Weird Girl (14 page)

***

When Cleo arrived the next day, Santo was a changed man. He
had shaved, both his beard and his head (there may have been lice…), scrubbed
himself, repainted his nails, and he was mowing the yard when her taxi pulled
up the driveway. She offered up two bags of groceries that she had smuggled
from the pantry at home, and learned that Santo had already been into town to
settle his accounts and have the power and water turned back on. The
technicians would be by later that afternoon. It was amazing how quickly he
turned his life around once she had finally convinced him that there would be
no prison in his future….

After a quick breakfast of peanut butter sandwiches and
apple juice boxes, they got down to business. Cleo was expecting a certain
physical component to the lesson, so she was confused when Santo dragged two
sagging lawn chairs under the shade of a large tree and gestured for her to
sit.

“Dexterity. Coordination. The lift. Memory and
Concentration. These are the lessons that you have learned, my child,” he
intoned. “And now we have come to the most important lesson, Number Five.”

“But what is it?” she asked.

“Lesson Five is what to do if you get caught,” he said with
a serious expression.

“But I’m good,” said Cleo confidently. “I won’t get caught.”

“But you already have,” he said. “That guy—Jackson. And now
you’re in deep with him, somehow. If you had known what to do, he wouldn’t be a
problem for you right now.”

“He’s just a stupid guy at a stupid school,” said Cleo, her
voice laced with disdain.

“No, he’s a problem. Don’t you realize that he could have
turned you in? You could be in juvie right now. Or your parents could have
shipped you off to Switzerland. And what makes it worse is that he could turn
you in at any time. You said he’s screwing the headmistress. Your life could be
hell for the next four years because of that guy.” He poked a hole in another
juice box with a tiny straw and enjoyed the way his tongue tingled as the
calories ran across it. “Do you have any idea what he meant by “plans” that
last day in your room?” he asked.

“No,” said Cleo. She picked up a stick and started twisting
holes into the dirt. Santo was right. Jackson was a thorn in her side, and if
she had handled it differently that day behind the gym, he might have left her
alone, and she might be staying home for good. Instead, Harper Valley
would claim her again in a few short weeks. Now she was depressed.

They began Lesson Five. It involved no running, hiding,
dodging, or picking pockets. Instead, it was verbal role playing. Santo
presented her with scenario after scenario, asking her to create an escape plan
for each one. What do you do if the victim feels you take his wallet? What do
you do if a bystander sees you do it? What happens if something causes you to
break character? What happens if there are cops nearby? When do you run? When
do you lie? When do you dispose of the loot and walk away?

He grilled her all day. And the next day. And the day after
that. She learned to cry on cue. She practiced her “I can’t find my mommy” and
“Sir, I think you dropped this” speeches.

On the fourth day, Santo focused on Jackson, asking Cleo
questions about the man’s habits, his character, his background (of which she
knew nothing). “You’re going to have to learn,” he told her. “Figure out what
makes him tick, so that you can figure out how to make him go away.” This
brought back the memory of Jackson saying the same thing about Mae. It was
definitely something to think about.

This chain of thought reminded Cleo of something else. “I
need you to teach me how to pick a lock,” she said. Apple juice spewed from Santo’s
mouth, causing him to cough like a dying man. Cleo wiped the overspray from her
leg and awkwardly patted him on the back until he could breathe normally again.

“Why?” he croaked.

“Because I need to retrieve property that was stolen from me
at school,” she replied with an imperious lift of the chin.

She explained Waldorf’s pitiful situation, and by an
extended period of pleading, whining, and crying (with her newfound crying
skill!), convinced Santo to teach her the basics.

***

Over the next two and a half weeks, he showed her how to use
a credit card, a screwdriver, a nail file, and paper clips to open simple
locks. With a week left before Cleo’s redeployment to Hell, Santo presented her
with a flat black vinyl case—his spare set of lock picks from his burglary
days. When the cheap lock on his trailer no longer provided a challenge, he
took her to the hardware store and lectured her about different types of
interior and exterior locks. Then, she went home and practiced on the doors in
her giant house. On her last night of freedom, they had a party at Santo’s
place for her upcoming tenth birthday (her parents didn’t really do birthdays),
and he let her have a smidge of beer in a small paper cup.

