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.

My social experiment was the perfect cover.

Yes, guilt tugged at me for basically conning my surrogate parent, but it wasn’t like I was lying to him.

The project was real.

But the fact that Hellie was a hybrid hellhound would never leave my lips.

I had no choice but to make my little scheme work.

If I couldn’t persuade him, I had no viable alternatives other than to relocate or become a shut-in.

Hellie’s idiosyncrasies and nature were too unpredictable.

I wasn’t leaving her alone. I couldn’t leave her with anyone else. Not again.

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. Is she one of those strange-ass dramatic arts kids?”

“I told you her name is Hellie, and she’s on the ground next to me 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 projected a look of respect and waited for his rant to end.

“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.”

“I told you to get rid of it.” He went dead 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.

“Without her, I will fail the class.”

Incidentally showcasing emphasis, I tugged at Hellie’s leash, almost causing her to pop up. But with a soft pat on her head, she melted back into her comfy position.

When I turned my attention back to Mr. Shulenmeyers, he had an epic look of disbelief on his face.

“I’m trying to excel again, sir. I’m working hard to get past the funk I’m in. 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. You wouldn’t have had my back with Mr. Vaughn in the first place if you didn’t.”

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—towing the family legacy 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 be in classes with you.”

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

“What about the security guards?”

RING.

Mr. Shulenmeyers’s 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.

Fortunately, Hellie looked nothing like her previous incarnation with the makeup, 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.

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 thumbs-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’s view as we exited. The same as I had done when we entered.

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.

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

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

“It’s your ‘situation awareness’ card.”

My what?!

Her expression was wholly hypercritical.

“You are under the strictest of orders to show this to any teacher, student, security guard, or whoever 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.

Intrigued, I read:

We are engaged in a social experiment.

Directly below it, in the bottom center, it 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 close and everyone else safe.

But they didn’t know that.

Pushing back the negative feeling, I stuffed the card into my wallet.

On the bright side, my cover was intact.

And I could use the emails, albeit full of troll comments, 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 the masses’ opinions.

And I hadn’t.

But on that day, I found myself in a ring of 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 started a tailspin—maybe The Eye was watching.

The Eye sees, and The Eye wants.

The soft remnants of the words slithered into my hearing—an echo in my memory, impossibly crisp.

Maybe The Eye was angry at what Hellie had done, planning revenge or another gauntlet to take my grimoire.

Any of these students could be part of the cult—same as the ones who died trying to take Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users.

I searched 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 triggered a need to move faster.

I flipped up my hoodie to narrow my vision and powered us forward.

However, on the way, Hellie kept dropping to all fours to walk.

It didn’t slow us down, but it garnered more attention.

So, I had to keep stopping to awkwardly bait her into walking normally

Those paused moments created windows of temptation—when I caught myself 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: my antsy behavior made Hellie antsy.

After a while, she had more drive than I had to get home, moving ahead, pulling the slack in the chain taut.

We hadn’t broken out into a full sprint, but we were moving so fast that my wallet chains were jangling and my keys were swishing in my hoodie’s pocket.

The sounds.

The dash.

The looks.

It all pushed me farther into paranoia.

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

Then I heard it… and everything within me constricted.

Someone screamed—

“Hey!”

It has to be one of the cult members.

Frantic, I immediately imagined someone with a knife lunging to stab me.

But I didn’t get the chance to dismiss my fantasy.

Hellie acted!

She flung herself toward the scream.

I barely saw a man who had moved toward us, holding out his hand.

“Hellie, no.”