Labyrinth Society (9 page)

Devon and the Angry Nuns

Devon "The Diva" here. And yeah, I know about Tomi's little nickname. Think I care? Believe me, I've got too much to worry about to be bothered by some silly nickname. Besides, I'd rather be a diva than a dork or a dweeb any day. And I'm not saying Tomi and Lily are dorks or dweebs. Those two know I would do anything for them. Mia, however, is another matter. She seriously gets under my skin. I know it's not her fault she got stuck with us. But it doesn't make it any less tragic. So, you can call me anything you want. But just stick around and you'll soon see I am not the villain of this story.

The cobblestoned courtyard of the Palace of Versailles was as crowded as I was mad. Something important was riding on this mission. And I'm not just talking about tracking down some stupid necklace. I'm talking life and death important, something the others don't know about and I can't tell them. Today was the day it was all going down. So what could possibly happen to ruin everything? Getting stuck with the new girl.

I may be only twelve, but I take my position with the society seriously. I'm not like the others. I don't do what I do to carry on Dr. Tarpley's legacy like Mrs. T. I don't do it for kicks like Alex. I don't do it for the history like Tomi or to please my grandfather like Lily. I do this because it's the right thing to do. Like when we found a hoard of art and treasure in Brazil the Nazis had stolen from Jewish people during World War II. It took us months to track down the original owners; lots of them had died in concentration camps or from old age. But returning stuff to those families and seeing the looks on their faces was worth it. I like righting wrongs, probably because I can't right the biggest wrong of all, my mom's murder.

It's no secret. Google the name Jordan Sharp and murder, and you'll find lots of news stories about how thirty-four-year-old, hardworking single mom Jordan Sharp was found murdered in the home she shared with her nine-year-old daughter. I was at school when it happened. Mom dropped me off at my school's front gate, and it was the last time I saw her alive. Two police detectives showed up at school and I got called into the principal's office. The counselor was there. After they'd told me mom was dead, what happened next was a blur.

I don't remember much of the funeral, or the cops asking me tons of questions about my mom's friends and if she had a boyfriend. Mom didn't have time to date. She was too busy working two jobs to support us. And she had few friends. One of them was Mrs. T., who showed up and took me home with her after the funeral. My mom's murderer is still out there and I hope the piece of trash knows one day Jordan Sharp's daughter is coming for them. Now, I had a chance to save someone else I cared a lot about, and I wasn't about to let anyone get in my way.

Speaking of which, Mia was wandering around with her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide like some five-year-old who'd just arrived at the Magic Kingdom. The students of St. Alban's Academy were filing through the gold palace gates, about to get into one of the long lines forming at multiple entrances to the palace. We needed to keep hidden so we could get at the back of the line unnoticed. But where was Mia? Staring at the black and white tiles of the marble court at the center of the courtyard like some tourist. I knew this was a bad idea. She had no idea what the word stealth meant, meaning I was going to have to teach her. I quickly grabbed her by the back of her blazer and pulled her into one of the arched doorways and out of sight. Did I yank her harder than I should have? You better believe it. It's exactly what she deserved for using me as a mechanical bull. And if I find one bald spot on my head, it'll take more than Alex to pry me off of her.

"What's your problem?" she said, shaking me off.

"My problem is we're supposed to be blending in with the students of St. Albans so we can get in with their group. What are they going to think, Einstein, if they see two strangers wearing St. Alban's blazers as soon as they walk through the flipping gates?"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Sorry," she said, and at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Just stay close to me and don't wander off," I snapped, and she gave me a snarky salute.

There were about seventy-five students from St. Albans, along with six adults I figured were teachers and parents. Two of them were older nuns. Most of the girls were talking and laughing. But I could tell some were bored out of their minds and a few others were busy texting. All of them were wearing the blue St. Alban's uniform blazer with the gold school crest on the right front pocket — exactly like the ones we had on. They got into line and I nudged Mia to follow me as I crept around a large Italian tour group listening to their tour guide and casually got in line behind the last St. Albans girl in line. Lucky for us she was rocking out to music on her iPod and didn't pay any attention to us.

"Don't you think they're going to notice we don't belong?" whispered Mia.

"They're a bunch of sixth, seventh and eighth graders. Do you honestly think all the girls in this group know each other?"

"But don't they usually do a head count or have all the student's names on a list or something? What are we going to do when they find out they have two extra people?" she continued. She had a question about everything and it was pissing me off.

"I've been doing this a lot longer than you have. Stop bugging me with your stupid questions before someone hears you. Then we'll be in trouble."

"Whatever," she mumbled and rolled her eyes. But at least she shut up.

I could have told her I hacked into the email account of the person in charge of this trip and intercepted e-mails from the parents of two girls who weren't able to come to Paris. I added their names back to list so the final count would still include them. But why tell her when it was more fun letting her twist in the wind? I'd even made a couple of fake St. Alban's student ID's. Their ID's weren't the kind that had photos, so if anyone asked, Mia and I were Shannon Dunlevy and Portia Goodwin. We'd be okay as long as no one knew Shannon Dunlevy was a chubby redhead and Portia Goodwin was six feet tall. Good thing this was a summer trip; Shannon and Portia were both new and wouldn't be starting St. Albans until the fall. I considered this a good sign and maybe I'd actually be able to pull off what I needed to do today. I was just waiting for a call with instructions telling me what to do next. I had my hand in my pocket wrapped around my cell phone waiting for it to ring. So far it had been dead as a doornail. I checked it again to make sure I hadn't missed a call. Nothing.

"Uh-oh," said Mia, nudging me in the ribs and nodding towards one of the old nuns.

The nun was coming down the line, stopping at each student and asking them to show her something. I quickly shoved one of the fake ID in Mia's hand. When the nun got to iPod Girl, whose music was so loud the nun had to snap her bony fingers in her face to get her attention.

