Bethanie looks at me like she’s confused.
“Come on, Bethanie—the bodega robbery? Not to be profiling, but what’s a guy like Cole doing at that bodega?”
“You mean a gallant guy? A brave guy?”
“I mean a white guy. Not like an Eminem-wannabe-looking-for-street-cred white guy, either. One who looks like he came out of a Tommy Hilfiger ad, or your side of town.”
“Well, I was at the bodega and I am from my side of town.”
“We both know that’s only because your dad picked the right six numbers. If you were being straight with me, you’d admit you’re more comfortable in the Heights than in Cherry Creek. Plus, you were giving me a ride home that day. You had a reason to be over there.”
“Cole could’ve had a reason to be there, too. Maybe he was passing through and needed something to eat.”
“People like Cole don’t pass through the Heights, they avoid it. That bodega—my whole neighborhood—might as well have a sign at the entrance that says RICH-LOOKING WHITE GUYS ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. But he was up in there like he owned the place. I don’t know, maybe he really is that fierce, but he doesn’t strike me as stupid.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that it was weird how the BOGO tamale line just seemed to disappear after he came in, even though it’s usually out the door until five o’clock.”
“You think he somehow made all the people disappear so he wouldn’t have to wait in line for a free tamale? I’m pretty sure he can afford to buy one. And those tamales aren’t that great.”
She’s wrong about those tamales, which are like heaven wrapped in pork and masa. But I want to stay on track because I’m about to say what I really think and I’m hoping she won’t blow me off the way Lana’s friend did.
“No, I’m saying maybe he staged that robbery and was working with the junkie. The alleged junkie. Not only that, I’d never seen that cashier before and haven’t seen him since,” I say, though I’m thinking that guy won’t be such a mystery once I get MJ to talk. “Maybe he had someone outside the store sending the crowd away or—”
“And got the store owners to go along with the whole thing?”
“I haven’t figured that part out, but he must have somehow.”
“Paranoid much, Chanti? Why would he ever do that?”
“For the same reason he planted that scary dude in your parking spot and then showed up just in time to save the day.”
“Forget paranoid. Now you’re just crazy.”
“He’s trying to get close to you, to gain your trust.”
“Most guys just ask for your number or find you online.”
“Not if they need to gain your trust quickly.”
“And why would he need to do that? I know I’m inexperienced with the whole dating game, but I do know guys usually don’t stage dangerous situations just so they can rescue the girl they want,” she says, then pauses for a second. “Although that would be crazy romantic, right?”
“No, I don’t think that’s it.”
“You think he’s so mad about me he can’t wait to do the usual dating routine, or he wants me so bad he’s trying to skip past all the bases and move straight to home?”
Okay, here goes the part where she’s probably never going to speak to me again.
“I think it’s because he wants your money.”
Bethanie looks as hurt as I expected her to be. I would, too, if my friend just told me the guy I’m getting stupid over doesn’t want me, that he only wants my money.
“You said yourself he’s rich-looking. You’ve seen his car.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Oh, that’s right. The restaurant valet brought my car first. Believe me, it’s not something a broke dude would drive.”
“Well, even if he has some money, how did he get it? He told us his family doesn’t have money and he isn’t independently wealthy, even if that’s the story you made up for him before you actually met him. Maybe this is how he does it, scamming rich girls.”
“You’re crazy.”
“But it’s a lot of money, Bethanie.”
“You’re crazy and jealous. And a bi-atch.”
Then she tells me to get the hell out of her car. Yeah, that didn’t go well at all.
Chapter 8
I’m definitely not crazy. If Cole isn’t after Bethanie’s money, he’s after something, and it isn’t only her heart. And I’m pretty sure I’m not a bi-atch, even though I probably could have presented my theory better. I should have framed it in some positive language like my teacher tells us to do before we rip apart someone’s masterpiece in Creative Writing class. Jealous? That one I might be slightly guilty of. Not jealous of what Bethanie and Cole have because, really, it’s only been two weeks. More like jealous of Bethanie’s confidence. She’s probably the only girl on the planet with less boy experience, but she’s fearless compared to me. She knows what she wants and she’s fighting to get it, even if her only friend is giving her a thousand reasons not to. I have what I wanted but I’m afraid to enjoy it, and now I’m pretty sure Marco’s angry with me.
That’s when I get the idea of getting off my bus a few stops early to go by Marco’s house to find out just how angry. Bethanie’s drama gives me a reason to see him, tell him my concern for her, before his parents get home from work. I’ve never been inside his house since his parents ended our romance before it could truly get started, but I know where he lives.
When Marco opens the door and finds me there, he doesn’t seem super excited. But he does look super cute, and that gives me the strength to go on.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. My parents will be home soon.”
“I’ll be gone before they get home. I just need to talk to someone.”
“Is something wrong? Are you okay?” he asks in a way that just about makes me butter.
“I’m fine, but I’m really worried about Bethanie.”
“Hold on a sec.”
