I went back out to the phone.
My fingers tightened and shook the phone as I raised it to my ear. Becca needed to know, right now, what Mark had said to me . . . wait. No. What if she was working with him to get me? I mean, that was her cover for the job—making Mark think she was after me—but what if it wasn’t a cover? What if it was real and I was the unwitting mark in her elaborate con? If I told her how freaked out Mark’s visit had made me, she might tell him, and the plan would be ruined. Well, it would be ruined anyway if Becca told him everything, but still. I wouldn’t be able to run any kind of backup plan.
I took a deep breath. Okay, I was losing control. I needed to be rational. Becca would never work with Mark; as much as she hated me, he was the bigger threat. I knew she had her own agenda separate from mine or Mark’s. She’d told me as much. When the job was done, I’d be next up for the guillotine. I’d have to figure out the right thing to do about that when all this was over. But, at the moment, I dialed Becca’s number.
Her mom answered the phone.
I swallowed. “Hello, Detective Mills, is Becca there?”
“She is. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Jeremy.” I thought about adding my last name, but I bet Becca had mentioned me as Wilderson, once or twice, to her cop mother. In this case, I didn’t want my reputation to precede me.
“I’ll go get her.”
A moment later Becca’s voice said, “Hey, thief boy.”
Of course she’d say that. “Hey, snitch. So, you’ll never believe who I talked to today.”
“Your parole officer?”
“Ha-ha. I’m doing that right now. No, Mark came over and warned me what was in store if me and my partner didn’t give up looking for the key.”
Becca said something, but the static over the phone was too much and I must have misheard.
“What was that?”
“I said, ‘Are you okay?’ One of my sources saw him walking with a couple of eighth-grade thugs. If he was going to talk to you, I’d guess you got a little roughed up.”
I touched a scratch on my face. “Not too bad. The whole thing was supposed to scare me. But since when do you care about how I’m feeling?”
“I don’t. It’s just . . . if I lose you now, phase three never happens and the plan falls apart. Don’t break your leg on me.”
“Is it just me or did you sound legitimately concerned for my health?”
“Just you.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I said, “Must be a bad connection.”
“Or Mark rattled your brain, if you ever had one to begin with.” After some silence Becca coughed. “Uh, so, what did he say?”
“Oh, right. He knows I have a partner, but don’t worry, he doesn’t know it’s you. He’d never suspect you. But he’s watching me, Becca. He’s trying to find out who’s working with me. He also said he hid the key somewhere I can never find it.”
“Right. Well, it sounds like your plan is working.”
“That’s a very optimistic way of looking at it.”
“You know I’m right. We’ll have the key soon. By Monday, probably. Then I get to turn you both in.”
“That reminds me . . .” I decided against telling her about the surprisingly complicated emotions I’d been having regarding her turning me in. Instead I said, “There’s something else Mark said. He told me that if I didn’t stop looking for the key, he’d give something to the principal on Monday. Something that would incriminate me.”
“Really? He said that?”
“No, not in so many words, but he implied it pretty hard.”
“Like, fist-or-foot hard?”
“Just about.”
“Yeesh. Did he say what it was?”
“No. Could you—”
“I’m on it,” Becca said. “And it’s probably a good idea if we don’t visit each other until this is over.”
“I get that you don’t want anyone to see you with me and think you’re a dirty cop, but we still need to talk about phase three,” I said. I considered telling her about Tate, but the thought left such a sour taste in my mouth that I couldn’t bring myself to mention it.
Besides, I knew what Becca would say. She’d want me to turn myself in, get Tate out of trouble by confessing. I could do that, but it meant giving up everything I’d built over the last year. My work. My legacy. Everything. I couldn’t do that. Could I?
Becca was silent for a moment. “The track meet tomorrow. We both have to be there. We can talk then.”
“Just make sure it looks like we’re not in this together,” I said.
