The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 57: Finn

I pick the lock with the paper clip Ronan gave me and slip open the first drawer. To my disappointment, it holds nothing more than a row of neatly organized manila folders. The Director wasn't lying. The filing cabinet really is full of the campers' documentation— which is as boring and useless as it sounds.

One name in particular catches my eye: Lockwood. It's written in heavy black marker on the protruding edge of one folder. I'm curious, but not curious enough to risk Ronan's wrath by peeking at it, so I skim downwards until I find my last name.

My folder is surprisingly empty. There are only a few papers in it, probably because I've got a track record about as long as my pinky finger. Sure, I tend to get on my teacher's nerves, and I've gotten detention more times than I can count, but I doubt that information would make it onto an official profile. The only serious crime I've committed is breaking into the school, and it's not like Indiana is brimming with opportunities to be a teenage criminal.

I flip forward until my hand rests upon a folder bearing yet another recognizable last name: Fisher. Unlike my folder, this one is stuffed with paper— almost half an inch thick. There are so many secrets captured in these files that Becca will never tell me, no matter how many secrets I tell her in exchange. My heart starts to thrum in my chest.

I don't think. I just sneak the folder out of the cabinet and tuck it in the waistband of my pants. Then I pull my shirt down over the folder, obscuring it from sight.

I wander back over to the desk. "Nothing useful in the filing cabinets."

Ronan curses softly. He doesn't bring up Becca's file— he must not have seen me take it. "Damn. Well, it's probably for the best— we've got enough crap to deal with here."

He gestures to the dismaying amount of information clouding the computer screen, then jabs a finger at the computer for added emphasis. "We can't play hide and seek all night long. This was supposed to be an in-out job, not an hour-long one. If we stay any longer, we risk getting caught by the Director. My spidey sense tells me she's not a sound sleeper."

"Let's not give up yet," Jasper urges, swatting Ronan's accusing finger to the side. "Is there a specific time frame you want to look at? The Director has most of her information sorted by date. Maybe we could start in the sixties and work our way up."

"No way," I say. "That's more than twenty years of material. It'll take forever."

Then, Ronan stands up a little straighter. "No, it won't. Jasper, pull up any files from the summer of '69."

"Isn't that a Bryan Adams song?"

"No, idiot, it's the year I want to look at. I'm pretty sure something sketchy went down then."

"But why—?"

"Listen. On the first day of camp, Wolseley mentioned the summer of '69. He said something bad happened that year and he got fired from his lifeguard gig because of it. I forgot about it until now— I just brushed it off as Wolseley being strange— but maybe it means something more. Maybe something bad did happen during that summer."

"Now that you mention it...." Jasper trails off into a thoughtful silence. Then, his face turns bright red. "Okay. This is going to sound insane, but... one time, in the woods, I heard Karen and Owen talking about the summer of '69 together. They were...." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Kissing."

"Huh," I say.

"C'mon, guys," Ronan groans. "It's obvious that they've been smashing all summer. The way they look at each other is, like, basically PDA."

Jasper's face falls at the realization that his juicy secret wasn't so juicy at all. "Was it really that obvious?" he asks in dismay. "I thought...."