“I’m already nervous.”
Footsteps echo in the hallway and my heart rate doubles. I’m in here because . . . ? I left a book at home? I’m feeling sick? I’m emotionally traumatized?
The footsteps travel farther down the hall, and breath whooshes from my lungs.
“Piper, are you still there?”
I drop my voice low. “Yes, sorry. I thought someone was about to come in here.”
“Where exactly are you?”
“The headmistress’s office. Look, I’m going up to Clark Street today, to that lunchroom where Willa Mae made her phone call. I want to ask around about Lydia. I’m only telling you because I want someone to know. Just . . . in case.”
“And you’re picking me.” His statement is slow, measured.
“You’re the one person I know who won’t try to stop me.”
“Don’t be so sure of that, Piper. A girl like you . . .” Mariano’s voice drops to a hush as well. “Look, it’s not a good idea for you, of all people, to go walking around by yourself in a part of town that’s controlled by the North Side Gang. Let’s not tempt fate.”
“I told you, I’m not calling to ask your permission. I’m calling so someone knows where I am.”
“We’ve gone to every vice district there is with a photograph of Lydia, including the North Side. This isn’t something you need to concern yourself with.”
“Detective Cassano, I think you’re smart enough to know that in a situation like this, a girl like me might be able to get answers when a uniformed officer can’t.”
“I thought we’d dispensed with the formalities.”
“Well, you’re not acting like Mariano right now. You’re acting like Detective Cassano.” I glance at the clock. Morning prayers will be over soon. “Now, I’ll be getting on the L at Schiller, and I intend to get off at—”
“Piper, stop.”
“I want somebody to have this information.” I clutch close the paper on which I scribbled my plan this morning. “If you don’t want it, then I’ll leave it taped under the headmistress’s desk, and if something goes awry—”
“I’m coming with you.”
I’m glad Mariano isn’t here to see the surprise on my face. “That’s not necessary, Mariano. I don’t expect you to drop what you had planned to—”
“My job right now is to recover Lydia LeVine. I would rather not lose you in the process.”
The thought of Mariano coming with me, of not having to venture into Johnny’s Lunchroom alone, makes relief slide through my veins. Yet my words still come out razor-sharp. “You won’t show up looking like a cop, will you? Because I don’t see that helping me any.”
“If you promise you’ll wait at school for me, I promise I won’t blow your cover, Detective Sail.”
I glance at the clock. It’s definitely time to get out of here. “There’s a bench at the corner of Irving and Lake Shore. I’ll meet you there.” Footsteps echo in the hall again. “And if by chance I’m not there, come into the school and tell them I’m needed for something.”
I hang up before he responds.
And just a second before the headmistress opens the door to her office.
The surprise on her face is quickly replaced with fury, and a deep crease forms between her silver eyebrows as she scowls at me. “Miss Sail—”
My response is a reflex. I cover my face with my hands and burst into loud, fake tears.
“I know I shouldn’t be in here, but it’s just so awful, ma’am. I can’t stand it, I can’t.” I don’t let myself peek. I don’t want her seeing that my cheeks are dry. “It feels so terrible to be at Presley’s without Lydia. She loves it here so much. She views you as a role model.” Was that too much? Too late now . . . “And I just feel closer to her when I’m in your office.”
Behind my hands, I squeeze my eyes tight, pushing out a dribble of tears before I risk uncovering my face.
Headmistress Robinson’s expression has softened. It’s still not soft by any stretch, but the crease between her brows is gone.
“I know you and Miss LeVine are very close.” She glances at the two wooden chairs in her office, the ones for students, but remains standing. “Her disappearance is a shock to us all. If you feel you are unfit for school, Miss Sail, I suggest you go home. If, however, you decide that crying and feeling sorry for yourself will not do anybody any good, you may head to your first class.”
This woman is a stone.
Or aware that I’m faking.
Here she is, practically gift wrapping a reason for me to walk out the school doors, but my pride buckles with the implication of weakness. “I’ll go to my class, thank you.” I rise, back straight and chin jutted.