"Daria," she yelled, "If you could please take a break from ruining your hearing, I need to see your museum pass." Daria sighed, and pulled out her ear buds flooding the courtyard with loud rap music making some of the tourists jump. Then she fished inside her blazer pocket and pulled out a pass and flashed it at the nun.

"Thank you, dear. Now, I'll take this for safe keeping until after the tour," she said, reaching out and snatching the iPod out of Daria's hand.

"Hey! No fair! What about them?" Daria said, pointing down the line at the girls, texting away on their cells.

"Once we get inside those phones are to be used for picture taking only. And if I see one girl using her phone for anything else, I will confiscate the phone and the owner won't get it back until we get back to the hotel." She said it loud enough for all of France to hear.

"But. . .” The nun gave Daria one of those "shut up or else" looks Mrs. T. is so good at. Daria just glared at her.

Then it was our turn. Of all the things I'd thought of, museum passes weren't on the list. I figured since the palace tour was already arranged before they arrived, it had already been paid for. Guess it's what I get for thinking. Mia was fidgeting nervously next to me.

"No one ever gave me a pass," I said smoothly. "Did you get a pass?" I asked Mia.

"Um… er… uh," she sputtered until I bumped her with my shoulder. "No. I never got one, either," she squeaked.

"What are your names?" The nun demanded, squinting at us.

"Portia Goodwin," I said, without missing a beat.

"Shannon Dunlevy," said Mia, waving the ID and giggling nervously like a dork. The old nun was completely annoyed.

"Sister Catherine!" she called, turning towards the front of the line. "Sister Catherine!"

A younger woman who'd been talking to a group of students at the front of the line walked down to where we were standing with the old nun. If I'd seen her out on the street I wouldn't have guessed she was a nun. She was wearing a St. Albans T-shirt with jeans, trainers, and a baseball cap like a perky gym teacher.

"Sister Catherine, Shannon and Portia claim they were never given a museum pass. I was under the impression you were in charge of this excursion. Please explain."

Sister Catherine stared at us like she'd never seen us before, which, of course, she hadn't. "I was so sure everyone had been given a pass at the hotel this morning, Sister Ruth."

She pulled a clipboard from her tote bag with a list of names attached to it and began scanning it with her finger. I took a quick peek at the list on the sly and didn't see a Shannon Dunlevy listed on the first page with the D's, which meant there probably wasn't a Portia Goodwin on the list, either. I screwed up big time. I should have known there would be more than one person in charge of handling this trip. Now they'd find out we were frauds, and we wouldn't get inside to find a picture of the necklace and all my plans would be ruined. And the worst part was, Mia had been right. She was just about to get to the D's when Mia suddenly blurted out.

"We lied, Sister Catherine!"

What was she doing? The other girls in line had turned around to see what was going on. Some of them were whispering, their brows creased in concentration, trying to figure out who in the world we were.

"I'm so sorry," continued Mia. "Portia gave me her pass to hold for her this morning and I forgot both of them. She was just covering for me. Now we won't be able to do the tour, and it's all my fault!" Mia started crying. And when I say crying, I mean she was blubbering like she was going for gold in the Crybaby Olympics. It was actually kind of impressive, if I was in the mood to be impressed.

"Calm down, child," exclaimed Sister Ruth rolling her eyes and looking disgusted. "We're hardly going to make you walk back to Paris. But you and Portia can keep each other company back on the bus while we're inside the palace. You can rejoin the group once we come out to tour the gardens since it won't involve an additional cost."

Oh great! So much for Mia, the amazing crying machine. We still weren't going to get inside the palace. Mia burst into tears again, but I think this time the waterworks may have been for real.

"It'll be okay," said Sister Catherine, putting an arm around Mia shoulders and handing her a tissue from her tote bag. "I've got a couple of extra museum passes. You guys won't have to sit on a hot bus."

I thought Sister Ruth had swallowed her tongue. She cleared her throat loudly to get Sister Catherine's attention and gestured her off to the side. They were arguing and I couldn't hear everything but caught the words irresponsible, punishment, and coddling. Finally, Sister Catherine walked back towards us with Sister Ruth, who was still fussing, practically stepping on her heels. She must have really wanted us to sweat back on the bus in the parking lot because when Sister Catherine handed us the museum passes, Sister Ruth's face turned bright red like she might have a stroke.

"You're just encouraging their irresponsible behavior, Sister. And you shouldn't have any extra passes. We don't have the money to waste on girls who can't take care of their belongings."

"It's okay, Sister Ruth," she soothed. "I took the money out of your retirement party fund since you keep insisting you don't want us to do anything for you. I know you don't want all the money we've collected to go to waste, do you?" She gave her a big smile.

Sister Ruth's back was suddenly as straight as an ironing board as she stalked off in a huff without answering. All the girls were snickering and I was so happy Lily wasn't here. She'd tell me I was on an express elevator straight to you-know-where.

"Way to go, Sister Cat," said iPod girl, giving the nun a high five.

"And don't you dare tell her I was just joking," Sister Catherine told iPod Girl. "And you two make sure you don't lose those passes," she said before walking away.

"And the Academy Award for best actress goes to… Mia Cornell," Mia whispered. If you looked up the word smug in the dictionary, her picture would be there. "Don't I even get a thank you?" she asked when I ignored her.

"Thank you for almost getting us busted or thank you for causing a scene?"

"You know what? You've got a serious burr up your butt."

"Yeah, makes it hard to sit down," I snapped at her. I knew I was being mean. But I was nervous and worried, and I'm not exactly looking to make new friends.

"Good. The line's moving," said Mia, walking ahead of me. "Let's get this over with as soon as possible."

Finally, something we agreed on.