Julie Hawkins's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Julie carried Grace's folded page back to her dorm that night. She wanted a quiet hour to spread out her notes and name the hooded man for certain. But her door was already open. Viv had pushed both desks together. True crime books covered them. Printouts of missing students hung taped to the wall. Their shared computer glowed, and Viv sat hunched over it, typing fast. "You're late," Viv said. She didn't look up. Her black hair hid her face. "I've been reading about your thefts. Four students now. Maybe five." She tapped the screen. "This is better than any urban legend. Someone's hunting Collegiate Prep." Julie stared at the mess. There was no clear surface left. No chair. No computer she could use. Viv had taken the whole room for her obsession. "I need the desk," Julie said. "And the computer. Tonight." Viv finally turned. Her lined eyes were bright. "Why? You know something." She stood and blocked the screen. "Tell me. I can help. I'm good at this." Julie almost did. But Viv talked. Viv posted things online. If Julie named the dean's aide here, it would spread by morning, and he would know. The archive was watched now. The dorm was taken. She had nowhere left to think. Then Julie remembered the lot behind the library. The old van sat there, rusted through, wheels gone, half its paint peeling. Grace had once called it dead storage. Nobody watched a wreck. "Keep the room," Julie said. "Keep the computer. I don't need it." She grabbed her notebook and Grace's page and left Viv staring after her. She crossed campus in the dark. The library windows were lit, but the lot behind it was black. The van's door groaned when she pulled it. Inside smelled of mildew and old paper. She climbed in and shut the door. No camera. No aide. No watching eyes. Julie spread her pages on the dusty floor and worked by phone light. She wrote three facts in a row. The hooded man walked through locked doors. He controlled the records system. He knew the exact night Grace's presence was erased. Only one person fit all three. The dean's aide. The man with the leather folder. She underlined his face in her memory until her hand ached. She had him now. Not a guess. A match. Then her light caught something under the front seat. A shoe box, taped shut. She dragged it close and cut the tape. Inside sat a stack of student notebooks. Chemistry pages. One cover had her own name on it. Julie's breath stopped. Her stolen notes were here, in this van, the one place she'd chosen because no one watched it. Which meant someone already used it. The thief had a hiding spot, and she was sitting inside it.