“For what? The big throw down? Were you planning to fight her? Besides, she likes me. Why should I get on her bad side just because you are?”
“As long as you guys are still tight, right, Vi?” Chelsea drawled. “Seriously, though, I need to figure out a way to get Mike Russo to notice me.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s noticed you.”
“You know what I mean.” Chelsea huffed. “By the way, what’s up with the uptight lady and the hot dude at your car yesterday? And by ‘hot,’ I mean dark and dangerous, of course. Please tell me they’re some distant relatives come to tell you you’ve inherited a family fortune or something. I could use some good news.” Chelsea crossed her arms over her chest, watching Violet closely.
Violet felt her stomach tighten. It was weird enough that Sara Priest had asked her about Mike. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought Chelsea had just read her mind. Why else would she be asking Violet about Sara and the boy now?
Regardless of why, Violet did not want to talk about her little chat with the FBI.
She decided there was only one way to change the topic.
She sighed. Thankfully, Chelsea’s mind had been pretty one-track lately. “So, about Mike. What do you know so far?”
Chelsea perked up, leaning forward as she heard the magic word: Mike. “Nothing useful. He has a sister, what’s-her-name in the tenth grade.”
“Megan,” Violet volunteered.
“If you say so. I know they live with their dad, Ed, and that he’s a mechanic at Craft’s Auto Repair off Highway 410.” Chelsea chewed her lip. “I also know that Mike’s in AP English and history, he only missed two days last year, and he doesn’t play any sports. Oh, and they moved around a lot. Four schools in three different states in the past two years.”
Mrs. Hertzog took two steps in their direction, her eyebrows raised in a warning to Chelsea.
Chelsea mouthed, Okay, and waved the woman away again.
When the librarian went back to her post near the entrance, Violet stared at Chelsea, not sure if she felt admiration or disgust. “How do you know all that about them? Are you actually spying on him now?”
“Not spying exactly.” Chelsea cleared her throat. “But I may have gotten a peek at his school records. Andrew Lauthner’s been working in the office during study hall for extra credit. He has a hard time telling me no.”
That was an understatement; Andrew Lauthner was the lone member of Chelsea’s personal fan club. He’d been waiting for Chelsea to notice him since the third grade.
Violet shook her head as she went back to work on her assignment. “I don’t know what to tell you; you already know way more than I do.”
Chelsea slouched in her chair. “Well, do me a favor and try to find out something? I really wanna figure out a way to get him to play tongue tag with me when we all go to the movies this weekend, maybe even get to second base.” Chelsea didn’t need Violet to say anything; she was on a roll now. “It’d be better if it were just the two of us, since Jay’s always hogging Mike’s attention, but since I haven’t been able to make that happen, can you at least talk to your boyfriend about not derailing my plans this time? I really need this date.”
“I’ll do what I can, Chels,” Violet offered reluctantly. “But I’m not making any promises.”
Silently, however, Violet agreed with Chelsea, and she hoped as much as Chelsea did that Jay wouldn’t monopolize Mike’s time this weekend.
Chelsea was something else. Like an unstoppable force of nature. Similar to a hurricane or a tornado. Or a pit bull.
Violet admired that about her.
And, in this instance, Chelsea had proven to be nothing less than formidable.
So when Jay had mentioned earlier in the week that they might be able to go to the movies over the weekend, Chelsea held him to it. A time and a place were chosen. And word spread.
And, somehow, Chelsea managed to unravel it all.
She still wanted the Saturday night plans; she just didn’t want the crowd that came with them. She’d decided it should be more of a “double date.” With Mike.
Except Mike would never see it coming.
By the time the bell rang at the end of lunch on Friday, everyone had agreed to meet up for the seven o’clock showing the next night. But when they split up to go to their classes, Chelsea set her own plan into motion. She began to separate the others from the pack and, one by one, they all fell.
She started with Andrew Lauthner. Poor Andrew didn’t know what hit him.
“Hey, Andy, did you hear?”
From the look on his face, he didn’t hear anything, other than that Chelsea—his Chelsea—was talking to him. Out of the blue. Violet needed to get to class, but she was dying to see what Chelsea had up her sleeve, so she stuck it out instead.
“What?” His huge frozen grin looked like it had been plastered there and dried overnight.
Chelsea’s expression was apologetic, something that may have actually been difficult for her to pull off. “The movie’s been canceled. Plans are off.” She stuck out her lower lip in a disappointed pout.
“But I thought . . .” He seemed confused.
So was Violet.
“. . . didn’t we just make the plans at lunch?” he asked.
“I know.” Chelsea managed to sound as surprised as he did. “But you know how Jay is, always talking out his ass. He forgot to mention that he has to work tomorrow night and can’t make it.” She looked at Violet and said, again apologetically, “Sorry you had to hear that, Vi.”