What's Your Status? (36 page)

I caught Schuyler’s eye and nodded. She whispered something to Connor, who shrugged, arms folded. Then she followed Kittson and Turtell as they got up and headed for the back exit, the one near our table.

“Hey,” Nate said, coming over to me. “Where’ve you been?”

“Prom stuff,” I answered. I sighed. “And I’m afraid I have to go again.”

I saw a look of annoyance cross Nate’s face. “Mad, you just got here,” he said.

“I know,” I said. I looked toward the door and saw Schuyler holding it open, waiting for me. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, and gave me a smile, but I could tell that his whole heart wasn’t in it. I gave him a quick kiss, then hurried to meet Schuyler at the door.

It was go time.

CHAPTER 22

Song: Let’s Make This Moment A Crime/The Format

Quote: “It’s an ill plan that cannot be changed.”

—Anon

I followed Schuyler outside the Rosebud Ballroom. This exit was at the other end from the hotel employee checking bracelets, and it looked like he hadn’t even heard the door open. We crossed to the door that led to the service staircase and went through it. I grabbed the door to slow its momentum so that it wouldn’t slam, and let it latch quietly.

I turned to Schuyler, who looked pale and a little bit sick. “Ready?” I asked her.

She didn’t look ready, but she nodded. “Ready,” she said.

We crept down the service stairs one flight, to the level of the hotel where the conference rooms were. Kittson had checked—there were no conferences taking place tonight, so we’d have the whole floor to ourselves. We rounded the corner, heading for Conference Room B.
Standing outside it were Kittson, Turtell, Ginger, Sarah, Lisa, and Dave. Dave was still wearing his bulky-looking tux, standing next to a rolling silver service tray covered with a white tablecloth.

“Where’s Brian?” Dave asked, looking around.

“Making excuses for us at the table,” Schuyler said. “I thought it would be good to have ears up there, in case people start asking questions.”

“Good idea,” I said. I turned to Turtell. “Ready, Glen?”

Turtell nodded, opened his jacket, and pulled a small pouch from the inside pocket. He knelt in front of the locked door of the conference room. “Lookout?” he asked.

“Oh, right,” Schuyler said, hustling down the hall. “Sorry.” A moment later, all our phones beeped at the same time.

Shy Time → the crew
Glen, you’re crystal.

“Excellent,” he said, unrolling the pouch, which was filled with small picks of varying sizes. He selected one and brought it up to the lock. Just a few minutes later, he’d worked his magic, and the door swung open. “Done,” he said. He rolled up the pouch, placed it back in his jacket, and stepped into the room. He grabbed a sign from the corner that read
MEETING IN PROGRESS
and placed it outside the door. Everyone filed into the room, and I sent an update for Schuyler.

promgirl → the crew
Shy, Meeting in Progress.

Shy Time → the crew
What? Who is this? I have no idea what you’re referring to.

promgirl → the crew
Shy, it’s ME. We talked about this.

Shy Time → the crew
Oh, right. Sorry.

Schuyler returned to the conference room and closed and locked the door behind her. Then we got to work. Ginger hung up a sheet across one corner of the room, which would function as a makeshift changing area. Dave whisked the white tablecloth off the serving cart, which contained no food. Instead, it was filled with the clothes and equipment we’d brought with us. I took my Hartfield outfit from the pile and hung it on the back of a chair. Dave took off his tux jacket and unbuttoned his tux shirt, revealing his Putnam Pizza T-shirt underneath. Kittson opened her laptop and began typing on it, frowning at what she saw on the screen.

“Okay,” I said, turning to the group. “Let’s synchronize phones.” I looked down at the one that was mine for the night. “I’ve got eight forty-five.” Everyone else, looking at their phones, nodded. “And just remember
to use the codes as much as you can, and don’t let your updates be too obvious.”

“You don’t know who’s reading them,” Turtell added.

“Glen’s right,” I said. “Also, anyone who is at the Hartfield prom,” I said, looking at Dave and Sarah, “you can’t have any contact with Mark. As far as Isabel knows, you’ve never seen him before.”

“I’m an
actress,
” Sarah said dismissively. “I think I can handle that.”

