by Tim Green
“Okay.” Wells leaned forward and a vein in his forehead throbbed. “We hear what you’re saying. You don’t know anything about this, but you knew about the jewelry, right?”
“What do you mean?” Cory asked.
“The jewelry.” Wells threw an impatient hand in the air. “You knew Mrs. Muiller has a lot of jewelry, right? I mean, you’re not blind. The woman’s got more bling than Kim Kardashian.”
“I know she wears a lot of jewelry,” Cory said, feeling it was a safe thing to admit.
“Just tell us the truth.” Blankenship spoke with gentle understanding. He sat back in his chair, hands resting on his knees. “Everything is fine; we just need to sort it out so we can cross you off the list, Cory. Relax.”
“She wears a lot of jewelry. Anyone can see that,” Cory said firmly.
“Right, so you knew about the jewelry in her drawer,” Wells continued.
“I know she wears jewelry, not where she keeps it.”
“Well, you know it doesn’t just appear on her like magic, right?”
“No.” Cory felt like he was slipping on ice.
“So it had to be in her bedroom, right?”
“I guess.”
“Is there another place she’d keep her jewelry?”
“I don’t know.” Cory looked to Blankenship, but the smile was gone.
“I don’t know why you can’t just say it, Cory.”
“Say what?”
“That you knew the jewelry was in the bedroom.”
“No one told me that.”
“I get that, but they didn’t have to.” Wells glowered at him. “You said you knew she had jewelry and you said you didn’t know anyplace but the bedroom, therefore it was in the bedroom and you knew it. That’s all I’m saying. Am I right?”
Cory knew what was happening. He’d seen too many shows not to know that the police were suggesting things, manipulating him to say what they wanted. Still, he ignored the warnings in his mind because he hadn’t done anything wrong and he wanted to show them that he was a good kid, so he swallowed and said, “Yes.”
Wells suddenly got nice. “I mean, let’s not play games, huh? If you know something, don’t get cute. That won’t help you. You’re a good kid, but you come from a rough part of town, right?”
“Yes.” Cory nodded; no question about that. He wanted to help. He didn’t want to play games or be cute. That wasn’t him at all, and he wanted Officer Wells to see that. Did he want to be a lawyer one day? He sure did, but now wasn’t the time to play lawyer. This was serious.
“And you know the security code.”
“I said that.” Cory’s throat got tight.
“Who did you share it with?”
Cory hesitated. He hadn’t told anyone, but he knew his mom and Liam had heard him say the code when they left the Muillers, the night he met Marvin.
“No one,” he said.
“No one?” Wells stared without blinking. “You seem unsure.”
Cory clenched his teeth. His mom had nothing to do with this, that he knew as sure as he knew his name, so it wouldn’t do any good to say that. He wasn’t going to point a finger at Liam either. “I was just trying to think if I did, but I didn’t.”
“Really? That’s the truth?” Officer Wells’s voice mocked him.
Cory got mad and wondered if in fact he shouldn’t be a bit more like a lawyer if these guys weren’t going to believe him. “Yes. Why would I tell anyone?”
Wells stared at him for what seemed like ages before he spoke again. “What kind of trouble have you been in before?”
“No trouble,” Cory blurted.
“Really?” Wells acted like that was a joke, like he knew something.
Cory suddenly remembered being a lookout for Dirty and Hoagie and Finn. He felt like he might fall off the couch. The room tilted as his mind spun back and forth, replaying the scene at the Shamrock Club with Officer Thorpe and Officer Kenny. They’d tried to scare him into talking, but he wasn’t booked. He wasn’t charged. So, from a technical, legal standpoint, it was like it never happened for Cory.
Cory shook his head.
“Speak up,” Blankenstock ordered.
“No.”
“No?” Wells looked like he’d taken an arrow in the gut.
“No.” Cory exhaled, confident now and feeling better, even though he knew it was a lie.
He was lying to the police and suddenly his mother’s voice wailed—a siren inside his head—telling him to take it back and tell the truth . . .
Before it was too late.
