‘The person who invited me to that gig,’ says Nat, a look of discovery blooming on her face, ‘was Amelia Westlake. Only she never showed up. When I got back to the newsroom, someone had broken in. Coincidence? I think not.’ She breaks into a smirk.
‘Who’s Amelia Westlake?’ asks Arthur.
‘Well you might ask,’ says Nat.
‘Why are you looking at me?’ I say.
‘I’m looking at both of you, actually,’ says Nat smugly.
‘Now just stop right there,’ Harriet says.
‘Come on. It makes perfect sense. I’ve been working off the assumption Amelia Westlake is a single person. That’s why I ruled Harriet out. When Duncan’s uncle ran the handwriting tests and the results pointed to her, I figured he’d made a mistake. Besides, the newsroom break-in was clearly Amelia-related and there was no way Harriet could have broken into the newsroom when she was with me at Deep Fryer. Or so I thought.’ She is looking at us with wonder and something close to admiration. ‘You decided, for whatever reason, that you needed me out of the newsroom. Harriet suggested Arthur’s gig as a possible lure, and asked Will over to check out the band to see if they played my kind of music.’
‘This is pure speculation,’ I say. ‘You haven’t given us an ounce of proof for this crazy theory of yours.’
‘The cartoons were my other sticking point,’ Nat muses. ‘I could find no evidence that Harriet could draw. Obviously, Will is one of the few people in our year with the technical skills needed for those cartoons. But Will swore she had nothing to do with them. And I believed her. Partly because I didn’t think she’d lie to me. Partly because the cartoons were too witty.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Oh, come on,’ Nat says. ‘Tedious, drawn-out polemic is more your style.’
‘That is an outrageous and completely ridiculous –’
‘But what if you had someone to help you? Mandy Delaqua from Blessingwood, who Harriet debated in the year-ten finals, once told me that Harriet was known for making terrific jokes when you least expected it.’
‘Sounds like a complete fib to me,’ I say. ‘No offence, Harriet.’
‘And the English-essay swap,’ says Nat. ‘Again, Will’s connection is obvious, but I ruled you out because I was in Legal Studies with you when it occurred. But what if you were working with someone else who happened to have a free period?’ She turns to Harriet. ‘You have a free period on Thursday mornings, don’t you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Harriet says shiftily.
‘I’m waiting for some actual evidence here,’ I say, my voice turning shrill.
Nat pauses. ‘You’re right. Actual evidence of your involvement is lacking, Will, even though the pieces fit. Even the storeroom kiss makes sense to me now. It’s a perfect alibi. But it is hard to believe the two of you could have come up with a collective idea given your historical lack of rapport. I’ve got nothing concrete to pin you down. Unless –’
She springs towards me.
Harriet shrieks.
‘Nat, what are you doing?’ Arthur cries.
I bat her away. ‘Get. Off. Me.’
Nat grabs at my left sleeve and yanks it up my arm. She lunges for my right sleeve and wrestles it up past my elbow. There, in plain sight, is my pus-stained bandage. ‘Did you have a run-in with a glass window recently, by any chance, Will?’
‘I – um – it’s –’ I say.
Harriet groans.
‘Gotcha,’ Nat whispers.
In the Price’s ballroom-sized lounge room we each sit on our own pristine cream leather couch.
‘Coffee, anyone?’ Arthur asks.
‘No, thanks,’ Harriet says.
‘How about tea?’
‘We’re fine, babe,’ says Nat.
‘We’ve got herbal, black, green, rooibos –’
‘No,’ say the three of us together.
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ He gets up quickly.
We watch him go. For a long moment, none of us says anything. What’s left to say? Nat has worked it out. This is the mission she’s been on since the beginning.
‘Congratulations,’ I say at last. ‘You may as well write up your scoop. Get Croon on speed-dial. Ruin two lives.’
Nat regards me, her expression serious. ‘Don’t worry, I am well aware of the consequences of going public with this.’
‘Which in your professional opinion are what, exactly?’ Harriet asks nervously.
‘Will broke into the school and damaged school property. Which means, if I publish, she gets expelled.’
She’s right. It’s that simple. Rosemead will have no qualms in taking that type of action against me. I’m an average student. I have no special skills. I have a long history of making trouble. Croon has already threatened me with expulsion. What does she care that we have only sixteen weeks until final exams and expelling me now could have a significant impact on my future after school?
It’s strange. I’ve been looking for ways to ditch Rosemead since I started. But now that it’s a real possibility, the thought of what it means, including how my mother will react, makes me want to bring up my breakfast.
‘And me?’ Harriet asks impatiently.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Nat says, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘They’ll protect you because they need you. You’re Rosemead’s greatest hope for winning Tawney, and you’ll bring up our year’s average exam results substantially. If they can paint Will as the ringleader you could get off virtually scot-free. Which is completely unfair, obviously.’
‘Unfair enough to make you reconsider going public?’ I ask. I can’t believe how long she is dragging this out.
Nat runs a stiff hand through her hair. ‘We’ve just been through this. What sort of a journalist would I be if I let my friendship with you get in the way of breaking a story? Besides, you know my deal with Croon. This is my chance to hang onto the paper.’
‘It seems you’re in a bit of a quandary,’ Harriet says.
‘The problem I have is this,’ says Nat, swinging her feet onto the couch. ‘The whole point of journalism – for me, anyway – is to expose the truth.’
‘I hear a “but” in that sentence,’ Harriet says, hope in her voice.
‘But,’ Nat says obligingly, ‘I have good reasons for believing
