The Lies That Bind (15 page)

Walking into school the next day, I realized it probably would have been more efficient to just sleep in one of the classrooms. The chants of the Brotherhood still echoed in my ears. Watching Bradley take the reins of the Brotherhood had created more questions than it answered. Was Alistair telling the truth? If he had nothing to do with Bethany’s disappearance, maybe we needed to be talking to Bradley.

Either way, we were all exhausted, confused, and, with each passing hour, more freaked out. Every time I passed a boy in the halls I felt his eyes on me and wondered—is he a Brother? Did he send me the text of Bethany? Am I next?

When I saw Seth rushing down the hall toward me between classes, I was so excited to see a friendly face that I barely noticed the thick booklet of printed pages he had clasped in a death-like grip to his bony chest. But I should have seen the collision coming. Any time Seth so much as speed-walked, he either tripped or ran into something or someone. It was like he was walking on Bambi legs.

This time Seth looked left and a varsity football player veered in from the right after doing one of those shoulder-jerk fake-out moves meatheads are so fond of. Seth immediately tucked himself into the fetal position with the mysterious pages tucked beneath his chin. Jock Strap lifted his leg like he was either going to kick Seth while he was down or pee on him like a dog, but before he could make his move I slid between them.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re not supposed to hit girls?”

“He’s not a girl,” Jock Strap growled.

“Wow, athletic and quick on the uptake. You must be a real catch.” I gave him my sweetest smile.

“Yeah, right.” Jock Strap laughed and then abruptly stopped laughing after he realized what he’d said. “I mean, the ladies love me and I’m smart and…God, Lowry, you’re such a…a…” He turned and walked away.

“Well played, Jacques…Strap.” I whispered the last word so only Seth could hear it.

“His name is Jeremy, Kate.” Seth rasped from his tiny-man cocoon before sitting up and handing me the papers. “It’s all here.” His breath smelled faintly of sour-cream-and-onion potato chips. It was 9:54 a.m.

After we witnessed Bradley’s little crowning ceremony last night, Seth had promised to approach his online buddy ConspiracyLuvR to determine exactly what was going down within the Brotherhood. Judging from the weight of the pages, Seth had gotten a ton of information, and I could have kissed him, sour-cream-and-onion breath and all. As hard a time as I gave Seth for trolling conspiracy blogs, facilitating chats, and theorizing with creepers who had screen names like AgntDbleOHvn and SkrtPlotMan, at moments like this I understood how lucky I was to have him.

Let’s be honest, those geeks weren’t about to give up their inside information to just anyone (especially a girl with bright blue hair), and because of Seth, we were all one step closer to finding Bethany before it was too late. I flashed him my first genuine smile of the day and tucked the pages into my bag.

“Thank you, Seth. Seriously. What would I do without you?”

He blushed, as usual, and nodded toward the clock, which offered us about one more minute before third period. “No biggie. You really should thank Mar…er…ConspiracyLuvR. I swear he was a member of the Brotherhood during his glory days.”

I raised one eyebrow. Hard to believe anyone who maintained an online identity as ConspiracyLuvR had ever experienced “glory days,” but I didn’t have time to argue. McAdams was a stickler for the bell, so I’d have to run if I wanted to make it to class on time, and I hated running.

In addition to monitoring detention, McAdams was one of those old-school teachers who “taught” using transparencies of lecture notes created in the mid-’70s, showed occasional film strips (I’m not kidding) of war documentaries, and forced us to answer every question at the end of each textbook chapter, including the dreaded “Take It to the Field!” ones that required us to interview grandparents about the Great Depression or keep a journal from the perspective of a Native American.

The only thing that made him semi-popular was the fact that he hadn’t updated his exams since his first year of teaching, which, judging from his sagging jowls, was sometime immediately following the Revolutionary War. So everyone knew exactly what was going to be on his tests before he gave them. The downside was that he always reported tardies to the office and timed all trips to the bathroom.

Sadly, it took me more than three minutes to pee (excuse me for actually washing my hands), and I’d already been given five demerits for being late to his class, so McAdams and I weren’t going to be splitting a best-friend necklace anytime soon.

A fresh transparency of notes was already being projected and the bell was ringing as I slipped into my seat. The bulk of the class was already hunched over notebooks copying like mad, but I couldn’t remember the date for the life of me and could barely read the words. Seth’s notes were calling to me from the pocket of my bag. No matter how riveting the fifteen bullet points beneath “The Two Big Powers and Their Cold War” were, today it just wasn’t happening.

