The Name of the Star - Maureen Johnson [35]
And then we walked right into Claudia, who was adjusting a notice on the board in the front hall.
“Going to bed?” she asked.
“Yup,” I said.
Jazza started hurrying up the steps, but I pinched the back of her fleece to slow her. Casual. Innocent. That’s how we had to look. We said nothing until we were safely in our room. We both went right for our beds without switching on the lights, as if light made you louder.
“I think . . . it’s okay,” I said, sticking my legs straight up in the air and creating a teepee out of my blanket.
Silence from Jazza’s side of the room, then a pillow made contact with my legs, knocking down my teepee. Jazza had a strong throwing arm. Then I heard a smothered giggle and what sounded like some kicking feet. I threw the pillow back and heard a little high-pitched squeal as it made contact.
“Why did I go up on that roof?” she whispered happily. “I hope Charlotte finds out. I really do. I hope she hears, and I hope she swallows her own tongue.”
Even through the dark, I knew she was smiling. I pulled out my phone and sent Jerome a text.
The eagle has landed, I wrote. Operation successful.
His reply came a moment later: Understood.
Then a moment after that: Still no body.
Then a moment after that: He’s hidden this one well.
Then: See you tomorrow.
Which was completely unnecessary, because of course he was going to see me tomorrow. He saw me every day. It was the kind of thing you said when you wanted to say something and that was the best you could do just to keep talking, keep the conversation going.
I decided to do what they always say in romance columns—I didn’t reply. I grinned stupidly at my own suavity.
“Who were you talking to when you were out there?” Jazza asked.
“That guy,” I said.
“What guy?”
Jazza was instantly on the alert, sitting bolt upright.
“The one who said good night to us.”
“I didn’t see anyone,” Jazza said.
This made no sense. There was no way Jazza could have missed him.
“Who was it?” she asked urgently. “Someone from school?”
“No,” I said. “Just some guy on the street.”
“Are you joking? Because it’s not funny.”
“I’m not,” I assured her. “He was just some random guy.”
She slowly relaxed and settled back down.
“So,” she said. “You and Jerome?”
“What about us?” I asked as I looked up at the long rectangles of light coming in through the window and stretching along the wall. We hadn’t bothered to shut the curtains.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do you like him?” she asked.
“He hasn’t done anything,” I said.
“But do you like him?”
“I’m thinking about it,” I replied.
“Well, don’t think too hard.” Then I heard the giggling again, and another pillow made contact with the wall above my head and landed on my face.
“No danger of that,” I said.
13
THE NEXT MORNING STARTED WAY TOO EARLY, WITH someone pounding wildly at our door.
“You get it,” I mumbled into my pillow. “My legs fell off.”
Grumbling and confusion from Jaz as she fell out of her bed and shuffled to the door. Charlotte was there, wrapped up in a fuzzy blue robe, looking shockingly awake.
“There’s a school meeting in the dining hall at six,” she said. “Twenty minutes.”
“School meeting?” I repeated.
“You don’t have to put on your uniform. Just be over there.”
Meeting in twenty minutes, at six A.M., that meant it was . . . morning math, morning math, morning math . . . five forty. The sun wasn’t even up. We had only gone to bed about three or four hours before.
“What is this?” I asked as I fumbled around, looking for my shoes.
“I have no idea,” Jazza said. She didn’t have time to mess around with her contacts, so she slapped on her glasses.
“Are they really going to have some assembly at six in the morning?” I asked. “Isn’t that a crime against humanity?”
“We have to be in trouble. Someone did something. We did something.”
“They’re not having