He reaches somewhere just inside the door and finds a coat, then comes out onto his porch instead of letting me in. It’s one of those October days in Colorado that start at sixty-five degrees and drop to forty by the time school ends. They fool me every time. Going inside would have been better, but I’ll take what I can get.
“What’s wrong with Bethanie?”
“There’s a lot wrong and I’m not sure how to fix it.”
“Let’s sit on the swing,” he says, putting his coat around my shoulders. It smells like him, and I just want to sit there a minute and breathe him in. It’s as close as we’ve gotten since the Kiss. “Tell me what’s up.”
“It’s Cole.”
He slides away from me and I swear the look on his face suggests he might even want his coat back.
“You came over here to talk about some other dude? Isn’t he Bethanie’s boyfriend?”
“Yeah, of course. You were there at the restaurant.”
“Oh, did you notice?”
So I guess I’m not the only one who realized I was a little negligent at dinner.
“I wasn’t the best date, was I?”
“If you can call it a date. Toward the end, you barely said three words to me. But you had plenty to say to him.”
“Of course I did. That’s why I was asking Cole all those questions. I wanted to figure out his game.”
“Whenever Bethanie and I tried to say anything, you somehow moved the conversation back to him. When you weren’t asking him questions, you were hanging on his every word.”
“I was trying to place his accent. Did you notice how it kept changing? He claims he hasn’t lived in Atlanta for a long time but—”
“Chanti, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Did you come to see me or to talk about some other guy?”
“Both. I went out with them to see if he was some kind of con man and now I’m pretty sure he is.”
“When you asked me to do the double date thing, I thought it was just an excuse to ask me out, one that my parents might buy into if they found out I was with you. But you made it clear at dinner that it really was about you checking out Cole.”
“I told you it was about both things. I just did a better job at one than the other. But I promise I’ll make it up.”
“Your interest in that dude went way beyond looking out for a friend.”
Uh, what? Where did that come from, and is that what he’s been thinking since Saturday?
“You think I have an interest in Cole beyond figuring out if he was conning Bethanie?”
“Like you said—I was there. Bethanie and I could have set our napkins on fire and neither of you would have noticed.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t see that. Whatever game you were playing, he was playing right along with you.”
“No, I didn’t see that, but if you did, it only confirms what a con he is. Cons love the game, the whole cat-and-mouse thing of being suspected but not getting caught.”
Marco looks at me like I’m crazy. “I know you solved those crimes at school and kept us out of jail, but you do realize you’re not actually a cop, right?”
“Right,” I say weakly, realizing I do sound a little crazy to someone who doesn’t know why I’m the way I am—having a secret undercover cop for a mom.
“Seemed to me the double date was set up with the wrong partners.”
“The guy said I was observant and had a keen ear—not exactly love talk. Marco, I promise no one was into anyone at that table.”
“I was into you, and Bethanie was into him. But you and Cole weren’t playing along.”
Okay, this is just crazy talk. Or just a guy who can’t tell flirting from spying. If Bethanie agreed with Marco’s take on that night, surely she wouldn’t have told me what she did about Cole. Or maybe that’s why she did. Maybe she thinks I was scamming on Cole and she wanted to make sure I knew he was hers. After all, she did call me a bi-atch.
“I swear you have this completely wrong. It was just a little detective work I was doing.”
“All right. Let’s say that was it—”
“Because it really was.”
“Then I still wasn’t the one you wanted to be with that night, was I?”
It didn’t sound right the way he said it, though I had to agree. Except I don’t—I just stay quiet.
“I don’t get it, Chanti. You know my parents think you’re trouble after what happened with Donnell. I keep telling them how great you are and how that was just one case of wrong place, wrong time. But you keep trying to find trouble. You’re making it hard for my parents to come around to you.”
“I’m really glad you’re defending me to them, but I also have to defend Bethanie.”
“Did she ask you to? And defend her from what—a guy with a weird accent?”
“No, she didn’t. But it’s more than just the accent.”
“Just tell me one real thing this guy has done to make you willing to give up whatever we have going?”
Whatever we have going? Don’t we know what we have going?
“I was right about the burglary ring, wasn’t I?”
“That was different. It was before us.”
“It was how we got to be us.”
He looks at me like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t. I can think of a thousand ways to fill up the space of the words he doesn’t say, and none of them good.
“I’d better get going, I guess. Your parents will be coming.”
“Yeah, good idea,” he says as he takes his coat from my shoulders. “See you around school.”
Is it my imagination, or did that sound like a breakup?
Chapter 9
Marco and Bethanie both stayed clear of me at school for the rest of the week. Marco knows my schedule and somehow managed to avoid the hallways where he knew I’d be, and went to lunch with his football friends. Bethanie’s avoidance was less calculated. She just hasn’t been to school most of the week. I learned from Mildred, our head custodian and my favorite Langdon informant, that Bethanie showed up in the nurse’s office a couple of times claiming illness and then went home. Except I’m pretty sure she didn’t go home. I’m not the only one who suspects she’s ditching to hang out with Cole, because when I check my messages between classes, there’s one from Mrs. Larsen, asking if I might talk to her after school. It must be serious because she even offers to pick me up from Langdon, saying she’ll be here at four either way and that she hopes I’ll be waiting.
