Chapter 18: The Perfect Cover/Situational Awareness

“Not a good idea, Billy. What has been going on with you lately?”

My trip to see Dean Shulenmeyers was not going down the path I had anticipated. We were locked face-to-face—him sitting behind his desk, me sitting in front of it.

“I know you don’t publicize it, but you are a Bramwell-Gates—a legacy. Whether you like it or not, you represent this school. Like I do. Like your mother did.”

Mr. Shulenmeyers clearly disapproved of my idea. If I couldn’t persuade him, I had no viable alternatives other than to relocate or hole myself up at home. Hellie’s idiosyncrasies and nature were too apparent. I wasn’t leaving her alone, and I couldn’t leave her with anyone else, again.

My social experiment was the perfect cover.

Yes, guilt tugged at me for conning my surrogate parent, but I had no choice but to make it work. At the minus negative that I was at, I knew I had to perform some top-tier ass kissing.

When I came out of my zone, Mr. Shulenmeyers was still going.

“I hear them screaming ‘rich privilege’ as you are gallivanting across campus with a girl on a leash, or even worse, labeling you a misogynist. You want that?”

“Let them. It’s part of my social experiment to get honest reactions.”

“I mean, who is this girl? For Pete’s sake, she’s lying on the floor next to your seat. Is she one of those strange-ass dramatic arts kids?”

“I told you her name is Hellie, and she’s on the ground because she’s most comfortable there. Her day has been stressful.”

“No, young man, the stress started when you walked through that door asking permission to parade her around campus.”

Patiently listening, I knew waiting for his rant to end while projecting a look of respect was crucial.

“I just cleaned up one of your messes yesterday, and you weren’t even responsible enough to sign the damn letter. So you know, Miss Bakirtzis had to forge your name and have it delivered.”

He paused and looked at me curiously, but I didn’t speak—ready to talk only when spoken to.

“Where is that book?”

“In my backpack.”

“Please don’t take it back to Mrs. Nelson-Perkins’ class.” After his last statement, he fell silent for more than thirty seconds.

It’s now or never, and I have to make this work.

“John, you went to bat for me with Mrs. Nelson-Perkins and Mr. Vaughn. I intended to swing by and follow your instructions to a tee, but I had to use the morning to fine-tune my presentation.”

I showed sincere regret by straightening up in my seat to signal that I was no longer slacking.

“I put a lot of work into making my social experiment a success.”

More like spending the morning battling a supernatural moth and improvising my project.

“I want to excel again, move out of the funk plaguing me. Things are happening, and I’m discovering myself. Hellie is a big part of that. If I can make this work, I can get back on the academic track and work toward being the Bramwell-Gates you and my mother have guided me to be.”

“You understand I want what’s best for you, right?”

“I do.”

There was quiet again.

“Ummm…Tell you what, let’s get in front of this. I’m an administration man, so I know what to do. It’s all about permission and awareness. Okay, first, you need to get… What’s your pet’s name?”

His comment was seething with sarcasm, but at least he was on board—sweet talk and the mention of my mother opened the door.

“Hellie Belladonna.”

“You’ll need to get Ms. Belladonna’s written and recorded permission.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure she can write or speak.”

Mr. Shulenmeyers looked at me dumbfounded and rubbed the entirety of his face with his hand.

“I mean in her current state.”

More silence.

No. No. No. I’m losing him.

He placed his elbows on his desk, clasping his hands. He folded and locked all his fingers except his index fingers, which he wiggled back and forth against his lips.

“Figure it out.”

“I will.”

Whew, I almost lost him with that truth bomb.

Then he continued speaking. His voice echoed the flavors of a villain laying out a cunning master plan.

“Next, I’ll get one of the aides, maybe Teena, to oversee an article in Our Voices highlighting Mr. Vaughn and bury your tomfoolery in the story as an example of his dedication to his students and the study of sociology. Mr. Vaughn will be so thankful that I can have him send a tasteful forewarning to your other teachers about your social experiment project. Finally, I’ll have Hellie set up as a non-student attendee so she can attend classes with you.”

His plan was brilliant, but he left out one minor detail.

“What about the security guards?”

RING. Mr. Shulenmeyers’ desk phone rang, taking his attention away from my question. He answered the second ring.

Alarmed by the ringing, Hellie sprung up and started to peek over the desk. I reactively held her chain to ensure her face didn’t fully pop over the desk.

There was a good reason I had Hellie lay on the floor when we entered. Mr. Shulenmeyers knew my former nanny, Shellie, and I wanted to avoid any connection. Thankfully, Hellie looked nothing like her previous incarnation with the make-up, outfit, and big hair, but I didn’t want to take a chance.

Her rumbling startled Mr. Shulenmeyers, but he smiled as if he appreciated her ability to act like a dog.

She’s not acting.

