I should have worn something tighter. Like a crop top, or a low-cut shirt, or literally anything other than the crummy band t-shirt I have on right now. Felix and I stick out like a pair sore thumbs. Standing next to the main bar, it feels like every person in the club is staring at us. Or maybe that's just my self-obsession talking.

Basically, I'm a Winona Ryder circa Beetle Juice 1988 in a room full of futuristic Kim Kardashians and Justin Biebers. What a cruel world we live in.

The chances of anyone actually calling the bouncer to kick us out are unlikely though. This place is trying hard to attain that laidback 'I don't care' vibe, so snitching on a couple of teenagers would not be cool. That being said, starting a conversation with the bartender, who I immediately recognized as Elaine Reid, may be a tad difficult if I remind her of a prepubescent girl scout.

"Maybe you should be the one to get her attention." I say to Felix, barely audible over the blaring speakers placed in every corner. "You're outfit may not scream legal adult but at least you've got the style down. That vent made your hair all messy chic, and there's a seductive rip in your v-neck now - I think I can even see a bit of chest hair trying to poke out."

"Hm, I have been growing a bit of a beard lately. Think she'll notice?"

I lean in closer and study the speckles of dark brown hair littering his chin. His sad attempt at facial hair reminds me of coffee grounds wiped on a sheet of printer paper.

Smiling, I give him a thumbs up. "Totally. You're the man."

"Yo bartender, can we get some drinks or what?" He calls out, voice deep and demanding.

Elaine makes her way over to our seats, albeit slowly, and an amused expression takes over her face when she spots our pathetic duo.

"Okay, if you guys are nineteen I must be forty. Let me guess. For the gentleman, a pint of the strongest alcohol I've got, and for the lady, a martini glass filled with whatever drink would sound the dirtiest written on a bathroom stall. Perhaps Sex on the Beach, or our famous Hanky-Panky?"

I scowl at her, not appreciating the condescending tone. This woman can't be more than one year older than us. The only reason she looks mature at all is because her eyes are lined with a metric ton of black liner.

"Yeah, we didn't come here for a cold glass of beer." I retort, crossing my arms. "We came to talk to you. Specifically."

The throng of people crowding the bar has died down by now. Unable to find an immediate exit to the conversation, Elaine begrudgingly continues. "Sorry, do I know either of you?"

"Not exactly, but we know you. Your name is Elaine Reid. You graduated from Berkley High last year, and your hobbies include acting and writing. I couldn't care less about the dozen tequila bottles you've got stashed behind that glass, and just for the record, if I did, I'd be a lot more fucking subtle about it. So will you talk to us or not?"

She glances between Felix and I, biting her lip. "Fine. You've got ten minutes – I need a break anyways. Follow me, we'll go to the back."

* * * * *

The small break room feels homey compared to our previous location among the flashing lights and moving bodies. A cozy cream colour is painted on the chipped walls which surround the three of us, seated at a small wooden table. Elaine sits across from Felix and I, her arms folded defensively. As I wait for someone to speak, the smell of coffee floats around the air, causing me to scrunch up my nose in distaste. I absolutely hate coffee. Elaine insisted on making some, more for her own good than anyone else's, but Felix, at least, seemed quite pleased.

"You may as well get to it." Elaine says. "My break is only fifteen minutes long."

I respect her blunt personality, annoying as it may be. She doesn't beat around the bush. Maybe Mr. Caplan has a type when it comes to ghostwriters. The thought alone makes me queasy – that I could soon be grouped in with this woman, that my own story could be the next one Mr. Caplan steals. It makes me pray for the success of this plan even more. Ruining Mr. Caplan's reputation is my best bet at ensuring I don't end up getting played.

"We're here because we think you may have been manipulated by somebody. Somebody that Felix and I know rather... personally. We want to help you."

"Manipulated?" She asks. "You mean every ex-boyfriend I've ever had?"

I ignore her joke and pull out the copy of the original short story that Felix and I had found in Alex's closet. The title, Wicked in Red, stands out against the crisp white paper. Twelve pages of original characters, complex plot and emotionally raw dialogue. Twelve wonderful pages that would later get turned into three hundred pages of plagiarized, thoughtless crap.

"You used to go to Berkley High." I state, matter-of-factly. "During your time there, you were taught by Mr. Caplan for twelfth grade English. What I want to know, is whether or not you wrote this story."

