By nine o'clock that night, my mother was asleep on the couch in our living room, exhausted from the hospital.
I dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie. I slipped out the back door into the cool autumn air.
The high school was only a mile away. It sat on a hill overlooking the town, an imposing brick building that looked entirely different in the dark. The parking lot was empty, illuminated by flickering orange streetlights.
I knew the school’s security flaws better than anyone. Leo had written an article for the school paper two years ago exposing the faulty locks on the cafeteria loading dock doors. The school board had never bothered to fix them.
I slipped around the back of the building, keeping to the shadows. I found the heavy metal door near the dumpsters. I grabbed the handle, pulled hard, and shoved my weight against it. With a metallic groan, the door popped open.
I slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind me.
The school was pitch black, save for the emergency exit signs glowing red at the ends of the hallways. My footsteps echoed too loudly against the linoleum as I made my way toward the administrative wing.
If someone broke into the girls' locker room during fourth period, they would have had to walk down the main athletic hallway to get there. There was a security camera positioned right outside the double doors.
I needed to get to the AV room to check the server.
I crept down the hallway, every shadow looking like a person waiting to jump out. The silence was oppressive. I reached the AV room on the second floor. The door was locked, but the AV teacher kept a spare key hidden under the edge of the hallway bulletin board. I ran my fingers along the dusty wooden frame, felt the cold metal key, and unlocked the door.
Inside, the room was cramped, filled with stacks of old monitors and tangles of cables. The security server was humming quietly in the corner.
I sat at the desk, powered on the main monitor, and typed in the generic admin password the tech club used to bypass the firewall. The screen flickered to life, showing a grid of twelve camera feeds.
I pulled up the archive, navigating to earlier that afternoon. Fourth period. 1:15 PM.
The camera outside the girls' locker room showed the empty hallway. I watched the timecode tick by.
At 1:22 PM, the double doors at the end of the hall swung open.
I leaned closer to the screen, holding my breath.
It wasn't Chloe. It wasn't Harper.
It was Coach Miller.
He was carrying a pair of large, red-handled bolt cutters. He walked quickly down the hall, looking over his shoulder, and disappeared into the girls' locker room. Three minutes later, he walked back out. The bolt cutters were gone. Instead, he was holding Leo’s weathered leather notebook in his left hand.
He had timed it perfectly. He had sent me out to run the mile, knowing Chloe would keep me distracted.
“Looking for something, Lin?”
I froze. The voice came from the darkness directly behind me.
I spun around in the swivel chair.
The silhouette of Coach Miller filled the doorway. He reached out and flipped the light switch. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed to life, blinding me for a second.
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He wasn't wearing his whistle or his coaching gear. He was wearing dark jeans and a heavy jacket.
“You’re a smart kid, Maya,” Miller said, taking a slow step toward me. “Too smart for your own good. Just like your brother.”
“Where is it?” I demanded, standing up, my back pressed against the edge of the desk. I forced my voice to stay level, fighting the panic rising in my throat. “Where is my brother’s notebook?”
Miller sighed, shaking his head. “It’s gone. Mr. Vance has it. He’s destroying it tonight. And you’re going to walk out of here, go home, and forget any of this ever happened. Because if you don't, what happened to Leo is going to look like a minor fender bender compared to what happens to your mother.”
He took another step forward, reaching into his pocket.
“Chloe dropped her charm in the locker room,” I said quickly, trying to keep him talking. “She wasn't just a distraction. She was supposed to do it, wasn't she? But she backed out. So you had to do it for her.”
Miller stopped, his eyes narrowing. “Chloe is weak. She’s a liability. But her father pays my salary, so I clean up the messes. Now, step away from the computer.”