She laughed. “Wilderson, I can make it look like I find you as revolting as reading the school’s mystery-meat recipe.” She hung up.
“Okay,” I muttered to the disconnected phone. I set it back down in its cradle and went to the kitchen for an ice-cream bar. Thinking about that mystery-meat recipe always left a bad taste in my mouth.
I LIKE SATURDAY TRACK MEETS. I’ve had a few on weekdays, and though getting out of school early is awesome, it really puts a cramp in my work. Besides, I can get a good night’s sleep before a Saturday meet.
Most of the time, anyway. This time I was up all night spinning the angles of the job around, looking at them from all sides. Mark and the key, Becca’s motives, and most of all, my weird guilt. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fire alarm and how Tate was being blamed for what I did. Did school justice work that fast when Becca wasn’t involved? I couldn’t think of a time when she had not been involved.
Every job I did, the job was all that mattered. But now, between Becca’s comment at track practice and then finding out that Tate had been fingered for the fire alarm, I was thinking about the consequences of what I had to do to finish the job. An anonymous note wouldn’t save Tate now; the teachers had testified against her. Only an honest confession from the real culprit would. Becca would want me to do that.
Giving in to Becca and turning myself in would save Tate and others from getting hurt, but if I was in detention or suspended, I couldn’t retrieve. What about all the other people who needed me when their lunch money got stolen or they left their science project in a locked room? Who would help them? This was what people were scared of, according to Becca: that I wouldn’t be there to retrieve when they needed me.
But ever since Mark had gotten me to steal the key, this job had been my responsibility. It was up to me to make everything right, for as many people as I could. But how? My mind worked all night, and its noisy hammering kept the rest of me awake.
Saturday morning came too early, but I ate breakfast like nothing was wrong. At about ten Mom called me out to the car. As I piled in, I saw one of Mark’s burly hit men—Sean—standing by our neighbor’s mailbox. This time, though, he had a black eye.
“Is that a friend of yours?” Mom asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t really know him.”
I guess that wasn’t completely true. After all, you can get to know a guy pretty well when his toes put a dent in your stomach. But that was need-to-know, and Mom really didn’t need to know.
At the track meet Coach led us in our stretches and warm-ups, and then the team captain gave us our pep talk. He was an eighth grader, but a stand-up guy, unlike Mark. It was the captain’s last meet as a Scottsville Middle School student, and he was in excellent form as he ranted about legacy and honor and beating the snot out of the other school’s runners.
“Leave ’em in the dust!” he finished, and I admit I cheered just as loud as the rest of the team. Come on, it was a good speech!
The long-distance runners were up first, along with the field athletes in the middle of the track, then the sprinters like me. I sat on a shaky metal bench with my water bottle in hand; I had a long time to wait and watch as my teammates gave it their all in every area. Becca looked determined and scary as she threw the shot put.
“How can someone so tiny lift that much weight?” Case sat down beside me. Today he had no jersey, but
his shorts had a Giants logo.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said. “Athletes only.”
Case held up a card—forged, of course. “I’m equipment manager. I can go wherever I want. So can Hack.”
“What’s up?” Hack sat down beside Case. “Are we distracting you from your pre-race psych-up? Should I sing ‘Eye of the Tiger’?” He seemed uncomfortable, as did Case.
“Please don’t. Thanks for coming.” I grinned, trying to figure out if my best friends still believed I was keeping them in the dark because I thought they weren’t good enough to help me, or if they were just uncomfortable because my running shorts are really short. “I’m surprised you’re here, Hack. Did your mom lift the grounding?”
“Not yet, but she’s close. Supporting friends in their races is on the list of approved activities, and Mom said I could come as long as she does, too. She’s over there in the stands.” Hack waved, and his mom waved back at us.
“I take it she doesn’t know you’re not supposed to be over here,” I said. “Or about last night. How late did you get to stay, Case?”
Case shrugged. “Later than I thought. Hack’s mom called and said she had a date, so I got to stay until a little after ten.”
