Trouble is a Friend of Mine

‘It’s not funny. Did you know that psycho living across the street knew Schell?’


‘Well, yeah.’

‘Don’t you think you should’ve told me that before you made me piss them both off? And I’ll kill you if you tell me that you just did tell me. You drag me around town getting me in trouble … Why do you call me to go on these things? Why do I take these calls? I’m done. I don’t care if I have no friends. This isn’t worth it.’

I hung up on him. I wondered if we were really done as friends. I sat in the dark, trying to decide if I was glad or if I regretted saying it.

Then, just when I got the sinking feeling that maybe I did regret it, Digby slid open my window. He sat on the windowsill, holding takeout Chinese food.

‘I’m sick of following you around, not knowing what’s going on,’ I said.

‘I’ve watched Schell and Ezekiel have dinner at the mall every Friday night since September. Usually they just talk, but today Schell gave Ezekiel some keys. I don’t tell you things because you freak out. I keep calling you, Princeton, because you’re good to have around during an emergency. Plus … you’re cool.’ He mumbled the last bit. He held out the Chinese food to me. ‘The ladies running Wok Palace had extra when they closed. Kung Pao shrimp.’

It was pathetic how good it felt to hear him call me cool. I took the food.

‘From now on, you tell me what’s going on. Deal?’

‘Deal. So tomorrow, eleven o’clock at the Big Field? It’s Saturday practice and Henry’s QB-ing.’

‘Okay.’ It sounded kinda nice. I could bring some smoothies …

‘Great. And since we’re doing the whole full disclosure thing … we’re also going to score from the dealer who hangs around during practice, so maybe bring a twenty.’

‘There’s a dealer who hangs around practice?’

‘Yeah, you know … lots of people, but not too many people …’

‘I’m not asking about their marketing strategy, I’m more curious how the police don’t know.’

‘Oh, they know … but they leave dealers like her alone. This one mostly just sells pot …’shrooms … hash … hippie stuff,’ he said. ‘River Heights, Princeton. This is the town that drugs built. During Prohibition, Canadian rum-runner trucks pit-stopped here and the cops used to help change out flats. River Heights has a hierarchy, and pot dealers don’t rate.’

‘Okay … that’s fascinating civic history and all, but you can’t snow me. I’m not buying drugs with you.’

‘Just relax … it’s not like we’re going to do the drugs we buy. We’ll flush them right after we ask a few questions.’

‘Can’t we just ask questions without giving my twenty bucks for drugs we don’t want?’

‘Drug dealers don’t chat, and I don’t think they’d be excited about talking to some looky-loos.’

‘Oh, so to be safe, we’ll pretend to buy a bunch of drugs? Because that’s the safe thing to do?’

‘No, no … we’re actually going to buy the drugs. We’re pretending we’re going to use them. Come on, Princeton, don’t get it twisted.’





SIXTEEN


Mom got in really late that night and was still in bed when I left the next morning. She barely reacted when I told her I was borrowing her aviators. Part of me wanted to wear something cool like a short skirt/long jacket/ankle boots outfit, but I considered myself warned by Digby, so I wore jeans and motorcycle boots in case I had to run across mud or climb over barbed wire. I also threw water and PowerBars in my backpack. Preparing to survive a typical day of being Digby’s friend wasn’t that different from preparing to survive the apocalypse.

The Big Field was the midpoint between River Heights High and Chester B. Arthur High. It had a full-sized track, and both schools played their football, soccer, and baseball games there. It was the town’s ground zero of teen heart-throbbing.

That day, our football team, the Buccaneers, was sharing the field with the Chester cheerleading squad. Neither team could keep their minds on their own tasks. The football players watched the cheerleaders in between plays and the cheerleaders lingered over water breaks, showing off for the footballers.

One cheerleader who was clearly the queen bee of that school pranced in front of her phalanx of pom-pommed Spartans. She did a coy cheerleader point at Henry and yelled into her mini-megaphone, ‘Hey, number thirteen, why doncha come over here and sack me?’

Okay, so, I’ve only seen random bits and pieces of football games on TV (plus Varsity Blues twice), but even I knew what she said didn’t make sense. Her cheerleaders laughed and clapped supportively anyway.

Some of Sloane’s blond posse was sitting near us. One girl said, ‘Oh, he dead,’ and started texting furiously when Henry jogged over to the Chester cheerleaders.

Digby arrived and climbed the bleachers toward me. ‘See Sloane’s spies watching Henry for her? They follow him around town to make sure he isn’t hooking up with other girls.’