Kryptonite
Page 1
Copyright © 2018 Lesley Choyce
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Choyce, Lesley, 1951-, author
Kryptonite / Lesley Choyce.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1656-5 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1657-2 (PDF).—ISBN 978-1-4598-1658-9 (EPUB)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings
PS8555.H668K79 2018 jC813'.54 C2017-904489-3
C2017-904490-7
First published in the United States, 2018
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017949675
Summary: In this high-interest novel for teen readers, Jackson gets in over his head when he tries to save a girl from her drug-dealer boyfriend.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Edited by Tanya Trafford
Cover image by iStock.com
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
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ALSO BY LESLEY CHOYCE
ORCA SOUNDINGS
Identify (2017)
Scam (2016)
Off the Grid (2015)
Crash (2013)
Rat (2012)
Breaking Point (2012)
Reaction (2010)
Running the Risk (2009)
Wave Warrior (2007)
Thunderbowl (2004)
Refuge Cove (2002)
ORCA YA FICTION
Plank's Law (2017)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
An Excerpt from Identify
Chapter One
Chapter One
Mr. Carmichael, my high-school philosophy teacher, held my essay in his hands and just shook his head. “Jackson, I can’t believe you plagiarized an essay on plagiarism.”
“I think that’s an unfair accusation,” I snapped back.
We were sitting in the staff room, just the two of us. He glared at me for the third time since we had sat down. Then he slapped the essay down on the table and started typing away on the keys of the laptop in front of him. Without looking up at me, he continued, “I asked you to write this because you had plagiarized twice already. Your first essay, you simply printed off the Internet.”
“I regret that,” I said. “I really do.” What he said was true. I had been sloppy.
“The second essay, you paid one of your classmates to write for you.”
“I just asked Davis for some help on it.” Well, actually I had conned him into doing it for me. Davis was smart when it came to school stuff but stupid when it came to most everything else. I didn’t know how Carmichael had found out. Most teachers wouldn’t have bothered investigating.
“But this, Jackson, this was your masterpiece,” Carmichael said, turning the laptop screen toward me so I could see it.
I leaned forward and tried to focus on the screen.
“The highlighted parts are the ones you copied. Underneath each, you’ll see the sources I tracked down.”
Very little of the essay was not highlighted. And he had found every chunk I had cobbled together from various Internet sources. It must have taken him hours.
“I apologize. I guess I forgot to document those sources. I spent a lot of time doing research for this essay. I was trying to prove to you that I could be a good writer.”
“Bullshit,” he blurted out.
I kept my cool even though I could see Carmichael was losing his. I knew I was in a tough spot. But hey, it was only an essay. I tried to look hurt.
“Jackson, why didn’t you just write the damn essay yourself?”
I blinked and pretended to be confused. “I don’t know. I just thought…” I let my words trail off. The truth is, I’d thought I could outsmart this guy because he was just a high-school English and philosophy teacher. But he had nailed me good.
“There’s a word for you, mister.”
Carmichael closed the laptop and wrung his hands. I didn’t know why this plagiarism thing had pissed him off so much. I was thinking he might actually hit me. In fact, I was hoping he would. I could definitely work with that.
I looked him in the eye defiantly. “Go ahead and say it.”
He stared at me for a second and then ripped my paper into pieces and threw them in my face. Then he picked up the laptop and left, slamming the door behind him.
But he didn’t say it. He didn’t say the word. I was left wondering if he had really found out.
Chapter Two
Maybe he was going to call me a cheater. Maybe that was all there was to it. I didn’t think he was smart enough to really figure me out. All my life I had known I was different. But then I saw this documentary and started reading stuff on the Internet. And that’s how I learned there were plenty of others like me. And there were labels, but none of them fit quite right. Besides, I hate it when people label you.
I’m just different, okay? And I’ve known that since I was a kid. I am smart, and I do everything, everything, for a reason. I just don’t like following rules.
The first time I ever got in real trouble at school was over lunch money. Other kids had money to buy a cafeteria meal, and I only ever had a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich made for me by one of my father’s girlfriends. The sandwich was a real loser (and so was the girlfriend, but I forget her name now). So I would convince some kid with lunch money to buy it from me. This worked for a while, and when it stopped working, I found other ways of convincing kids to give me their parents’ money. I guess you could call it a hobby.