15

The next morning, she met Jackson at the front door with a
smile, which made him suspicious. She hugged her parents, waved at Vera, and
cheerfully skipped down the steps to the car. All of the adults exchanged a
confused look at the uncharacteristic lack of drama. Finally, Jackson stowed
her suitcase in the trunk, slipped on his sunglasses, and they were soon
underway. She chattered like a magpie the entire drive back to Harper
Valley, asking him questions about his life. He didn’t speak once.

Cleo waited a week before making her first move. The school
population was seriously reduced in the summer, and the girls who did come back
were taking intense eight-week courses, so the campus was fairly deserted in
the middle of the day. Cleo had chosen to take her second French course during
this time, partially because she had a knack for languages, and partially
because the French instructor was a lush who taught with a flask in one hand,
and who let them out early whenever she could no longer feel her feet.

She had noticed that Ms. Adams went to the music room every
afternoon to listen to students play the piano for their music class. As Cleo’s
classmates streamed down the hall on either side, she walked slowly and
strained to hear the telltale chords of Beethoven. Even better, as she was
turning the corner, she ran straight into Ms. Adams, who muttered “Excuse me”
under her breath and continued on toward the music room. Cleo grinned and
sprinted to the administration building.

Her adrenaline was pumping, but she forced herself to stand
very still and breathe once she crossed the threshold. As Santo had taught her,
she stood completely still and listened to the groans and creaks of the
building. It was important to figure out who else was around, but also to
establish an idea of what sounds were normal, and what sounds were not. That
way, she could tune out certain things while she was working, but stay on the
alert for any anomalies that might indicate the presence of another person.

Finally, she determined that the front offices were empty.
She dropped to one knee at Ms. Adams’ keyhole, slid the black vinyl case out of
the waistband of her shorts, and was soon striding across the plush carpet of
the semi-dark room. The exhilarating rush stopped her in her tracks. Success!
It was a sweet, addictive drug. She had a sudden urge to sit at Ms. Adams’ desk
in the dark and simply
be
.

Ignoring the impulse to search through the drawers was
difficult, but Cleo was here for a rescue mission. The office had three doors:
one main entrance, and two side doors that led to…somewhere. Cleo knew that she
didn’t have much time, because Ms. Adams usually only stayed away for about an
hour each day. She decided to go left, because that was the door that Blue
usually came through, the logic being that when Ms. Adams instructed Blue to
remove the shrunken head, Blue probably took it away using her normal route.

The door was locked, which was not surprising. Ms. Adams
carefully guarded her secrets. Cleo slid a slender piece of metal into the lock
and was reaching for a second when her brain acknowledged an extra sound: the
slow swish of a sliding pocket door, followed by soft footsteps on carpet. She
froze.

“You can pick locks?” asked Jackson. Cleo groaned and hit
her forehead against the door, leaving it pressed against the cool wood while
she considered how very wrong her life was.

“Seriously, how did you get in here?” he asked. “And
why
are
you in here?”

She carefully slid the metal tools back into their case, and
then slipped the case into her pocket before turning around. He hadn’t turned
on the light, so all she could see was his silhouette just inside the doorway.
Just enough light spilled in to illuminate Cleo, so she stepped to one side to
be more in shadow. Her hopes that he hadn’t seen her face were dashed when Jackson groaned and said, “Cleo, I’m not kidding. Why are you in here?” He groaned before
adding, “Never mind—just get out. Virginia’s on her way back right now.”

