The Rivals by Daisy Whitney Page B

told him not to leave e-mails up on his screen,” she says proudly.
    “So is he the one supplying?”
    “I don’t know. As you can imagine, he was kind of pissed.”
    “So why’d you come to us?” I ask, wanting to finish the conversation that was truncated yesterday, wanting to hear from her what we only surmised in the Knothole.
    “Because I told him to stop. I said whatever he’s doing needs to stop, but he just said he wasn’t going to talk about it. Wasn’t going to discuss it with me. And I can’t take a chance of this thing blowing up again. I’d never get into college then. Sure, it’s all fine and good that Matthew Winters apologized, but could you imagine what would happen if I’m even remotely connected, even through my boyfriend, to another accusation of cheating? I’d never get into college. Never. That’s why you can’t say it came from me. You can’t let on, okay?”
    “I won’t,” I say, reassuring her. I will protect her like the Mockingbirds protected me.
    “If people ask why I’m talking to you, I’ll say I’m a runner or something. I’ll say I’m in the Mockingbirds. But if you’re going to press charges against him or anybody for this, it won’t be from me.”
    “But you do want us to investigate him and see if we can figure out where it’s coming from and who’s behind it?” I ask, because I want to hear it from her. “Do you want us to help you?”
    “Yes. I want you to help. And I want you to stop it, obviously.”
    “Then I will. Look into it,” I say, and blow a long stream of air against the fingernails on my left hand. “Now, I have to ask you something.”
    “What?”
    “Are you involved?”
    Her eyes go wide. “No!”
    I hold up my hands. “I have to ask.”
    “I would never do that. I thought that was clear.”
    I give her a hard look. “I need to trust you. I need to know you’re not messing with us.”
    “Alex, I did your nails.”
    “And I love them. But I need to know you’re not playing with us. You want us to protect you, and we will. But we’re about to go out on a limb and investigate a far-reaching cheating ring because of what is effectively an anonymous tip. And I need to know we’re not being played.”
    “I swear I’m not playing you.”
    “Good. I’m glad,” I say. “You know, Delaney, I could give you a really good cover-up for being seen with me.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What is it?” she asks warily.
    “Come sing with us at the Faculty Club in two weeks. I thought we could do something,” I begin, then pause for effect, “ ironic .”
    She smiles. “Hell yeah.”
    “Good. We’re going to practice this weekend. I’m thinking subversive songs.”
    “How about protest songs?”
    “How about songs that rage against the man?”
    “How about ‘Another Brick in the Wall’?”
    I smile, nodding a few times, then I think of something better, something apropos for many reasons. I tell her my idea.
    “Perfect,” she says, and we shake hands.

THE SCENE OF THE CRIME
    And so the investigation begins.
    I spend the evening rereading notes on past investigations that the Mockingbirds have conducted. As I flip through pages in the notebook, it’s clear there’s not really a secret sauce to them, especially ones at such an early stage. The one rule—guideline, really—is to be respectful . Which means we aren’t supposed to cross lines. We aren’t supposed to trip people up or try to catch them on hidden cameras or go snooping through their things, their phones, their bags. If we did that stuff, then we’d be the bullies, we’d be the bad guys. So my job right now is just to find clues, and according to my sister’s own handwriting here in the Mockingbirds notebook, we’re supposed to do that simply by keeping our eyes and ears open for clues .
    Not easy.
    I shut the notebook and look at my watch. It’s eight at night, which means it’s way past midnight in Barcelona, where Casey is studying abroad for this