The Implosion Of Aggie Winchester Part 14

"Are you okay?" I asked. It wasn't until she looked at me that I remembered we were fighting.

Ms. Rhone came barreling toward us. "What's going on?" she asked. "What is it?"

"I need to go down to the nurse's office," said Sylvia. "Something's not right." She clutched her cantaloupe-sized belly and grimaced.

Ms. Rhone swallowed. "All right, then." She took out a pa.s.s from her back pocket and handed it to Sylvia. "Go."

I was ready to walk away when Sylvia asked, "Can Aggie come with me?" She was beginning to breathe heavily. "Please?"

When Ms. Rhone nodded, I peeled off my fencing garb. Then, with Ms. Rhone and me each holding on to one of Sylvia's elbows, we led her out of the gym. Ms. Rhone stopped when we got to the hallway.

"I hope it's nothing serious," she said, giving Sylvia an uncharacteristic rub on her back. Then she turned and walked back into the gym.

The minute Ms. Rhone had gone, Sylvia straightened up and looked me full in the face. "Let's go somewhere and talk," she said, without a hint of pain or panic in her voice.

"Are you kidding?" I asked, staring at her belly, where I'd been convinced, just moments before, the sp.a.w.n of Ryan Rollings was going to come leaking out of her. "Did you just fake all that?"

Sylvia nodded. "C'mon. This is serious. We have to talk."

We walked quickly to the nearest girls' bathroom and locked ourselves into the wide handicapped stall. I bent down to make sure no one else was in the bathroom. For the moment, we were alone.

"Sylvia," I started, but she raised a hand, and I clamped my mouth shut. Underneath the bathroom lights, her spiky hair cast spiderlike shadows on the wall, and her clothes-black pants with a red T-s.h.i.+rt-reminded me of a black widow.

"The ballots are gone, Ag," Sylvia said. "And I need your help. I screwed up last week. I shouldn't have told you that I didn't want to talk until after the prom. You're the one person I need most right now. I'm sorry everything went down like it did. I really am."

I should have been elated. Sylvia's words were exactly what I wanted to hear. Except the whole time she talked, her eyes stayed hard and angry. I couldn't help but wonder-why, after kicking me to the curb, did she suddenly need me? My heart surged, wanting us to be best friends again, but my brain was firing off warning after warning.

"How do you know the ballots are missing?" I asked, playing along for the moment.

"Tiffany Holland, that cheerleader you hate so much? She knew I'd gotten enough votes to win because she'd helped count them."

Not Tiffany Holland again.

"Hold on a sec," I said. "Why is everyone putting so much stock in something a cheerleader who really wants to be prom queen is saying? It's a no-brainer that she never should have helped count those ballots. She's a nominee with a stake in this. And isn't it all over school that Tiffany punched Marissa last weekend? I mean, isn't this enough to discount her story altogether? She obviously doesn't want Marissa on the throne because she hates her."

Sylvia surprised me by nodding. "Normally, yeah. But she swears she saw enough ballots to make me queen. She was so convinced that she was willing to confront Mrs. Wagner about it directly. So, yesterday, she grabbed me and we had a come to Jesus with Mrs. W. We demanded to see the ballots. But Mrs. Wagner said they were gone and nothing could be done."

Because she burned them! I wanted to say, but didn't. "And?" I asked instead.

"Mrs. Wagner admitted what she did to the ballots. She burned them."

Uneasiness crept up my spine. "Okay, so? What does any of this have to do with me?"

"It was your mom, Ag. Your mom told Mrs. Wagner to burn the ballots. And now I hear your mom is talking about having a revote. But that can't happen. You can't let her. Tell her she needs to make me queen, and if she does, I won't tell how she forced Mrs. Wagner to burn the ballots."

I should have told Sylvia off. But instead I laughed. Something about Sylvia dragging me into a bathroom stall to accuse my mom of telling a teacher to burn the prom ballots struck me as downright hilarious.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Sylvia asked. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, come on," I said. "You believe that s.h.i.+t? I mean, we should be standing here talking about the ballots I saw you with. First the blank ones at your house, then the ones that you spilled in the hallway. And also, let's be honest. The reason you don't want a revote is because you're worried you won't be able to win again without cheating."

