Chief isn’t stupid. He knows Marco and I are together. He seems almost hopeful every time Marco shows me how to balance an equation, as if he thinks Marco is a step away from getting back on the AP track.
Being so close to Marco makes me desperate for a repeat performance of our make-out session in Lex’s pool house. I want to run my hands over his skin and feel his hands on mine.
It’s Friday, one week since Marco told me he loved me, and I finally remembered an important detail from the night Noah died. My heart and my mind are getting stronger. That’s the reason I haven’t shared my breakthrough with anyone yet. I need to see the killer’s face, and I’m close.
The steps creak above me, and my heart leaps. But instead of the sound of high-tops pounding the steps, these footfalls belong to someone moving more slowly. Chief rounds the corner of the landing a moment later. This morning he’s wearing a Pennzoil cap and a NASCAR jacket over his short-sleeved button-down. He spots me and adjusts his cap.
“Where’s your other half?” He walks past me and unlocks the door.
“He’s not here yet.” I fail at hiding my disappointment.
Chief puts a travel mug on his desk and thumbs through a stack of papers. I settle into my usual seat—the same place I sit during Shop class—and check my text messages.
Nothing.
Without Marco, my chemistry homework reads like a secret code. I draw circles in the margin of my paper. I hate the way we have to sneak around to spend time together. But the fact that he steals cars bothers me even more. I understand why he’s doing it, but I still think Marco should tell the police what he knows. If he’s so determined to save Deacon, they could go in together.
“Something bothering you?” Chief leans back in his chair and tugs on the bill of his hat. “You haven’t done much writing.”
I rub my forehead. “I know.”
“Does it have anything to do with the boy who sits right there every morning?” He points to Marco’s seat. “And stares at you like the sun rises and sets because of you.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “He does not.”
Chief laughs. “I’ve known Marco a long time, and I’ve never seen him look at a girl the way he looks at you. That boy deserves some happiness.”
It’s easy to see why Marco respects Chief so much. He cares about Marco.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Chief pushes up the bill of his cap. “Is it about chemistry? Because I didn’t do so well when I took it in school, and that was a long time ago. They even renamed some planets since then.”
“It’s not about chemistry.”
“All right. Then shoot.”
“Do you think it’s okay to do the wrong thing for the right reason?” I ask.
Chief adjusts his hat, and for a moment he’s quiet. “It depends on what the right reason and wrong thing are. But I figure it’s better than doing the wrong thing for the wrong reason.”
I tilt my head and smile. “That’s obvious.”
“Not always. Fear makes the wrong thing seem right sometimes.”
I walk over to the table in front of his desk and sit on the top. “What do you mean?”
“Fear is like a tencent magician. If you watch the trick a couple of times, you see the flaws and you know how the magician is doing it. But the first time, that same trick looks good. When we’re scared, we don’t always think things through. We react. It’s human nature. Fear can make the wrong decision feel right.” He runs his fingers over the patches on his NASCAR jacket. “By then, it’s too late.”
I point at the NASCAR patch toward the top. “Why did you leave?” I immediately regret asking. The question is too personal. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
He holds up his hand, indicating that it’s okay. “I gave up too easy. Remember when we talked about shifting gears when a car’s on a hill?”
I nod.
“I guess you could say I slid backward and crashed.”
“How?”
He takes off his hat and shapes the bill. “Lost a driver. The best one I ever crewed for.”
“He died?” I swallow hard.
Chief shakes his head. “No. But he killed his career, and it was my fault.”
“What happened?”
“That boy could drive a stock car like nobody I’d ever seen. But he was young and hotheaded. He wasn’t ready for NASCAR, not up here anyway.” He taps his head. “I hadn’t crewed for anyone that good in a long time. I pushed him too hard and threw him into races with seasoned pros before he was ready. I loved that boy like a son, and I should’ve been thinking about what was best for him.”
Chief frowns and tugs his hat on again. “My driver had a bad race, a real big loss. He blamed it on another driver—one who put his car into the wall and cost him the race. He threatened to tamper with the other guy’s car. It was just talk, but in organized racing, that’s as good as a death threat.”
This story is headed somewhere bad. “What happened?”