He dutifully put them on and went back to his desk. I worked out with Maddy and James what their jobs would be the next day.
I had one more partner in crime left to convince. And he was the only person besides me who would get to know everything.
*
One of my top five favorite smells greeted me when I got home, still worried but feeling better. A plan always made me feel better. As did pizza.
“What happened to merit a pizza night on a Monday?” I called, heading for the kitchen. Hopefully, it wasn’t to celebrate my imminent departure for military school. I was feeling cautious optimism that Dad and I might have reached an understanding in his office the other night.
Two delivery boxes were open on the counter and Mom had broken out the paper plates. No dishes to wash was a part of the pizza night tradition. Lucy sat at the table tucking into what was probably her fourth slice. She had the metabolism of a hummingbird on an energy drink. Dad was there too, already home and out of uniform in jeans and a T-shirt.
“We hadn’t had one since we got here,” he answered. “Everything go all right today?”
He meant had I met the deadline for proving the story was true.
Not yet, but almost. If everything went like it was supposed to.
But I didn’t feel like explaining about Perry agreeing to an extension. And it wasn’t like I could explain the rest: Oh, yeah, tomorrow I’m going to bluff my way into a fancy lab under false pretenses to expose a secret experiment. And later I have to sneak the bug I borrowed from you back into your office. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little genius military mind about.
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “You guys mind if I take mine up to my room?”
Mom and Dad exchanged one of those inscrutable parent looks they should patent to torture criminals. Finally, Mom said, “Figured you’d be sick of the four walls of your room after the weekend . . . but if that’s what you want. You shouldn’t hold a grudge, hon. We’re your parents and we love you.”
“I know, and that’s not it. Just a lot of work to do. Swear.” I hesitated, then asked, “Can I have my phone back too?”
After another long, silent consult with Dad, my mom said, “It’s in your room, on your desk.”
“Thanks,” I said, and loaded up a plate with two—better make it three—slices before they could change their minds about letting me skip family time.
I had to move slower than I wanted on my way upstairs in order to keep the plate level. SmallvilleGuy and I had left things in an unsettled state that afternoon. But I’d caved on letting the others in on things, so maybe he’d approve. Maybe he’d agree to pitch in more.
My plan needed him. I was afraid that what I had in mind might not work for him, though.
After I locked my bedroom door, I deposited the plate on my desk, removed my laptop from my bag, and slid into my chair. My palms were slightly damp—nerves—but I ignored them. I opened the laptop and keyed in my passwords, pulled up the chat window, saw his name, and only then took a giant bite of pepperoni pizza.
SkepticGirl1: Metropolis has been holding out on me.
SkepticGirl1: Their pizza is amaaaaazing.
In the chat window, there was no typing message, no nothing, for half a slice. Then . . .
SmallvilleGuy: You’re not mad at me for fixating on the not going in alone thing?
SkepticGirl1: Nope.
SkepticGirl1: You were right. I told them and they believed me. We have a plan.
SmallvilleGuy: That’s good.
SkepticGirl1: They don’t know my whole plan, though.
SmallvilleGuy: Why not?
I inhaled, let the breath out with a sigh. I reminded myself again: sometimes you had to be brave.
SkepticGirl1: Do you think you could figure out a way into the real-sim sandbox environment where they’re running the experiment? Get a character version of you into it, I mean. Who could then interfere with the visual part of the cue. You do already have a way to contact the guy we think is most likely to help us disrupt the experiment. He might be willing to steer you in the right direction.
I stared at the screen so hard my eyes felt like they were burning. Waiting and waiting. He wasn’t typing for the longest time, and then he was.
SmallvilleGuy: Maybe.
The unenthusiastic reaction was what I’d warned myself about. So why did it make a disappointed pang shoot through my chest? I couldn’t pretend it was the pepperoni.
SkepticGirl1: Devin’s going in as one of the Warheads—acting like he is one—but if what you said before is true . . . I don’t want to just get pictures and expose what they’re doing. I want to stop it. Break the link. Set the Warheads free.
SkepticGirl1: And it seems by the founder guy’s logic, what we have to do is disrupt the linking process during the visual and audio sequence that is the cue. The one that’s been strengthening them would probably be best—so we need to disrupt it at the end of the session.