I immediately kiss him. Quickly, but hard.
“Whoa!” he says, staggering slightly. “What was that for?”
Because you didn’t lie and say, “Dude, I was so effing wasted!” like a lot of guys would have.
I reach out and lightly punch his shoulder. “No reason.”
“Hey!” barks a voice. “What are you doing down here?”
A man in coveralls is staring at us from a side corridor. He’s young but has weather-beaten features, like someone who’s lived too hard too quickly. His beady eyes regard us with suspicion.
“Forgot my bag,” says Zak with bored confidence. He picks up the abandoned backpack, takes my hand, and leads me onward.
Zak guides me through a twisting, turning back corridor until we come to a freight elevator. It’s a short ride back to the first floor, and we giggle the whole way. Not at anything specific. I think we’re both giddy from almost getting caught, the lack of sleep, and, well, other things.
Soon, we’re back in the main building. Though there are a lot fewer people now, the party is seriously heating up. Literally. There’s so much body heat, it’s like five hundred degrees out here. Men have stripped off their shirts. So have women, revealing their corsets, underthings, and armor. A man in an executioner’s mask pours out liquor from a wooden keg into a satyr’s leather drinking vessel.
Zak nudges me. In a secluded corner, two con-goers lean against the wall, seriously making out. I let out a gasp when I recognize Arnold and the masked girl from the dance.
“Told you it would work out for him. I made him look like a wounded warrior.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He laughs. “Let me drop this off at the front desk,” he says, hoisting the small backpack.
I look wistfully at my bow. “You should get rid of this too, I guess.”
Zak’s digging through the bag, thumbing through crumpled stacks of graph paper.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to find out who this belongs to. Maybe I know ’em.”
It wouldn’t surprise me. If the pope showed up here and shook Zak’s hand, I think everyone would be asking, “Who’s that with Duke?”
“Hey, Zak, are you going to call your friend about a ride soon?”
“Yeah, I’ll . . .” He stops speaking, mesmerized by something in at the bottom of the bag.
“What?”
His pasty face grows even paler. Something is upsetting the unflappable Zak Duquette. Good lord, there’s not a human head in there, is there?
“Zak?”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at me. I gingerly peak over the lip of the backpack.
Nestled among some old shirts is a plastic bag, filled with fine white powder. It’s not large, but it’s large enough.
It’s funny, but I don’t freak out. It’s like I’m watching some movie, and it’s two other people who’ve just made a serious error in judgment.
Zak obviously doesn’t see it that way. The pack begins to tremble in his hands.
“Ana, that’s cocaine!” he loud-whispers.
“You don’t know that.”
“What the hell else could it be?”
“I don’t know. Heroin?”
This does not calm Duquette down. He stands there, staring at the bag in his hand, sweat beading on his forehead. I’ve never seen him lose his cool like this, and it doesn’t do much to keep me relaxed.
“Ana, do you know what will happen if someone catches me with this shit?”
“They’re not going to catch you.” Clearly, I’m going to have to take control of this situation. I pick up the stray clothes and papers from the floor and stuff them back in the satchel. Zak stands rigid, his eyes wide.
“Prison, Ana! I can’t go to prison! Do you know what happens to guys like me in there? You’ve seen Shawshank Redemption, right?”
“Duquette, get a grip! Right now.”
He stops trembling, but he’s clutching the bag so tightly his knuckles grow white. I finish repacking and fasten the top.
“This doesn’t concern us. See the registration desk over there? Just go over to them, tell them someone forgot this in the bathroom, and it’ll be their problem. Not ours. Got it?”
He just stares at me. I shake him. “Zak! Just go over there and leave the bag. This isn’t our problem. It’ll be like we never saw it. It never happened.”
“Right,” he squeaks. As subtly as a man carrying a live bomb, he turns to go.
And then two dark hands snake out and grab us by the shoulders.
“Come with me. Both of you.”
