I was a bit worried at this part of the plan, since it relies so heavily on Kaitlyn antagonizing the boy who already isn’t afraid of harming her, but she promised me that he wouldn’t hurt her today. She said he has to be in a “certain mood,” whatever that means. I guess she’d know and tone it down, but she seems right so far since he hasn’t lashed out. Still, this isn’t my favorite position to put her in.

Ryan gets out of the car and is about to walk back to the house when Kaitlyn emerges, closing the door behind her but conveniently “forgetting” to lock it.

They get into the car and I scooch lower in my seat as they drive off, even though they drive in the opposite direction.

My phone vibrates; it’s a text from Kaitlyn.

Left his laptop out on his bed. Second room on the left. The password book is somewhere in his closet but I didn’t have enough time to find it

Why he doesn’t just use the same three passwords like every other person, I’ll never know, but in this case his paranoia works in our favor.

On it. Heading in now I text back, getting out of my car and casually walking down the street to Ryan’s house.

As much as I hate drama and stuff, I think I secretly love this secret agent covert stuff. As stressful as it is, it gets the adrenaline going. It’s fun screwing Ryan over, and even weirder, being on the same team as Kaitlyn. I have to give credit where credit’s due—Kaitlyn was one hell of an actress. I’m almost scared of the power we’d have if we ever decided to be friends and team up for more schemes like this, but I know that’ll never happen.

I walk right up Ryan’s front steps and into his house, closing the door behind me. He lives with his mom, who isn’t home, obviously. The house is small and slightly messy, but not dirty.

Without wasting time, I follow Kaitlyn’s directions and head into Ryan’s room. It’s a simple room, with a bed in the corner, a bathroom off to the side, and another door to the closet. His bedsheets are a tangled mess at the bottom of his bed, and there are piles of clothes on the floor. He even has a couple of posters of naked girls up on his wall, which, I mean, gross.

His laptop is on his bed, and I head over to the closet for the password book. His closet isn’t a walk-in, which I guess makes my life a bit easier, but it’s not organized either.

A quick scan doesn’t reveal any kind of book or notebook anywhere, so I roll up my sleeves and sort through the clutter on the floor. Should I be wearing gloves for this? Who knows what’s in here? I pinch a pair of his underwear between two fingers and practically gag as I move it to the other end of the closet. Maybe I should’ve worn gloves.