“Also, he’s pretending to be an earl,” I said. “Just BT-Dub.”

“Why?” Dave asked.

“He’s building a character,” Sarah said, as though this was completely understandable.

“So is everyone clear on the Plan?” I asked, looking around the room. Everyone nodded. Nobody looked totally confident, but nobody was leaving, either. “Great,” I said. “Just keep in communication. Especially if things start to go wrong. Which they won’t,” I added quickly, seeing Schuyler’s stricken expression.

“We should probably get back,” Lisa said, checking the time on her phone.

“Right,” I said, realizing how quickly time was passing, and getting a little nervous about everything that had to happen before the prom was over. “So let’s leave one by one, just to be safe.”

“And we’re meeting here at the end, right?” Ginger asked.

“At ten-forty-five,” I confirmed. Nobody moved. “Come on, guys,” I said, trying to rally morale. “Let’s make it a night to remember.”

Kittson looked up from her screen and glared at me as Sarah slipped out the door. “I can’t believe you’re still making fun of my theme,” she said.

“I’m not making fun of it,” I said as Schuyler headed out the door. “That was an homage.” Lisa breezed by me, very pointedly not looking in my direction. “Lise,” I said, trying to catch her arm.

“Non,”
she said without stopping, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. “Not talking to you, Mad.”

“Lisa,” I said, frustrated, feeling that this had gone on much too long. But she ignored me and left. Before the door closed, I could see her slinking down the hall,
Alias
-style.

“Ready, Mad?” Ginger asked, standing by the curtained area, holding up my dress.

“Ready,” I said, letting out an angry breath. “Dave,” I said, turning to him, “could you please talk some sense into your girlfriend? Why is she still angry at me?”

Dave spread the tablecloth over the now-empty serving cart and pushed it toward the entrance. “Mad, believe me, I don’t know why she’s still acting this way. But if you think I’m getting in the middle, you’re crazy.”

Turtell held open the door for Dave, and Dave looked around and pushed his cart out into the hall, whistling in what I’m sure he thought was a nonchalant manner, but actually made him look incredibly suspicious. Turtell let
the door close and looked at Kittson. “Coming, baby?” he asked her.

Kittson looked up from her screen and paused in her typing. “I’ll be there in a sec,” she said. “Save me a seat.”

Turtell nodded, pushed the door open slowly, looked out, and left. It closed and Ginger held up my dress again. “Mad?” she asked.

“Right,” I said, focusing on the task at hand. The clock was ticking, after all. I ducked behind the curtain and stepped out of the pink dress. “Kittson, what’s with the laptop?” I called through the curtain.

“I am going to reverse this voting thing,” she said, and I could hear her keyboard clicking.

“How?” I asked.

“Dell’s not the only one who knows how to hack people,” she said, sounding grim.

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Seriously,” she said. “It’s just that some of us don’t choose to use our powers for evil.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Ginger asked.

“Nothing that’s not fixable, hopefully,” Kittson said.

“Ready,” I said, reaching over the curtain. Ginger handed me what she was calling my Hartfield dress. I looked at it for a moment, mentally preparing myself to put it on. It was black with flashes of hot pink across the bodice, strapless, and short. The skirt flared out, tutu-style, with taffeta netting underneath. I sighed and stepped into it. Of the eighties dresses Ginger had pulled, it fit me the best and had been the easiest to get into and out of. But it would never have been my choice to wear
in front of everyone I knew. I zipped it, stepped out, and saw Kittson raise her eyebrows at me. “What?” I asked, looking down. “Is it bad?”

“No,” she said, turning back to her computer. “It’s just a little…short.”

“I know,” I said. I tried to tug it down but found I couldn’t do that without the top being in danger of slipping too low. Whoever this dress had been designed for, I had a feeling that she was not as tall as me.

“You look great,” Ginger said. “Accessories.” She draped several long pearl necklaces over my head and handed me a pair of the now-fingerless black lace gloves.

“These, too?” I asked.

“It’s the details that make it,” Ginger said firmly, and I knew better than to argue with her. Plus, we didn’t have time. I put on the gloves and she took a step back.

“Well?” I asked.

Ginger smiled at her handiwork. “Very early Madonna,” she said. “You look great.”