68
“So, we’re not gonna find any kind of record of anything?” Wells did not believe him. That was obvious. “You’re squeaky clean?”
“Yes.” Cory nodded his head, because now he was telling the truth. There was no record.
Blankenship seemed to sense this and he stood up to go. “Okay, kid.”
Wells looked up, surprised. “Really? You’re buying this?”
“He’s telling the truth.” Blankenship frowned at his partner.
“You know that?”
“C’mon, Pete. We got work to do.” Blankenship broke open the doors.
Cory sat by himself, not knowing what to do next. He heard Mr. Muiller talking to the police at the front door and then his footsteps before the big man stood in the opening. “You okay?”
“Sure.” Cory stood up and shifted on his feet.
“Police are paid to be suspicious,” Mr. Muiller said. “Don’t pay any attention. I told them no way did you have anything to do with this. I can read people pretty good, Cory. I didn’t get to where I am without being a good judge of character. Come on. Let’s go get Cheyenne and we’ll have a plate of spaghetti at Angotti’s.”
“You’re not . . .” Cory searched for the right word. “Mad? Upset?”
Mr. Muiller shrugged. “There’s insurance. It’s just jewelry. What gets me is that someone was in the house. That’s what really burns me.”
“Oh.” That’s all Cory could think to say.
“Hey, go get changed and we’ll get some dinner. Sound good?” Mr. Muiller made everything seem normal.
Cory went downstairs to his room and put on a clean shirt. On his night table was the TracFone, and Cory fought himself before he gave in and picked it up. He wanted to be a man and deal with the problems life sent his way on his own, but if he could just hear his mom’s voice, he felt like it would help. Mr. Muiller was nice, but there was nothing Cory could ever do that would make his mom turn her back on him. He needed to connect with her.
The phone rang three times before a voice said, “Hello?”
Cory’s stomach turned and he hung up.
He hadn’t called to connect with Marvin.
69
They loaded up the Bentley and drove to Mount Olympus Sports, everyone quiet. When Mrs. Muiller saw Cheyenne, she jumped out of the car and burst into fresh tears, hugging her daughter on the curb. “Oh, Cheyenne, we were robbed. The ring I always wanted to give you is gone.”
Mr. Muiller rolled his eyes. “Deb, in the car, please. It happened. We’re fine. I’ll get you another ring.”
Cory slid to the middle seat. Cheyenne got in, flushed but tired looking.
Jimbo leaned across the seat to Cheyenne. “Cops thought Cory helped rob the house.”
“That is not even close to the truth, Jimbo.” Mr. Muiller spun around in his big leather seat. “What’s wrong with you?”
Anger flashed in Cheyenne’s eyes. “‘You are not worth another word, else I’d call you a knave.’”
“Well, they did.” Jimbo sulked at his father before glaring at Cheyenne. “And stop talking like that, anyway. You sound like such a dork.”
“You okay?” Cheyenne asked Cory in a low tone that shredded his heart.
“Yeah,” Cory said, sounding as indifferent as he could. “The whole thing is crazy.”
“We’re over it and Cory is fine. Let’s go get some pasta.” Mr. Muiller put t
he car in gear and cruised away from the sports facility. He switched on the radio and listened to the news.
When a local reporter interviewed the mayor about the recent rise in crime, the mayor talked about the need for jobs, almost making it sound like it wasn’t the fault of the criminals.
“Seriously?” Mrs. Muiller sputtered, pointing at the radio. “I wonder how she’d feel if she lost her rings. We need more police on the streets is what, and she’s talking about jobs?”
Mr. Muiller switched the station to classical music, flooding the Bentley with tones as rich as the polished wood dashboard and leather seats. The food at Angotti’s was delicious, but halfway through his plate of spaghetti and meatballs, Cory couldn’t ignore the fact that Mrs. Muiller was acting strange, glancing at him between bites. He had to force himself to keep eating, like he was unconcerned.
