What's Your Status? (28 page)

Shy Time → the crew
Victory! I got that address you needed, Mad.

Dave Gold → the crew
Shy, text it to me. Good work. Unlike
some
people.

mad_mac → the crew
Look, it’s not my fault she’s gone radio silent. SARAH??

the8rgrrl → the crew
Sorry! Won’t happen again. I was getting into character. All set for tonight.

“Okay,” I said, turning around in the passenger seat of the Putnam Pizza van and looking into the backseat. “All set?”

Sarah, sitting in the back, nodded. The back of the Putnam Pizza van had been customized to facilitate pizza transportation—only the front row of seats remained, and in the back was a contraption designed to hold a number of pies. It was strapped against the doors, but still had a tendency to bounce around worryingly whenever Dave took a sharp turn. Which was, in fact, every turn that Dave took.

Sarah fluffed up her hair. Ginger had taken over wardrobe and makeup after school, and Sarah looked—for lack of a better phrase—really smoking hot. Ginger had given her glowy skin, lots of lashes, and red lipstick. Her hair was tousled and undone, even though it had taken Ginger
over an hour to achieve that effect. And maybe it was the fact that Sarah seemed to be viewing Pizza Delivery Minx as a character she was playing, but she seemed to have a lot more confidence than usual. For wardrobe, Ginger had taken in a Putnam Pizza shirt to the point where several of the buttons seemed in danger of popping off. Dave had turned pale when he’d seen Sarah, and had been expressly avoiding looking into the backseat. That response had been enough for me to begin to think we might actually pull off Operation Mata Hari.

“So Dave and I will be in the van, waiting,” I said as Dave slowed to fifty miles an hour—which for him was a crawl—and squinted at the house numbers.

“Mad, can you see what number that is?” Dave asked. He slammed on the brakes, threw the van in reverse, and sped back several feet. “I can’t read these. Why can’t people just have white mailboxes?”

“Maybe if you slowed down,” Sarah suggested faintly from the back. She had the slightly stricken look that people riding in Dave’s car tended to have—like she’d just confronted her mortality for the first time.

“Yeah, I don’t do that,” Dave said, putting the car back into drive.

“We’re looking for 1408 Sweetbriar,” I said, looking around at the unfamiliar streets of Hartfield. Though Hartfield was only twenty minutes outside of Putnam, I had spent almost no time there, and had no idea where we were.

“I know,” Dave said. “I just don’t see it, do you?”

“There!” Sarah said, pointing out her window.
I braced myself, and Dave made a highly illegal U-turn in the middle of the road—which was, thankfully, free of other cars. We pulled into the driveway of 1408, and Dave put the car in park just to the side of the front steps and killed the engine. Dave and I both unbuckled our seat belts and turned to face Sarah.

“Ready?” I asked.

She nodded, took three deep breaths, did a quick vocal warm-up, and turned to me. “How do I look?”

Dave glanced at her and turned pale again. “Fine,” he muttered to his armrest.

“Great,” I said. “Seriously. You’re going to be awesome.”

Sarah smiled and turned to Dave, who seemed to be making every effort possible to avoid eye contact with her. “Quiz me one last time?” she asked.

“If he asks why Putnam Pizza is delivering in Hartfield…” I prompted, since Dave currently seemed to be having trouble swallowing.

“I say that there was a call from his number—”

“This number,” Dave said, holding out a piece of paper in her general direction. Schuyler had found all the information we needed on his public Q feed, which was actually a little worrying.

“Right,” Sarah said, pocketing it. “And that since Putnam Pizza is so popular all over the area, we deliver outside the customary range.”

“Which we don’t, but he doesn’t have to know that,” Dave said.

“Got it,” she said. She unbuckled her seat belt, walked
to the back of the van, and selected the two pies we’d brought with us. We had a cheese and a pepperoni, figuring those were safe bets. She pulled open the door of the van, then turned back to us. “What’s his name again?” she asked.

“Zach,” I said. “Zach Baylor. Good luck.” I watched as Sarah sauntered up the driveway—even her walk was totally different—and rang the bell.

