Poor Ronda had been the one who called me to the office, and the one who’d had to summon the Warheads after.
I took a few more steps toward her desk, leaned in and spoke softer, conspiratorial. “He’s kind of a bully, isn’t he?”
Ronda’s smile departed completely.
“Look, I just want to leave an apology note in his office.” I flipped open the top of my messenger bag and pulled out the pink envelope I had prepared over the weekend.
“You can leave it with me,” Ronda said.
“If you, say, stepped out to use the ladies’ room, he’d never know you even saw me. I’ll be quick. I just want to leave this. It’ll put him in a good mood. I swear.”
For a moment I was sure Ronda’s Stockholm syndrome was about to kick in and she’d say no. But she shrugged, gathered her purse and said, “I like you, so fine. I take a break every day about now. Need a little afternoon sugar fix. Powdered white donuts are my favorite, if you ever need to know.”
She crooked her head as she passed me on her way to the door. I didn’t disrupt her momentum with a thanks. I sailed up the hall to Butler’s office with my envelope.
The apology inside was a cover—and more. I hoped it’d do its job and I could do mine in the time it bought and paid for. Even if I was also worried about pulling off the rest of my plan. It was risky to take on Advanced Research Laboratories on my own. Dangerous even to contemplate it. That didn’t change the fact it was my logical next step.
Butler’s office was still stuffy and over-decorated. I hoped his password was the same too.
Of course I could always flip to the page in his leather notebook to get the new one, if he’d changed it. I pushed his chair back, not willing to grace the same seat as him, and bent to the keyboard. I typed in the word Macho (seriously) and the numerals 1 and 2. And I was in.
His inbox was open, and I searched through his contacts for ARLabs.com, the company’s domain. I recognized the CEO’s name.
“Why, I think I will create a new message to my good friend, Mr. Steve Dirtbag Jenkins, aka the boss,” I murmured as I pulled up a blank email and started typing.
The subject line read: Interview with Student (puff piece).
The email itself was a thing of beauty. I figured Butler would have done his due diligence to make sure his pals at ARL weren’t surprised by the story about Anavi and the Warheads in the Scoop. And so I informed Mr. Jenkins, CEO, that troublesome new student reporter Lois Lane had seen the light—as had her extremely powerful father—and that she’d agreed to make it up to the Principal by doing a story that very week on the charitable relationship the company had with the school, their largesse in mentoring students with new computers, nauseatingly kiss-up-y etc. I provided my own email address and said the student would be in contact directly that afternoon to confirm the appointment tomorrow at 12:45. I added a grace note about racquetball, because it seemed like the kind of non-sport Principal Butler would think rich people were into.
After that, what remained was a satisfying click on Send and then quickly setting a new rule that instructed the principal’s inbox to forward any replies—or emails at all, actually—from Mr. Jenkins, CEO, or anyone else at the ARLabs.com domain straight to me and delete the originals unread.
“Now, that is a job well done,” I said, signing out and propping the envelope on his keyboard.
I helped myself to an excused tardy slip off Ronda’s desk on my way out. That would buy me the extra time to duck back into the library and send SmallvilleGuy an update on what we’d seen and heard, along with a file of the bug’s recording in case he wanted to check it out. My parents had given my computer back that morning as I had left for school, but they still had my phone.
Other than that, making my appointment with the CEO was all I had to deal with.
Well, and Perry.
CHAPTER 21
I shouldn’t have been so cavalier about Perry. When I arrived in the Morgue, he was waiting in that coffin cave of an office at the back of the room.
I didn’t bother stopping to chat, because I had no idea how I should answer the questions my Scoop colleagues were bound to ask about the things we’d seen and heard from the lab and what our next move should be. I didn’t want them making any move that put them in danger or would get them in trouble again. And I didn’t want them deciding I was too nuts to be friends with.
My reckoning with Perry gave me a brief stay on talking to them. As I entered the cave, the first thing he said was, “I haven’t gotten a withdrawal of the retraction request.”
Not wanting to spill everything in a heartbeat, I shut the door behind me so the others couldn’t eavesdrop. I made my way over to the dusty chair and sat.
Remember how he treated you like an equal? Act like one, Lane. Don’t wuss out.