The Great Greene Heist

by Varian Johnson

  Jackson swung his locker open. “Did Victor balk at the price?”

  “Of course.” Charlie watched as Jackson began to empty his book bag. “Everything set for tomorrow?”

  “Done. As long as they don’t change the menu,” Jackson said. “What about tonight?”

  “After Mom’s schedule magically cleared up, it was a piece of cake convincing her to visit my tia in Toledo for a couple of days. And according to Lynne, she and Gaby are definitely going to watch Omar play at the Fitz this afternoon.” Charlie caught the flash of a scowl across Jackson’s face. “Have you heard about Omar and Gaby and the dance?”

  Jackson tapped on the cold metal locker door. “Found out this morning. Heard he even brought her a gift.”

  “Yeah. Chocolate-covered nuts.”

  Jackson’s nose wrinkled. “I bet you twenty dollars she trashed them as soon as she got the chance.”

  She had actually passed them on to Charlie. “Dude, why don’t you just tell her —”

  “No.”

  “Jackson.”

  “I’m not telling her,” Jackson said as he shoved another book into the locker.

  Charlie readjusted his book bag strap. “Have it your way.”

  “So I’ll be over at your place around four,” Jackson continued. “That’ll give us at least a couple of hours to move everything.”

  For the first time since Jackson laid out his plan, Charlie stopped to think about what they were about to do. Now that they were in the execution phase, things seemed a lot more real. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  “Don’t worry. By the time she notices tomorrow morning, you’ll be long gone.”

  “No, I’m talking about the entire plan.” He started counting off. “A Kobayashi Maru, a Carrie Nation, an Anakin Skywalker, a Windows Vista, and a Denver Boot paired with a White Rabbit and a Fallout Shelter. That’s seven schemes in less than three weeks.”

  Jackson closed his locker. “Please don’t tell me you spent all weekend making up names.”

  He shrugged. “I was inspired. Ocean’s Eleven came on last night.”

  “Trust me, Charlie. The plan is solid.” Jackson grinned. “Have I ever let you down?”

  Charlie crossed his arms.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Your eyebrows grew back. Eventually.” He began to walk away, but stopped once he noticed that Charlie hadn’t moved. “What?”

  “Hashemi asked me to talk to you —”

  “Since when did you and Hash become best buds?”

  “We’re not. But still —”

  “No, Charlie. We can’t risk it.”

  “We have to tell her, Jackson. There’s no way Megan would hang out with Stewart if she knew Keith gave him the video game.” Charlie glanced at the election poster across from Jackson’s locker. “Dude … What if it were Gaby?”

  He groaned. “Okay. Fine. But it has to be anonymous. Megan can’t know we tipped her off.” Jackson tucked his empty book bag under his arm. “You know that was a low blow, right? Bringing Gaby into it? Think she’ll slam the door in my face this time?”

  “What do you think?”

  Jackson rubbed his nose. “Okay. Let’s plan to meet her outside. Away from the front door.”

  Gaby followed Lynne up the rickety bleachers at Fitzgerald Park. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she said. “I have better things to do than watch boys play basketball. They aren’t even that good.”

  Lynne brushed a few cigarette butts from the bleachers before sitting down. “You promised you wouldn’t complain.”

  “I’m not complaining. I’m telling the truth. Plus, I don’t want Omar to get the wrong idea about how I feel about him. I’ve already complicated things by agreeing to go to the formal with him.”

  “You hugged him, Gaby. You gave him a public display of affection. What idea was he supposed to get?”

  “It wasn’t a real hug. More like a quick, sideways shoulder pat.”

  Lynne tugged on her friend’s hair. “You know who you sound like, right?”

  That shut Gaby up.

  It had taken Omar a few minutes of stuttering and stammering that Friday afternoon, but eventually he had asked her to the formal. And Gaby said yes because … Well, because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He had done such a good job with her campaign, and he was a nice guy. Considerate and friendly. There were worse people to attend the formal with.