“It got wild.” Hack took my water bottle and chugged down a few deep gulps.
Case grabbed the bottle and handed it back to me. “Hack, ‘wild’ for you means playing RPGs while downing sodas.”
“And there’s something wrong with that?”
I laughed, and hesitated. “I’m sorry I missed it,” I said. “Look, you really shouldn’t be seen with me right now.” I thought of Sean, waiting by my house. Other spies could be lurking in the crowd.
“Why not?”
“I can’t say.”
“More secrets?” Case looked annoyed. “J—”
“I know I’m running through your supply of trust, but I need you to pull out the reserves on this. I have things I need to work on, and I can’t let you guys in.”
“You are working something huge, aren’t you?” Case asked. “Does it involve the fire drill? Or, should I say, the fire alarm?”
How did he know? I’d run out of lies. “Yeah.”
Hack looked excited. “I knew it! I knew it! How’d you get Tate to agree to pull the alarm?”
“It was . . . easier than you’d think,” I said. Very easy, since she didn’t agree. “Don’t worry; I’m figuring out a way to help her beat the rap.”
After my sleepless night, I knew what I had to do. I just really, really didn’t want to do it.
“So we’re beating the rap now?” Hack looked thrilled. “Way to go, pushing the envelope and the limits and everything else that can be pushed.”
“Including Becca Mills’s buttons,” Case added. “Watch out. Look at that smile.” We looked at Becca, who was hurling another heavy metal ball. “She never looks that happy except when she’s got enough to slam a guy with an in-school suspension.”
Well, she had that. “That’s just the high of breaking the laws of physics. But don’t worry, I’ll watch my back.”
“We’ll watch your back too,” Case said. “I know you won’t tell us anything, but that doesn’t mean we won’t help you if we can.”
I looked at him and Hack. Could I tell them about Becca and what I’d agreed to do once the key job was done? It might be a good idea to get a second, non-Becca opinion on if my work was hurting people or helping them. But I knew what they would say, and I didn’t want them knowing I’d gone to Becca, instead of them, when I needed help. They wouldn’t like that.
“I’m in a lot of trouble on this one. Becca thinks what I do hurts people. If she’s right, I don’t want you to get caught in the whirlpool.”
“I’m a great swimmer,” Hack said cheerfully, which wasn’t much comfort, since he’s been in and out of detention/groundings since he was old enough to know what a firewall was.
Case put one glove to his mouth. “You’re not . . . involved in this crime wave, are you?”
“No more involved than it takes to stop it. You should know that.”
“Okay, okay, I do. I mean it. But you’re not giving us a lot to go on, so I had to ask. From what I can tell, this crime wave has all the classic signs of a thief-on-thief turf war, and people are getting hurt in the crossfire. Innocent people who you’re supposed to help. For once I think I’m with Becca on this.”
That was not what I’d expected to hear from Case, but it made the knot inside me loosen a little. If Case agreed, then what I was going to do had to be the right thing. I was sure I’d be happy with it. When it was over.
“Agreeing with Becca? Let’s not get crazy,” Hack said.
Case grinned. “Yeah, that went a little too far, didn’t it? She’s kind of a psycho.”
Nope, definitely not telling them. “Case, I’m not hurting anyone. I’m trying to stop whoever is. I promise. I’ve been working a job that’s taken up all my time, but it’s going to end soon.”
“Then let us help you,” Hack said. “Don’t say no this time.”
I gritted my teeth and shook my head. “Sorry, but it’s another ‘no.’ Never mind that it’s a dangerous job; I don’t need a forger or a hacker.” That much was true, at least, but it would take more to convince them. They’d weasel the truth out of me or, worse, they’d help behind my back. It was what I’d do for them.
Aha—I got it. “And Becca’s onto me, but she doesn’t know about your jobs at other schools. You don’t want to get questioned by her, believe me. I don’t want to see her use her tactics on you guys.”
