“What do you want?”
He stepped forward. “I want you to quit. Yeah, I know about Michael thinking he needs you. And I know you’re not really his friend.”
Unlike him. He didn’t have to say it. Wounded pride and resentment at being shoved aside pulsated from his eyes.
“Quit.” He grabbed the edges of his athlete’s jacket, resettling it on his shoulders. “Or I go to the principal, and it ends with the drugs in your locker and your arrest.”
He curled a hand on the door handle. “You have until lunch. I’m going to the nurse now. For my timeline. But don’t worry. I won’t rat. Not yet, anyway. Maybe never. Either way. You’re out. It’s up to you if it’s in handcuffs.”
The door scraped the tile as he left.
My fist rammed the closed door. I turned and slammed my back against it. Scrubbed my hands over my face.
If I quit, I’d be out eight hundred dollars. I could take that, but would Dwight really stop there? What would happen to the drugs he’d planted in my locker? What if there was a random search today or the police received an “anonymous” tip?
And what about Clay? Dwight wasn’t so stupid he wouldn’t remember my pre-Michael friend. If I didn’t cave, Dwight could try the same ploy on Clay’s locker. Or worse.
My shoulders bunched.
I went into the hall. Didn’t go to my locker, although every part of my brain screamed that I should. Go, pull out the drugs, flush them. Can’t make the obvious play. It’s what Dwight would expect. Maybe even want. Too many people around, anyway.
I made myself turn away from the hall where my locker stood. Made myself walk to my first class instead.
The bell dismissing homeroom toned. Kids swarmed into the hall. I let the crowd carry me past the nurse’s office.
Glimpsed Dwight in there, a cold pack held to his lip.
In English I sat at an empty desk. The teacher pretended not to notice that I had no book, paper, or pencil. I looked out the window the whole time. My mind like a rat in a maze.
The best move would be to go. Get Janie out of school somehow and take off, like we planned. But it was still too early in the day to go home to get our money. And we could really use the extra eight hundred. I couldn’t just leave without telling Clay. And Cyndra . . .
I could pretend to quit. Tell Dwight to ditch the drugs or I’d rejoin. Watch him do it, but from a distance. Once they’re gone, squirt superglue into the lock, and Clay’s lock, then go tell Michael. Get Dwight exiled permanently. Hang around tonight, long enough to get the money.
Then leave.
Leaving Clay unprotected.
Too much trouble for an assured revenge from Dwight. I should just stop like he wanted. It was all ending anyway.
But I already knew it wasn’t safe. Winning might not be enough for Dwight. He’d liked the handcuff idea.
At break I waited for Cyndra by the courtyard door. Watched out the window as Dwight edged closer to Michael. Dwight’s eyes cut around the space, looking for me.
“Jason,” Cyndra called as she walked up. She gave me a perfect, heart-stopping smile.
I took her elbow, pulled her away from the windows.
“Listen,” I said.
She turned her face to me, and her expression stopped the words in my mouth. It was tight. Frozen and tense, but aiming at relaxed. Fake.
Paranoia slicked into my brain. And a question I wasn’t ready to learn the answer to: Did she already know? Was she in on it somehow?
Was she playing me?
I couldn’t keep it off my face.
She bit her lip, and her eyes glimmered. Was something forcing her? The strain was naked on her face. She didn’t want to do it.
“What is it, Jason?” Her voice mouse-small.
“Has Michael told you about the drug for your stepfather?” For some reason, this question bled to the front of my brain. Instinct, like a razor against my throat.
“No. What drug?” Cyndra’s emerald eyes slid away, like she was worried about us being overheard.
“You’re lying to me.”
She chewed on her chapped lip. “Yes.” The word just air.
“Why?”
“Michael told me already, but he said if you told me, I should pretend I didn’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because it would make you feel good to tell me. That’s all. That’s not bad, right? It’s a good plan. I think that stuff could work. And it’s nice he’s thinking of me, and you—if you wanted to tell me.”
Contortions of thought. All jutting elbows and knotted flesh.
“Don’t lie to me,” I said. “Ever.”
“I can’t.” She shifted, tightening her arms over her books. “I couldn’t. You saw.” She flashed a smile, open this time. “It was stupid to try. Even if it was a white lie.”
“Do you know anything about my locker?”
Her eyebrows creased together. “No. What?”
A pure gaze. Unwavering.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” Because what could she do? She’d go to Michael. And his constant lies, his feel-good manipulations, made me want to keep him out.
I sent her into the courtyard and drifted toward the front of the school—and my locker. Still didn’t go to it, though. Some instinct kept me moving, floating right by.
In my next class I thought about it. At lunch I’d have to choose or have the choice made for me. The skin on my back lifted and tightened.
Then it hit me. A choice, something to get me out of the corner. I needed an ally.
I didn’t wait for the bell. Stood and walked out of class. Jogged down the hall, up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Mr. Stewart. He’d offered to help me. Well, here was his chance. I’d tell him drugs had been planted in my locker. I’d get him to go with me to the principal. I’d turn the tables on Dwight.
Save myself and maybe get him to be the one wearing handcuffs. Stay around long enough for the heist tonight, even set up Michael to take a fall after.
Why not?
At Mr. Stewart’s door, I drew up short. A young guy was locking the door, holding a lunch bag in his other hand.