I raised my hand. “Mr. McAdams?” He lowered the newspaper he was reading and scowled at me. My hair never went over well with the sixty-and-over set. “Can I use the bathroom?” I pulled the strap of my bag over my shoulder and patted it for good measure, implying that this was the time of the month a girl would need to bring a bag to the bathroom.

“Ms. Lowry, I am confident that you
can
use the restroom,” he said, raising the paper again, the lumbar support of his computer chair squeaking beneath his weight.

I rolled my eyes. I hated when teachers made a big show out of “can” and “may.” It was such a waste of time.

“Oh…er…may I go to the bathroom?” I adjusted the bag again in case he hadn’t seen it. I thought about flashing him a tampon but figured that might be overkill.

Heavy sigh. “Three minutes. And take the pass.”

McAdams was famous for his hall pass. It was a stuffed gray squirrel. Not a stuffed animal, but an actual live squirrel that had died and was subsequently stuffed. To call it disgusting was the understatement of the year. The thing’s fur was matted and greasy at the same time, and its beady glass eyes always seemed to be begging me to set it free.

I gingerly picked up the squirrel between the tips of my two fingers, trying to make as little finger-to-squirrel contact as humanly possible. As soon as I set foot in the hallway, I tucked little Nutty (that’s what I liked to call him) under my arm and booked it down the hall in an effort to both maximize my three minutes and put an end to my relationship with the scuzzy, STD-infested rodent.

I’d barely locked the stall door before whipping out Seth’s pages.

ConspiracyLuvR: Hi.

SethaSaurus: Hi.

Oh my God, it was like a bad first date. I scanned down to where the conversation picked up a little and Seth asked questions other than “How are you?”

ConspiracyLuvR: Sources indicate that the Brotherhood was first modeled off of the Republic of Rome.

Okay, based upon our viewing of their little toga party last night, this was not new information.

ConspiracyLuvR: In the beginning, there was no set leadership, granting all members equal power. But back in the ’70s, the society was gaining little traction while the Sisterhood maintained absolute political control over the school and much of the surrounding community.

Apparently the Sisterhood had some glory days of its own. I wondered what it had been like for them sneaking around below the school without any concerns of the Brotherhood invading their territory.

ConspiracyLuvR: They needed leaders. As a result, three of the bigwigs decided to form a triumvirate and things slowly began to turn around. Many of the original leaders went off to serve in Congress and one made it all the way to the Oval Office.

I let the notes rest in my lap as I recalled the previous night, the Brothers circling their new emperor, chanting, honoring. Bradley was obviously selected as the Brotherhood’s new leader. They had spoken about coming together,
Conventus
, joining as one. Apparently the Brotherhood was doing a bit of in-house restructuring. Perhaps that was why he ruled alone. Who needed three douche bags when you had one Bradley Farrow?

But I couldn’t help but wonder how the other Brothers felt about Bradley assuming absolute power. I wondered if potential Brotherhood turmoil might in some way be connected to Bethany’s disappearance. It seemed too big a coincidence for the two not to be connected.

The remaining notes from ConspiracyLuvR theorized about the new headquarters after Seth requested information about access to their rooftop lair. Nada. Apparently we were on our own if we wanted to get up close and personal. And we needed to get all up in their business if we were going to find Bethany.

Speaking of getting all up in business, my three minutes had come and gone.

When I slunk back into my desk, page three of the class notes was being projected and my last exam sat face up on my desk, a huge, red 63 percent scarlet letter mocking me at the top. Apparently having the old test only helped if you actually took the time to study it. Crap.

But worse was the chicken scratch below: “See me.” Double crap. “See me” had to be the two most dreaded words ever to be written in red ink. I’d never experienced a time when a teacher wanted to “see me” to discuss the newest show on Bravo or Nordstrom’s semi-annual sale, which under normal circumstances were pretty much the only things I’d want to discuss at great length. Something told me McAdams wasn’t a closet Bravo junkie.

Four pages of incoherent notes later, the bell rang and I shuffled my books together to shove them in my bag. And that’s when something sparkly caught my eye. My hand hovered over the sparkle-covered book, frozen and shaking. I knew exactly what it was before my fingers even touched the crinkled plastic cover.