"That's not true! As far as the ballots go, I was helping Jefferson with the election. Ask him. He'll back me up."

Jefferson. Who was supposed to tell Mrs. Wagner that I'd seen Sylvia in the hallway with the ballots, but didn't.

"Were you helping Jefferson?" I asked. "Or was he helping you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I picked at some paint on the bathroom stall. "I don't know. You tell me. I mean, the way I see it, you had the ballots but no way to get them to Mrs. Wagner's office to get counted. Jefferson, though-as the president of the student council, he could have done it. He could have helped you swap out the ballots. Right?"

Sylvia laughed like I was crazy, but I noticed the skin above her lips had started to glisten. She was sweating. "Why would Jefferson do that?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. More pot? You guys have made deals before. Why not make another one, just with bigger stakes?"

"You're pulling rabbits out of your a.s.s," Sylvia said. "And I don't need this brand of crazy right now."

"That might be. But just for the record, I'm not the one faking miscarriages so I can drag people into the bathroom."

To my complete surprise, Sylvia pushed me against the stall, both her hands on my shoulders, and got up in my face. My laughter vanished.

"Am I a joke to you, Aggie?" she asked. "You think you're going to have a laugh at my expense over this?"

All the air had left the bathroom stall. I couldn't breathe. This isn't happening, I thought. There is no way this is actually happening.

When I didn't reply, Sylvia let go and stepped back. "I know your mom is behind this," she said. "Mrs. Wagner says your mom rigged the whole thing. Mrs. Wagner went to both Mr. Monroe and your mom to tell them I was the queen, but they told her to put Marissa on the throne."

"That's bulls.h.i.+t!" I yelled. "I heard Mrs. Wagner on Monday saying you shouldn't be allowed to win because you're pregnant. She was jockeying for Marissa the whole time, Sylvia. She's manipulating you now so she doesn't get caught."

"No way," Sylvia growled.

"Way," I insisted. "I swear it."

"All right, look. Here's the bottom line. I'm giving you one last chance to show me that you want to be my friend. Tell your mom to let the revote slide and to make me queen. If she does that, then I won't come forward and tell everyone that your mom made Mrs. Wagner burn the ballots. You can convince her, Ag. I know you can. She just had cancer surgery, for crying out loud. She'd probably do anything to make this prom thing go away."

My shoulders burned from where Sylvia had dug her fingers into my skin. I trembled with rage, humiliation, and shock.

"Let me get this straight," I said. "You tell me you don't want to be my friend because I'm the princ.i.p.al's kid, then you come slithering back to me to give me the supposed honor of redeeming myself to you if I somehow help you bust my mom. So you can be prom queen. Is that what you're saying to me?"

"Don't f.u.c.k around here."

"Or what?" I cried. "You'll dump me? Or shove me into a wall? Oh, wait. I forgot. You've already done that."

"Screw you," Sylvia said, slamming the palm of her hand into the metal stall. "You have to help me. I know I won that election."

"Because you cheated!" I cried. "I saw you!"

Sylvia looked like she was going to haul off and punch me this time, but I didn't flinch. "Did you do it with Beth? Did she help you steal ballots? Did you bond over being pregnant while you wrote your name-maybe even Ryan's-on every single f.u.c.king line?"

"You have no proof," Sylvia hissed.

"I can get proof," I lied.

"How?" Sylvia asked.

"Someone saw you," I bluffed. "They told me they saw you stealing ballots. I'll get them to come forward." I hoped my lie would be enough to get her to drop everything and just walk away from the election. To take what little opportunity she had left to do the right thing.

Sylvia put her hands in her hair. "I would have won anyway," she said, her voice suddenly manic. "Don't you understand? I was going to win. It was all going to work out. Ryan was going to be there for me. I wasn't going to have to raise this baby alone." She ran her hands over her face, smearing her makeup. "Your mom f.u.c.ked me over. You have to help me prove it."

Sylvia was losing it, I realized. She was totally and completely losing it.

"Sylvia," I said, but she interrupted me.

"If you don't help me, I swear to G.o.d I'll make your life a living h.e.l.l."