ZAK
1:46 AM
I know it’s Warren, even before I turn around and see the mask. And it’s pretty obvious what this is all about.
“In the office. Now.” He’s not happy.
Ana looks sick, but I’m actually kind of happy he found us. Warren and me, we go way back. With a little schmoozing, a little reminder of the times Warren himself bent the rules, I’ll have Ana off the hook in no time. Then we can ditch this bag and end this ridiculous night.
He takes us through a door marked SECURITY and into a tiny room lined with TV monitors. Ana grimly takes a seat. I flop down next to her. Warren sits opposite, staring at us with his unreadable mask.
Might as well get this over with. “So what’s this all about?” I ask, somewhat distracted by the sight of a harem girl dancing on camera three.
“Your friend pulled a fire alarm at the Mazes and Monsters tournament, Zakory. Don’t bother denying it, the security cameras captured the whole thing.”
I smile, as if we’re all going to have a good laugh about this one day. “Warren, Warren, Warren. I seem to remember a certain fellow—I’m looking at him right now—who once peed on a police cruiser. We’ve all done crazy things at con.”
I swear, his alien eyes narrow for a second.
Unflapped, I continue. “Now, Cyrax was getting in Ana’s face. He wouldn’t let her leave the room. She kind of panicked, but can you blame her? If anyone should be in trouble, it’s Cyrax. Right, Ana?”
She doesn’t answer. She just stares at her lap. Warren says nothing. I wonder why everyone’s so serious.
“C’mon, Warren. It was just a couple of sirens. No harm, no foul.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he lifts a remote and points it at a monitor. There’s a grainy, black-and-white picture of the card tournament. I recognize Cyrax. I’m pleased to see Ana drive a fist into his gut.
“See! He’s not letting her leave. Not her fault. Not . . .”
Video Ana reaches out and pulls the fire alarm. Cyrax backs off, Ana runs . . .
Why are all the card players jumping to their feet? What’s falling from the ceiling?
Warren turns to me. “When Ana pulled the alarm, she set off the sprinklers.”
I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I remember James carefully sliding his cards into their plastic sleeves, only ever taking them out for battle. I turn to my companion.
“You left out that detail, Ana.” I can’t believe she didn’t tell me the whole story. She made it sound like a stupid misunderstanding. All those cards. Not to mention the rugs, the tables, everything.
She looks up at me, an agonized, guilty expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Zak. I didn’t know the sprinklers would go off.”
“You should have told me!”
“Duke, be quiet,” says Warren. “I’ll deal with you later.”
I’m suddenly irritated by his authoritative tone. If he wants to be taken seriously, he could take that mask off.
Ana is cowed, but not beaten. “I’m sorry. I really am. But that guy wouldn’t let me leave and no one was helping me. I panicked, but I had no choice.”
“You could have called security. Miss Watson, the convention center will now withhold our two-thousand-dollar security deposit, and we’ll probably end up owing more than that. Not to mention the hundreds of cards that were ruined. Not to mention there was
no winner to the tournament. Not to mention—”
I bang my fist down on the desk. While I’m not pleased with Ana’s half-truths, I have to take her side. “Not to mention, that idiot was holding Ana hostage! Would you listen to yourself? She had to do something to get away!”
“Zak,” warns Ana, gesturing to the bag of contraband on my lap. “Calm down.”
I take a deep breath. I know Warren’s in a world of hurt over those sprinklers, but surely he doesn’t plan to sacrifice Ana.
He shakes his mask. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to turn Ana over to the authorities. It’s out of my hands.”
“But—”
“It’s out of my hands,” emphasizes Warren.
Ana has gone absolutely pale. I worry that she’s in shock. Her green eyes are horrified circles. All her nightmares are coming true.
Warren has the evidence against my friend right on the screen. He’s going to call the cops. They’ll take her downtown. They’ll call her parents.
Ana bows her head, probably picturing this, and worse. Plus, on top of everything, we’ll lose the quiz bowl tournament later.
