Security Squad

by Nicolette Pierce

  “Then you’re not,” I said, more to myself, but the words were out there, hanging like a squat little raincloud.

  “How do you know?” he asked. “I could be head over heels in love and not even know it.”

  “You would know it,” I said with a small smile that I didn’t feel. “You would definitely know it.”

  “Do you love me?” he asked, a worried crinkle creased on his brow.

  “No, but I do care for you.”

  He relaxed. “God, Mars, I know it sounds odd, but I’m happy you aren’t in love with me. Not yet, anyway. It would be too fast. I care for you, too. And who knows what will . . . wait . . . if you don’t love me, then who were you in love with?”

  “No one,” I said quickly.

  “Then how do you know I would recognize the feeling? You said I would definitely know.”

  “That’s what everyone says,” I said, flicking my hand.

  “Mars?”

  “What?”

  “Tell me who you were in love with.” His voice held a warning.

  “No one . . .”

  His hand reached out and cupped my chin, turning my face toward him. Our eyes locked.

  “Brett,” I muttered.

  Chapter 13

  Evan released me instantly, as if burned. He shot up from the couch. “Are you still in love with him?” he demanded.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Because I’m having a hard time believing it.”

  Yes.

  Maybe.

  Hell . . . I don’t know.

  His hand raced through his hair again, a clear sign he wouldn’t believe it. And then he stopped. Just stopped and stared straight ahead. I followed his eyes to the blank wall.

  I stayed quiet, watching him. A few long moments later, I found he was watching me.

  “You didn’t answer,” he said quietly.

  “I . . .”

  He slowly shook his head. “No. Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t lie to me,” he said with a shaky breath. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I guess I was just too focused on what I wanted to see.”

  “To see what?” I asked, silently adding that I wasn’t going to lie, not on purpose anyway. Well . . .

  “You’ve been in love with Brett this entire time.”

  “I don’t see how . . .”

  “You don’t see how I could possibly know this?” he asked, cutting me off. “Let’s see, there’s the fact that he pays your bills, bought you an airline ticket . . .”

  “He was helping me. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It doesn’t? Then what about when someone mentions his name? You blush.”

  “I always blush. At everything.”

  Evan’s lips pressed together. “Mars, please don’t do this. Don’t play me the fool. Just tell me right now if you have feelings for Brett.”

  I had feelings for Brett. Anger. Hurt. Sympathy. Compassion. Anger, again. Thankfulness. Love.

  Love?

  Damn.

  But I still had a ton of anger to balance it.

  “You’re rather silent. I assume that means you still have feelings for him,” Evan said with a sigh. “But even if you didn’t, he would always come between us. I can’t pay off your debt to him and cover my school expenses. I can’t do it, Mars. It would be impossible.”

  My throat constricted; warm tears pooled.

  “Don’t look like that, Mars,” Evan said softly.

  “Like what?” I asked, brushing a tear away.

  “Like you think I’m about to break up with you,” he said, sitting down next to me.

  “Then why do I feel that way?”

  “Because you know you’re the one who’s breaking up with me.”

  “I’m not.”

  He tugged me into a gentle hug and kissed the top of my head. “It’s time for you to make a decision, then.” His words were warm in my ear. “I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow. Come with me. We can sort out your house and other things later. We can even return every holiday if you want.”

  I pulled back to look at him. “You would still want me to come with you?”

  “I’d be happy if you did.”

  “So staying here is no longer an option?”

  He shook his head. “No. I can’t compete against Brett when he’s always around. If you want our relationship to have a chance, it has to be away from him.”

  “What time are you going to leave?”

  “Most likely noon,” he said. “I have a few last-minute errands to run in the morning. Are you going to come with me to Boston?”

  “I . . . I,” I started.

  Evan smiled, but it was dulled. “I assume that means you don’t know,” he said, standing up and moving toward the door. I followed him. “Call me by noon if you want to come, otherwise . . .” He swooped down to give a lingering good-bye kiss. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes — my red, blotchy, tear-filled eyes. “You’ll be my friend forever, Mars. Never forget that I care for you. I always will.”

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep at all that night, and as the clock neared the noon mark the following day, my heart felt like it was being strangled. I still didn’t have an answer, and I knew that should mean something. Something simple, like . . . if you can’t make a decision, then it wasn’t meant to be.

  But if it was that simple, why did it hurt?

  Maybe I love Evan.

  Could it be that he snuck into my heart when I wasn’t looking?

  Whatever I was feeling, I was stuck with it. Because, deep down, I knew I wasn’t going to follow Evan. I probably knew that as soon as he asked me. I think I was holding onto the chance that he’d stay, or that I’d have a surge of clairvoyance.

  He’s not staying.

  I’m not clairvoyant.

  I blinked at the clock. It was five past noon.