There you go: every word the truth. As far as I knew.
Hack nodded. “I believe that.”
Case put his hand on Hack’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s going to be just you and me tonight. And J, I expect to hear every detail when this job is over.”
“I’ll replay it for you in high-definition. It’ll be great. You’ll laugh; you’ll cry; you’ll throw popcorn. Now get out of here before tiny Sam Spade starts chasing you too. I have to do some things.”
“What’s happening tonight?” Hack asked Case as they stood up.
“Oh, nothing more than two guys finishing their weekend homework because their good friend has to work.”
“Very responsibly,” Hack said, “which is a good thing, because I get the feeling my mom is going to be very busy this evening. She may not be able to keep an eye on us.”
Case lightly punched my elbow. “See you later, J.”
“See ya.”
As Case and Hack disappeared back into the crowd of spectators, I felt much better about our friendship. But I was worried that one of Mark’s men had seen us talking and added my friends to his hit list. On the other hand, if they could see us, they might also be able to hear us, and our conversation would have made it clear Case and Hack weren’t working with me. I’d made it sound like I was working alone, just as I’d told Mark.
I looked back at the crowd. Case and Hack leaned against the fence because the bleachers were full. On the bleachers I saw Mom and Dad with Rick, who looked surly because Mom says family sticks together and that means we support each other in our activities, even if we’d rather be eating pizza with friends. As I watched, Rick motioned at his eyes with two fingers and pointed them in the universal sign for I’m watching you. I followed Rick’s fingers and saw black-eyed Sean. Beside him stood Hugo, with a new bruise on his chin.
Huh. I hadn’t realized Rick cared. Considering how effectively he’d roughed up Mark’s thugs, I guessed he’d been pulling his punches when he knocked me around.
“Wilderson! It’s time.” Coach Cread waved me down to the track.
I took the track. I was being watched, but my friends and my brother had my back. Time to run like nothing else mattered.
“Runners, take your mark,” the ref said. “Get set.”
I got set.
“GO!”
No need to go into details about running the race. S
uffice it to say, I made our team captain proud and left the other guys in the dust. Maybe it was the adrenaline from knowing the bad guys were watching me, or maybe it was the support from the friends who were formerly mad at me (Hack yelled, “Burn ’em, J!” while I was running), but I sprinted better than I had in practice, and, believe it or not, I won my race.
I ran a couple other times that day, in a relay and a 200-meter dash, but that first race was the only one I won and the only one that mattered.
After I’d finished running and stretching and was resting on the side, Becca came up behind me and twisted my arm behind my back.
“All right, Wilderson, I have some questions for you,” she growled. Loudly, I might add, and right in my ear. “Act like it hurts.”
She had to add that last part, because it didn’t. Hurt. At all. I scrunched up my eyes and groaned. “Let go, ow, that hurts!”
“I hope it does. Come on.”
She dragged me in full sight of everyone—including my parents—away from the track and into a nook between the main school and the gym.
When she let go, I turned around. “So you know how to do that without hurting me?”
Becca grabbed the strap of her open gym bag, which was hanging loose from one shoulder, with both hands. “Have for a while.”
“So all those other times, with the painful arm-twisting and kicking and shirt-grabbing . . . completely unnecessary.”
She snorted. “It gave me peace of mind. Can’t hurt you today, though. I need you in top physical form for phase three.”
“Thanks.” Once again this alliance had unforeseen perks. Next time Becca tried to kick me or twist my arm or slam me into a locker, I’d remind her of this moment. If there was another chance.
“Listen, Becca.” I sighed and rubbed dried sweat from my forehead. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What is it? Did Mark threaten you again?”
“No.” I scratched my face harder. The words didn’t come easily. “When it’s over, and Mark gets caught, I’ll let you turn me in.” The last five words rushed out in a mumble.
“What was that?”
JW01. Under Locker and Key Page 12