  Then he asked her to come watch him play at the Fitz. She found herself saying yes again, because really, after all his help with the election, the least she could do was give up a few hours of her time to watch him play basketball.

  But now that she was actually in the stands, with the sun beating down on her and time seemingly standing still, she wished she had had the courage — or at least the common sense — to say no.

  She and Lynne weren’t the only students braving the bright sun and humid afternoon weather. Kids lined both sides of the blacktop, with the high schoolers at the newer, fancier court. While some kids waited for their chance to play, most were spectators.

  “There’s Omar!” Lynne said, gripping Gaby’s arm, her voice high and fake flirty. “Isn’t he cute?”

  “Yeah. Cute,” Gaby said, though her mind had drifted from September to May, when Omar was the spectator and she was the one on the court here. She could still feel the sting of the ball against her palms as she caught Jackson’s pass, could still hear the roar of the crowd as she elevated for the final shot over Keith, could still see the grin on Jackson’s face as they walked off, victorious.

  “You’re thinking about the Blitz at the Fitz, aren’t you?” Lynne asked.

  “No, I —” Gaby couldn’t help but grin herself. She would never admit it, but she was the one who had come up with that nickname. “That was a great game…. Even though I shouldn’t have let Jackson run up the score.”

  “Everyone thinks Jackson cheated.”

  “But he didn’t,” Gaby replied. “And everyone doesn’t think that. Only Keith.”

  “Enough about that.” Lynne reached into her purse and pulled out a compact mirror. “We should be talking about your dress for the formal. Have you gone shopping yet?”

  “I’ll just wear something from last year.”

  “Like you can even fit into something from last year. You’ve grown at least two inches.” Lynne looked at Gaby over the open mirror. “What’s the point of donating all those clothes if you aren’t going to buy new ones?”

  “Well, at least now my favorite pair of jeans isn’t too long.” She glanced at her phone. “This is the slowest game in the history of the universe!”

  “I don’t understand you,” Lynne said, snapping the compact shut. “You’re supposed to want to watch Omar play. If you didn’t want to come, you should have just said no.”

  “I know. I chickened out.”

  “Well, you’d better start thinking up some good excuses. He’s planning to ask if you want to shoot hoops at your house tomorrow.”

  “Great. I’m going to have to pretend to be bad, just so I won’t embarrass him.”

  “Or, you know, you could just say no. Or just beat him.”

  “But —”

  “Look! He stole the ball!”

  Gaby watched as Omar raced down the court and pulled up for a three. She shook her head. “He’s a center. Why is he shooting a three when he can go in for a layup?”

  “You’re not supposed to criticize your boyfriend.”

  She cut her eyes at Lynne. “He is not my boyfriend.”

  “He could be, if you wanted one.”

  “Well, I don’t want one.”

  “Sure. Right.”

  Gaby nudged Lynne in the ribs. “What does that mean?”

  “Ouch!” Lynne rubbed her side. “It means you’re still crazy about a boy who likes kissing other girls.”

  “No, I’m not!” Gaby said. Then after a few minutes she said, “And according to Jackson, it wasn’t really a kiss….
More like a slight brushing of his lips against hers.”

  Lynne’s mouth dropped open as she stared at Gaby.

  “Ugh,” Gaby said, burying her head in her hands. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah, you are.” Lynne squeezed her shoulders. “But at least you can be pathetic and look cute at the same time. So let’s talk about that dress.”

  It was almost six o’clock by the time Gaby left the park. They had stayed to watch Omar play in two pickup games, each more mistake-filled than the last. Afterward, he jogged over and asked if Gaby wanted to play some one-on-one tomorrow. She said yes. Then, while he was talking to some of the high school boys, she pried Lynne away from the bleachers and headed home.

  She didn’t understand Lynne. As good of an athlete as she was, she seemed to be happiest when she was watching other people play. Well, not other people. Boys. Gaby promised herself that she’d never be like that.