Game over, man. Game over.
“Warren,” I begin. “C’mon. Old times.”
Because of that stupid mask, I can’t read his expression.
“I’m sorry, Duke, but this isn’t about you. If you want to help your friend, call her parents and let them know what’s happening.”
Ana looks like she’s about to faint. I think that’s what pushes me over the edge.
“You wanna call the cops, Warren? Fine. You do that. But when you do, I’m going to show them this little surprise I found in the basement.”
My dramatic actions take a hit when I have to dig through a bunch of old clothes before I can retrieve the Baggie. I throw it onto the desk. The package of white powder skids across and lands just in front of Warren. He jumps back in his chair, startled, then points his dead alien eyes at me.
“Duquette!” screams Ana, in horror.
“How do you like that? Found it downstairs. That’s worth over five thousand.” Assuming Grand Theft Auto was telling the truth. “Someone’s probably going nuts trying to find that. So let’s call the police. I’d love to show them what goes on here.”
Warren keeps shifting his gaze—I think—between me and the bag in front of him. Ana just sits in her chair.
“They’ll turn this place upside down, trying to find out who that belongs to. They’ll bring in the dogs. Bust every underage drinker and dope smoker in this place. You think the convention center people are pissed now? Wait till they stage a huge friggin’ drug raid. You think they’ll ever let us come back?”
“Calm down, Duke.”
“No, Warren. You wanted to make a big deal out of this, well, I’ll make a bigger deal. Maybe I tell the cops there’s more where this came from. Maybe they’ll search every room in the hotel. Maybe I’ll call the news stations, let ’em report on the big drug raid.” I pause to wipe the saliva off my chin.
“Duke!” barks Warren.
“Choice is yours. Ana walks, or I shut down Washingcon. Maybe for good.”
Wow. Did I really just say that?”
“Zak, don’t . . . ,” says Ana, but I cut her off with a slashing movement. It’s all down to Warren. I hope I haven’t pushed things too far.
After a long pause, he puts the Baggie into a drawer. “Both of you. Get out of my sight.” His voice is wrathful. “I want you gone from here by sunrise.”
We both stand, trembling.
“And don’t come back. Either of you. Not tomorrow, not next year, not ever.”
Wow. Lifetime ban from Washingcon. They said it could happen, but like the girl who lost her arm out the school bus window and the boy who only got coal from Santa, I always assumed that was just a story to scare children.
Ana just sits there, slightly trembling. I gently take her by the arm and lead her out of the office. I wait until the door closes behind us. Wait until we’re halfway across the lobby. Then I start to run.
“Zak, wait!”
I don’t stop. Because I have been banned from Washingcon for life. I can never come back.
I need to be alone.
ANA
2:30 AM
Zak’s easier to follow than the plot of a vampire novel, but I don’t catch up with him. I’m the last person he needs to be with right now. I trail him to the hotel part of the convention center. He ducks into the dining room where they serve breakfast in the morning. I don’t enter, but wait about five minutes so he can regain control. I then join him in the darkened room.
Chairs are stacked upside down on every table but one. Zak sits there in the gloom, his face buried in his arms, looking like he’s passed-out drunk. He lifts his head slightly as I approach. For a second I can just see his eyes, reflecting the light from the lobby. He reminds me of the Once-ler.
He says nothing. And there’s nothing I can say. Not in words.
Zak, I would have been dead if my parents had to pick me up at the police station. I know the sprinklers were all my fault, but thanks for shifting the blame. Thanks for giving up the most important thing in your life.
Instead, I stand behind him. I place my hands on his shoulders and begin massaging his neck and back. I’ve seen Sonya do this to Landon when he’s upset. It always seems to calm him down.
“Ana?” mumbles Zak, after a bit.
“Yes?”
“That really hurts. Please stop.”
I instantly quit. I lower a chair and sit down beside him.