Eventually I got busted. But it didn’t seem fair to me that I didn’t have my own lunch money. So even after I was asked to stop, I found ways of getting some cash from other kids. It wasn’t that hard. I think it was because I was a good talker. And likable. Almost everyone liked me. Until they actually got to kno
w me, of course.
So flash-forward to me at sixteen, walking out of the staff room after being harassed by Carmichael. I was a little pissed off. He just didn’t understand me or my situation.
I felt that I needed to do something to recover my self-esteem.
I decided to take the rest of the day off. I felt restless and annoyed and knew the only way to break that mood was to take action. As I walked out of the school, into the sunshine, I looked down at my feet. I took stock of my old running shoes. It had been a while since I had new ones. I saw what the other guys at school were wearing. And I was mad that I couldn’t afford what they had. My father had money. He was just too cheap to keep his son in the appropriate footwear of the day.
My father almost never gave me money to buy new stuff. I pretty much had to look out for myself. Fortunately for me, that usually wasn’t a problem. I had my ways. You see, one of the differences between me and most other guys my age is that they think about doing what they want to do but end up not doing it. I think about a thing I want to do and I do it.
Today was one of those days.
Striker’s Sports store had a good selection of the latest Nike Roshe running shoes. It was a pleasant twenty-minute walk to get there, and as I thought about those new shoes, I found myself smiling.
I expected the usual old dude at the store to be there when I walked in, but instead I saw some new faces. I’d stolen from here before, of course, but I’d never been caught, so I didn’t have any real worries.
I wandered around for a bit, checking out the hockey gear and the sports clothes, and then finally made my way to the shoe section. Right away I spied the Nikes I’d seen this kid Damon wearing. The price was over $200. No problem. I found a box with my size and sat down to try them on.
That’s when the girl came over. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Just wanted to check these out,” I said. As I said it, I couldn’t help but check her out as well. I’d never seen her before. I would have remembered. “You new here?”
“Just started last week. Things working out?” she asked.
I looked her straight in the eye and held the eye contact for quite a few seconds. I guess you could say I was flirting with her, something I was really good at. “So far, so good.”
She spotted an older couple looking at some snorkeling equipment. “I’ll be right back. Just yell if you need anything.”
As soon as she turned away, I slid both shoes on, not even bothering to lace them up. Kicking my old dirty sneakers under the chair I was sitting in, I casually got up and started walking toward the front door. The girl never turned to look my way, and there was no one at the cash register. This was almost too easy.
But as I walked out the front door, an alarm went off. I hadn’t taken the anti-theft device out of the shoes. No problem. I now had a most excellent pair of shoes for running, even if they weren’t properly laced.
And run I did. No looking back.
Chapter Three
It’s funny how a pair of shoes can set wheels in motion. Those stolen shoes proved to have a real impact on my life. Well, not really the shoes. But the girl. Yep, the girl from the sports store. It turned out she was a runner, a fast runner.
I didn’t know she was chasing me at first. No one had ever come chasing after me before. I guess I was a little out of shape, though, because when I stopped to catch my breath about three blocks from the store, there she was. I was leaning over, untangling the new laces, and I heard feet running. When I looked up, there she was, in my face.
“Gotcha,” she said and pointed at the Nikes.
I was completely shocked. I couldn’t believe this was happening. But I kept my cool. I smiled my best smile. “Hey, I was just trying them out. If you’re going to buy a pair of running shoes, you have to run in them first, right?”
“Oh, really?” she said. But she was smiling back at me.
That smile really threw me off my game. What was she smiling about?
“Honest,” I said. “I was just going to run a few blocks and then come back and pay for them.”
“Idiot,” she said. “You expect me to believe that?” She turned and looked back toward the store. She nodded her head in that direction, and when I looked, I saw a police car headed our way.
“My boss probably called them. He really hates shoplifters. He has a thing about that. You’d better go.”
I stood up and was ready to bolt down a side street when she grabbed my arm. She had a really tight grip.
“What?” I asked.
“The shoes. Give them to me.”
“You’re kidding.”
She tilted her head back toward the approaching police car.
