Westcott High

by Sarah Mello

  “What the hell are you doing out here by yourself?” Kyle walked down the sidewalk toward the stop sign.

  I wanted to scream, but I knew I should whisper. So I did both. “Jesus, Kyle!”

  He pulled his tan hoodie off his head. “I’m serious. You shouldn’t be standing out here all alone.”

  I stood close to him, relieved by his presence. “I’m not alone anymore, am I?” I asked him. “Besides, there are other people around.”

  “Hardly,” he replied. “Now are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”

  “I can only assume we aren’t here to study,” Buckets said, coming in shortly behind Kyle.

  I looked down at his red-and-white striped pants. “Are you seriously in your pajamas?”

  “Oh, right. Had I known we were meeting on a street corner just before midnight, I would have dressed up.”

  “Unlikely,” Winston said as he shone a flashlight in my face.

  I held my hand up in an attempt to block the brightness. “Would you turn that thing off?”

  He and Casey walked down the sidewalk toward us. “I needed to make sure it was you,” Winston replied.

  “Who the hell else would it be?” Buckets said.

  Kyle stared at Casey. “Hi,” he said, smiling a little. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Casey ran her fingers through her hair. “Sonny asked me to come.”

  “Lucky me,” Kyle mumbled, continuing to stare.

  “What is this?” Buckets’s bony finger swayed back and forth between Casey and Kyle. “This thing?”

  “Nothing.” Kyle’s voice flooded with uncertainty.

  “Jesus, Winchester.” Buckets shook his head in disbelief. “Seriously?”

  “Did you tell Kyle about your conversation with Ari after school yesterday?” Winston asked me.

  “Yeah,” Kyle said. “She told me Ari denied it.”

  “And you believe that?” Winston asked.

  Kyle looked down, his hands in his pockets and his expensive sneakers brushing against the cement.

  “Okay, he believes it.” Winston shook his head.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Ari wouldn’t do that to me. Plus, I asked Cliff straight up, and he swore it was a lie.”

  “I never believed it anyways,” Buckets said.

  “Why do you always stick up for the Violets, Buckets? Don’t forget what street you live on.” Winston put his flashlight into his back pocket.

  “The cookout rumor has never been proven,” said Buckets, “and they both adamantly deny it. Unlike the rest of my student body, I don’t believe anything until someone places the proof in my hands. Until that day comes, in my opinion, it’s just a stupid rumor.” He wagged a finger back and forth between Casey and Kyle. “Which makes whatever the two of you are doing incredibly risky.” Then he aimed his gaze directly at Kyle. “Especially since you and Ari are likely to get back together any day now.”

  “Why are we here, Sonny?” Casey asked, changing the subject.

  I looked into each of their eyes, most of them a different color, all of them filled with curiosity. “This stays between us,” I said. “Okay?”

  Everyone leaned in.

  “JC was framed.”

  Buckets looked side to side. “By whom?”

  “Piper,” I replied.

  Kyle leaned in further. “Hold on—JC thinks Piper set him up? That’s crazy.”

  “He told me Piper slipped the answer key into his bag when he was in practice one night,” I said.

  “What makes him think that?” Casey asked.

  “Because he saw her,” I replied. “He saw Piper put something into his bag before walking out of the gym that night. The next day, my dad did a random bag search. Don’t you think that’s a bit of a coincidence?”

  “Maybe she put something else into his bag,” Casey suggested. “A note?”

  “That's what JC assumed. He forgot to check his bag when he got home that night, but when my dad and the principals dumped it out, the only thing they found was the answer key. There was no note.”

  “Piper planted it there and tipped off your dad?” Kyle asked. “Why would she do that?”

  “We don’t know,” I replied. “Yet.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” said Buckets. “Do you honestly think anyone is going to believe that?”

  “I’m with Buckets. Why would Piper turn on JC?” Casey asked. “She loved him.”

  “I don’t know. But JC swears he’s innocent,” I said. “And I believe him.”

  “Why?” Kyle asked, crossing his arms.

  “I saw it in his eyes,” I replied. “I can’t explain it, but I know he’s telling the truth.”

  “So you dragged us here to tell us that Piper planted the answer key?” Buckets turned around to walk away. “I have better things to do.”

  “No!” I yelled, causing him to stop. “I called you here for this.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the envelope.

  “What’s this?” Winston asked.

  “It was left on JC’s doorstep,” I said.

  Casey pulled the paper out of the envelope and glanced down at the riddle. “ ‘No one is safe at Geraldine’s,’ ” she read aloud.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Buckets asked.

  “JC thinks Mr. Russell left it behind for him.”

  “Mr. Russell?” Kyle took the note from Casey’s hands and studied it. “This is typed. It could be from anyone.”

  “Could be. But he saw Mr. Russell’s car parked outside of his house as he was coming home from a run one night. When he got back to his house, this envelope was sitting on his doorstep with his name on it. And not just any name. Jeremy Coleman, specifically.”