I slide her the stack of pages. Taking them with mild hesitation, Elaine gives the words a skeptical skimming over before placing them back on the table. "I remember this." She replies, grazing her hand over one of sheets.

My heart skips a beat. "You do?"

"Yeah. I can't remember from where though."

All the excitement I had instantly drains out of my body – I crawled through a vent for nothing, didn't I?

"You mean you're not the one who wrote it?"

Elaine looks up at me, finally breaking her gaze away from the sheets in front of her. "No... no, creative writing was never my thing - I always preferred acting. But I was pretty good at the spelling and grammar side of English class, so sometimes classmates would ask me to edit their assignments and stuff. There was this one girl especially... I can't remember her name..." She becomes lost in thought, her eyes focusing on an empty spot of the table.

I decide to try and interrupt her from the daydream. "So this girl, the one who wrote the short story, you knew her?"

"I was never friends with her, but she definitely knew me." Elaine stops speaking for a moment, as though wondering whether she should continue. "This is gonna sound super narcissistic, but I think she had a crush on me. She would always ask me to look over her English homework, even though she had like, the best grades in class. I dunno. I kind of tried to ignore her outside of school, to be honest."

Great. Our best lead and she has the memory of a goldfish with amnesia. Felix's expression is equally as disappointed. There must be some way that I can get a useful piece of information out of this woman.

"You were in the improv club for all of high school, right? Was the mystery girl in the improv club as well?"

Elaine scoffs. "Definitely not. That much I would remember for sure. As smart as the girl may have been, she was also terrible at public speaking. I seem to recall one class in particular where she vomited during an oral presentation about the Great Gatsby."

I get up from the table and start zipping up my coat. "I think Felix and I should go now. We've already taken up most of your break. Thanks for answering the questions though, it was a..." I pause, then decide to lie for the sake of making her feel better. "huge help. We owe you one."

Felix follows my lead, but Elaine seems confused by our sudden interest in leaving. "Hold on, you never even told me why you're showing me this to begin with." She says, holding up the sheets of paper and shaking them. "How do you have this? And what does it matter to you?"

Sighing, I grab the pages from her hand and shove them back into my jacket pocket. "It's a long story. Really long. And you only have a couple minutes of break left. Just forget we ever came."

With that, Felix and I walk out of the breakroom, leaving Elaine behind to wonder what the hell she had been witness to.

Even though she didn't turn out to be the ghostwriter, I'm happy we chose to interrogate Elaine before our other possible improv club suspect. If what she said is true, whoever wrote Mr. Caplan's story wasn't in the improv club at all - they were just obsessed with one of the members. Driving four hours to ask Tatianna the exact same questions would have been a complete waste of time – she probably knows even less than the bartender.

That happiness does little to squash the complete hopelessness that I'm also left with. The improv girls were Felix and I's best bet of tracking down the original writer. Without them, we're basically back at square one.

"This doesn't have to be the end." Felix says, as if reading my mind. "We could find a list of all the students in Elaine's grade twelve English class that year, and then figure out who this mystery girl is. There couldn't have been more than twenty-five people, and if only half of them were women, that's even less! Not to mention that Elaine said this girl was at the top of the class."

"So what," I ask, "We break into the principal's office again to steal a record of all of these student's English grades for a class that happened years ago? Or worse, we ask Mr. Caplan whether or not he remembers the girl, which would basically expose our entire plan to him. This all just feels so impossible Felix."

"Yeah... I get it. Let's just... drive home. Reconvene in the morning. We're both probably exhausted and incapable of any more planning. I'm sure everything will seem better after a good night's sleep."

I nod my head in agreement.

Felix's words of wisdom serve as a nice reminder that he's not giving me the cold shoulder anymore. I'm sure the guy is still all kinds of angry at me, but at least the anger has slightly subsided.

I can deal with the Mr. Caplan thing. Hell, I can even deal with the locker thing. But after today, I'm not so sure I could ever deal with losing Felix. He's the only part of this entire mess of an investigation that makes sense.

* * * * *

The sky is pitch black. Silhouettes of tall pine trees are flying past the passenger window of the truck, and the only source of light is the full moon hanging high in the nighttime sky.