Hellie sat up in a squat next to me, and I placed my hand on her shoulder to keep her from rising. From Mr. Shulenmeyers’s angle, he could only see the top of her big hair beyond his large desk.

The call must have been one-sided because, other than his initial greeting, Mr. Shulenmeyers said nothing. After a minute or so, he scribbled a note and slid it to me.

Have to take this. Got things covered. See Miss Bakirtzis.

He opened his laptop, smiled big, and gave me a thumb’s-up. I did the same. I rubbed Hellie’s head and shook the chain to tell her we were leaving.

Although I wasn’t sure if he was looking, I nonchalantly blocked Mr. Shulenmeyers’ view as we exited.

I opened the door to let Hellie out and followed, closing it behind me. We wasted no time going to Miss Bakirtzis, as instructed, so we could get home. Unfortunately, our rush was in vain, because we ended up wasting more time in the dean’s office than I had expected. Miss Bakirtzis had a barrage of questions and paperwork for me to fill out. To be honest, I don’t know if she spent more time typing, or busily wandering through the office, or pausing throughout the whole process to eye Hellie and me.

After disappearing out of the office for almost twenty minutes, Miss Bakirtzis returned, sat back at her desk, and curtly said, “Billy. Come get this.”

I mean, she could have handed me whatever she had when she came back in, but no. Filled with hope that I was moments away from being dismissed, I moved from the boredom of my seat.

“What’s this?” She handed me a white standard-sized business card.

“It’s your ‘situation awareness’ card.” Her expression was wholly hypercritical, and she followed with, “You are under the strictest of orders to show this to any teacher, student, security guard, whomever approaches you about your…situation.”

Her leer fell to Hellie, then to the chain I was holding in my hand.

Looking down at Hellie, I thought, So this is how Mr. Shulenmeyers and Miss Bakirtzis are defining us…a situation. I then turned my attention to the card and read: We are engaged in a social experiment. Directly below it, in the bottom center, read: More on the back.

I flipped the card, and the centered text stated: This is an authorized study between two consenting human beings. Please be considerate and kind. Direct any concerns or complaints you would like to express to socExP@BGAIedu.com. And at the bottom center: Please give this card back to the owner.

The card seemed a bit excessive. I didn’t have a medical condition, I was just trying to keep Hellie out of trouble and everyone else safe. I pushed back the negative feeling and stuffed the card into my wallet. At least my cover was intact, and I could use the email data to support my essay.

***

Unfortunately, by the time we were released from the dean’s office, Bramwell-Gates Arts Institute’s campus was abuzz with students due to end-of-the day activity. Where I lived, the old campus in the northwest, was easily a twenty-five-minute walk. And facing the fact that Hellie and I had to navigate through so many people to get home gave me a headache.

I had always prided myself on being a person who couldn’t give a damn about other people’s opinions. And I hadn’t. But on that day, I found myself in a trial by fire, testing the fabric of my self-belief.

While we walked, I noticed a random moth in the air. Thank God, Hellie didn’t react to it. So that meant it was just a plain ol’moth and not another familiar like she and I had killed in the morning.

But the moth got me thinking someone could be watching me.

Maybe another familiar was tracking me from a distance.

Maybe any number of the students could be colleagues of the dead ones in the woods, who died trying to take Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users.

Maybe they were following us.

The thoughts made me paranoid, which in turn made me search the faces of the passersby, who all seemed to be projecting a uniform cloud of disapproval. I don’t know if it was all in my head, but the chattering around us incited a need to hasten my steps.

I flipped up my hoodie to narrow my vision and pushed us a little faster.

However, on the way, Hellie had dropped to all fours to walk a few times, which made us stop our travel so I could, for the most part, awkwardly correct her behavior. In those paused moments, I stupidly gave in to temptation, looking around for a familiar or a possible cult member. Every gaze and backward glance that fell on us was so surreal, I imagined those judging expressions contorting like fisheye lenses.

The bad part: As I had become antsy, so had Hellie.

After a while, she had more drive than I had to get home and started moving so far ahead of me that the slack in the chain became taut.

We hadn’t broken out in a run, but we were moving so fast that my wallet chains were jangling and my keys were swishing in my hoodie’s pocket. The sounds and the feel of the leash caused me to think of Nightshade again. He’d get so excited that he would pull against his chain to get me out of my lethargic pace. But I didn’t let my imagination run wild. I reminded myself that Nightshade was a dog, and although Hellie was a hybrid-hellhound, she was a woman to everyone else.

Oh, my God. They think she’s running away from me and that I’m trying to hold her captive on the leash.

The thought froze me on the inside. Then I heard it.

“Hey, dude.”

It has to be one of the cult members.

Frantic, I immediately imagined someone with a knife rearing to stab me, and everyone surrounding us poised to bludgeon me with stones.

However, before I had the chance to turn and face the reality of the voice behind me, I was yanked around by the force of Hellie leaping out on top of a man who had moved toward us, holding out his hand.

“Hellie, no.”