Cheyenne and her father chatted pleasantly about how she was really bending the soccer ball into the corner of the net with consistency. Jimbo acted like all the fun and touchdowns of the past week hadn’t happened. He glowered and sulked, bent over his plate of food like he thought Cory might take it.
By the time they got back to the house, Cory was convinced that the Muiller family was solidly divided, Cheyenne and her dad for him, Jimbo and his mom against. Still, no one said anything about it. Cory did homework in his room and went to bed without the visit from Cheyenne he hoped for.
The next day at breakfast, things seemed somewhat back to normal. No one spoke about the burglary at the table. Cory wondered if he hadn’t imagined the whole split-family thing, until Mrs. Muiller dropped them at the school and called Jimbo back to the car for a whispered conference.
Word of the robbery—even though it was technically a burglary—spread like wildfire through the school, and by lunch it seemed like the entire student body was split into the same two camps as the Muiller family: those who sneaked suspicious looks at Cory and those who smiled with sympathy.
Gant said, “Cory, stay strong. Only the strong survive.”
To prove his point, Gant reached into his pocket and produced a single Mexican jumping bean. “See? This one’s strong, so it lives on. I buried the other two. I don’t know, maybe something will grow. A bean plant or something.”
Cory studied Gant’s face to see if he was serious and saw that he was. They were sitting at their usual lunch table with their free lunches, and Cory suddenly wasn’t hungry. It sickened him that Mrs. Muiller could think he’d be involved in stealing from a family that was so generous to him.
“You gonna eat that?” Gant peered at Cory’s tray; his own had been swept clean.
Cory pushed the chicken fingers Gant’s way.
“You know who probably had something to do with it?” Gant waggled his eyebrows.
“With what?”
“The robbery.”
“It wasn’t a robbery,” Cory said. “That’s when they wear a mask and carry a gun and say, ‘Stick ’em up.’”
“Whatever.” Gant stuffed a hunk of chicken into his mouth.
“Who?” Cory couldn’t help asking.
Gant swallowed and leaned his way. “Mike Chester.”
“What? Why would you even say that?” Cory couldn’t keep the note of excitement out of his voice. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mike somehow got the blame? He wasn’t from the Westside, but he wasn’t rich like the Muillers, either.
“This whole thing is messing you up, bro.” Gant’s thick eyebrows came together. “He wants that starting job. You choke in the scrimmage tomorrow and he’s in.”
Cory looked over at the table where Cheyenne sat with Tami and Tiffanae and the rest of the girls’ soccer team. “Gant, whoever did this took like hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry. It’s a major crime. Mike’s not going to do something like that just to mess me up so he can be the first-team running back. He could go to jail.”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to get you focused. We got a good offensive line and if Mike gets the starting job, it’s not gonna be easy for you to replace him anytime soon. He’s gonna run for a lot of yards. Coach P doesn’t move things around once the season gets going.”
Cory saw Cheyenne get up, toss her trash, and head his way with a smile that warmed him through and through, despite everything. It raised Cory’s spirits and his confidence. He said to Gant, “So, you know what that means?”
“What’s it mean?” Gant asked.
Cory stood up to welcome Cheyenne with a smile before answering. “It means tomorrow’s the biggest day of my life.”
70
As they marched out onto the field to warm up for the scrimmage, the sky overhead darkened. B’ville was already there, decked out in red helmets and pants with white jerseys and looking huge. Cory looked to the top of the bleachers to find his mom. When he spotted Marvin sitting on the seat next to her, he dropped his hand, hardly knowing if he was angry or sad.
When thunder rumbled in the sky, the coaches shouted to each other and then their players. Both teams scrambled back up the hill and into the school gym while parents and fans took cover in their cars. There was an almost festive air to the whole thing, until the gym became a jungle swamp of sweat and heat. Then there was talk of canceling the scrimmage. Jimbo assured everyone that the forecast wouldn’t allow them to play.
“Lightning all day,” he announced. “Don’t even know why Coach P tried.”
Cory distracted himself by playing rock, paper, scissors with Garrison and Parker until he thought he’d lose his mind from boredom. He searched the crowded gym and found Gant tucked into a corner, fiddling with his jumping bean.
