The Long Game
Page 19
“You saw the video.” She clamored to hide the naked emotion in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”
In Raleigh’s office, when I’d thrown out the possibility that someone had slipped something into Emilia’s drink that night, she’d told me to stop. Begged me to stop.
It would be your word against his, she’d said later. He said, she said.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep from replaying John Thomas’s leering words from earlier that day: If you ask me, someone did Miss Priss a favor. No one should be wound that tight.
From the beginning, that picture had hit Emilia with crippling, devastating force.
“I’m not talking about this,” Emilia said, her voice taut. “You’re not talking about it. No one is talking about it.” She turned on the faucet and began washing her hands. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Yes. There is. I didn’t say that. I didn’t get a vote about whether we talked about this or not. No one got a vote but Emilia.
“I still owe you a favor,” I said.
Emilia reached for a paper towel. “Do I look like I want a pity favor?” she asked.
“Do I look like I feel even an ounce of pity for you?” I shot back.
For the first time, Emilia allowed herself to look at me. Really look at me. I met her stare unflinchingly.
“Fine,” she said after a moment. “You still owe me a favor. I’ll let you know when I want to collect.”
“You do that,” I told her. “And if you decide you want to collect now—I can get you back in that race.”
“The headmaster—” Emilia started to say.
“I can take care of the headmaster.”
“That picture—”
“By the time I’m done,” I said, “that picture will win you this election.”
John Thomas. She didn’t make the last objection out loud.
“Him,” I said, “I’ll take care of for fun.”
There was a long moment of silence, and then Emilia tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “There’s no way you’re that good.”
I smiled. “Try me.”
CHAPTER 16
Emilia and I went back to World Issues. It took me less than a minute to get Vivvie on board. I texted Ivy that I was going to Vivvie’s place after school and bided my time until the bell rang. On the way to Vivvie’s, I made four phone calls.
The first was to Anna Hayden.
“How would you like to stick it to John Thomas Wilcox?” I asked her.
There was a brief pause. “I’m listening.”
“He took that picture of Emilia.” I couldn’t tell Anna more than that—not what I suspected about the circumstances in which that picture had been taken, not the devastating effect that even looking at it had on Emilia. But I could give Anna a moment to think about the fact that in another world, John Thomas might have been sending around pictures of her.
“The headmaster pressured Emilia into dropping out of the race because of that picture,” I continued. “I plan to convince him that was a very bad idea.”
I told Anna what I had in mind.
“I know you probably can’t participate yourself,” I said. Anna wasn’t in the limelight as much as she would have been if her father had been president, but she was the only one of the presidential or vice presidential children who wasn’t already of age. That attracted a certain amount of attention. “But if you could pass the word on—”
“Oh, I’ll participate,” Anna cut in, an edge in her voice. “And so will my friends. Just send me the link and tell me when.”
The next two calls went to Lindsay Li—she of the blackmailing ex-boyfriend—and Meredith Sutton.
Right as we reached Vivvie’s place, I made one final call.
The apartment Vivvie shared with her aunt had round-the-clock security downstairs.
“How are things going?” I asked Vivvie as we reached the elevator. “With your aunt?”
“Good,” Vivvie replied with a little half smile. “She got a job at a local gallery.” Vivvie paused. “We don’t talk about my dad much,” she said quietly.
Vivvie’s father had been part of the conspiracy to murder Justice Marquette. Once things had started to unravel, Major Bharani had “committed suicide.”
Vivvie and I both knew that he had been murdered.
“Sometimes . . .” Vivvie said, and then she trailed off.
“Sometimes,” I prompted.
“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”
In Raleigh’s office, when I’d thrown out the possibility that someone had slipped something into Emilia’s drink that night, she’d told me to stop. Begged me to stop.
It would be your word against his, she’d said later. He said, she said.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep from replaying John Thomas’s leering words from earlier that day: If you ask me, someone did Miss Priss a favor. No one should be wound that tight.
From the beginning, that picture had hit Emilia with crippling, devastating force.
“I’m not talking about this,” Emilia said, her voice taut. “You’re not talking about it. No one is talking about it.” She turned on the faucet and began washing her hands. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Yes. There is. I didn’t say that. I didn’t get a vote about whether we talked about this or not. No one got a vote but Emilia.
“I still owe you a favor,” I said.
Emilia reached for a paper towel. “Do I look like I want a pity favor?” she asked.
“Do I look like I feel even an ounce of pity for you?” I shot back.
For the first time, Emilia allowed herself to look at me. Really look at me. I met her stare unflinchingly.
“Fine,” she said after a moment. “You still owe me a favor. I’ll let you know when I want to collect.”
“You do that,” I told her. “And if you decide you want to collect now—I can get you back in that race.”
“The headmaster—” Emilia started to say.
“I can take care of the headmaster.”
“That picture—”
“By the time I’m done,” I said, “that picture will win you this election.”
John Thomas. She didn’t make the last objection out loud.
“Him,” I said, “I’ll take care of for fun.”
There was a long moment of silence, and then Emilia tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “There’s no way you’re that good.”
I smiled. “Try me.”
CHAPTER 16
Emilia and I went back to World Issues. It took me less than a minute to get Vivvie on board. I texted Ivy that I was going to Vivvie’s place after school and bided my time until the bell rang. On the way to Vivvie’s, I made four phone calls.
The first was to Anna Hayden.
“How would you like to stick it to John Thomas Wilcox?” I asked her.
There was a brief pause. “I’m listening.”
“He took that picture of Emilia.” I couldn’t tell Anna more than that—not what I suspected about the circumstances in which that picture had been taken, not the devastating effect that even looking at it had on Emilia. But I could give Anna a moment to think about the fact that in another world, John Thomas might have been sending around pictures of her.
“The headmaster pressured Emilia into dropping out of the race because of that picture,” I continued. “I plan to convince him that was a very bad idea.”
I told Anna what I had in mind.
“I know you probably can’t participate yourself,” I said. Anna wasn’t in the limelight as much as she would have been if her father had been president, but she was the only one of the presidential or vice presidential children who wasn’t already of age. That attracted a certain amount of attention. “But if you could pass the word on—”
“Oh, I’ll participate,” Anna cut in, an edge in her voice. “And so will my friends. Just send me the link and tell me when.”
The next two calls went to Lindsay Li—she of the blackmailing ex-boyfriend—and Meredith Sutton.
Right as we reached Vivvie’s place, I made one final call.
The apartment Vivvie shared with her aunt had round-the-clock security downstairs.
“How are things going?” I asked Vivvie as we reached the elevator. “With your aunt?”
“Good,” Vivvie replied with a little half smile. “She got a job at a local gallery.” Vivvie paused. “We don’t talk about my dad much,” she said quietly.
Vivvie’s father had been part of the conspiracy to murder Justice Marquette. Once things had started to unravel, Major Bharani had “committed suicide.”
Vivvie and I both knew that he had been murdered.
“Sometimes . . .” Vivvie said, and then she trailed off.
“Sometimes,” I prompted.