  With an anchor weighing down my stomach, I reached for the phone and dialed Evan. After the forth ring, I didn’t think he was going to answer. I was about to hang up when I heard him.

  “It’s okay, Mars,” he said before I had a chance to say hello. “I understand.”

  “Thank you,” I said, choking on my words. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” he said. “Will you save a date for me at Christmas break?”

  “Of course. I’d love to see you.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’m just getting on the freeway. Make sure to keep in touch. I mean it.”

  “I will. Have a safe trip.”

  “Mars?” he said before we hung up.

  “Yes?”

  “Save a piece of your heart for me. You’ll always have a piece of mine.”

  * * *

  I walked around in a fog the rest of the day, not really present at any given moment. Even when Mac informed me that the flowers outside were destroyed, I just nodded. And when vandals tagged the arcade wall again, I stared at it without blinking.

  That’s where T found me.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I returned.

  “I was told the building was tagged again,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Must have been.”

  “Were you out here the entire time?” he asked.

  “Hard to say.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Nope.”

  T turned me to face him. “Did they stun you? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “You don’t look fine,” he said, titling my head to look into my eyes. “They’re dilated, but it’s nighttime.”

  “I’m fine,” I said again. “I just said good-bye to someone and I feel a little lost right now.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? I can grab one of the ladies.”

  “Can’t I talk to you?”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “If you have to. But the ladies will . . .”

 
“Are you and Emmy still together?”

  “I thought you were talking, not asking questions,” he gritted, answering my question whether he knew it or not.

  “What happened this time?”

  He glanced up at the sky in a silent prayer . . . or wishing for a lightning bolt.

  “She wants more,” he finally said.

  “More what?”

  “Mars,” he growled in warning.

  “What?” I asked, shaking away the remaining fog.

  “You’re asking too many questions.”

  “Hardly,” I stated. “Did she want more of a commitment? You two were so googly-eyed over each other I thought that was a no-brainer.”

  “I’ve never been googly-eyed in my life.”

  “I know what I saw.” I eyed him suspiciously. “What did you overreact to this time?”

  “I don’t overreact.”

  “Yes, you do. You did it before. You place Emmy up on a pedestal and think you’re not good enough for her.”

  “She needs a husband without a mile-long record.”

  “I doubt it’s a mile long. Wait . . . husband? Does she want to get married?” I tried not to squeal but the events coordinator in me wanted to drag T to the tux store.

  “Stop,” he warned. “I see that look in your eye. It’s not going to happen. She needs to find a dependable husband. That’s not me.”

  “That’s totally you. Why else would you be out here checking on the ladies?”

  “That’s stupidity, not dependability,” he stated.

  “Just give up,” I said. “You can’t fool anyone. Even the tarantula tattoo on your neck has no power to scare me anymore.”

  He glanced down at his body, littered with tattoos. “It once did. She needs a man that can fit into society.”

  “And you don’t?”

  He shook his head. “Never did.”

  “I think society is a little overrated.”

  “I think it’s a lot overrated. But that doesn’t change anything.” T’s hand came to rest on my shoulder. “Who did you say good-bye to?”

  “Evan.”

  “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

  “He moved to Boston.”

  T stalled and then awkwardly patted me on the head. “Then he’s not good enough for you.”

  I nodded, not sure what else to say.

  “Why don’t you go inside,” he said. “I’ll take care of the graffiti.”

  “Why does someone keep tagging this wall?” I asked. “Can’t they find a different wall? Or at least a different spot on the wall?”

  “Some graffiti has a purpose.”

  “This has a purpose?” I said, looking at the shapes and symbols that merged and twisted together. “It looks like scribbles.”

  “Exactly. You don’t have a clue what it means, but others will.”

  “It’s a message?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. “I still don’t see how anyone can read this.”

  “It’s not supposed to be read—not in the traditional sense, anyway.”

  “Can you read it?” I asked.

  “A little. Gangs have their own styles and codes. So, it’s not always what it might appear.”

  “This is from a gang?” I asked. The back of my neck prickled. “Are there really gangs in Madison?”

  His lips twitched up. “There are gangs in every city.”

  “But Madison is a small city. It’s a nice city.”

  He shrugged. “It’s still a city. But this isn’t from a gang.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “I just know. Go inside, and I’ll report it to the police.”

  “But . . .”

  “Go!”

  Geesh.

  This time I stood my ground, crossing my arms. “Just because you and Brett are working on something secretive together doesn’t mean you can come onto my job site and boss me around.” I glanced around the parking lot. “Where is he anyway?”

  “Texas.”

  “He left?”

  T nodded.

  “Is he coming back?” I asked. Of course he was coming back. He was working with T.

  T shook his head. “No.”

  “Why?”

  T raised an eyebrow.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, growing nervous. “What did he say?”

  “That he was going home.”

