?” Houston drawled. “I would really appreciate it.”

And just like that, Houston had gained the respect of Smith High School’s most strategically goal-oriented student.

“Right. Absolutely. So where are you?”

“The Royal Continental Hotel in Phnom Penh,” Liz answered as she moved behind me. “Suite seventeen.”

“A suite?” Jane choked and then laughed. “How very . . . Chelsea.”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“Oh, nothing.” She swiveled in her seat and called out to someone in the room with her who had chosen not to be onscreen. “Chelsea booked herself a suite.”

That’s when I heard an all-too-familiar masculine laugh. “
Of course
she did. We should’ve guessed as much.”

Jane turned back to me, and for the first time she looked a little apologetic. “Logan and Mackenzie are here with me. I probably should’ve mentioned that earlier. I asked them to help out. . . .”

What was gearing up to be an uncomfortable situation became so much worse when Mackenzie and Logan entered the frame together, especially when she began sheepishly waving at me. I fought the urge to slam my laptop shut.

“Hey, Chelsea,” Logan said easily, then he did a double-take when he got a good look at my hair. He still knew better than to comment on it. “It’s . . . uh, good to see you. High school just isn’t the same without you, Chels.”

I tried to take the words in the spirit in which they were given and forced myself to smile. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Wait.
This
is Logan?” Ben hooted gleefully. I tried to silence him with a kick but connected only with the table leg. “You are
not
what I expected. I had you pegged as a whole lot preppier. I bet you don’t actually own anything with argyle. I’m kind of disappointed.” This time my foot did hit its intended target and he quickly added, “I mean . . . uh, it’s nice to meet you.”

It was pretty obvious from the obnoxious grin widening on Ben’s face that he intended to find a way to tease me about this conversation every day for the foreseeable future.

And it was equally clear that Logan didn’t particularly want him to elaborate on his expectations—or what they had been founded on. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your names.”

“We call him ‘Nuisance’ most of the time,” I supplied quickly. “And Toronto is the guy currently doing an impression of a large-mouthed bass.”

“You’re Mackenzie
Wellesley
.” Houston finally spoke although he looked positively tongue-tied. Maybe it shouldn’t have bothered me that after everything we’d been through it was
Mackenzie
who successfully rattled his ironclad composure—but it did. “I—uh, I saw you perform with ReadySet a few months ago. You’ve got a great voice.”

“Thanks . . . Toronto?” she said tentatively, as if she couldn’t quite believe that was his name but didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

She was just too freaking
nice
for me to even hate her properly.

“It’s Houston, actually.” I thought I heard his voice crack on his own name before he began gruffly clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Mackenzie.”

I glanced at Amy, Liz, and Ben, but they were all too preoccupied trying to play it cool in front of a female YouTube phenomenon to notice Houston’s starstruck behavior.

The whole situation was seriously starting to weird me out.

“Logan and I have been trying to help. But there’s really not a whole lot we can do from here.”

I gritted my teeth as I faked another smile. “Thanks for making an effort, Mackenzie. You really didn’t need to do that. At all.”

Logan met my eyes, and I knew that at least
he
realized that I wanted his girlfriend to back off. Too bad Mackenzie didn’t get the message.

“Right . . . well, I’m glad Scott’s dad was able to pull some strings. Media attention can make all the difference. In fact, during the Spanish American War—” Mackenzie’s voice became increasingly animated as she warmed up to the subject.

“Save it, professor.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t spend another second watching Logan, Houston, Ben, and even
Liz
gaze admiringly at Mackenzie as if they wished she had been the one sent abroad instead of me.

My laugh was brittle. “That came out wrong. Sorry, I meant to say that we’ve got to save
our
professor. Feel free to put that
fascinating
lecture on my tab with the rest of your tutoring sessions. Sound good, Mackenzie? Great. You take care, now!” Then I closed my laptop before anyone could protest.