I called my parents a while back, telling them some ruse about sleeping over at Addie's house to study. My mom sounded distracted on the phone, and accepted the flimsy lie almost immediately. With nothing but Felix and the highway to keep me company, my mind can't help but wonder what I'm missing at home.

Two days ago David said my father was close to exposing Interim Accounting's bad behaviour. I figured my failing to bring him those boxes would push that deadline back a bit, but now I'm not so sure.

We're halfway through what should have been a thirty-minute drive back home. Felix had mistakenly taken the wrong turn a while back, which neither of us noticed until much later, so we've already been driving in the dark for over an hour. After that happened, Felix and I kept mostly to ourselves – I guess we both figured he could use the concentration. The playlist that Felix had complained about during the beginning of the road trip now lays dejected in my glove compartment, silence surrounding us instead.

"When are you planning to turn Alex in to the principal?" Felix asks suddenly.

I give him a look of pure exhaustion, not wanting to relive our previous screaming match.

"Sorry." He says. "I don't want to fight. Seriously. I was just... thinking about it."

The question still feels like a trap, however refusing to answer it seems even worse than giving him a response he might not like. "Tomorrow. First thing, probably. Right after the bell for homeroom." My voice is calm, monotone, completely void of any emotion. "You don't have to come with me." I add.

"I should, though. Come with you. You'll be making a pretty big accusation, and the principal may be more willing to believe you if there's another witness. One who's more..."

"Reliable." I finish.

A few minutes go by where neither of us says anything. I'm thankful that Felix sticks to his word and doesn't start another argument. I don't think I have it in me to get upset. The truth is, Felix is right. There's no reason now for us to tell the principal about Alex. The journalism competition was no doubt fake, so whatever I write about the locker scandal never has to become public knowledge. Mr. Caplan will hopefully be drowning in court cases before the story I give him ever makes it past first edit.

So why am I going through with it?

I'm honestly not sure. Maybe it's simply out of hate. Maybe I want Alex to fail so desperately that I don't even need a reason to throw him under the bus.

The answer is hard to think about. If that's true, what does that make me? Who does that make me? The worst sister in the world for starters, but probably something even more vile than that.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Felix asks, bringing me back to reality.

I consider ignoring his question. Like I said, I don't have it in me to get upset. But Felix seems more willing to listen now. His tone isn't one of judgement – it's curious.

"His life has always been so easy." I reply. "From the second we were born. Teachers always liked him. He could make friends without trying. And school came so naturally that studying and homework didn't even seem to matter for him. He was... perfect. And my parents always made sure I knew it – my mother especially. I was the complete opposite of course. Unlikeable. Anti-social. Dumb as a rock. We were twins, you know? So why is it that he gets to be him and I have to be me?"

"That's not his fault though." Felix interrupts. "Alex didn't choose to be born that way, same as how he didn't choose for you to be born your way."

"Then why didn't he do anything? He never stood up for me, he never tried to help me, he was never my brother. He loved it Felix, he loved the attention."

"And what, going to Ottawa U is going to change everything? It's just a university, Ali."

"It's my ticket out of here. Do you know how hard it is to get a fresh start Felix? To be at a place where no one knows you or your family? I'll get to re-invent myself, and I'll never have to be compared to him again. I'll be doing the one thing I enjoy – writing. Haven't you ever wanted to start over?"

He takes a couple seconds. "Yeah... yeah I have."

Another pause. Another long moment where we both say nothing.

"You're not dumb." Felix states.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Ali... have you ever gotten tested for a learning disability? Back at the club, when I was trapped in the vent... I think you might have dyslexia."

I let his words sink in. "I guess. I dunno... what does it matter? I'm already almost graduated. There's no magic pill you can take for that, I can't be cured. So whatever. Just another thing wrong with me."

Felix sighs impatiently. "Why is it so hard for you to accept help? You don't have to do everything on your own."

Here we go – I can sense another disagreement coming, and try to think of an answer that could stop this conversation altogether. Before I have the chance, something catches my attention in the rear-view mirror.

"Felix, how long has that car been behind us?" I ask.

"Not sure. I haven't been checking much to be honest."

The road we're travelling along now shouldn't be very busy. Felix turned onto a small side street a few minutes back, and the traffic at this time of night is thin to begin with. I give it another ten minutes, but the car is still directly behind us. 

"Felix, stop the car."

"Why?" He demands.

"I'm almost certain we're being followed."