Page 22 of They're Watching You

“You mean that guy who helped you out of the cathedral last night?” Remington asks, forehead wrinkled. “He didn’t look like he hated you. Not at all.”

“Wha—” But I don’t have time to playwhat-the-hell-did-he-mean-by-that? We’ve got a game to win, and the same competitive buzz that fuels me during every lacrosse match, basketball tournament, and soccer game runs through me now. “I’m not asking Gavin to dance. Next suggestion.”

“I could be the distraction this time,” he offers. “If it were you, what could I say or do to divert your attention long enough to allow someone to swipe your jewelry?” He peers down at me doubtfully, like he doesn’t have a shot. Like he didn’t have a gorgeous girlfriend the past two years. Up close, I notice the small scar left by a hard hit in football back in Form I. It runs through his right eyebrow, amplifying that ruggedly handsome appeal, and it’s possible I spent way too much time staring at him when he wore a bandage over it in Professor Gross’s class.

“Hmm,” I say, trying to think past the obvious answer:Pretty much anything. “I missed that Intro to Pickpocketing seminar during Form I, but maybe we could stage something. Spill a cup of punch down the front of her dress, you know, ‘accidentally.’ Then start making a big deal of helping. Whip out your dad’s checkbook, if need be.”

“Right. The checkbook I keep on me for just such an emergency.”

“Exactly.”

Remington rests his chin on a fist for a moment. Then, his head of short, dark curls whips in the direction of the dancefloor. “That girl there.” He points out a blond with a black dress. The girl I saw down in the crypt when Annabelle paired us up. Her feathered mask reminds me of a raven.

“Oh yeah. Diana or Dora or something.”

“Donella,” he says, and I feel a bizarre pinch in my gut that he remembered so easily. “Earlier I was trying to figure out what we’re even supposed to do with these pendants—mine’s in my front pocket, by the way. I don’t imagine anyone successfully taking it. Yours, on the other hand…” He tips his head toward my bracelet, which I tuck behind my back in embarrassment. “Anyway, I started trying to figure out where our new friends were keeping theirs.” I resist the urge to cut in and blurt that I was playing that very same game in the crypt. “I noticed Donella is wearing a silver chain around her neck that disappears beneath the neckline of her dress.”

“And the pendant is probably tucked inside,” I finish for him. “Hmm. You may be”—my cheeks burn—“easy on the eyes and everything…but if she recognizes you from the ceremony, she won’t let you get close enough to swipe it.”

“Except she might.” His gaze sweeps the floor. “I happen to know she’s had a crush on me since Form I.”

“Oh.”Oh. “That’s pretty insidious, dude.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He facepalms. “Next idea.”

I try to think, but the more I watch the dancers, the more my brain shifts to thoughts about Polly. Her in that collage photo, wearing a hot pink ball gown as we drank Sprite out of champagne flutes we bought at the dollar store downtown. There weren’t any classes for Form IIs, since the entire grade was supposed to be on the trip, so we had free rein of the grounds. I was bent over the bubbling fountain behind her, dressed in her red gown and giggling hysterically as she tried to snap the photo before the bell tolled and the campus flooded.

Polly’s jaw would be skimming the floor if she saw me here with Remington. She and I always came to these events together. She should’ve been here tonight, keeping me company. Laughing about whom we’d ask to dance if we ever got the guts to ask someone.

If Remington and I don’t win this thing, I may never get Annabelle to tell me the truth about Polly. “You know what, it’s worth a shot. Donella will probably realize it’s part of the game and slap you anyway.”

“Exactly. Which is why you should work on a backup plan in the meantime. Like staging a task to divert from the task.” He arches a brow coyly.

“Not bad.” I nod to myself.

Remington turns to watch Donella, who is clearly plotting an attack of some sort with her partner. “She’s definitely going to slap me.” The ball has reached the point where Chopin is replaced by outdated yet halfway normal music. Waltzing transforms to slow dancing.

“Be so devastatingly charming that she doesn’t.”

“That’s very helpful, thank you, Maren.” He flashes a wry grin, and I can’t help but like the sound of my name on his lips.

“Go get her,” I say, giving him a shove. Because someone just cut the lights, which means another team just knocked off a task while we were standing around. Time is running out. If I’m going to stay in this society—hell, if I’m going to stay in thisschooland have a chance to find out what had my friend so spooked two weeks ago—I have to win.

Nine

The dark room erupts into giggles. Some kid starts hooting like an owl, sparking more laughter.

A warm hand grasps mine. “Here we go.” Remington squeezes and releases my fingers.

A flutter runs through my stomach, but I bump into someone and completely lose track of Remington. I navigate through the masses in the dark, bodies pressing against me, chatter ringing in my ears.

When the lights flicker back on, I scan the room, finally spotting him on the edge of the dance floor. He’s leaning close to Donella, whispering into her ear as her partner watches warily from a few feet away.

Remington holds up an index finger before her.One dance.

There’s no way. She’ll never fall for it. She wants to reach the next level in the society so she can gain twenty-four-seven access to wine and crypts and the Ivies.

But beneath the raven half mask, a pink glow washes over her cheeks, visible even at a distance.

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