  But even as she did, she found herself thinking about last year’s Fall Formal. Up until then, Gaby had never worn her hair in anything other than a ponytail, and the only makeup she owned was cherry-flavored Chapstick. But on the weekend before the Fall Formal, her aunt had popped into town to surprise Gaby with an all-day spa visit and makeover. Gaby had resisted — she wasn’t girly like Tia Isabel — but she relented after seeing the hurt on her aunt’s face.

  The day had been exhausting. They started their morning in a spa, their faces covered in mud and cucumbers. At the salon, the hairdresser trimmed, chopped, and styled; washed, rinsed, and conditioned; and transformed Gaby’s beautiful, practical, functional ponytail into a layered bob. Her aunt was so impressed, she bought three extra bottles of the salon’s shampoo and conditioner.

  They spent the next few hours at seemingly every makeup counter in Easton Town Center, painting Gaby’s face a wide assortment of colors and shades. By the time they returned home, all Gaby wanted to do was barricade herself in the bathroom and peel the makeup off her cheeks. All that stood between her and clean pores were the two boys watching music videos in the den.

  Charlie dropped the remote and feigned shock. “Who are you, and what did you do with my sister?”

  “Shut up, Carlito,” Gaby said, trying to sound like her mother.

  “Wow.”

  Jackson rose from the couch and tucked his dangling arms behind his back. Forever Young, last year’s “it” boy band, blared away on the television, but Jackson’s eyes were focused on Gaby.

  “I like it,” he said. “You look … wow.”

  Charlie wandered over to his sister. “Man, your hair is shiny.” He started to reach for it, but she stepped out of his grasp. “I won’t mess it up!” He reached again and took a few strands in his hand. “Jackson, come feel this stuff.”

  Jackson crossed the room, his eyes still on Gaby. He stopped a few inches away from her — close enough for Gaby to smell her mother’s pasteles on his breath — and slowly, he ran his fingers against her hair.

  “Soft.” He smiled at Gaby, but this was a new smile. A different smile. A smile as soft as clouds and cotton candy and everything sweet in the world. His hand brushed against a small red chrysanthemum that one of the stylists had tucked into her hair. “You look really … wow.”

  A year later, most of the makeup that Gaby’s aunt had purchased remained unopened, and once Gaby’s hair grew back out, she returned to her ponytail. But she always washed her hair with the special shampoo and conditioner. When a certain boy came over to play video games with Charlie, she washed her hair twice, just to make it extra shiny. Extra soft.

  So Gaby had to fight the urge to touch her hair when she saw Jackson and Charlie in the driveway. They were huddled together and their backs were to her, but she had no interest in trying to see what they were up to. As she jumped off her bike and wheeled it past them into the garage, she reminded herself that it was Jackson’s fault that she was now attending the formal with Omar.

  She returned to the driveway once she heard the familiar sound of a basketball against concrete. Charlie was sloppily dribbling the ball. He pulled up a few feet away from Jackson and launched the basketball toward the rim. It exploded against the backboard and bounced into the street.

  “I’ll get it,” Jackson said.

  “Since when do you play basketball?” she asked Charlie. Much to the disappointment of their father, her brother’s usual idea of exercise was mashing buttons on his video game controller.

  “It was Jackson’s idea,” he said. “He heard about you going to the Fitz.”

  Gaby watched as Jackson chased down the ball. “Who’s winning?” she asked as she reached for her hair. She almost pulled it out of its ponytail, but stopped herself.

  “Who do you think?” He shook his head. “Why don’t you play with him?”

  “Me? No, I … No, Charlie. No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want anything to do with Jackson Greene.”

  “Yeah. Right,” he said, in the same tone that Lynne had used earlier. “You know you two —”

  “Shut up,” she hissed. “He might hear you.”

  They both stopped talking as Jackson ambled up the driveway, the ball nestled underneath his arm. “Hey, Gaby,” he said.

  Gaby crossed her arms. “Hello, Jackson.”

  Jackson looked at Charlie. “Ready to go again?”

