“Set up a sting.”
Chapter Seven
“SO, HOW WAS THE DATE WITH CHASE?” SAM ASKED THE next afternoon as she pulled her American Government book from her backpack.
“Stakeout,” I corrected, mirroring her actions and adding a notebook to the pile of studying materials on her bed.
“Bummer.” She paused. “Did Chase even mention your outfit?”
I fought down heat in my cheeks as I answered. “Yes. And I am never going out looking like that again.”
“Why? You looked hot.”
“I looked like a girl who thought she was going out with a guy and ended up on a stakeout, squatting in the mud in a pair of heels and smelling like jasmine! I felt ridiculous.”
“Oh.” Sam bit her lip. “Sorry. I was just kinda hoping you guys would get together.”
“God, why?” I asked, trying to ignore the blast of embarrassment still coursing through me.
Sam shrugged. “I know how uncomfortable you get around Kyle and me.”
I bit my lip. Was I that obvious? “You guys aren’t that bad.”
“I just thought it would be fun to double-date. Then maybe our kissing and stuff wouldn’t squick you out so much.”
“Thanks.” I shot her a smile. “But I’m not squicked. You guys are fine.”
“Cool,” she said, grinning back at me as she reached into a drawer in her desk and came out with a pencil, pad of paper, and an eraser, all in a matching purple desk set.
My school supplies, on the other hand, consisted of a beat-up spiral-bound notebook and a number two pencil with bite marks on the end.
While Sam is my best friend, her bedroom could not look more different from mine. My walls were a blank eggshell, the same color that had been there when Mom and I had moved in, and were covered in posters and photos ripped from fashion magazines. I had a corkboard tacked to the wall, where pictures of Sam and me were attached with different-colored tacks, and a full-length mirror on the other side of the room. I had a desk, somewhere, but it had been a while since I’d actually used it as a desk-more often it just doubled as a place to put clothes from the overflow of my closet. My bed was rarely made, school papers kind of lived where there was a surface to put them down, and the overall appearance was lived-in.
Sam’s room, in contrast, looked like an ad from Pottery Barn. The walls were pale violet, to go with the bedspread on her perfectly made bed, and all her furniture matched: a white clapboard look dominating the headboard, dresser, and desk. Above the desk in the corner was a board covered in quilted fabric with ribbons running diagonally across it to keep photos in place (a couple of them copies of the ones on my board at home), and every drawer, cubbyhole, and cupboard was perfectly ordered inside and out with organizers of every size.
And, for as much as Sam was into fashion, I didn’t see a stray piece of clothing anywhere.
Sam was like my tidy evil twin.
I shifted on her bed, almost afraid to make a wrinkle as I flipped my binder open to my American Government notes.
“So how did the stakeout go?” Sam asked.
“Terrible.” I shoved my book bag onto the floor then filled Sam in on the Chris fiasco.
“And by the time we got back to the rock,” I finished, “the cash was gone. We’d totally missed him.”
“Wow,” Sam said, shaking her head. “Chris Fret. I never would have figured him for a cheater. He always seemed so… normal.”
“Yeah, well, apparently ‘normal’ also means too busy to study for a quiz.”
“You know,” Sam said, scrunching up her face, “it’s totally unfair to those of us who are struggling to get those good grades. I mean, take this American Government midterm we have coming up. How many people do you think already have the answers to that? Mr. Bleaker grades on a curve, you know. Those cheaters are ruining the curve for the rest of us.”
I had to agree-it sucked big elephant balls.
“Not only that,” Sam went on, “but we have to compete against these cheaters to get into good colleges. Chris is my Stanford competition. How can I compete with someone who’s buying all the fudging answers?”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “‘Fudging’?”
“What? You liked ‘fluffin’’ better?”
I shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think Chris is much competition for you, stolen answers or no,” I said, recalling our encounter.
“So, what do we do now?” Sam asked.
“Well…” I hedged. “Chase had an idea last night.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“He thought we should set up a sting. Try to catch the guy in action again.”
Sam nodded. “Sounds like a reasonable plan.”
“Only, we’re going to need someone to contact him about getting test answers.”
“Right.”
“And it can’t be me or Chase because everyone already knows we’re working on the story for the paper.”
“True.”
“So we’re going to need a third person to make the contact with the guy selling cheats.”
“Good point. But it could be hard to find someone willing to do that.”
I stared pointedly at Sam.
She blinked back at me. “What?”
I bit my lip and stared some more.
Realization slowly dawned behind her brown eyes. “Oh no. Oh, no way, Hartley. I am not going to be your bait!”
“Please, Sam,” I pleaded. “You’re perfect. Everyone knows how grade-driven you are, and you said yourself that we’re in trouble with the midterm coming up in American Government.”
Sam shook her head so violently that her blond hair whipped at her cheeks. “No way. Big capital N-O. What if I get caught? Teachers are totally looking for cheaters now with the whole Sydney thing. I cannot get caught cheating!”
“You won’t get caught,” I assured her. “You’re not actually going to cheat. We’re just buying the answers. Heck, you won’t even see the answers. If all goes well, we’ll catch this guy in the act of grabbing the money before he even has a chance to drop the flash drive.”
Sam bit her lip. “This feels like a really bad idea, Hartley.”
My turn to shake my head. “No. It feels like a really good story. A good story that I need to jump on now before someone else does,” I said, remembering Ashley’s total ton of hits. “And one that no one else is pursuing because everyone thinks Sydney killed herself. Her killer’s going to go free to commit Twittercide again unless we figure out who he is,” I pointed out, trying to butter her up with her own phrase. “Please, Sam. For Sydney?”
Sam clenched her jaw. Then she finally threw her hands up. “Okay, fine. I’ll be your bait.”
“Thank you!” I squealed, coming in for a hug.
“But,” she said quickly, “if I get caught, I’m so pulling a Sydney and ratting you out to save my own GPA.”
I nodded. “Deal. Fine. You rock, Sam.”
“Yeah,” she said, grabbing her cell phone. “Let’s just hope I don’t rock it all the way to fudging suspension. What’s the guy’s number?”
I rattled off the digits that I’d extracted from Chris last night and watched as Sam punched them into her phone.
“What should I say?” Sam asked, turning to me.
“Hmm.” I thought a second. “Say that you got his number from a friend.”
Sam nodded, texting as I dictated.
