Angeline’s eyes narrowed. She unlocked her phone and began scrolling.
Cat checked her digital watch. “We’re going to be late.”
Angeline raised a finger in the air, and Cat wolfed down her hummus wrap.
“Read.” Angeline shoved her phone in front of Cat’s face.
“The Shrieking Violet? Now? I’ve read it and don’t care to again.”
Angeline zoomed in. “Just this part.”
Cat sighed. “‘Tip for ya, dearies, the hard thing about doing nothing’s that you never know when you’re done. So take it from us and do SOMETHING.’” She looked up at her sister. “Are you trying to make a point?” And then Cat’s stomach plummeted. “Oh. Oh. You don’t think . . .”
“Freaking Emmie Hayes. Creator of The Shrieking Violet.”
* * *
As they hurried to meet Tamara, Cat’s mind worked double-time, same as Angeline’s lips.
“I remembered because that’s the joke that made me think it was Sammy. He said it at the hospital. After it was in The Shrieking Violet.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Cat said. “Emmie could have picked it up from the paper or even from Sammy himself.”
“Wait, what? How would she have picked it up from Sammy?”
“She volunteers for Mrs. Torres. She gave Sammy a ride home at least once, because they stopped for frozen yogurt.” The words had barely left Cat’s lips, and the pieces were already falling into place. “Frozen yogurt. They stopped for frozen yogurt.”
“Where there’s no Wi-Fi.”
“But there is the Torres Extension.”
“If Sammy gave her the password . . .” Angeline whooped. “That’s why the IP for those Shrieking Violet emails matched the Torres network. I knew Maxine was right! She was covering her tracks and framing Leo at the same time. Has to be! Except I don’t get how Emmie knew so much.”
Cat’s legs filled with lead. She knew how. Because she was the one who told her.
* * *
Sweat dotted Cat’s brow as she waited in the watch yard amid the shrine to Slothy. When Maxine arrived, Angeline filled her in and then sent Leo a text, asking him to confirm what they suspected about Sammy and Emmie. Meanwhile, Cat scrolled through her own texts, confirming what she knew to be true about herself.
She’d texted with Emmie about how small this town was and how they each wanted more. Cat had mentioned living somewhere else for a while. Was that enough for Emmie to research the rest?
That first day when they’d met in the frozen yogurt shop . . . when Emmie was probably posting her latest article . . . Cat had told her about Angeline making fun of her in fourth grade. She’d been upset. She’d been venting. To a friend. Never in a million years did she think any of it would come out. Had she actually said anything about the grill fire? In one of her stream-of-consciousness rambles? Had she?
She tried to remember everything, but she didn’t need to.
There was enough.
Same as there were enough clues in The Shrieking Violet—at least in hindsight: Who knew mommies had such power? Not us. Emmie was being raised by her two dads. One article called the posters “germ-infested,” and Emmie was a self-declared germophobe. There’d been something about Mrs. Torres’s size seven shoes—a size Emmie would know, having once gotten her a new pair.
Emmie—can it really be Emmie?
The door to the watch yard opened, and Tamara stepped outside.
“He never carries it to lunch,” she said, handing over a backpack and a sheet of paper with Tad’s locker combination on it. “Return it before the period’s over. And try not to get caught.”
Cat said, “No matter what, you had nothing to do with it. Promise.”
“Just nail him,” she said.
Maxine grabbed the bag. “My pleasure.”
As Maxine plopped herself on the grass and searched for Frankengirls evidence on Tad’s computer, Cat’s body became riddled with nerves.
“Anything?” Angeline asked.
“No photo editing or layout software,” Maxine said. “No large enough image files from the time of the first incident on here or uploaded anywhere. If he created the perfect tens, he didn’t do it on this.”
“Damn,” Angeline said.
“I’ve got the video, but it’s the same length as what was posted online,” Maxine said with disappointment. She kept working. “But . . . wait . . . what do we have here . . .”
“You found something?” Cat asked. At least if she helped to exonerate Leo, then maybe the rest of it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Deleted photo. Metadata shows it was taken right after the video. Probably by accident. It’s just the corner of my front door and someone’s back.” Maxine grinned. “Someone’s lime-green back.”
“No way!” Angeline and Cat huddled around Maxine.
In the photo, the person’s hood was up, so they couldn’t even tell what color their hair was. Maxine zoomed in and out, searching for some detail to identify their former green ghost. Who was actually a green giant.
Green.
Giant.
The person’s head was just shy of reaching the top of Maxine’s surfboard, which rested by the door.
Cat’s heart gained speed. “Leo’s not—”
“That tall,” Angeline finished. She pulled up a photo of her and Leo entering the party. Neither of their heads came anywhere close to hitting the top of the board. “This has to prove it, doesn’t it?”
It was good, Cat had to admit. But she wasn’t sure it was enough. And then Maxine zoomed in once more. “Wait, stop. The arm of the sweatshirt. It’s all pushed up, but it looks like there’s writing on it. Can either of you read it?”
Maxine sent the photo to herself. “No, but I can enhance it when I get home.”
Angeline bounced beside them. “But we don’t have to be able to read it. Schwartz took Leo’s sweatshirt as evidence. There’s no writing anywhere on it. That along with the photos showing his height has to be enough to clear him, doesn’t it?”
Cat nodded. “At least cast serious doubt. Force the administration to expand the investigation.”
Maxine returned Tad’s computer to his backpack. “You know what this calls for?” She lifted her hand in the air, and the three of them met in a high-five.