  “No way. Why don’t you play with Gaby?”

  “Charlie!” She shook her head. “I can’t —”

  “It’s okay.” A small smile crept across Jackson’s face. “I understand.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” Jackson’s smile grew. “After spending all afternoon watching other people play basketball, I can see how you’re tired.”

  Gaby huffed. “I’m not tired.”

  “So you’re scared?”

  “Stop trying to goad me, Jackson Greene. It won’t work.”

  Jackson dribbled the basketball, then threw it to her. By the time she realized he was passing it, she had already caught it.

  “Come on,” he said. “One game of HORSE.”

  Gaby looked at the basketball. She was supposed to be mad. Furious, even.

  But Jackson also knew how to play basketball. He was taller and quicker, but she was a better shooter. She wouldn’t have to pretend to be bad.

  She rotated the ball in her hands, then took a shot. All net.

  She chased down the ball as it rolled into the street. “Where’s Charlie?” she asked when she returned to the driveway.

  Jackson pointed at the house. The window curtain jerked shut.

  “Just so you know, I’m still mad.” She passed the ball. “Furious, even.”

  “I figured.” He dribbled the ball between his legs.

  He was so much better than Omar at that.

  Jackson and Gaby traded shot after shot, neither speaking. Gaby was working up a sweat, and she could see that Jackson was as well. It was like things used to be — before fancy shampoos and ill-advised kisses and lukewarm hugs.

  After Gaby won the game, she asked, “Now what?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Round two?”

  “Okay.” She tossed the ball to Jackson. “But enough HORSE. Let’s play for real. Let’s play one-on-one.”

  Two hours later, they finally stopped playing, but only because it was too dark to see. Had Gaby’s mother been home, she would have called Gaby in an hour ago. But Mr. de la Cruz thought his daughter should always have a basketball in her hands.

  They collapsed in the grass, both of them exhausted, each taking swigs from bottled water. Jackson wasn’t sure which of them had won more games — he was having too much fun to keep track. He finished off his water and screwed the cap back on. “I heard about you and Omar.”

  Gaby took an extra-long drink from her bottle.

  “He’s in my English class,” Jackson continued. “He’s … nice. It takes him forever to pick a topic when we’re writing essays, but he’s nice
.” He tapped the bottle against the ground. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Oh.”

  Gaby waited for Jackson to continue, but he just kept opening and closing his empty water bottle. Finally, she asked, “So are you going to the formal with Katie?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t talked to her since the end of last year.” He nudged the basketball with his feet, pushing it into the driveway. “I never liked her like that.”

  Gaby frowned. “Then why did you do it?”

  “It’s complicated,” he said as he stood up. He reached out to help her up, but she waved him off as she rose to her feet.

  “You owe me a better explanation than that,” she said. For three days straight, that kiss was all people had talked about at school, over and over and over again. “Just tell me why you kissed her.” Gaby hated even saying the word.

  Jackson pinned the basketball between his feet. “Keith ratted me out. It was the only way I could get back at him.” He shrugged. “It was a gut reaction.”

  “Well, that’s just brilliant!” Gaby bent down and grabbed the ball. She dribbled it a few times, pounding it into the concrete. “Why did you even sneak into the office with her? Why didn’t you go in with someone else, like Charlie?” Or like me, she wanted to add.

  “Katie and I made a deal.” Jackson went for the ball, but Gaby refused to give it to him. “I had a good reason.”

  “But you won’t tell me what it is.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

  From Jackson’s point of view, he indeed had a good reason for the Kelsey Job. The Mid-Day PDA. The slight, insignificant brushing of his lips against Katie Accord’s.

  But Jackson was a boy.

  And Gaby was a girl.

  And there were some things that thirteen-year-old boys didn’t tell thirteen-year-old girls.

  Gaby and Jackson didn’t speak for a few moments. After she yawned, he said, “I guess I should go.” He took a step toward her. “Thanks.”

  She stopped dribbling. “For what?”

  “For not slamming a door in my face this time.”