Making the Grade (The Model Spy #2)

Chapter 18 - The Toxic Friend

I felt for the edge of my bed and sat on it. It creaked slightly and suddenly all I wanted to do was wrap myself in its quilted covers and close my eyes really tight. Maybe if I did, once I opened them again, I would be back in Los Angeles. Fred would be in the kitchen burning toast with the voice-activated toaster Mr. C. had invented and the motion censored lights would be flickering on and off as I meandered down the steps to say good morning to him. He would say "What have you got planned for today, Laura?" and I would open the fridge, pull out a jug of chocolate milk and happily say "Nothing." I would spend the rest of the day lying on my balcony getting a tan.

Though I knew it would never work, I tried closing my eyes for several seconds, but when I opened them I was still in the drafty room of Cheshire Hall and Millie was still on the floor, in Fred's arms, now crying into his shoulder. Max had stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, sealing us from the prying eyes of students still lingering outside despite Professor Scott's orders.

Professor Scott was pacing. I could see the wheels in her head turning. There was soot from the fire on her fingertips and when she brought her hand to her cheek, she left little smudges of it on her skin. She was wondering, I knew, whether it would be best just to quit and call the whole mission off. We had five days left, and after a fire and an attempted-attack, we still had no idea who the killer or killers could be.

"Millie, what did the girl look like?" I asked quietly. I slid from my bed to the floor and crawled towards her crumpled body. Fred backed away.

Millie sniffed. "Oh, Laura!" She threw her arms around me and buried her wet face into my hair. My singed locks still smelled lightly of burning wood, but Millie was too distraught to notice.

"I thought she had been you," she said. "She just walked in and I thought you had been out late with..." I frowned as her voice faltered. She thought I had been out with "Mr. Stevens," on some scandalous, forbidden midnight tryst with Max. Had the situation not been so dire, I would have admired her romantic creativity. Instead I blushed and ignored the questioning glances of Fred and Professor Scott.

"But all of a sudden, she had grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out of bed and I knew it wasn't you." She shivered. I pulled the quilt off of my bed and wrapped it around her, but I looked at the scratch marks on her arms. There were several more on her neck. She wasn't cold. She was still terrified. "It was so dark, I couldn't see her face," she whimpered.

"You fought back excellently," I said quietly.

"Are there no security cameras in the hall?" Max asked Professor Scott.

She hung her head, answering Max's question without a word. "Millie, darling," she broached carefully, "can you tell us anything at all about this girl?"

Millie swallowed hard and remained silent for several tense moments. "Cherry blossoms," she said finally. "I remember she smelled of cherry blossoms."

Fred's shoulders sagged. That was not much to go on. In fact, it was nearly nothing to go on.

Despite this, I gently rubbed Millie's back, as my mother had done to me when I was a child just awoken from a nightmare. Millie yawned. I felt her body begin to lean on me, heavy under its weight of exhaustion.

"Millie, you will sleep in my room tonight," Professor Scott said. "Gather your things. We will talk more in the morning, but now it is important you get as much sleep as you can."

I helped Millie stand. She wobbled clumsily, nearly tripping over the large quilt I had placed around her.

"What of Laura?" she asked. "What if the girl comes back and gets Laura?" Millie turned and faced me with wide, frightened eyes.