I’m used to taking the bus and making the long walk to the stop, so it seems weird waiting in the circle in front of school for someone to pick me up, especially when it’s Bethanie’s mom. It’s four on the dot when a Bentley pulls into the circle. I have never seen a Bentley in real life, not even at Langdon, but I know the grille anywhere because it’s in just about every rap video ever made in this century. I’m interested in who might be inside it, but not as interested as I am in where Mrs. Larsen is. She’s already made me wait half an hour after last bell. Then the Bentley driver’s door opens and a man gets out. Given the nondescript black suit and tie, and plain white shirt, he’s either coming from his job as G-man or he’s a driver. Now I really want to know which Langdonite this car belongs to, and I watch to see which of the few remaining kids hanging around will go to the Bentley, but no one does. Color me shocked when the driver walks up the stairs to where I’m sitting and says my full name.
“Uh, yes?”
“Mrs. Larsen is waiting in the car.”
You’re probably imagining he’s talking to me with a British accent, right? Because I always imagined if I had a car like that, and a driver to go with it, he’d be British with a name like Jeeves or Giles. But not this dude. He is straight off the block: six feet four, two hundred and seventy-five pounds of muscle, shaved head, bling in both ears. When he says my name, it sounds more Lil Jon than Jeeves, especially the way he put Yo in front of it. I’m thinking I’m not going anywhere with this guy, until I see Mrs. Larsen in the backseat of the Bentley after she rolls down her tinted window. Every time I see this woman, I understand a little better where Bethanie gets her drama. The driver grabs my backpack and heads for the car. I follow, not that I have a choice if I want my stuff back.
“I’m glad you waited for me,” Mrs. Larsen says, all Southern magnolia as usual. “I’m sorry to make you wait half an hour, but I didn’t want to risk Bethanie seeing us.”
“But Bethanie wasn’t ...”
“Yes?”
“Right. That was a good idea.”
Even though Bethanie won’t talk to me, I figured I wouldn’t bust her just yet. Besides, staying silent is always the best way to get people to spill their secrets—people can’t stand silence. And I get the feeling the Larsens have plenty of secrets.
We get to their house in under five minutes. I never realized how close to Langdon Bethanie lived, even though I’ve been to the house a couple of times. I guess it’s because I’ve never gone there straight from school and I still don’t know the area all that well. When you take the bus, that’s pretty much the only route you know.
“You live really close by. Why does Bethanie drive to school?”
“Oh, she loves that car. I guess she wants to show it off.”
Yeah, except no one but Marco and I knows she drives it. Apparently she still hasn’t told her parents how she got into Langdon, either. They still think it’s because she’s rich, when it’s the complete opposite.
“If you were afraid of her catching us at school, aren’t you also afraid she’ll see us here together?” I ask Mrs. Larsen after she’s invited me to have a seat in the “salon” (the living room for the rest of us) and told the maid, Molly, to bring me a Coke. The maid is different than the woman I met the last time I was here. The new chick looks like the female version of the driver, as big as MJ and just as tough-looking. The La
rsens must hire their domestic staff from the Thugs-R-Us employment agency.
“She didn’t tell you about her after-school charity work?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“She just started that a couple of days ago. She goes straight there from school and works two hours. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”
“So am I.”
The maid comes in with my Coke, followed by Mr. Larsen. Whenever I see Bethanie’s parents together, I always think of Betty and Barney Rubble because he’s a good four inches shorter than Mrs. Larsen, who isn’t super tall or anything.
“I’m glad you came to talk to us about Bethanie’s situation,” Mr. Larsen says, taking a seat on the sofa next to his wife.
“Her situation?”
“I hadn’t said anything to her about that yet,” Mrs. Larsen says, seeming miffed that her husband was stepping on her lines. “Honestly, I’m glad she started this charity work thing because between that and school, maybe she won’t have time to spend with that boy she’s been seeing.”
“So you know about Cole?”
“Is that his name?” Mr. Larsen says. “See, already you know more than we do. What can you tell us about him?”
Just then the driver comes into the room and leans against the fireplace, which looks like it has never once held a fire. There’s a gold-gilded cherub where a pile of wood should be, and he’s spouting a plastic floral arrangement from his mouth. The first time I came to Bethanie’s house, before I even knew about her Powerball ticket, I knew from her family’s decor that they were ghetto-rich and not at all used to money. A month later, that still hasn’t changed.
“Now just wait, Lola Mae,” says Mr. Larsen. “We don’t want the girl to think she’s being interrogated.”
Lola Mae? I knew they were from the South, but I didn’t think they were also from the 1920s.
“Nobody’s interrogating her,” Mrs. Larsen protests. “I just have some questions to ask, is all.”
Creeping with the Enemy Page 7
