I knew what Jake's answer would be . Incompetence. He 'd always said the school was draped in it and , after Bingledorf's revelation, it was hard to argue. I wondered if Bingledorf h ad shared the news regarding the insurance premiums with the school board. If she had, I had to assume her job was on the line, given that she was the point person and the one ultimately responsible for the school. And what would happen if she did lose her job?

My temples throbbed and I put my head in my hands.

I was already stressed and worried over pulling off the show just because it seemed like an enormous task.

Evelyn Bingledorf's visit had just tripled my stress and worry.

TWENTY TWO

When the going gets tough, the tough get...paralyzed with fear and anxiety.

I sat at the desk for at least fifteen minutes the better part of the morning , tapping my pen against the n otebook in front of me, trying to think of ways out of the predicament. a way to get out of organizing the talent show.

I could flat out refuse to do it.

I could fake an illness.

I could tell them Jake made me quit.

I thought about each option, imagining what I would say to Evelyn Bingledorf in each scenario. I could do it. I could talk myself into refusing, I could make myself sick just from the stress, or I could drop a hint to Jake that I wasn't happy about planning it and he would force me to drop the volunteer gig. It was as simple as deciding which excuse I wanted to go with.

A knock sounded on the door and I looked up. A scrawny boy with short-cropped hair and braces smiled at me. Judging by his height and build, he had to be a freshman.

“ Is this the counseling office?” he asked, looking at Charlotte's empty desk.

I straightened in my seat. “Yes. Mrs. Nordhoff isn't here right now but I'm sure she'll be in later.”

He adjusted his backpack and took a step into the office. “I'm not looking for her.”

I frowned. “Oh?”

“ You're Emily's mom, right?”

I nodded, confused.

“ And you're the one who se 's putting on the talent show?” he asked. He smiled, showing off braces with neon green rubber bands.

“ Oh,” I said quickly, feeling my face warm. “I'm not sure yet. Nothing has been decided...”

His grin widened. “I heard it was to help us get new computers. You know, to replace the ones that are...missing.” He shifted his weight again, trying to adjust the massive pack attached to his back. “I...I wanted to know where I can sign up.”

“ Excuse me?”

“ To perform,” he said. “I want to juggle.”

“ Juggle?”

The boy nodded. “Balls, knives. It's sort of a hobby of mine,” he explained. “A lot of people don't know I can do it and, well, I want to perform but I also really want computers back in our computer lab.”

I stared at the kid in front of me. His expression was eager, hopeful even, and, just like that, all of my excuses went out the window. I thought about the hundreds of students who were enrolled at Prism; not just this kid or Emily, but the the others who probably wanted a working computer lab back up and running just as badly as Evelyn Bingledorf did. They weren't the ones who had stolen them and they weren't the ones who'd forgotten to pay the insurance premiums. But they were the ones who it impacted the most.

I smiled at the boy and picked up my pen. “I'll add you to the list of performances,” I told him. “What's your name?”

“ Stephen,” he said. “With a P. And my last name is Morse.” But none of these things seemed like strong enough lies, so I was forced to deal with the fact that, like it or not, I was the planner of the talent show that was going to partially save Prism.

And that meant I needed performers.

I jotted his name down and, the minute he left, I grabbed my notebook and walked marched back to the main office, filled my travel thermos with fresh coffee, took a long drink and headed out in search of crappy acts that people might pay money for. down to the teacher's lounge. There weren't many people there but it didn't matter. I wasn't leaving until I talked to everyone in there.

Genevive Addai, the music teacher , , was stirring powdered creamer into her coffee.

I thrust my notebook in her direction.

“ What's this?” she asked, wrinkling her button nose.

“ Sign -ups for the talent show.” Before she had a chance to turn me down, I added, “I was thinking you could do a short piano piece. Seeing as how you're the music teacher.”

“ But—” she began.

I didn't let her finish. “Did you want to play a different instrument? That could probably be arranged but I know piano is what you usually play during the school concerts.” I continued. “We'd also like some students to perform short pieces; maybe you can count talent show performances as a grade or as extra credit?”

Her expression changed, from apprehension to one of thoughtful contemplation. “Extra credit. That's a great idea.”

I handed her the pen I'd shoved behind my ear and she took both it and the notebook from me. She wrote her name down and, for the first time since I'd agreed to coordinate the show, a tiny burst of hope surged through me.

agreed to do a piano number and she thought she could round up several students to do the same. I went hunting for my next victims. Steve Longmeyer, the AP History teacher, reluctantly admitted that he did some knew some card tricks and I added his name to the list before he could object amateur magic and he'd do some tricks. Jerry Hicks, the geometry teacher, . said he could juggle . Mary Kessler, the physics teacher, agreed to sing a song even though she hadn't sung on stage in twenty years. as long as she could bring her own karaoke machine.

Things were beginning to look up. I'd secured four acts in the last twenty minutes. With any luck, I had ten minutes of performance time at the talent show taken care. I took a deep breath, trying to bouy myself as I went in search of my next vict im.

After a quick stop in the front office, I made my way toward the theater classroom, dodging a group of kids who were heading outside for Phys. Ed. They looked to be Emily's age but I didn't see any familiar faces in the crowd. They completely ignored me, which made me feel ancient and invisible.

Alice Vercota, the drama teacher, was sitting on a makeshift stage at the far end of her classroom, eating a sandwich. She had a lap top in front of her, her eyes glued to the screen.

And none of them did so willingly.

The way I got them to agree was basically the same way I got Alice Vercota, the drama teacher, to agree to participate.

I found her in her room at the end of one of the long hallways on the first floor. The room was larger than most and there was a makeshift stage at the far end, on which she was sitting, eating a sandwich when I walked in. “Mrs. Vercota?”

She looked toward me up , faking a smile, as she tried to make the sandwich less awkward in her hands. her half-eaten sandwich halfway to her mouth , and offered me a cautious smile. “Can I help you?”

I put on my best fake smile. “I sure hope so. I'm Daisy Savage.”

Her smile immediately crashed and I knew that my reputation was already makin g the faculty rounds it was clear she knew exactly why I was there . “Oh, yes. I'm Alice Vercota. I teach drama.”

“I know,” I said , still working the fake smile. . “That's sort of why I'm here. I'm helping to organize the talent show fundraiser for the computer lab ? . I'm not sure if you ha ve heard about it yet or not?” Have you heard about it?”

That was a lie on my part. I totally knew she'd heard based on the way her expression had changed, but I didn't want to overplay my hand.