“Billy Dorf,” she says solemnly. Her dark eyes twinkle.
“Fine. Okay. Name two.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” Cody says, “but … here.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a battered black plastic pencil case with a Transformers logo on the front and an “Anarchy in the UK” sticker plastered on the back. We all crack up. During the car ride, Cody plugs his iPod into the adapter and cranks the volume and we speed along with the windows open, an old Rob Zombie album streaming out into the breeze. By the time we pull into Cody’s neighborhood I’m a little happier.
I’m nervous, though, stepping into Cody’s house.
“Are you sure your parents aren’t going to be pissed? You’re supposed to start work later tonight.” I look down at the marble-tiled entryway as I walk in. It’s spotless and mirror-shiny, as if it’s been recently buffed. A planter box full of fake flowers lines one side of the foyer, which extends out into an open-plan living room and kitchen. Everything looks clean, modern, and strangely empty.
“They’re not even going to know,” he says. “They won’t be home for a few hours. By the time they get back, I’ll already be at the theater.” He smiles enigmatically. “Want anything from the kitchen? I can fix a mean whiskey and Coke.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” I say. “It’s a little early.”
“I’ll take one,” Mikaela says, grinning at me mischievously. “Sunny can be a party pooper, but somebody’s gotta have some fun around here.”
“Fine, whatever,” I say, but I’m not really in the mood. I feel like his parents could show up any second. I take a doctored Coke, though, and help carry enough chips and snacks to feed a small army. It’s supposed to be an “anti-retirement” party, just the three of us, before he leaves for his first evening on the job.
I’ve tried—and failed—repeatedly to imagine him in that stupid red vest they make all the movie concessions workers wear. I don’t think I’ve seen him wear anything but black or gray.
So much for that Thumbscrew job he kept talking about.
We plop down in the sunken living room and spread everything out on the glass coffee table. The hardwood floor is almost completely covered in a fancy white shag rug. I make sure my drink is on a coaster and far away from the edge of the table before I grab a handful of cheese puffs and start crunching away.
Mikaela rips open a bag of pretzels. Cody turns on the entertainment center and switches to a music video channel. We sit there for a few minutes, yelling and laughing over the music and cramming our faces with junk food. It’s nice, not having to think.
After a while, Cody clicks a button on the remote and mutes the sound. The silence is almost painful after the crunching and wailing of guitars.
He pulls a fancy laptop from the bottom shelf of the coffee table.
“I have to show you guys something,” he says with barely suppressed glee.
“Is it that band you were telling me about? The one with the girl drummer? You better not like her,” Mikaela says teasingly. I flinch inwardly.
“Nope.” Cody is fidgety, waiting for the computer to boot up. “You’ll see.”
“C’mon, tell us,” she says, scooting a little closer to him on the couch. I’m sitting on his other side, and I lean toward him for a better view as he opens up the web browser.
This close to him, I can’t help thinking about what happened the last time we sat so close to each other. It’s been over two weeks, but I can’t get it out of my head.
“You can call this the last gasp of freedom before my corporate enslavement,” Cody says.
“When are you going to learn? We’re all already slaves to The Man.” Mikaela pokes him in the arm.
“I’m going to have to agree with Mikaela on this one,” I say.
“Fine,” Cody says, “but The Man had nothing to do with this.” He quickly enters a URL into the browser, too fast for me to read it before the page pops up.
When I see what the graphic at the top of the page says, I feel like I’m going to spew cheese balls all over the table.
“Voice of the Underground,” Cody says. “AKA me.”
“Oh, hilarious.” Mikaela reaches out to scroll down the page, stroking one black-painted fingernail along the touch screen.
“Hang on a sec—let me see that,” I say, finally finding my voice. I’m thinking of Elisa crying in the bathroom earlier and what Cassie said, and I have a nasty feeling of dread. I lean closer and read the top blog post.
DESPERATE FUTURE HOUSEWIVES AT C.V.H.S.! screams the headline. Who’s in bed with who? It’s not who you think it is. Did C.P. get with D.W. at a secret party? Is E.N.’s boy toy going to be suicidally depressed when he finds out she’s been snogging somebody else? Or is he going to kick some ass?
GOTHS GONE WILD. C.J.D. last seen at Palmwood Park with his shirt off, blinding thousands of innocent bystanders. It goes on for a while, making fun of some kids I barely know who apparently did something to get on Cody’s bad side, but I’m hung up on the first paragraph.
C.P. Cassie Parker. E.N. Elisa Nguyen.
This is horrible. It’s really, really mean and petty.
And there’s only one way Cody could have been able to write this stuff. He wouldn’t even have known any of it if it hadn’t been for me. Me and my stupid underhearing.
I’m a terrible person.
So much for trying to use underhearing to do good. Instead, I’ve just ruined people’s lives.
Correction: Cody has ruined people’s lives.
But I helped.
twenty-four
Cody is sitting there beaming like he’s a little kid who just drew a picture for his mommy. My stomach churns, and it’s not from the whiskey and Coke I barely touched.
“Cody … ” I swallow, hard. “This is kind of mean.”
“This is need-to-know information,” Cody says, still grinning. “Anyway, I thought you hated them. Why do you care?”
“Elisa was crying,” I tell him. I lean away from him, my back rigid. “That’s why I took so long in the bathroom earlier.”
“So? It’s just payback for all those times they were bitchy to you.”
“You know, you’re allowed to be angry at them,” Mikaela says. “You can’t just hold it in forever. Let it out. Let it go.” She sweeps one arm out, a little drunkenly. I glare at both of them.
“I thought you’d be grateful.” Cody isn’t smiling anymore. He’s starting to look annoyed.
“Grateful? You are really … ” Clueless? Missing the point? Nothing seems adequate to describe what I’m feeling right now. I remember what Cassie said and I start wondering if I’m on the blog somewhere, revealed as some kind of magical psychic know-it-all. My face gets hot and I dig my fingers into my palms.
And he has the nerve to look pissed.
I force myself to calm down enough to talk.
“I don’t need revenge, okay? I just don’t want to talk to them anymore.” Actually, if I’m honest with myself, the only person I don’t want to see anymore is Cassie. Nobody else did anything all that bad. That’s what makes this so wrong. That, and the fact that Cody went behind my back again, used my underhearing for his own personal gain.
“Not only that, it was a private conversation. I told you what I’d heard in confidence. It wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge.” My voice trembles, but I’m too upset to care. “I don’t care if they’re not my friends. It’s a matter of ethics.”