by Lex Thomas
He sat up carefully and looked over to Will’s corner hoping that he hadn’t seen any of the cuddling. It was dark, but it looked like Will’s bed was empty. He strained his eyes to see more sharply.
Will wasn’t there.
Any fogginess from sleep burned off in a flash. He saw the bucket turned upside down in the middle of the floor. He looked up to the emergency hatch. The little bastard snuck out? Was he out of his mind?
David stepped over Lucy with as much speed as silence
would allow. Before hoisting himself up to the top of the elevator car, he snagged a blanket from Will’s bed and placed it over Lucy.
David tugged a Geek’s dirty green hoodie out of his materials sack; he didn’t want to wear his own. He grabbed a can of tuna and stuffed it in the sweatshirt pocket. He might need to barter his way in or out of something. He pulled himself up to the hatch and disappeared into the pitch black above.
“Will?” David whispered into the darkness of the elevator shaft. All David heard was a stunted echo. Damn it.
David reached over the edge and located a two-foot-long metal pipe he kept duct-taped to the side of the elevator car. It was thick and heavy; the thing could definitely break a bone .
David hoisted himself into the vent that led to the hallway.
When he emerged from the elevator control closet, he pulled on the hood, keeping it low over his brow. He concealed the pipe up the loose sleeve of his sweatshirt. His shoulder still hurt from punching Brad, but if he ran into any trouble, he hoped the pipe would make up for it.
The elevator stood at the corner of two perpendicular hallways. David had no idea which way to go. Right now, his brother could have been anywhere. He had no idea where to start looking, and he wanted to panic. David grabbed his forehead as if he was trying to squeeze out a single clear thought.
The Skaters . . . if Will had been taken, the Skaters might have heard something. They spread gossip at every stop on
their trash route. It was a safe assumption that they had already broken the story of Brad’s death over the PA in his sleep. But David could offer them a scoop. He could trade on his side of the story in return for info on Will. He started for the administrative offices, where the Skaters lived.
He didn’t get far before he was spotted. A white-haired kid was creeping out of a classroom dead ahead of him.
David accidentally locked eyes with him. He was the Scrap kid with the trampled hand from the quad. The kid’s eyelids peeled back when he saw David’s face. He waved David over with his bent fingers. The kid took off down the hall, limping fast, then stopped and looked back. He waved David forward again, with more urgency this time. What did he want?
A racket snapped David out of his thoughtshead. It came from the hallway behind him. It sounded like kicking on lockers. Then there was male laughter, a lot of it. It could’ve been a Varsity posse looking for him. He didn’t want to find out.
David ran toward the Scrap. The kid limped down the long hall and into a math classroom that stank of sour armpits.
David shut the door behind him as gently as his fear would let him. The room was a dumping ground. There were piles of junk, bloodstained rags, tied-off plastic bags with God knows what inside, and a puddle of oily brown liquid on the floor that David wanted nothing to do with. The Scrap moved an unhinged, ruined door that was resting against the wall and revealed a hole that had been burrowed through the wall.
“I’m Mort,” he said. “Remember me?” The kid smiled with pride—he was almost giddy. Mort was soaked with sweat, which dripped off his nose and slicked his hands, but he wasn’t the least bit out of breath. “Don’t worry. Come on.” Mort crawled through the wall. David followed, still fearful of the locker kickers in the hallway behind him.
The room on the other side of the wall had a malfunction-ing fire sprinkler by the ceiling that spit an uneven drizzle of water over the room. The constant flow of water had bubbled the paint on the walls and buckled the floor tiles. One fluorescent bulb in the far corner cast a sickly light on six Scraps before him. Their conversation stopped dead when David stood up.
David didn’t know the effeminate Korean kid with his eyes cast down. Next to him were a gangly set of twins, one boy and one girl, both with long white hair. David had never seen them before, but they seemed young enough that they couldn’t be more than sophomores. They each kept a finger hooked through the other’s belt loop. They looked like the dirty hillbilly kids you wouldn’t want to meet if you hoofed it too far into the mountains.