“Virginia?” said Cleo with a large degree of skepticism.
“Her name is
Virginia
?” Jackson made an exasperated sound and took one
step forward, and she immediately sprinted around him, through the doorway, and
out the main door, skidding to a stop and diving head first behind a bush when
she heard the clicking of high heels announcing the approach of Ms. Virginia
Adams. Cleo hid in the shrubbery until the woman had gone inside. If any
passersby happened to hear a large green bush yell, “Shitbiscuit!”, nobody
seemed to care. Cleo leaned back against the building, enjoying the feeling of
rough, cool brick against her back, and reevaluated her plan.

***

Later, she extracted herself from her evergreen refuge,
hobbling just a little from pins and needles in partially numb feet. Casting
one last dirty look at the administration building, Cleo headed back to her
room. Jackson was on the bed when she got there, this time reading a magazine.
A pile of candy wrappers sat beside his leg, and the air was laced with
peppermint.

“Get out of my room,” she said through clenched teeth.

Jackson tossed his magazine aside and smiled. “It seems that
you owe me a great big “thank you”,” he said, crossing his arms and casually
leaning back against the wall, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Get. Out.” Cleo would have stomped for emphasis, but her foot was still
tingly.

“Come on, say it,” he said, grinning annoyingly and
continuing in a falsetto: “Thank you, Jackson. Thank you for saving me,
Jackson. Thanks for—“

“For what? Interrupting a perfectly smooth B&E?” Cleo
had to curb the urge to yell, as well as the impulse to throw something heavy
at his head. She was also a little bit proud of having a legitimate reason to
use the term “B&E” in conversation.

Jackson unwrapped another piece of candy and popped it into
his mouth, rolling it slowly from one side of his tongue to the other. “It
seems to me that I interrupted you just in time to warn you that Virginia was about to catch you in the midst of a larcenous moment of weakness.” He
extended his hand with an offering of a piece of candy. Cleo finally snatched
it from his hand.

“Seriously? Her name is Virginia?” she asked as she dropped
the wrapper in the pile. She pulled a wooden chair around to face him and
dropped into an immediate slouch. Jackson laughed.

“Of course that would be the first thing you’d want to talk
about.” He shook his head. “I think we should discuss the far more important
discovery that you, dear Cleo, have somewhere learned to pick locks.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’,” she said
belligerently. It was one of Santo’s favorite phrases from Lesson Five. Jackson laughed so hard that he started coughing, his eyes watering from the strain.

“I hope you choke on that. You ate almost all my candy,
jerk,” said Cleo.

He finally stopped, but his voice was scratchy when he
spoke. “I seem to remember that you owe me two favors,” he said, holding up two
fingers for emphasis. “And I intend to capitalize on that very soon. But first,
I need to know: was it just luck, or can you do that again?”

She was torn between defending her skill and maintaining
deniability. Pride won. “Of course I can do it again,” she scoffed.

The smile that lit his face was magical, like a man who has
finally grasped the life preserver that has been dancing just out of reach on a
choppy sea. Then he got serious.

“First, I need you to figure out where Virginia’s files are
kept,” he said. “Not the academic files, her personal ones. They may be in the
same place, but I doubt it.”

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause we’re such best friends that she
always tells me where she keeps her secret files.”

In half a second, Jackson was on his knees, his hands
grasping Cleo’s arms hard enough to hurt. “You have to figure out a way. I’ve
got my suspicions, but there’s no way I can get in to actually check. She
watches me all the time.”

Cleo rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s mutual,” she
muttered.

He became earnest. “No, it’s not. I can’t tell you why, but
it’s not. I just need you to check out a couple of places and tell me what you
find.”

She raised an eyebrow and committed to memory the image of Jackson
on his knees, begging Cleo for a bit of kindness. She was mentally embellishing
the story that she would someday share with Santo (tattered clothing, Jackson
weeping, his tears dropping on her knee, a bit of chest beating and hair
tearing…) when he shook her. Hard. Cleo saw steel in his icy eyes, hinting of
the danger she had sensed the first time he had come to her room. The man was
deadly serious. Interesting….

“And that’s it?” she asked with a great degree of
skepticism. “You want me to look for some files, and we’re done?”

