She shrugged, her big head bobbling on her small shoulders. “Oh, I just heard it wandering the halls. I hear lots of things, don't you know.”

I didn't know. Had Bingledorf already started talking up a fundraiser that hadn't even been planned? And why had she told Harriet? What business was it of hers?

“I'm not sure what's going to happen,” I told her. “Nothing is for certain. It was just brought up this morning and I don't know if there's anything that can really be done.”

“I'd love to help,” she said, her smile widening. “Whenever you decide you need it.”

Did everyone have a hearing problem at Prism? Why would no one listen to me?

“And I'd love to help you with the proceeds,” she said.

“The what?”

“The proceeds,” she repeated. I didn't say anything and she continued. “You know, whatever you're able to raise from whatever you decide to do.”

“Why would I have anything to do with the proceeds?” I asked, confused.

“You'll be running it,” she said. “So I'd expect you'd be handling the money.”

“Well, yeah, but then I'd be turning it over to the school. They'll decide what to do with it.” And they'll be buying new computers, I wanted to add.

“But I'm sure you might be able to have a little say in the matter,” she said, making a clicking sound with her tongue. “Where the money should be spent and on what.”

“I really doubt that.”

“You could at least try.”

“Why would I do that?” I asked, nearly out of patience. “It's a fundraise d r to replace the computers!”

As soon as I said it, I regretted it. I didn't want to give her any ammunition, any extra information than she already had.

Harriet waited for a moment, then moved back toward the door and closed it. She turned back to face me, an unsure look on her face. I was just as unsure about what the heck she was doing.

“Okay, I'm going to be honest with you,” she said, coming back to the table and sliding her body into a chair across from me. The smell of her perfume hit me, a cloying blend of floral scents. “I'm sorry about yesterday. I know I pestered you like crazy and that was wrong and I'm sorry.”

“Alright,” I said, still wary.

“And I know I'm not making much sense here, so I'm going to be straightforward with you,” she continued. “If the school is going to be buying all new computers, I know of a great place to purchase them.”

“But, Harriet, I'm really not—”

“My husband runs an electronics store,” she said, cutting me off. “Over on Riverfront. Data Dork?”

I knew it. I passed it at least once a week. It was in an older strip mall, sandwiched between a clock repair shop and a pet store. The kids always wondered aloud who ran it and who went there because we never saw a single car in the lot. It seemed like the kind of place that you were aware of, but knew nothing about. Will theorized the whole strip mall was some elaborate money laundering scheme; since I couldn't refute it, I just kept my mouth shut.

“He's had the store almost ten years now,” she said. “He can get anything the school might need and probably at a good discount.” She tucked a wayward strand of her short hair behind her ear. “That's why I was so interested yesterday. I wondered if the computers were really gone and if the school would be replacing them. Now that I know they are and that they're raising money to get them, I'd love it if they were purchased through my husband's store.”

Finally, something that made sense. I appreciated the explanation for her behavior from the day before but she was overlooking one big thing.

“I really don't think I'll have anything to do with buying them,” I explained. “Mrs. Bingledorf just wants me to consider putting on a fundraiser – and that isn't even a sure thing. But it's not like she's going to tell me to take the money and go buy them as soon as it's over.”

“Well, no, of course not,” Harriet said, nodding. “I understand that. But I'm sure you'll somehow be involved in using the money and I just wanted to put in my two cents for Harold's store. I promise you, no one could get those computers cheaper or as fast.”

“That's great to know,” I said, trying to appease her. “But I really think that's something you should discuss with Mrs. Bingledorf. Or Mr. Riggler. Or whoever would be buying the computers. Which would not be me. If there's even a fundraiser.”

“But can I count on you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “To maybe put in a good word for the store?”

My stomach knotted as I thought about Will's comments. Part of me wanted to help her, but the other part of me immediately visualized the sad-looking store that looked like it was on life support – or laundering drug money. I didn't want to vouch for something I didn't know anything about.

“I can mention it to Mrs. Bingledorf,” I said. “That your husband has a store and that he'd be willing to purchase them for the school. But again, I think you're jumping the gun a little here.”

She pushed back from the table and stood. “Oh, I so appreciate it. I can't wait to tell Harold.” She was positively beaming. “He'll be thrilled. I'm sure he'll start working on the order right away so that they can get the computers here just as fast as possible.”

“Harriet, I wouldn't—”

“Have a great day!” she said and wobbled out of the room.

I blinked a couple of times and thought about pinching myself to prove that I wasn't dreaming. Or having a nightmare. She hadn't listened to a thing I'd said.

I sighed and tossed the remaining empty folders into the box. I was fairly certain all of this – my conversation with Harriet, being roped into planning a fundraiser by Bingledorf – was going to come back and bite me right in the rear end. I had no idea if the school would buy from Harold but I knew one thing.

Everyone at Prism was counting on one person to pull them out of this mess.

Me.

TWELVE

“I got first place!” Grace yelled. Her hair was pulled back in a slipping out of her ponytail and her cheeks were either flushed from exertion or celebratory screams.

“You did not,” Will said, rolling his eyes. He set his phone down on the table and plopped himself down on one of the chairs. His cheeks were red, too, and his blond hair was slick with sweat. “Brenda was just being nice.”

“I got second,” Sophie said loudly. But her voice never matched the others and she was drowned out by Grace's shrieks. “And Grace definitely won. Will is just mad that he came in last.”

I'd been home from school for an hour, nestled on the couch, before all three of them burst through the door, kicking off their shoes and trying to out-yell the other. A pad of paper and a pencil sat in my lap, the pencil razor-sharp, the sheet still blank.

I set both down and stood up. “Where's Jake?”

“He's coming,” Will said, a funny smile on his face. “He's moving kind of slow.”

“Why?”

“Derek hit him in the privates,” Will said.

“With a wiffle bat,” Sophie said. Her nose wrinkled and her glasses wobbled. “Pretty hard.”

“He said a bad word,” Grace added.

“Jake or Derek?” I asked, because either was a possibility.

The back door opened and Jake limped slowly into the dining room, glaring at me.

“Hard day, honey?” I asked, biting back a smile.

“I'm no longer kidding about going to Abu Dhabi,” he growled, slightly hunched over. “That little punk hit me right in the—”

“I heard,” I said. “I heard. I'm sorry.”

He grunted and trudged past me toward the stairs.

I turned back to Grace. “What exactly did you take first place in?”

She scrambled up into my lap and I pulled her to me, breathing in the scent of lingering apple shampoo and the peanut butter she must have just had as a snack at Brenda's . “We had a talent show. With all of the kids. I did a lip-synch to Taylor Swift. And I totally won.” She stuck her tongue out at Will.