The Girl in the Wall Read Online Free Page B

going to destroy them.
    I know my classmates are thinking the same thing and probably talking about it as they sit on the sofas in the corner, huddled together. Or talking about the fact that the agents thought they had Ariel but ended up killing Bianca and that Ariel is now gone. I was probably the last person to realize that but no one told the agents, not that The Assassin was taking questions or comments. I’m guessing that everyone is speculating on where Ariel went but I bet I’m the only one with the right answer. She’s got to be in the tunnels. The grounds are covered, the rest of the house is covered, and I doubt the agents know about the tunnels.
    No one is asking me what I think, even though we all know I was Ariel’s best friend a lot longer than Bianca was. It’s kind of unbelievable but even now, in a hostage situation where our lives hang in the balance, no one from NCCD will speak to me. Social status trumps everything I guess. I hope they don’t poll the room to see which hostage is voted most expendable.
    It’s awful in this room where there’s a lingering scent of burnt paper and the off-center rug hiding blood and I don’t want to know what else—I can’t believe we have to stay in here for twenty-four hours. My classmates have all moved off to the group of sofas and chairs closest to the study. Hudson is still on his stool, staring moodily at his hands. I wonder if he knew his bodyguard well. But it’s not like I’m going to go talk to him or anything.
    Sitting here by myself in the center of this empty group of folding chairs is making me feel exposed. I glance around at the other seating options. There’s the poker table with five chairs around it by the front wall or the small sofa and loveseat by the other end of the room, next to one of those floor-to-ceiling windows. I decide on the sofa and am about to stand up when something on the floor catches my eye.
    It’s tucked under the edge of the rug and if the light weren’t glinting off the small corner sticking out, I’d never have noticed it. I’m not positive what it is so I move closer, trying to look casual, then bend down like I need to adjust my shoe. Which is a ballet flat that doesn’t need adjustment, but hopefully no one will notice.
    Now that I’m down next to it I see that it’s a cell phone. My body is suddenly electrified with adrenaline because it’s not just anyone’s cell phone: It’s the phone Mr. Barett took out of his jacket less than an hour ago to check his text. It must have slid out of his pocket when he fell. It’s so small and thin you’d barely notice it even if you were sitting right next to it.
    Obviously the thing to do is tell one of the agents. It’ll win me points with them and since we’re all here in this heavily guarded room it’s not like I can use the phone to make a call or anything. And following directions, being a good girl, is what I always do.
    So the fact that I rest my hand on the phone, clutch it in my palm, and slide it into the sleeve of my sweater, then get up and walk to the sofa on the far back wall, has me feeling like I’ve stepped into another dimension. A dimension where I’m brave and do things rather than just react.
    I last in the new dimension for about ten seconds, feeling brave and excited about myself. Then the panic sets in. What have I done? What the hell am I going to do with this? And what will happen to me if they found out I took it? This isn’t a movie where the bad guys are going to make bumbling errors that allow me to be some kind of hero. These are seasoned pros and I’m a pampered suburban girl whose harshest life experience has been getting the silent treatment from my former friends. I can’t believe I’ve done something this stupid.
    I have to get rid of it but I’m not sure how. Maybe I can go to the bathroom and just leave it there. But then when someone finds it they’ll know it was placed there and you know they’ll keep track of who