“No, we’re done with one favor. You owe me two,” he said.
“Once I’m sure that you’ve found the right stash, I need you to steal a file
for me.
Then
we’re done.”

“Really done? As in, no more finding you in my room,
pestering me, spying on me, ruining my life and crap?” His proximity was
starting to make her nervous, so she self-consciously crossed her arms and
leaned back slightly. He was very intense.

Jackson laughed. It was a bitter sort of sound, completely
unlike any that he had made in her presence before this moment. “Trust me,
Cleopatra,” he said. “I will be gone from this place as soon as I get that
file.”

“Quit calling me Cleopatra, asshole,” she growled.

They shook on it, each convinced that their biggest problems
were about to go away. He helped her sketch a map of the rooms behind Ms.
Adams’ office, and he told her as many details as he could about the woman’s
routine. Jackson promised to try his best to keep Virginia out of the building
while Cleo prowled. The major wildcard was Blue, who seemed to appear and
disappear at will. Jackson wasn’t even sure where her office was.

Not that it really mattered, because for the next two weeks,
every time that Cleo planned to do a little sneaking behind closed doors,
something (or someone) else got in the way. Her French teacher assigned a
project that required time spent in the library. The administrative offices
were being repainted, and there were always men in white coveralls where Cleo
didn’t need them to be. Ms. Adams stayed in her office at unusual times for a
series of conference calls, and had late, very secretive meetings with four
different women (who would later be introduced as the new World History,
Calculus, Improvisational Dance, and Farsi instructors at the beginning of Fall
term). And, because the Universe loves jokes, the one day that Cleo managed to
breach the entrance of Administration, Blue stepped out of the shadows.

“Oh, good, you’ve saved me a trip,” came the impossibly
childlike voice. “It’s time for your next work rotation assignment.”

Cleo decided it was best not to say anything. Blue
continued, “I’ve put you in the library for the next three months. Please
report to the supervisor immediately for your schedule.”

A light bulb zinged to life in Cleo’s head. “Well, I was
kinda hoping for the Administration rotation next,” said Cleo. If she had an
excuse to be in the offices every day, it would be a snap to find those files
(and Waldorf).

Blue shook her head. “No, I’ve got the rotation sheet filled
out, and you’re in the library for the next three months.”

“But—I
really
want to work in Administration right
now,” said Cleo, with just enough emphasis that Blue’s intelligent eyes
narrowed.

“Why?” asked Blue sharply.

“Ummm…so that I can learn to be like you?” Cleo couldn’t
help the question mark that sneaked in at the end.

“Go. To. The library,” was the response. And so, Cleo went
to the library. Ordinarily, she would have loved the job. It was definitely
better than food service. But the library was the farthest possible part of the
building from Ms. Adams’ office, and it had its own separate entrance. In fact,
Cleo couldn’t find an interior door that connected the library wing to the rest
of the building at all, which made it much harder to come up with legitimate
excuses when she tried to loiter near the Main Hall entrance waiting for the
headmistress to leave. It’s not like she could claim to be on her way to work,
because she couldn’t actually get there from this direction. It also didn’t
help that Jackson was suddenly M.I.A.

***

Frustratingly, life continued to have a laugh at Cleo’s
expense. The head librarian was not at all what Cleo had expected in a boss
(picturing a matronly older woman with glasses and a scowl disguising a kind,
mothering heart). They hadn’t interacted much, especially since Cleo had spent
most of her time A. hiding under a table eavesdropping on conversations; or B.
stealing books. Although she did wear reading glasses, there was nothing kind
or mother-like about this woman. She was also nuts.

Cleo might have expected the job to be easy. After all, what
can an old lady do but shake a stern finger or
Shhh!
emphatically? But,
by the end of the first day, Cleo wondered what foreign military was missing
their cruelest general, because she was clearly among the stacks at the Harper
Valley School for Girls. This woman ran a tight ship, and that included
mandatory panic drills.