Nelson Bryant was a year below him. He was a ruddy runt of a kid who looked like he was born in the wrong century, like he should be wearing suspenders and knickers. David always felt sorry for Nelson because he was mostly deaf and wore the biggest pair of old-school hearing aids he’d ever seen. Nelson
must have ditched the hearing aids when they ran out of batteries because he held a plastic chem lab funnel up to his ear like the ear trumpets David had seen in old Civil War–era photographs.
The last Scrap was Belinda Max. The ceiling light glared off of her wet scalp. David wondered how much she’d gotten in return for giving Hilary her hair. She bounced over to him.
“Mort! You found him?” Belinda said.
“Sure did,” Mort said with a laugh like a panting dog. He placed his sweaty hand on David’s shoulder. David shrugged the nasty thing off.
“Why are you looking for me?” David asked.
“Leonard, get him something to drink. Would you, um, you know, like something to eat?” Belinda said, and the Korean kid began frantically searching the room.
“Here, let me get you a dry chair,” Nelson said.
David’s discomfort grew with his impatience. He looked back to the hole in the wall that Mort now blocked.
“I don’t want a chair. What . . . what do you guys want from me?”
“Oh, no, you have nothing to worry about,” Belinda said.
“Not from us.”
“We want you to be . . .” Leonard started, his words losing all volume halfway through his sentence. He blushed and looked away when David met his eyes. He held out a bottle of dirty water. David shook his head, and Leonard backed off.
“You’re safe here,” Belinda said. “You’re with Scraps.” Belinda’s eyes filled with tears. David was confused about whether she was happy or sad. This crew of weirdos wasn’t getting him any closer to finding Will. Every second he was out of the elevator his chances of surviving until graduation were in a nosedive.
“I have to go,” David said. The locker kickers must have been gone by now.
“Yeah, but . . . let us help you,” Belinda said, spilling tears from her eyes but smiling.
“Okay. Have you seen my brother? Will Thorpe? Do you know him?”
Belinda bit her lip. She looked on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
“What?” David said, suddenly worried by her tears. “You saw him? What’s wrong?”
“It’s just . . . I’m so glad to have you here.”
“Here’s your chair,” Nelson said, and scooted a chair behind David. It hit his knees, and he sat without thinking.
“Nelson, have you seen Will?” David asked.
“Ooh, no, I don’t have any pills. Do you have a headache?” Nelson said.
That funnel didn’t seem to work very well. David’s chair was anything but dry. This was enough. He had to get out of here.
“Mort, thanks for the hiding place, but I’m leaving,” David said.
The mountain twins burst out laughing. They were having a murmured conversation. The girl snickered and gripped the boy’s arm like she’d fall over without his support. While she doubled over laughing, he picked things out of her hair like a mother baboon.
David turned to crawl back through the hole. Belinda rushed in front of him, pushed Mort out of the way, and blocked the hole with her bulk. David tensed up. This was more than weird, it was getting dangerous.
“No, but you can’t go!” Belind
a said.
David tightened his grip on his pipe.
“And why’s that?”
“We need you,” Belinda said, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re the one we’ve been waiting for.” David realized he’d walked right into a trap. He let the pipe slide out of his sleeve and lifted it up, ready to swing. He clenched his face at Belinda, and she cowered.
“You lookin’ to sell me out to Varsity? Huh? I’m not your meal ticket.” David said.
“We want you to lead us. Our gang,” Belinda said. David lowered the pipe a little.
“Huh?” He would have laughed, but he was too on edge.
“A gang for Scraps,” Belinda continued, tears welling up again. “So we can have rights, fight for our fair share together, and y’know, protect each other.”
The look on her face had no hint of humor to it.
“I’ve got bigger problems right now,” David said.
“Yeah, but . . .” Belinda’s voice jumped to a desperate octave.
