Trouble is a Friend of Mine

‘Hey, Zoe.’ Felix comes up holding a blue duffel bag. ‘Digby said to give this to you,’ he says. ‘It’s for your project.’


The first thing I find when I open the bag is a brand-new laptop still in its box.

‘Is this for me?’

‘Yeah, he said yours broke?’

Then I find typed notes and printouts of tables and graphs. I skim it and realize what it is.

‘It’s the research for our project,’ I say. ‘Wait. Did Digby make you do all this work?’

‘Me? No … I mean, that’s the exact problem he’s helping me with. He’s getting Dominic off my back so I don’t have to do other people’s homework anymore.’ Felix points at Dominic, scowling at us from across the hall.

‘Felix, Digby left town.’

‘But he’s coming back.’

The optimism on Felix’s face saddens me, and I don’t have the heart to tell him Digby probably isn’t coming back. So I just smile.

‘Okay, then … I’ll see you later, Felix?’

Now, ordinarily people would take this as a clue that the conversation’s over, but Felix just stands there.

‘So,’ Felix says.

‘So … is there anything else?’

‘Isn’t there?’ Felix says. ‘Digby told me to wait here. Do you have something for me?’

‘No …’

We peer into my locker just in case, but, no. Nothing.

Then Felix starts sneezing like crazy. Before I can ask what the matter is, a big dog’s wet snout pushes me away and pokes into my locker. It’s cute and I want to pet it, but it’s wearing an orange vest that says WORKING ANIMAL. DO NOT PET.

‘Everybody stand back from your lockers. This is a spot check,’ the canine handler says.

‘Spot check? For what?’ I say.

The dog’s vest has the River Heights Police Department logo on it and the word NARCOTICS.

I feel a stab of cold fear when I wonder just how sensitive these dogs’ noses are, because if they can smell even just a trace … well, I don’t think it’s hard to imagine how many illegal things have left trace material on me.

‘Do you think it can smell the explosives?’ Felix says.

‘Say what, son?’ The canine handler yanks the dog’s leash.

‘He’s wondering if it can smell the egg sandwich,’ I say. ‘My lunch … but it’s gone … because I ate it.’

Then the dog starts frantically barking toward Touchdown Alley, the stupid nickname the footballers have given their lockers. Dominic looks guilty and preemptively raises his hands.

‘Are those guys dumb enough to keep drugs in their lockers?’ I say.

A janitor opens Dominic’s locker and the cop retrieves a familiar Ziploc bag labeled BALONEY containing a big pile of shriveled leaves. It’s the bag of weed we’d bought from Mello Yello with my twenty bucks.

‘Well, that’s one way to get him off your back,’ I say.

Then the cop retrieves a gun from the locker.

‘But maybe that’s going too far,’ I say.

The cop cuffs Dominic and leads him out. A bunch of us follow in a slow-moving procession. And then we notice what we didn’t before: just in case it isn’t clear that the whole show is courtesy of Digby, there’s a mosaic of newly adhered RIVER HEIGHTS – WE’RE A FAMILY PLACE stickers along Touchdown Alley.

‘Yes! That frees up a whole lot of my time,’ Felix says. ‘Want to celebrate?’

‘I got to work on my paper.’

‘Oh.’

Then, because he looks so disappointed, I say, ‘Maybe another time.’ But I’m not much of a faker, and I don’t pull it off. ‘Sorry, Felix, it’s just …’

‘I get it. It’s okay … I can wait.’

‘Wait?

‘You’ll see, Zoe,’ Felix says. ‘I’m just a growth spurt and an IPO away from being the man of your dreams.’





THIRTY-ONE


Walking home, I notice a black SUV trailing me. I pretend not to see it but watch its reflection in the windows of parked cars I pass. After two blocks, I do an abrupt 180 and walk in the opposite direction. The SUV’s window rolls down and a voice I don’t recognize says, ‘Hey … Zoe Webster.’

I turn around holding a pen in the stab position.

It’s Musgrave leaning out of the window of his black gas monster. He looks like a paedophile impersonating a TV-style FBI agent.

‘I, uh … I wanted to …’ Musgrave hops out, leaving the car sitting in traffic. He waddles over, red-faced and out of breath. He looks like he’s having a heart attack.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Miss Webster, I just wanted to … apologize if I gave you the impression I wouldn’t grade your assignment fairly …’

I would allow my mouth to drop open if I didn’t think I’d swallow his flying spit by doing so.

‘As for the computer I ruined … I could either deposit money into your account every month or buy you a computer six, maybe eight, months from now …’

‘Keep it. I don’t need you to …’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t get what’s happening here.’

‘I just need you to know your assignment will be assessed objectively and without prejudice. Do you understand?’

‘O … kay …’

‘Now, do me a favor? Let Philip Digby know we had this conversation?’ he says.