“Sir, Andrea Dufresne . . .” I swallow, looking down at the floor and back up at him. “She had nothing to do with it. She thinks I was telling the truth. This is all my fault.”

Dr. Melville stares at me for a long moment, as if he doesn’t know what to do with this information. Then he points to the door. Over on the rug before the fire, I see Chaucer lift his head ever so slightly as I pass, one eyebrow cocked to make sure he’s not missing anything, before dropping his head back down and returning to doggy dreamland.

“Pack your bags, Mr. Humbert. Get out of my sight.”

“Okay.” Then I pause, as if a last-minute thought has just occurred to me. “Oh, by the way. Speaking of humiliation, it’s too bad about the Gutenberg.”

Dr. Melville glares at me. “What?”

“I’m just curious. When your father sold it to the school in exchange for your getting a full ride, did he know it was a fake?”

Dr. Melville says nothing. His mouth sags open, just a little. All the color drains from his face, leaving it dead-white, and I can see the muscles twitching in his throat as he struggles to breathe.

“You.” Dr. Melville manages to recover a little bit of his composure. “You stole that Bible.”

I shake my head. “No, sir.”

“I’ll search your room. I’ll find it. I’ll have you arrested. You’ll go to jail.”

“Considering what I know about you, Dr. Melville, I don’t think any additional publicity would be wise at this point, do you?” I wait a moment for that to sink in. “Now, I will offer you a deal.”

“You . . .” Now he’s apoplectic, trembling, a vein pulsing in the side of his head. “You’ll make me a deal?”

I nod. “Let me stay here at Connaughton, and I won’t tell anyone how you paid for your education.”

“You’re insane.”

“Sorry.” I spread my hands, palms upturned in the universal gesture of someone who’s not hiding anything. “That’s my best offer. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee you’ll ever see it again.”

Dr. Melville sizzles. He stews. He squirms in his seat, and a vein in his temple throbs like it’s about to bust loose and run a 5K. Those last words hang there for a long moment, until he reaches over, picks up the phone, and dials. “Yes, Sergeant, it’s Dr. Melville at Connaughton Academy.” Throughout the whole conversation, his eyes never leave mine. “There’s been a misunderstanding. No, we won’t be needing the officers any longer.”

And he hangs up.

“You’ve made the right choice,” I say.

Dr. Melville’s hands are still trembling slightly. He looks like he’s about to come vaulting over the desk to grab me by the throat. In a small, tight voice, he says: “You’re going to regret this, Mr. Humbert. I can guarantee that.”

“Maybe so.” I shrug. “But considering what’s at stake, you’ve got a lot more to lose than I do, don’t you think?” Just in case he’s still missing the point, I count off on my fingers. “The school’s integrity. Your personal reputation. Your job here. You really want people finding out the truth about any of this stuff?”

He’s still just sitting there clenching his fists as I walk out of the office, down the hall, and outside into the afternoon light. Then I start to run. I’ve got so much to think about that I don’t know where to start. First, though, I’ve got to get back to my room and hide the Gutenberg somewhere more secure than inside my box spring. No doubt Dr. Melville’s probably already on the phone to security, sending them over to my room to shake it down from top to bottom, and that includes flipping my mattress.

Sprinting across the lawn in front of the admin building, I make my way toward the tall oaks on the side of the quad. A brightly painted banner hangs between them: connaughton academy supports the island of ebeye and the marshall islands!

The clock tower strikes ten with its resonant chimes as I cut through the crowds. There are students hurrying, late for class. I run faster, pushing between them, no longer noticing the looks that I’m getting. My dorm is up ahead, just around the corner. I can make it. I’ve got time.

That’s when I see the security truck pulling up in front of my building. I stagger to a halt as George jumps out and goes through the door, no doubt headed right for my room. I can’t move—I’m just standing there, trying to catch my breath.

Whatever I do now, it’s too late.

Somewhere off to my right, a shadow emerges from behind a tree.

And that’s when the fist comes flying out of nowhere, knocking me into darkness.

Twenty-Eight

“YOU WANT A COFFEE?” BRANDT RUSH ASKS.

When I open my eyes, I’m sprawled on my back on the floor of his triple-size suite in Crowley House, and my right cheekbone is throbbing and numb where Carl hooked into it with a fist the size of a parking meter. I smell freshly brewed coffee, something dark and rich and European. Lifting my head, I look around. I’ve seen this place only when it was full-on Casino Night, and now the room looks huge and silent and weirdly anonymous, like a hotel room. The green velvet blackjack and poker tables rise up on either side of me, and Brandt just stands there, looking down at me, sipping coffee from a Las Vegas mug.

“I’m telling you, this is good stuff.” He takes another sip. “I brew freshly ground beans every morning, get ’em flown up from Guatemala each week.” Without looking over, he snaps his fingers at Carl, who’s sitting at the blackjack table, reading a textbook. “Get him a cup of coffee.”

Carl looks up. “I’m studying, Brandt.”

“What, trigonometry? Why bother?” Brandt snaps his fingers again. “Coffee, now. Let’s go.”

Carl starts to stand up.

“I’m fine, Carl,” I say, and look back at Brandt. “What am I doing here?”

“I heard Melville called you into his office, having done some research into your file. Andrea told me all about your ‘history’ after that fiasco at the Homecoming game on Saturday. I just wanted to make sure that Melville hasn’t figured out what’s really going on.”

I rub my jaw. “And that required my getting punched in the face?”

“Nothing personal. I just needed to get your attention.”

“Can I ask you something?” I rise to my feet. “Why are you bothering to donate all this money to the orphanage, if you know I’m a fraud?”

“It was Andrea’s idea, something about how it’s going to look on her Harvard application. Besides, if you get tossed out now, I’ll never get a chance to nail McDonald. So this way, everybody wins.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” Brandt says, but it’s not really a question. “This Friday, we’ll do one more test run for ten thousand just to make sure there aren’t any more surprises. If that works, I’ll talk to my accountant and get the full two million.”

I can’t think of any way to persuade him that this needs to happen sooner without blowing the whole deal. “And you’re still donating the fifty thousand to Ebeye?”

Brandt shrugs. “Sure—why not? You gotta give back somehow, right?” He picks up a deck of cards and starts shuffling them absently, doing small tricks with his fingers while he talks. “Anyhow, fifty grand is nothing in my family—it’s like a rounding error. It’s not like I’m gonna notice either way. It’s probably enough for those poor losers to build a bunch of mud huts or whatever it is they live in down there, you know what I’m saying?” He smirks. “Not that you’d know.”

“Where is Andrea, anyway?”

“Funny.” Brandt looks up. “I was gonna ask you that same question. She missed our breakfast date. That’s not like her.”

“How long has she been out of touch?”

“A couple hours.”

I think of my dad saying, We take the girl out of the equation, and turn to walk out. Carl is standing by the door, blocking the exit.

“Where are you going?” Brandt asks.

“I’ll be back in touch with you about Friday,” I say, and squeeze past Carl through the doorway. “I’ll let you know if I see Andrea.”