“No, but that’s the whole thing. If there was a gang for us, then you wouldn’t have had to do what you did yesterday. That girl woulda had someplace to go.”
David could admit that the idea was nice—safety in numbers, a team of people he could trust to take care of Will after he left, a place for Lucy as well. But how? Take on Varsity and every other gang with these six misfits at his back? They’d never stand a chance.
“I’m not your guy. I’m nothing special,” David said.
“Yeah, but no, but you are. You’re the one! You stood up to them. If other Scraps knew you were doing it, they’d join.
They’ll follow you, David,” Belinda said.
He looked over to the twins. The boy had his head tilted back and his mouth open, trying to catch droplets from the sprinkler. The girl twin held her dirty hands like a gutter to catch more water and funnel it into her brother’s mouth.
“I’m leaving,” David said, and tucked his pipe into his sleeve. He gently moved Belinda to the side. She grabbed his hand with both of hers and held on to it as he crouched and entered the hole.
“No, but please,” she said.
David looked back at her and saw a pain that he recognized, the frustration of giving your heart and soul and watching everything still go to shit anyway. For a moment he wanted to
say yes, that he would be their captain, that he would take on the school, that he’d prove her right, but he didn’t speak. He let the moment pass.
“I’m sorry.”
She let his fingers slip from hers as he crossed into the stinking math room. David opened the door to the hallway and poked his head out. Totally empty. It was still early. He knew Varsity was up and lurking, but most of the school was still asleep. He might have time. He had to find out if Will was okay. He jogged in the direction of the Skaters once again.
David hit the stairs fast. He ran for a couple minutes. He was in Geek territory, not far from the auditorium. David stared down a long hallway. Geeks slept in the rooms on either side. He ran down it, hoping to reach the end as fast as he could. A third of the way down the hallway, the ceiling lights flickered on.
It must have been later than he thought. David poured on the speed, but Geeks began to spill out of the classrooms, ready to start the day. He drew his hood even farther over his face, kept the pipe at the ready up his sleeve, and slowed to a brisk walk. He felt sure that, past the green fabric of his hood, every eye in the hallway was pointed right at him. He was completely exposed.
He kept his eyes glued to the floor and only looked up when he had to. He passed a pair of kids chatting on his left side.
He waited for a comment. A shout. The clapping of footsteps
after him. But nothing happened.
Another pair of Geeks approached, lugging water. David held his breath. They passed without a word.
Halfway down the hallway, more students began stepping out from classrooms. And then more. And more. It seemed like they were never going to stop. Like a nightmare. David hunched over and picked up the pace. He nearly collided with someone and got a peeved “Watch it!” thrown his way. He kept walking, but just as he rounded the corner, a voice rang out.
“Hey, it’s you!”
The voice sounded like it had come from directly in front of him. David flinched and looked up, expecting the worst.
The source was a scruffy band Geek with a sharp nose and pockmarked cheeks. But he wasn’t shouting at David. He was pointing at another kid next to David who held a Frisbee.
“I knew it was you! What, were you just never going to give it back?”
David glanced at the Frisbee thief next to him, who was fumbling for a response. For a moment he didn’t know what to do. He was still frozen, as if he’d been caught. The thief made eye contact with David and recognition flashed in his eyes.
David aimed his eyes back at the floor and strode forward, but it was too late. He heard the noise of a phone camera shutter behind him. In two seconds, the Frisbee thief was at David’s left side, walking in unison with him.
“Hey, you’re David, right?”
David ignored him and lengthened his stride. The kid backed off for a moment, then matched David’s new pace.
“Yo, what’s your problem, man? Back off,” David spat out, mustering faux anger. He didn’t want to look at the kid, but it was tough to achieve a scary “Back off!” when he was looking straight at the floor.
“You’re him! I was in Spanish with you,” the kid said. “Taylor.
That’s my name. Remember?”
“I didn’t take Spanish,” David lied. But he remembered Taylor.
