Page 9 of They're Watching You

Annabelle reaches out to stop me. “No need to flash that filthy thing around,” she says, indicating the threadbare FC Barcelona wallet my aunt brought back for me years ago. “You can settle your account with me later.”

Settle my account? What’s going on? Either Annabelle and her fancy society friends like to pass the time by gambling away their rich parents’ money, or she’s messing with me. Maybecoinisn’t old-timey speak, and she actually means we’re playing for pennies.

But, she adds, “One hand. One hundred and two hundred-dollar blinds.” Then she moves up to the top of the marble steps where there’s more room to play.

It’s a kick to the gut. Let’s hope one of my teammates has an extra pair of cleats.

Annabelle digs into the Prada bag she uses for ballet, her hand emerging with a fistful of colored, glassy stones. “We’ll use these for chips,” she says, as if it’s perfectly natural to have a collection of rocks in your expensive gym bag. She lets half of them drop into my palm before tossing two blue stones in between us. Guessing I’m the small blind, I add one.

“I’m dealer.” Anabelle shuffles the cards and deals two to each of us, facedown.

She never asked if I knew how to play the game. Maybe not knowing the rules is an automatic forfeit of your shot at an invitation. The truth is I learned Texas Hold’em from a ten-year-old during a babysitting gig a couple summers back. We used Halloween candy as ante. Even if that kid taught me the game correctly, I’m not sure I remember the rules.

But I don’t tell her that. I simply pick up my cards and analyze them. A four of hearts and an eight of spades. I remember enough about the game to know that this is a crappy hand. My shot at infiltrating this society is dwindling before my eyes like a dying fire. And everything rests on this one round. With no other option but to call, I toss my second stone in to match hers.

There goes two hundred bucks.

Next, Annabelle flips three cards faceup between us: ace of hearts, seven of clubs, and ace of diamonds. She smiles. “I’ll bet.” A surge of fear has me jittery. She must have pocket aces. She lifts two stones, a pink and a red, in her perfectly manicured fingers, and I resist the urge to glance at my bitten and likely dirty fingernails. Whatever. Maybe it’s true what they say about ballerinas, and her toes look worse than my fingers do.

I’ve got nothing. I’m going to lose hundreds of dollars I don’t possess, and my dad is going to freak and withdraw me from the academy.

Annabelle stares pointedly at me, and I jerk to attention. This could be my only shot at finding Polly. Something kept her from confiding in me that day on the lawn, but she wanted to. She planned to show me something. She wanted me to find this invitation. If I get in, someone in the society could help me contact her, so I can put my fears to rest, once and for all.

Another thought pushes in my head—one I try desperately to ignore. That maybe I’ll find out exactly what had Polly so terrified before she vanished. Images flicker now of caskets and dirt-coated air. Of smoke and flames and a fiery roof crashing down. I push two bright blue glass stones out in front of me. “Call.”

She flips over the next card, which has a name that’s completely escaped my memory. The turn? The burn?Burnwins for most accurate, because it’s a five of spades. If Annabelle has even one ace, she’s going to trample all over my crummy hand.

Annabelle checks this time, making me feel slightly better. She can’t be too confident in her hand if she’s checking, can she?

Suddenly, a thought punches my gut: What if she’s trying to make methinkshe has a poor hand? To get me to throw more money away.

I inhale slowly, drawing any ounce of recklessness and negligence from my responsible girl bones. I can’t fold. I have to keep going. “Check.”

My stomach roils as Annabelle turns over the fifth and final card. This one I remember: the river. Maybe I remember because my stomach feels like it’s going over a series of rapids as I calculate the total number of hundred-dollar stones I’m about to lose.

The card is a six of diamonds, and suddenly my riotous stomach settles as something like hope smooths it over. A four, a five, a six, a seven, and an eight. Holy crap.

I’ve got a straight.

The second Annabelle checks, I push a rock into the pile. Then, for good measure or because my parents are going to kill me when they find out I lost all this money, I toss in one more stone.

Annabelle peers down at her cards, her expression unreadable. A moment later, her limber frame lifts and falls in a loud sigh as she tosses her cards. “Fold,” she says, frowning and gathering up all her chips. “You’ll get your money shortly.”

“No, that’s okay,” I say, so relieved and excited I can barely speak. “I honestly just wanted—”

Annabelle’s eyes dart to mine like a falcon to a mouse. “Whatdidyou want, Maren Montgomery?”

My gaze falls to the cards, and I start stacking them back into the box. “The deal was a shot at becoming one of you.”

Annabelle stares at me, her gaze slipping over my hoodie and my sweatpants like a cattle rancher surveying his product. She’s about to go back on her word. Clearly, I’m not society material. She stands, dusting herself off and slinging her bag over a shoulder. “You’ll find what you require in your dormitory. Good day.”

Does she mean the money? I don’t care about her money. I open my mouth to call after her, still clutching the little glass stones. But I stop. Because she cranes her delicate neck back and says, “Well played, Maren. I think you’ll do nicely for us. And keep the pebbles. You’ll be needing them.”

And she winks.

Four

When I return to my room after dinner, the invitation is lying on my pillow. Which is creepy. Either my hall proctor is in the society, or someone broke in.

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