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I followed him back to my sister’s desk, the bulletin board above it now covered with photos of Tanya, and he clicked open the file. Stanford. Inside it were several Google Docs…including the personal statement essay she’d copied from me. I was tempted to hit delete, but what good would that do? It was after the fact.
“Were you able to check her browsing history?” I asked.
“Not yet. Want to do it together?”
“Sure.” My voice was hesitant, fearful I’d discover “Planning the Perfect Murder” and “The Top Ten Deadly Poisons” searches in her cache after unearthing those unnerving photos, but instead her recent searches were confined to online shopping sites, British tabloids, and my parents. She had indeed googled my father on LinkedIn and explored my mom’s various philanthropic activities. I shrugged off my disappointment.
There were two final things we had to do before we left her room, and that was to search her desk drawers, and under her bed. A lot smaller than me and nimbler, Will volunteered to do the latter while I searched the drawers.
My brother came up quickly from under the bed with a horrified expression. Just some more dirty underwear…and some icky bugs. And I’d found nothing but some school supplies and a few packs of gum. Until I had opened the bottom drawer.
Crumpled inside it was a handwritten draft of my Stanford essay that I’d thrown away. I felt myself brimming with anger. A part of me wanted to show my father what I’d found and prove that Tanya had plagiarized me. But that could backfire. The last thing I wanted was for my father to write a letter to the dean of admissions, asking him to reconsider me. Thanks to Tanya, I wasn’t going to Stanford. Unknowingly, she’d done me a huge favor.
And now, at least, I had proof that Tanya was a freaking liar and a thief.
But, more importantly, I had a hunch she was hiding something.
Something way more sinister than her dark hair roots.
* * *
Now going on noon, my parents were still not home. Will and I retreated to his room and, sitting on the bed of his geek throne, we were back to being Pudge and Willster. My handy-dandy notebook in my lap and a pencil in my hand, I reviewed our findings with my brother. They mostly confirmed what we’d already suspected. That Tanya was:
Not necessarily from the UK.
A definite liar and thief, possibly unstable.
Possibly estranged from her father, or didn’t have one.
Obsessed with my parents in a good way.
Obsessed with me in a bad way.
The only thing I hadn’t shared with my brother was my discovery of her birth control pills and the possibility she was screwing Lance. A twelve-year-old boy didn’t need to know those kinds of things.
Turning to a clean page in my notebook, I made, with Will’s help, a To-Do List. Just like my methodical mom did for all her big events.
TO DO
WILL:
Google Mary C. Burton/MacBook Registrant
Research Tanya’s meds
PAIGE:
Ask Mom if she’s heard from Tanya’s father
Ask Mom if she has Tanya’s passport, student visa, and travel itinerary
Ask Mom if she sent Tanya family photos
And lastly, one other task I didn’t write down or mention to Will…ask Mom if she’d taken Tanya to Dr. Lefferman to get a birth control prescription. And why.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer.
TWENTY-TWO