“Tayloroso,” he used to call himself. Every time Señora Pérez went around the room asking each student “Cómo estás? ,” when she got to Taylor he would answer with a spicy flair, “Yo siento muy . . . Tayloroso! ” The kid was annoying.
Tayloroso held his phone up, trying to get a shot of David’s face. David broke into a run.
“Hey! Hold on! I want to talk to you,” Tayloroso shouted, running after him. When David didn’t stop, Tayloroso yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hey, it’s the kid who killed that Varsity!” David pushed hard and gained a slight burst of speed. He heard shouts of recognition from the other students. Someone pulled David’s hood off. It didn’t matter now. He had to keep moving. He flicked his head back to see just how many kids he was dealing with. Five more were running beside Tayloroso.
“That’s him! That’s the guy!” Tayloroso hollered.
Groggy kids poked their heads out of classrooms. Some of them grabbed at his sweatshirt and laughed. They swarmed
behind him. His legs wouldn’t move fast enough; it felt like a nightmare. David let the pipe slide down out of his sleeve and into his hand. Maybe the sight of a weapon would keep them away .
Wishful thinking. Someone snatched the pipe out of David’s hand. He looked back at the mob chasing him as he rounded a corner. His vision flared white. He hit the floor before he realized he’d been punched. David blinked through the haze and the pain and saw two Varsity guys towering over him.
A third person stepped between them. It was Sam. His voice was the last thing David heard before an incoming Varsity fist smashed his vision to black.
“Tell everyone. The execution of David Thorpe starts in ten minutes.”
11
David awoke when something long and cold and rubbery coiled around his neck and choked his throat shut. The white-hot light of the market seared his eyes at first. A crowd of people stared at him. That thing that gripped his neck, it yanked him up, it bit under his jaw and bent his head down; pain cut up through his neck like a cleaver. He had no air. David dangled by his neck, toes scraping for the floor, fingernails raking at his windpipe. He tried to suck in a breath, but it only hollowed his stomach.
He was being hanged. David thrashed his feet, which twisted him around to face the other end of the hall. He saw Fudgey, the football team’s kicker, and three other Varsity guys hol
ding an orange extension cord that was looped over a sprinkler pipe above David and cinched around his neck.
They leaned back like it was a game of tug of war.
“All right, let him on his feet.”
The noose went halfway slack, and David found the ground.
He gagged. Blood rushed to his head, and he felt his sense of balance slip away. Another pair of Varsity guys wrenched his arms behind him and held him up; David’s legs were just noodles in shoes.
“You all know why we’re here,” Sam’s voice said from behind him. “Yesterday David Thorpe murdered my friend Brad Hammond.”
David’s vision came back into focus. The market was packed with people, except for a fifteen-foot-wide circle of clear floor around David. Each gang was represented. The crowd was riveted, almost excited, as they waited for his life to be taken in front of them. He remembered seeing a lot of those very same faces in the stands on a Friday night, during his final season, cheering him on.
“There aren’t many rules in here,” Sam said, “ but I’m making one today. No one kills my friends.” David’s breathing settled into a rhythm, and he was able to lock his legs straight underneath him; he felt somewhat solid again. Solid and scared out of his mind.
“You don’t kill us,” Sam continued. “You hear me? You try anything, and what’s about to happen to him . . . I’ll make sure it’ll happen to you.”
“He hit his head!” David shouted.
All eyes snapped to him.
“It was one punch,” he went on. “Brad fell and hit his head.
I didn’t murder him!”
“Liar. You liar!” Sam said, “Fudgey, shut him up,” Fudgey let go of David’s right arm and clamped his hand over David’s mouth. David bit down on the Fudgey’s finger. Fudgey screamed and fell back. David spun and drove the sharp part of his elbow into the other guy’s ear. It was Anthony Smith, a linebacker who’d always hated David. To his right, the Varsity guys holding the extension cord dropped it and ran at him. David dashed forward.