“Damn,” I said, leaning over and quickly untying the laces and kicking off the shoes.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“You going to turn me in?”
“No.”
“Jackson,” I said.
“Run, Jackson.”
So I ran. In my socks, zigzagging down one street after another until I was far away.
When I got home, my feet were killing me. I slipped into my bedroom and lay down on my bed. I was really disappointed that I didn’t have the shoes, but I kept thinking about the girl. What the hell was that all about anyway?
Chapter Four
There had been a number of labels put on me over the years. Spoiled. Selfish. Self-centered. Egotistical. Conceited. Cheater (of course). But up until that day with the shoes, I’d never been caught stealing. So thief was not on the list. I didn’t really care that much about what other people thought about me as long as I got my way. Which I usually did.
I took advantage of my friends. I used people. I guess you could say I manipulated people, although occasionally someone like Mr. Carmichael called me out. He had my number and would do his best to stop me from getting away with anything if he could help it. Fortunately, there weren’t that many people clever enough to do that.
So I usually got my way.
My father kind of gave up on trying to change me a long time ago. He is a lawyer, and a good one, who makes a lot of money. He wins a lot of cases and doesn’t like to lose. Whatever game you play, Jackson, play to win, he always told me. Losing is for losers. My brilliant dad. But deep down, I feel this is true.
My mom took me to a couple of psychologists when I was young. They would ask questions and I would figure out what they wanted to hear and tell them that. It was a game. And I usually won. I outsmarted the shrinks. The first guy was really frustrated with me by my third visit. I can’t tell if your son is a genius or a sociopath, I heard him say to my mother.
The third shrink, a woman who obviously considered herself very smart, met with me a few times, got frustrated like the other psychologists had and then told my mother, again within earshot, As far as I can tell, there’s nothing clinically wrong with your son. It’s just that he’s an asshole. And that was the end of that.
My mom left my dad and me when I was twelve. She moved to Hawaii and uses the distance separating us as an excuse to avoid visiting us. Truth is, she hated my father, and, even though she is my mom, I don’t think she was that fond of me either.
I googled Striker’s Sports on my computer and pulled up an image of those shoes. The Nikes. The ones that had once been mine but only for about ten minutes. I clicked back to the home page and found a picture of the staff lined up awkwardly in front of the store. Sure enough, there she was.
And the caption listed everyone’s name. I counted three in from the left. Abby Lawson. I tried to read the look in her eyes. She was wearing the same damn smile as when she’d nailed me for stealing the shoes.
I decided that this was a girl I needed to get to know. But cyberstalking was for sissies. Definitely not my style. So the next day I went to school like a good boy and went through the motions. No one hassled me, and I sat through each bo
ring class until the school day was over.
Then I staked out the store. I couldn’t see inside very well but thought it unwise to waltz in there and present myself, considering how it had gone the day before. I wasn’t even 100 percent sure she was in there. But at four o’clock she walked out. I didn’t want to confront her right there in front of the store, but when she was only a few steps out the front door, she began to run. Damn.
I took off after her. I was wearing last year’s running shoes and wishing I still had those new Nikes. I was also wishing I was a faster runner.
Fortunately for me, when she got to the park she stopped and sat down on a bench by the little pond there.
Winded and wobbly, I jogged up and sat down beside her. She was staring out at the ducks in the water.
“You like ducks?” I asked.
She didn’t seem at all surprised to see me.
“Yeah,” she said. “I really love watching them. They have such peaceful eyes.”
“I never really noticed,” I said.
“Some things are worth noticing. You just have to pay attention. Jackson, right?”
“You remembered. Abby, right?”
“You get that from Facebook?”
“No, your picture was on the store site.”
“So guess I got your attention yesterday, right, Jackson? Jackson Malone?”
“Guess you did. How’d you find out my last name?”
“I went to the library and checked last year’s high-school yearbook. Found seven Jacksons at Henson High. One of them was you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“I was just curious. Wondering what your story was. Parents too poor to buy you new shoes, or was it pure criminal intent?”
“I felt like doing it.”
“And so you did it. Just like that?”
“Just like that. Usually I don’t get chased by a cute girl who can run like the wind.”
Abby smiled. I guess the old charm was working. “Can I buy you a coffee?” I asked.