Our slam book.

I ran my fingers over the glitter-puff, paint, and rhinestone-blanketed cover, and memories of Grace, Maddie, and me feverishly filling it in lower school washed over me. We had poured crushes, favorite outfits, hobbies, secrets, pretty much everything we could think of that held any sacredness into the joint diary.

It had been stolen months ago by the Brotherhood or the corrupt police or God only knows who, and now it was back. I gently lifted the cover and saw each of our names written in the bubbly, childish handwriting that had been replaced years ago with straighter, more grown-up print, devoid of the hearts and stars that used to dot our I’s. Tears filled my eyes. How could something that was so lost so suddenly be found?

A grumble ripped me from my thoughts, and I carefully wiped beneath my eyes so my mascara wouldn’t smudge. “Ms. Lowry?” Great. Now McAdams felt sorry for me. “Your test.” Or not.

“Oh, right, Mr. McAdams, sorry.”

“Tutor. You.” He jabbed a meaty finger in my direction, and I wondered why I’d never noticed that he spoke Neanderthal.

I didn’t have time for this. “Um…okay?” It didn’t take a genius to know that I could be tutored in World History from now until graduation, but until Bethany lumbered home and took her rightful place beside Taylor and I stopped collecting mysterious droppings from my dead best friend, my 63 percent would remain a 63 percent. I had to straighten things out at Pemberly Brown before I could even consider tackling World War II.

Mr. McAdams then made a big show of unearthing a clipboard with the names of about twenty star pupils who made it their mission in life to impress teachers and earn above a 4.0, all in preparation for some fantastical
Good
Will
Hunting
–style academic debate at a college bar in a fruitless effort to finally get laid.

“How ’bout them apples,” I whispered under my breath.

“Sorry?” McAdams furrowed his white unibrow in my direction.

I spotted Seth’s name on the list he was holding. “Oh, I was just saying that he’s my neighbor.” I leaned in to point to his name, figuring Seth would be the least of all evils. He never met a conspiracy he didn’t want to dissect, and the Bethany-Brotherhood situation would most definitely trump Cold War Russia.

But at the last minute I saw another name. A name that sparked an idea. A name that might just bring me one step closer to saving Bethany. A name that brought to mind togas and Romans and empires falling like dominos.

“Bradley Farrow. He lives next door,” I lied. “He’s helped me before.”

Just like that, I was in. And I didn’t even need a Trojan horse.

The Farrows’ house looked like it had been ripped from the English countryside and slapped onto a spacious lot in northeastern Ohio. I half expected Mr. Darcy to explode out of the hedges on horseback.

My hand shook a little as I reached up to pound the brass knocker against the huge front door that was probably made of wood recovered from a French monastery in the seventeenth century. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my frazzled nerves as I heard footsteps bounding toward the door.

It’s just a study date. It’s just a study date. It’s just a study date.

Oh God, this was so much more than
just
a study date. I needed information. I had no idea where the Brotherhood was hiding Bethany, but there was no doubt in my mind that the answer was hidden in their new headquarters. If I could just figure out a way to get up there, I was sure we’d be able to find her.

Bradley’s gorgeous sister, Naomi, answered the door.

“It’s just a study date!”

“Huh?” Naomi stared at me like I had three heads. Good lord, I was a complete moron.

“I mean, I’m here to study with Bradley. McAdams said he’s supposed to tutor me.”

“Um, riiight. He’s upstairs, I think. Come on in.” Naomi was still wearing her school uniform, but somehow her ebony skin, golden eyes, and ridiculously high cheekbones made her look like a model strutting around in the latest vintage-inspired fashion. Meanwhile, I was a shortish, blue-haired, wrinkled mess. “Runway ready” was definitely not the term that came to mind when I caught a glimpse of myself in the huge gilt-edged mirror in their foyer.

“Bradley! Kate’s here!” Naomi’s voice bounced off the marble floors and up the stairs. She turned back to me. “Three words I never thought I’d say out loud.”

“Yeah, apparently a 63 percent doesn’t earn you the right to choose your tutor.”

“Oh really? McAdams said you requested me specially.” Bradley stood at the top of the winding wood staircase with an eyebrow raised.

“Busted.” Naomi laughed and walked back toward the family room as I stood there gaping. Bradley’s skin was a shade lighter than his sister’s, and even though a massive staircase separated us, I could practically count each and every eyelash that fringed his golden eyes.

