“It might as well be!” Sarika shouted, tossing the flier back on the table. “She knew this was something we cared about, and that is the only reason she is coming after it. Her and her damn friends. And look!”
She peeled a second flier out from under Jessica’s, revealing the faded endangered-mouse sheet from the other day.
“Right over this. Didn’t even care.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have banned her from the message board,” Leila said with a sigh. “She’s probably only doing this to get back at Shawn, right?”
“These are some pretty extreme lengths to go to for something like that.” Sarika scowled.
“I just don’t get it,” Leila said, as Landon picked up the flier. “What does she get out of this?”
“It makes me so angry,” Sarika spat, snatching the flier out of Landon’s hand with a loud smack. She stood up and marched to the register, leaning over on the countertop. “Mr. Hathaway! You in the kitchen? Where are you?”
In a flurry of pots and pans, Mr. Hathaway materialized in the kitchen door.
“Sarika!” he exclaimed. “What is it? It’s a weekday, you’re usually not here on . . . God, please don’t tell me you tweeted you were gonna be here, we’ve got programs lined up for some of the kids, and—”
“No, no.” Sarika shook her head. “Just taking a break from running about. Why did you let her hang these fliers up?” She handed him the sheet, and he looked at it, puzzled.
“What’s wrong with Jessica?” he asked in confusion as he handed the flier back.
“What’s wrong with Jessica?” Sarika looked back at Leila and Landon and threw her arms up in the air. Leila shrugged back in response. “She’s the enemy!”
“No,” Adam said, shaking his head. “If anything, she should be your best friend.”
“What?” Sarika shouted. “Hell, no.”
“Uh, yeah? Her father, Jonathan De La Costa, owns the nonprofit that helps fund us. Hell, he helps fund a bunch of things throughout the city. He works with the park service and some of the thrift stores, I think. He was with her when she dropped off that flier and even asked for you. Guy loves your coffee.”
Sarika grabbed the countertop as though she was steadying herself.
Leila jumped to her feet and darted over, and Sarika leaned against her.
“I’ve been making drinks,” Sarika started.
“Sarika—”
“For that chick’s father?”
“Come on.”
“For how long?” Sarika stormed to a nearby barstool at the countertop. “I could have been spitting in it all this time! Does he get coffee for her, too? Tea? Soda? What? Anything? Let me know so I can make sure whatever she’s getting is contaminated to all hell. I will cough on everything!”
Sarika laid her head down on the countertop, her arms folded in front of her.
“Hey,” Leila ventured, pulling a barstool up next to her. Sarika heaved an ugly sob, her shoulders shaking. “Hey, come on now. It’s okay.”
Sarika looked up at her, her eyes red and face already wet with tears.
“No, it’s not okay,” Sarika said, a sob in the back of her throat. “This is my thing. My one thing. And she’s been a part of it the entire time, and I had no idea. I built my whole . . . my whole persona here. Me. This place is me. And her family owns it.”
“Okay, first of all, I own this place,” Mr. Hathaway said from behind the counter. “They help fund it. Remember, nonprofit? You should be happy. Hell, and . . .” he looked at Leila as though he was thinking. “And Leila’s father,” he paused, as if testing the waters. Clearly he’d been around enough adopted kids that he knew how to tiptoe, and Leila appreciated it no matter how awkward it got. “Leila’s father must know him; doesn’t he work with those people?”
Sarika’s eyes went wide as she looked up at Leila.
“If Jon’s on a board with Jessica’s father,” Sarika started, and then glanced over at Mr. Hathaway. “Thanks for listening, sorry about the meltdown.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” he said, shrugging. He turned and walked back into the little kitchen.
Sarika looked back at Leila, and walked back over to the table where Landon still sat. Leila could practically see the gears turning in Sarika’s head before she spoke.
“Okay. So. If Jon works with Jessica’s dad in some sort of way, he can tell him about this nonsense.” She shook the flier. “About how Jessica doesn’t really care, it’s just to get back at—”
“What will that even do? I doubt her little collection is making any kind of dent.” Leila held up one of the crumpled fliers. “This isn’t for her or for the cause. She made it for us. To make us angry and derail us.”
“Fine!” Sarika said, standing back up. “Then we head over to the horticulture society or the park service offices, present the evidence, get the project shut down, and then we savor the sweet tears of Jessica De La Costa!”
“Hey,” Leila said, angling herself to look Sarika in the eyes. “Let’s not forget what this is about. If we can take her down a peg, awesome. To hell with that girl. But, you know, we have a city to save?”
“I know none of us want to say it, but,” Landon cleared his throat, “someone to save as well.”
Leila felt herself blush, and ran her hand along the pale patch of skin on her face, her expanding birthmark. Sarika exhaled, sighing.
“Okay,” Sarika said, nodding. “Okay, yeah. Save the world, screw the girl.”
Leila made a face.
“Not you, I mean Jessica. Look, I’ll figure out a better tagline for the mission, I swear.”
“So,” Leila said. “Let’s focus for a minute. We came here to plan, right? So let’s plan.”
“We’ve got a few more days until the protest,” she continued. “Between then and now, they could still do more damage to the park. More spray paint, more shrub removal.”
“And in the meantime, this could all affect Leila.” Landon grimaced and shook his head, looking at Leila with an apology in his eyes.
“Well,” Leila sucked air through her teeth, trying to ignore what Landon said. “We’ve got the mouse, or most of it. We can take it to Jon, and he can help us frame this story when we report what’s going on.”
Landon got up and paced, rubbing his hand over his chin. Leila could hear the scuff against his hand.
“I’m still worried,” he said, turning back. “We can’t prove that the mouse came from this specific patch of woods, not after going through Milford’s digestive system. He’s an owl. They fly around, or at least most of them do. Maybe they could examine the dirt on it or something, but I can’t imagine the timing working out right.”
Landon suddenly perked up.
“Shit, just how well sealed is the Tupperware in my car with that mouse in it?” he asked.
“That is not going to smell good when someone opens it,” Sarika said.
“When you open it,” Landon said.
“When you open it,” Sarika said, looking at Leila.
“Okay, enough of that,” Leila said, shaking her head. “When the poor researcher or person at the museum has to open it. How about that?”
“Deal,” Landon said, smiling.
“Now, what do we need?” Leila drummed her fingers against the table. “We probably need photos or video of the mouse in that particular area. Right?”
“Three days,” Landon exhaled, “to get a photo of a rare mouse in a large section of a heavily wooded area of the park when no one else could before.”
“Maybe chill with the cynicism?” Sarika snapped. “Three days is a lot of time. We’ve all got cameras on our phones and I’m pretty sure my parents have a digital camcorder at home.”
“So, do we camp out in the woods?” Leila asked.
“It’s an option.” Landon shrugged.
“Three days.” Leila nodded, folding her arms. “I say we sleep on it tonight, visit the museum in the morning with the mouse remains, and go to the grove in the afternoon.”
“And if the remains aren’t good enough, trapping a mouse might not be that difficult.”
“Trapping one?” Leila asked. “Landon, we need something that’s alive, you know. That’s the reason we’re stressing over this dead mouse.”