Free The Scarlet Letterman by Cara Lockwood Page B

voice down,” Hana whispers. “We don’t want the whole school to know.”
    “More importantly,” Blade says, lowering her voice, “what are we going to do about finding Coach H?”
    “What if there’s nothing to find?” I ask.
    “And why do we have to be the detectives?” Samir whines. “Why can’t we just let Ms. W figure it out?”
    “Because we’re the LITs,” Blade says. “That’s our job .”
    “I don’t remember actually agreeing to be part of the LITs,” Hana says.
    Blade shrugs, as if that’s a minor technicality. “The important thing is that Coach H needs our help.”
    Hana sighs. “Well, if we’re going to take this seriously, we ought to start by looking for the book. If we find that, I bet we find him.”
    Looking for a book that someone doesn’t want us to find is not as easy as it sounds. In other words, it’s impossible. It’s not like it’s going to be filed under H for Hemingway in the school library.
    Samir and Hana decide to go interview people who may have seen Coach H the day he disappeared to see if they can come up with any clues. Blade wants to go into the vault, which I think is a bad idea on a number of counts, namely because the last time we were there, Emily Brontë’s ghost tried to use me to open a portal to the fictional world, which would destroy this one. Plus, digging around in the vault wouldn’t be a good idea given that I’m under a cloud of suspicion with the faculty as it is. Besides, I promised Ms. W I wouldn’t go near the vault, and I don’t plan on breaking that promise.

    “Earth to Miranda,” says Ryan over dinner that night. Clearly I seem a bit distracted.
    “Sorry, I’m just…” I try to think about what to tell Ryan. As far as he knows, Coach H is just on a simple leave of absence. I can’t exactly tell him otherwise without cluing him into the real state of affairs around here. “Is it, uh, true? Is today the anniversary of your…accident?”
    Ryan’s eyes grow guarded. “Who told you that?”
    “Parker,” I say. “She said that you and she knew each other before Bard. And you talk to her about Rebecca.”
    Ryan blanches. It’s probably because I rarely say Rebecca’s name. His reaction, however, seems to prove what Parker said is true. He does talk about Rebecca with her.
    “Parker talks about her,” Ryan says, not actually saying the name “Rebecca.” “I just listen.”
    “Why don’t you talk about her, or the accident, with me?”
    Now Ryan looks very uncomfortable. “It’s just not something I want to talk about, okay?”
    “But Parker makes it sound like…” I stop short before I actually say that I don’t measure up to Rebecca. “Like you aren’t over Rebecca.”
    “I am,” Ryan says, sounding firm.
    “But…she thinks that I…” I just can’t seem to stop playing with this scab.
    “That you don’t compare to Rebecca?” Ryan finishes.
    “Yeah. I mean, that’s what Parker says.”
    “Well, don’t listen to her,” Ryan says, sounding grumpy. “And you are nothing like Rebecca, and did it ever occur to you that’s a good thing?”
    No, it didn’t. Since when is being gorgeous a bad thing? And what does he mean “ nothing like Rebecca”? Rebecca was pretty, popular, and apparently rich. I mean, I’m not rich or particularly popular, but is he saying I’m ugly?
    “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”
    “Yes. Now can we talk about something else?” Ryan’s lips form a thin line.
    “But…”
    “Miranda,” Ryan says, in a tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t want to talk about Rebecca. Ever. Okay?”
    “Fine,” I say, throwing my hands up to show surrender. Still, I feel a bit uneasy. I can’t help but wonder if the rumors are true. Was he drunk driving, even though he passed a Breathalyzer test? And then I stop myself. I’m the victim of the gossip mill, and now suddenly I believe some rumors might be true?
    “So why don’t we talk about why you told Parker