I was so busy debating with myself that his smile took me completely off guard. When Bradley Farrow smiled in your direction, it was kind of impossible not to smile back. Especially if you were unprepared. Luckily for me, I’d spent the better part of a year doing everything in my power to ignore his smile. My brain fought its usual battle with my mouth. And won.

He just shrugged, like he was used to girls going catatonic at the mere sight of him, and started back up the stairs. “Come on up. My books are in my room.”

I used my time walking up the twenty-seven stairs to compose a proper retort.

“Actually, I tried to get him to pair me up with Seth, but he said you had a higher score.” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even made it through the door of his room and came out sounding more like an excuse than a comeback. Not to mention the fact that they were approximately five minutes too late. I was off to a fan-freaking-tastic start.

“It’s tough being perfect.” His smile grew even wider.

“Actually it’s pretty easy when you have all the tests.”

Bradley’s expression darkened. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“Everyone cheats on McAdams’s tests.”

“Right, so you got a 63 percent when you cheated? You must not be as smart as you look.”

Wait, Bradley Farrow thinks I look…smart. That can’t be a compliment.

“Very funny. I didn’t cheat. Obviously. But I do need to get my grade up, so let’s just get this over with.” I threw my bag down next to a purposely beat-up couch that looked like it’d been torn right out of the pages of Restoration Hardware. He threw his body down into it and stretched out his legs, bending both arms behind his head as though he were settling in for some sort of show.

The alarm clock next to Bradley’s bed read 3:23 p.m. If all went as planned, we’d get in approximately three minutes of studying before he got the call.

“So there’s this country called Germany. It’s in Europe. You might have heard of it.” Bradley watched me carefully to see if I was going to take the bait, but I just ignored him. Two more minutes and I’d be able to search his room for information. I started looking around, planning where to start.

Bradley’s bedroom was huge. Honestly, it looked more like a suite at a fancy hotel than a sixteen-year-old’s bedroom. His king-sized bed was covered in a navy duvet with a thread count way higher than my IQ, and a huge rolltop desk was tucked in the corner near the window. A few feet away from the couch was a mini-refrigerator, which I assumed was stocked to the nines, and next to that, a shelf lined with every snack imaginable. My parents barely went grocery shopping, let alone outfitted my bedroom with a variety of healthy treats. Seth would have been in heaven.

A documentary about sharks was playing on mute on the flat-screen TV that hung in front of us, and that seemed fitting, considering my plan. After Bradley was called out, I’d start with the rolltop desk and then make my way into the closet. It was huge, but boys were always leaving things in their pockets. Maybe I’d find something…

“Uh, hello? Kate? You still with me?” Bradley fixed his eyes on me patiently. “Sorry if I was acting like a dick earlier. I just hate it when people assume…”

The clock turned 3:26 and I heard Naomi scream from downstairs. Right on time. I had to hand it to Seth; he was always punctual.

“What the…?” Bradley bolted up from the couch and ran for the door. I wasted no time, dodging for his desk and digging in. Old notebooks, pens, pencils, books. Crap. There was nothing even remotely helpful in here.

And then a creamy piece of paper with a hand-drawn crest caught my eye. If there was one thing I’d learned over the past year, it was that the secret societies loved heavy paper and a good crest. The word “Conventus” was scrawled above the unfamiliar crest. I folded the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of my uniform skirt. I didn’t have time to analyze it now. There had to be something else.

The closet. I started ripping through clothes, checking pockets, flinging shoes. When my fingers landed on a soft fleece jacket, I stopped. I remembered the picture of Bethany laughing and Bradley lurking. This was the jacket he had on the night of Obsideo. I slid my hand into the pocket and felt something hard and square and covered in tiny crystals. I pulled out a phone and immediately flipped it over. Bethany’s name was bedazzled on the back. I tried turning it on, but the battery was completely dead. Shit. I’d have to take it with me and hope that Bradley didn’t notice it was missing.

I should have heard their footsteps on the stairs. Or the soft sigh of the bedroom door opening, the change in atmosphere as the air shifted. Or even the sound of their breath moving in and out of their lungs.

But I missed all of that. In fact, I missed just about everything up until I heard Naomi say, “What is she doing in there?”

Thankfully, I managed to slide the phone into my pocket before I puked all over the designer contents of Bradley Farrow’s custom closet.