Perfect (Book Two)

Nine: Someone's Allowance Just Got A Whole Lot Smaller.

On Wednesday afternoon, Mr. McAdam, Spencer's AP economics teacher, strolled up and down the aisles, peeling papers off a stack and putting them facedown on each student's desk. He was a tall man with bulging eyes, a sloped nose, and a paunchy face. A few years ago, one of his top students had remarked that he looked like Squidward from SpongeBob SquarePants, and the name stuck. "A lot of these quizzes were very good," he murmured.

Spencer straightened up. She did what she always did when she wasn't sure how she'd done on a test: She thought of the rock-bottom grade she could get, a grade that would still ensure she had an A for the class. Usually, the grade in her mind was so low—although low for Spencer was a B plus or, at the very worst, a B—that she ended up being pleasantly surprised. B plus, she told herself now, as Squidward put the test on her desk. That's rock-bottom. Then she turned it over.

B minus.

Spencer dropped the paper to her desk as if it were on fire. She scanned the quiz for answers that Squidward had graded incorrectly, but she didn't know the answers to the questions that had big red X marks next to them.

Okay, so maybe she hadn't studied enough.

When they'd taken the quizzes yesterday, all she'd been able to think about while filling in the multiple choice bubbles were a) Wren and how she could never see him, b) her parents and Melissa and how she could get them to love her again, c) Ali, and d), e), f), and g), her festering Toby secret.

The Toby torture was insane. But what could she do—go to the cops? And tell them...what? Some kid said, I'll get you, to me four years ago, and I think he killed Ali and I think he's going to kill me? I got a text that said my friends and I were in danger? The cops would laugh and say she'd been snorting too much Ritalin. She was afraid, too, to tell her friends what was going on. What if A was serious and something happened to them if she did?

"How'd you do?" a voice whispered.

Spencer jumped. Andrew Campbell sat next to her. He was as big an overachiever as she was. He and Spencer were ranked number one and number two in the class, and they were always switching positions. His quiz was proudly faceup on his desk. A big red A plus was at the top of it.

Spencer pulled her open quiz to her chest. "Fine."

"Cool." A lock of Andrew's long lion's mane of blond hair fell in his face.

Spencer gritted her teeth, Andrew was notoriously nosy. She'd always thought it was just a symptom of his uber-competitiveness, and then last week, she wondered if he might be A. But while Andrew's earnest interest in the minutiae of Spencer's life was suspect, she didn't think he had it in him. Andrew had helped Spencer the day the workers discovered Ali's body, covering her up with a blanket when she was in shock. A wouldn't do something like that.

As Squidward gave them their homework assignment, Spencer looked at her notes. Her handwriting, which was normally squeezed neatly in the lines, had wavered all over the page. She began to quickly recopy the notes, but the bell interrupted her, and Spencer sheepishly rose to leave. B minus.

"Miss Hastings?"

She looked up. Squidward was gesturing her toward his desk. She walked over, straightening her navy Rosewood Day blazer and taking extra caution not to trip in her caramel-colored kidskin riding boots. "You're Melissa Hastings's sister, yes?"

Spencer felt her insides wilt. "Uh-huh." It was obvious what was coming next.

"This is quite a treat for me, then." He tapped his mechanical pencil on his desk. "It was such a pleasure to have Melissa in class."