  “I thought you were working together.”

  “We were. Now we’re not.”

  “T, you better start explaining or, so help me, I’ll call Emmy right now and tell her why you won’t marry her.”

  He flinched.

  I slid the phone out of my pocket, watching as his jaw tightened.

  “She already knows,” he gritted.

  “I don’t think she does,” I said, pressing contacts. “I bet you gave her a bullshit story.”

  His jaw was clenched so tight that teeth were about to shatter.

  I found Emmy’s number and hovered over the call button, giving him one last chance to cave.

  He did.

  “Fine!” he barked. “I’ll tell you. Just put your goddamn phone away.”

  I gave him a sunny smile, stowing my phone in my pocket. “Sure. Anything you say.”

  T rubbed his jaw before settling his gaze on me. “He left because of you.”

  I stilled. “What did I do that made him leave?”

  “Nothing, really. He just said that he wanted you to be happy. He was stepping out of Evan’s way.”

  “But Evan left.”

  “He didn’t know that.”

  “When did he leave?” I asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “I thought you were working together?”

  “He’ll be a silent partner.”

  “He’s not coming back?”

  T just shook his head and studied the crack in the sidewalk.

  “He left again,” I mumbled to myself. “They both left.”

  And then I knew. Brett never loved me. He wouldn’t have stepped out of the way if he did.

  The first time he stayed away might have been an error in judgment. Perhaps. But leaving twice . . . No, twice means he never loved me.

  Chapter 14

  The following morning, the Security Squad ladies — and Aaron — sat around Mrs. Janowski’s dining room table wondering what to do about the graffiti.

  “We have a crime spree on our hands, ladies,” Mrs. Janowski stated from the head of the table, her back resting against a heating pad.

  “T apprehended one of the men the other night,” Sylvia said. “What else can we do?”

  Mrs. Janowski’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know, but the arcade is docking our wages.”

  Ida snorted. “They pay us in tokens. I hardly care.”

  “True. The games are not all they’re cracked up to be,” Mrs. Janowski said with a wince. “However, docking our wages is just the first step. We’ll get the boot next.”

  “I can honestly say I wouldn’t mind getting the boot,” Ida said. “I leave there every night with a headache.”

  “But this is our stepping stone,” Mrs. Janowski argued. “We have to follow through with this assignment or we’ll never get another.”

  “But what can we do?” Edna asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Mrs. Janowski said. “We need to get to the root of the problem.”

  “What’s the root of the problem?” Sylvia asked.

  “Spray paint,” Edna said, working her knitting needles. “Spray paint should be banned.”

  “You can’t ban spray paint,” Ida said.

  “Even if you could, they’d just use something else,” Kym added.

  “Gangs,” Ida said with a nod. “They’re the root problem.”

  “T said it wasn’t a gang,” I interrupted.

  “When did he say that?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  “Last night. He said he could make
out part of the message, and it wasn’t from a gang.”

  “Who was it then?” Ida asked.

  “I don’t know. He told me to go away.”

  Mrs. Janowski perked. “If he told you to go away then it’s something he doesn’t want us to know about.”

  “Oh good,” Edna said with a relieved sigh. “I was hoping we weren’t going to get involved.”

  “Which means,” Mrs. Janowski continued thoughtfully, “that we’re going to have to figure it out ourselves and get to the bottom of this.”

  Knitting needles clattered to a stop and a round of groans filled the dining room. Only Aaron looked pleased.

  “Who knows about graffiti?” Mrs. Janowski asked.

  Eyes darted around the table but no one spoke.

  “Well, there must be some way to learn,” she said.

  “There’s probably an information website that can help,” Aaron offered. “But it’s not graffiti. It’s just vandalism. Real graffiti is hip-hop. These toys couldn’t hit a scrub or throwup if their lives depended on it. I bet I could burn a wildstyle before they could even point their can at me. I’ve got tons of flix and none of them were that bad.”

  The ladies blinked with open mouths.

  Mrs. Janowski snapped her mouth shut and pointed to Aaron. “The kid’s in charge.”

  “I agree,” Edna said. “As long as I don’t have to scrub throw up.”

  Aaron laughed.

  “What do we do first?” Mrs. Janowski asked Aaron.

  “Let’s start with a web search,” he stated, taking on a leadership role. “If that doesn’t work, I know a guy who could help.” His eyes turned guiltily to Kym. “But you probably wouldn’t approve of him.”

  Mrs. Janowski lit up. “Ladies, fire up your computers! We’re going to pull an all day-er.”

  Another simultaneous groan.

  Kym stared wide-eyed at Aaron. “I think we need to have a talk later,” she said to him.

  “I don’t write anymore,” he assured her. “But I would like to bomb a back to back in my room, if that’s okay.”

  Kym turned to Mrs. Janowski. “I need that info website.”