“Where’d you get that?” Cory sat down cross-legged beside him.
“It’s my bean.” Gant poked it and looked up from his palm. “But I think it died.”
That disturbed Cory. He sat down next to his friend. “Well, you shouldn’t be taking it into a live football scrimmage. Let me see.”
“It was in my sock.” Gant dumped the bean into Cory’s hand. “For luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” Cory scoffed. “You’re a mountain.” He cradled the bean in his palm. “Maybe this thing is just tired. You probably overheated it.”
“Maybe,” Gant said, taking it from him and slipping it back into his sock, “but that’s the life of a jumping bean. You go where they put you and you better jump when it’s time.”
“What are you gonna do with it?”
Gant looked at the little lump in his sock. “I’ll see. If I don’t get any life out of it, I’ll bury it with the others. If I get five pancakes, Mr. Trimble always gives me an Amazon gift card, and then I can order some more online.”
“Online?”
“That’s how the Trimbles get things. They have a Prime account, so it’s free delivery.”
Cory had overheard Cheyenne talking about buying books online, and Mrs. Muiller once said something about some shoes she called Prada, but it didn’t go that way on the Westside. It was the Dollar General or a drive to Walmart for your stuff.
“Crazy, right?” Cory said.
Gant shrugged. “It works for them.”
A whistle blast got everyone’s attention. It was Coach P. “Okay, we are clear. Pads on and let’s get out there!”
Both teams went into action. Tension joined the brotherhood of heat and sweat, and soon Cory’s team was marching back down the blacktop path to the varsity field with an army of B’ville players close behind. Cory kept his eyes out of the stands. He’d worry about Marvin and his mom after the scrimmage. He glanced back at Mike and reset his mind.
This was it.
They warmed up quickly because both coaches wanted to get as much action in as they could before the weather sent them back inside. The sky remained an angry tangle of dark clouds that quietly spit rain on and off. It pattered against Cory’s helmet. There were referees on hand and they conducted a coin toss, just like a real game. Jimbo went out and won the toss, selecting to take the ball.
> “Offense, here we go!” Coach P bellowed.
Mike took the first series and didn’t do anything special. He gained three yards on a sweep and got stuffed at the line on a dive play before Jimbo threw an incomplete pass. HBS had to punt. B’ville came out, threw a long pass, and scored on the first play. The HBS defense slumped off the field.
Coach P turned red and he bellowed at his offense. “I want a score on this series! You hear me? We are gonna march down the field and tie this thing up and start over. Mike, let’s go, son! Turn it on!”
Garrison Green took a short kickoff and plowed his way to midfield, giving HBS a boost. The offense went out and ran a toss sweep to Mike, who got hit behind the line and fumbled. The ball squirted from his hands and got lost in a pile of bodies. Referees peeled players away to find that B’ville had recovered.
Cory’s rival jogged off the field with his head down. Coach P didn’t even look at him.
The HBS defense swarmed onto the field, hooting and hollering, but the B’ville offense chewed them up, driving down the field to score another touchdown in seven plays.
Coach P’s face turned purple and he spun around and grabbed Cory’s face mask, pulling him close. “Okay, Marco Scholarship. This is your time. Don’t let me down. I want to see that magic. I want a touchdown. I’m gonna feed you the rock until we score or punt. You score, you make my day and this competition is as good as over, but I want to see it.”
Cory swallowed.
“You got this?” Coach P looked like he might burst. “This is your chance, kid.”
“Yes,” Cory said. “I got this.”
Coach P stomped off to roust up the kickoff return team.
This was it.
71
Cory tried to breathe deep in the huddle.
Jimbo called a forty-two dive.
“Wait!” Cory couldn’t help from blurting out. “Forty-two? Jimbo, you sure forty-two? Not forty-eight?”
Jimbo scowled. “Forty-two dive on one, ready . . .”
The team broke the huddle. Cory tried to get Jimbo’s ear. “It’s just that they’re killing us up the middle.”