I wonder if he wants me to leave. I wonder if, when he finally sits up, he’ll ask me to go. Permanently. I mean, it’s not every day you ruin a guy’s life. If he wants to tell me off, he deserves to.
Slowly, he lifts himself to an upright position. It’s impossible to tell in the dim light, but his eyes look kind of reddish.
Nice, Ana. You meet a decent guy who likes you, who’d give up everything for you, and you utterly break him. You should be proud.
“Zak, I—”
He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But—”
“I’m sick of Warren acting like he’s the Jesus of Washingcon. If Cyrax was harassing you and not letting you leave, then he’s the one who should be hauled downtown, not you.”
“It wasn’t your fight, Zak. I know what this meant to you.”
“It is my fight, Ana.” He suddenly stands and begins walking out of the room, but slowly enough for me to follow.
Back at the con, things are still going strong. People sing, drink, juggle. I’m still amazed at this world I never knew existed. One I was almost part of.
“Hey, it ain’t so bad,” says Zak, with the mirthful expression of an undertaker. “Now I’ll have time to work on all those side projects I’ve been meaning to tackle. That doomsday laser isn’t going to build itself.”
“You can practice your hand-to-hand combat skills.”
The edge of his mouth lifts up just a bit. Maybe I’ll get to see that smile again.
“Or maybe work on my screenplay. You’ll have to play the female lead, though.”
His smile is just about there.
“Okay. But no nudity.”
“C’mon, Ana, it’s for art.”
“Let me look at the script first.”
He turns to me, and his mouth grows broader. He’s going to smile. Zak Duquette is going to smile at me again, and everything will be okay.
And then his entire face collapses. Every muscle slumps into a frown. His eyes lose their sheen. His back hunches.
Because I destroyed him. I ruined him. We’ve been friends one day, and I’ve taken everything important from him.
Slowly, we walk toward the exit.
“Zak? For what it’s worth, my life would have been over if I’d been arrested. Thank you.”
And then, my phone rings. I almost don’t hear it over the wheezing of a passing Darth Vader.
Who’d be calling me in the middle of the night?
Zak, as usual, is quick to realize the danger.
“Don’t answer that, unless it’s Clayton. You’re sound asleep at the hotel, or sitting in a hospital emergency room.”
With a sense of doom, I look at the number.
“It’s my father.”
Zak grimaces. We both stare at the device until it stops ringing. A few seconds later, it rings again, the tone that indicates I have a voice mail.
I call it up on speakerphone, but my finger freezes just before I can activate it. Gently, Zak takes my hand and pushes it downward.
“Ana! This is your father. Mrs. Brinkham just called me, said you and Clayton were visiting your grandfather in the hospital. I don’t know what kind of shenanigans you two are up to, but rest assured, it’s over. I’ve informed your teacher you have lied to her. The both of you better get back to the hotel immediately. Your mother will be there in the morning to pick you up from the tournament.”
I’m clutching Zak by the arm for support. Literally, for support. I feel like I’m about to fall over. But the message isn’t finished.
“I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed we are. Especially in you, Ana.”
I put the phone in my pocket, then face Duquette.
“Well, that’s it. I’m . . .” Ah, heck with it. “I’m screwed.”
“C’mon, Ana. We’ll think of something.” Already, I can see the devious little gears in his mind turning.
“You don’t understand, Zak. Dad has said that before. To Nichole. The night he threw her out.”
“Oh, Ana . . .”
I sniffle. “Zak? Earlier, you said your father told you something that helps you get through rough times. What was it?” Lord knows I could use some cheering up right now.
Zak’s eyes look away. He stands there for a moment, remembering.
“It was really the last time I talked to him, Ana. He fell into a coma that night. But we talked for a long time that day. And I’ll never forget this. He looked at me . . . looked at me . . .”
Zak takes a moment to compose himself.
“Looked at me and said, ‘Son. Sometimes life just goddamn sucks, don’t it?’”
The Improbable Theory of Ana and Zak Page 14
