I gotta pick something up in the library.â
âLibrary?â Chase yells after him. âAlready? Iâm surrounded by nerds.â
While Audrey pretends to take offense, I follow Kyleâs path toward the old stone building. The bell tower atop it is the highest spot at RTC. Itâll be a good place to set up some surveillance equipment this afternoon.
Four hours later, Iâm prepared to do just that.
The sun beats down golden on the concrete path. Sweaty from my run, I pull my hair off my neck. I made three complete circuits around the campus for a total of 4.47 miles, including several stops to inspect weaknesses in the stone wall separating RTCâs hallowed educational halls from the Greater Boston morass. Despite school security, this place is as easy to breach as a Walmart grand opening.
And, since it doesnât appear Iâm going to get out of here anytime soon, thatâs a problem. The enemy might be coming for X, and the longer it takes me to find him or her, the greater the chance theyâll succeed first. I have to discover how they might arrive and how I can escape if they do. The need to be prepared has been drilled into my head at least once a day, every day, since I was five years old: Five-thousand-two-hundred-fifteen lectures on the topic to be exact.
Adjusting my backpack, which is filled with surveillance cameras, I cross the concrete courtyard into the library. Itâs too early in the year for it to be busy, but I like this building with its long windows and musty smell. Itâs so different than what Iâm used to. I thought different things would make me uncomfortable, but so far, thatâs not true. Like Audrey, whose differences fascinate me, the library, which is warm and inviting, does too. Itâs one of the oldest buildings on campus, and photos of it a hundred years ago line the entryway walls.
Earlier this week, Iâd poked around and discovered the door in the back room that hid the bell tower stairs. According to information on RTCâs website, before everything became electronic, the libraryâs bell used to ring the hours. These days, the bell only rings on Sunday evenings or special occasions. And it, too, is electronic, programmed to play classical music, holiday tunes and even pop songs. Part of the Fall and Spring Games is for students to guess the tunes. Points go to the team that guesses the most correctly.
I smile at the librarian sitting at the circulation desk, then turn the corner into a smaller side room. From here, her back is to me. I take one more check around, then swing my legs over the gate leading into a tiny alcove.
Before me are two heavy wood doors. One leads to offices. The other leads to the tower stairs. Both were locked yesterday. The librarians wear key chains around their wrists, so stealing the key will be harder than picking the lock, especially when I have tools designed for that purpose.
I stick my ear to the door and try the handle to get a feel for it. The latch gives.
Blinking stupidly, I step back and push the door open an inch. Okay then. Either someone left it unlocked by accident, or someone is already up there. Since itâs only my first week, I decide to play dumb if I get caught.
The door hinges creak as I push it open another few inches. Holding my breath, I look over my shoulder for the librarian, but she doesnât notice. Quickly, I slip through, close the door behind me and climb the five narrow flights of winding steps to the top. No one meets me on the stairs, and when I reach the end, I find the final door to the outside hangs slightly open. I press my eye to the crack.
A blond boy sits on his knees on the rough floor facing south. A gust of wind sends his hair flying, and he turns left for a second, shielding his face. Itâs Kyle.
Great. I have an assignment to do, and it doesnât include guys who wear weird T-shirts that say Sweet Cartwheeling Jesus on them. What