Sarah straightened her shirt again, and I just prayed that the buttons would hold out for a few more minutes. Seeing the front door swing open, Dave and I slouched down in our seats. We were doing it as a precaution, but it was probably completely unnecessary, as the guy answering the front door—I recognized him as Zach from Isabel’s profile—clearly only had eyes for Sarah. They spoke for a few moments on the porch, and then he opened the door wider and Sarah stepped inside with the pizzas, turning her head and giving us a thumbs-up as she did so. “She’s good,” I admitted, impressed.

Dave shook his head and we both sat up a little straighter. “You saw that shirt,” he said. “The poor guy never stood a chance. This is entrapment or something.”

“Isabel stole the Hayes crown,” I reminded him. “She deserves it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “She didn’t steal the Hayes crown,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Just what I said,” he replied. “She didn’t steal it. Schuyler gave it to her. There’s a difference, even if she was blackmailed.”

I stared at the house, not really wanting to talk about this. “I suppose.”

“No, seriously, Mad,” Dave said, looking at me. “There’s a difference. Schuyler did something really, really stupid.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” I said.

Dave sighed. “Then I guess I just don’t understand,” he said.

“Understand what?” I asked.

“Why you’ll forgive Schuyler,” Dave said, “but not Ruth.”

That was
not
what I had expected him to say. “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked slowly.

“It has to do with everything,” he said. “Seriously, Mad. Look at where we are. Look at what we’re doing.”

“Bringing pizza to someone who didn’t order it?”

“You know what I mean. You’re doing a lot to try and fix Schuyler’s mistake. You’re still friends with her.” I looked away from Dave and stared down at my lap. “I’m just saying. I don’t get what the difference is.”

“Ruth was out to hurt me,” I said. “She hacked my profile—”

“I know that,” Dave said. “But Schuyler stole your keys from your locker and broke into your car.”

I tried to get my thoughts clear. It was different. For one thing, Ruth had never apologized for the hacking. And…also…Schuyler wasn’t my BFF. Ruth had broken a trust that I had once thought was unbreakable. “Well, I don’t see how this is even about you,” I said, rather than answering him.

“Because it is,” Dave said simply. “Ruth was my friend, too. And I can see what not being friends with her is doing to Lisa—and to you.”

His words hung between us in the car, and I looked at the door, thinking that now would be a great time for Sarah to come back. “Anyway,” I said, determined to change the subject, “what’s going on with you and Lisa?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Dave mumbled. “What’s going on with you and Nate?”

“I don’t know,” I said with a small sigh. Silence fell between us.

“Want to play twenty questions?” Dave finally asked as Zach’s door swung open.

We both slid down in our seats again and watched Sarah walk across the driveway toward us, a small smile on her face. She got in, slammed the door, and Dave took off down the driveway. “Well?” I asked, turning to her once we were past the house.

“Mission accomplished,” she said, smiling.

“Seriously?” Dave asked.

“It was amazing,” Sarah said, looking a little stunned. “He barely even asked about the pizza. And then when I mentioned that our prom was this weekend, and I didn’t have a date, he asked me to his. Just like that.”

“Wow,” I said, thinking that either this guy really liked Sarah, or he really hated Isabel. “Did he mention his current date?”

“Nope,” she said with a smile. “He just said that he had a tentative arrangement that he had to undo. But he was texting someone as I left.”

“Okay, that’s Mark’s cue,” I said, taking out my phone. “Thanks, Sarah.”

“Thanks for not running for president,” she said. Dave looked at me, frowning, and I just shrugged, not wanting to go into it. “But you know,” Sarah added after a moment, “he really seems…nice. And he’s really, really cute.”

“But you know this isn’t a real date, right?” I asked, beginning to get a little worried. “I mean, you’re going to have your parts to play during the prom.”

“Oh, totally,” Sarah said, a little too quickly. “Of course.”

I nodded as I updated my status. Operation Mata Hari was completed. Operation Prince William was a go.

CHAPTER 17

Song: Ruthless/Something Corporate

Quote: “Fate is not satisfied with inflicting one calamity.”

—Publilius Syrus

mad_mac → the crew
Mark, you’re on.

Roth Mann → the crew
Right you are! Off to post my profile, what? Pip pip!