"More than you already have?" I asked. "You threw away our friends.h.i.+p. What could you possibly do to me that's worse than that?" I was horrified to hear my voice was breaking, but I kept talking anyway. "Are you really going to keep going, all for a stupid prom election? Is it worth that much to you?"

"Ryan is worth it," Sylvia said. "And for the record, Beth was right about you. She told me not to talk to you today, but I told her I believed in you. I told her you'd help us. She said you're just a little princ.i.p.al's b.i.t.c.h, and now I know she was right."

Sylvia pushed me into the stall again with her shoulder, then marched out of the bathroom. f.u.c.k you! I wanted to scream, but I couldn't get the words out. My throat was filled with sand.

Chapter Twenty-three.

THURSDAY, APRIL 23 / 12:28 P.M.

At lunchtime, I recalled the whole bathroom story for Jess while we huddled together in the crowded lunchroom. Jess had forgotten to pack something to eat and claimed she had a hard time digesting fast food. It was the school salad bar or nothing.

"Sylvia admitted to stuffing the ballot boxes?" Jess asked, spearing a cuc.u.mber.

"Not in so many words. But I know she did. I saw her with those ballots twice."

"Did she fudge Ryan's name too?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. My guess is that he was pretty much a shoo-in for king, but she probably forged a few ballots, just in case."

"And now Sylvia says everything will be cool if you just get your mom to call off a revote and make her queen?"

"Something like that," I said.

Jess set down her fork. "What a mess," she mumbled.

I pushed away the soggy pretzel and cheese I'd purchased. I wasn't hungry anymore. A moment later, a janitor with a trash bag came by. "You finished?" he asked, pointing to my lunch.

"Yeah, sure," I said. I tossed the remains of my lunch into the bag, catching a glimpse of his name tag at the same time. Lionel Daniels.

My eyes widened. "Hey, excuse me," I said as he started off toward another table. "Sorry to bother you, but you're new here, right?"

Lionel stopped and nodded. "Yeah, just a few weeks in."

"Well . . . uh, hi," I said. I knew kids were staring at me. n.o.body talked to the janitors. Ever. "Sorry, but you have a daughter, right?"

Lionel looked around. His watery hazel eyes were set deep in his face, and his chin was covered in stubble. "Well, she don't like people to know we're related."

I smiled. "It's okay. I know her. It's Beth, right?"

Lionel nodded. "I'm glad Beth is makin' friends. She had a hard time in Walker."

"You moved from Walker?" It was a town just a couple hours away. So much for moving from the Big Apple. Not to mention having a dad who'd left Wall Street.

Lionel nodded. "Well, probably said too much already. I'm glad you know my baby. Keep her on her toes for me."

With that, he turned and continued the trash collection.

"What are you doing?" Jess asked. "Why were you talking to that guy?"

I couldn't help but smile. "Oh, just poking more holes in Beth's bulls.h.i.+t stories. You know she said her dad was the president of a Wall Street firm and that they'd moved from New York? But that guy-the janitor-was her dad. And they moved from freaking Walker."

Jess harpooned a carrot on her fork. "That so?" she asked, studying her vegetable.

"Yep," I said.

Jess bit the carrot and chewed. She was silent for a while.

"What?" I finally asked. "What's going on in that brain of yours?"

"I'm just wondering, if he's the janitor, doesn't he have keys to just about everything in the school?"

"Probably. Why?"

"Well, what if those keys fell into the wrong hands?"

I leaned forward, suddenly grasping Jess's meaning. "Wrong hands, like Beth's?"

Jess nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. I mean, we still don't know how Sylvia got all those blank ballots."

"What if," I proposed, "Beth stole her dad's keys, broke into one of the supply closets, and lifted them? It makes total sense."

"It's also total conjecture," Jess said. "We have nothing but a theory."

I rubbed my forehead. Jess was right. It was like my idea about Jefferson. It made sense, but I'd never be able to prove it. I needed something more concrete to back Sylvia off her quest to take down my mom.

"You know," Jess said, "the worst part about all of it is that Sylvia and Beth probably didn't have to lift the ballots in the first place. I think Sylvia might have had enough votes to be queen just because people supported her. She probably didn't need to rig it, you know? Now she's all worried about a revote when, really, she might already have half the school behind her."