  Buckets grabbed the envelope. “Spelled out?”

  “Spelled out,” I replied. “And inside of the envelope was this riddle.”

  “What does this mean?” Casey repositioned her glasses.

  “I think Mr. Russell wanted JC to find something. To link him to evidence. Evidence that Piper did indeed frame him.”

  “Did he confirm this with Mr. Russell?” Casey asked.

  “He died before JC could talk to him,” I replied. “But come on, guys. Why would JC need the answers to the exam? He wasn’t struggling in any of his classes.”

  Kyle rolled up his sleeves. “I don’t think we should get involved,” he said. “I hate what happened to JC. I don’t know what I’d do without football, so I can’t imagine how he feels. But we don’t know that he’s innocent. And claiming Piper framed him is not only unbelievable, it’s risky. She’s the assistant principal’s daughter.”

  “And none of us should risk anything without proof,” Casey added.

  “So we find proof,” I said. “We find whatever it is Mr. Russell wanted us to find.”

  “As the resident smart friend—I think we should call this whole thing off,” Buckets interrupted. “You heard Principal Winchester. If anyone gets caught doing anything outside of how a Westcott student should behave—”

  “Christ, Buckets, did you memorize that?” Winston looked at him, disgusted.

  Casey buried herself into her T-shirt, squirming. “Buckets is right, Sonny. As much as we all feel bad for what he went through, why should we help JC? I hardly know him.”

  I looked down at my jacket, tracing the buttons with my eyes. “But you know me. JC was my good friend, and I turned my back on him.” I glanced at Kyle—JC’s other good friend. “Kyle did too.”

  He exhaled.

  “And he didn’t deserve that,” I said. “He deserves for someone to help him.”

  “Touching,” Winston whispered. “But I’m going on the resident smart friend’s boat and sailing the hell away from this mess.”

  I grabbed Winston’s arm. “If Piper did this to him, if she was involved in ruining his life, then she has to go down for it. We have to help him get back on the team. He doesn’t have a voice—but we do.”

  “If you think the fi
ve of us, with no evidence, can bring down the princess of Westcott, you’re more delusional than I thought,” Buckets said.

  “The princess of Westcott.” A deep, sultry voice snuck up behind us. “Now that’s a title.”

  We all glanced toward the darkness behind the stop sign; the street light above gave off just enough brightness to make the frame of a young woman’s body visible.

  Kyle stepped forward, the heavy air pushing back against his face. “What are you doing here?”

  Maybe some shadows aren’t meant to follow us around. Maybe some stay put, providing shelter for people who are lurking in the dark corners on Nelser Street. People like Piper Clemmons.

  8

  Geraldine’s

  Is everything we see truly ours to discover? How do we know when we’ve discovered something we weren’t supposed to? Perhaps our eyes sometimes fall upon things by mistake, which begs the question—does anything ever happen by mistake? Sure, maybe some things are never supposed to be seen, but in the same terrifying breath, maybe they need to be.

  “It’s a nice night, huh?” Piper walked toward us.

  She was pleasant, but jaded. The kind of jaded you become after experiencing a few things in life. Bad things.

  “Are you following us?” Buckets asked.

  Piper walked past us toward the entrance of Geraldine’s. She put her hand onto the coffee shop’s glass door, which displayed a chipped teal-blue coffee-cup logo. The shop was located in between a hardwood store and a boutique on a long street. “Following you? You’re the ones behind me.” She opened the door and walked inside.

  We all glanced at one another and then piled in after her. We stepped onto the layers of Bohemian rugs spread across the cracked concrete floor. The room felt vibrant, with large and small picture frames covering the brick walls and multicolored metal tables scattered throughout. Industrial chandeliers hung above us, just low enough to make a statement. The sofas were floral, the fabric chairs were striped—and the charm was priceless.

  Piper turned on an orange floor lamp in the corner of the room and nestled into an oversized green-and-black striped chair close to the lamp. “I’m here to study,” she said. “It’s the only twenty-four-hour coffee shop in town. What are you guys doing here?”

  “Sonny is treating us to coffee!” Winston glanced wistfully at the brightly colored coffee mugs behind the counter. “Big, expensive cups of coffee. Whatever we want.” He smiled at me and then glanced at Piper. “Isn't that nice of her?”

  Piper placed her tablet on her lap. “So nice.”

  “Let’s go find a table,” I mumbled to the others.

  “Studying on a Saturday night?” Casey whispered as we walked toward the opposite side of the room.

  I kept my head down as my eyes paced across the concrete floor.

  “And what exactly are we doing at Geraldine’s?” Buckets ran his fingers over the dusty picture frames on the wall. “What are we supposed to be looking for?”

  “I don't know,” I replied. “But there’s a reason why Geraldine’s was in the riddle.”

  Everyone took a seat in the scattered chairs around the metal table.

  Kyle took off his hoodie and placed it on the back of his chair. His hand grazed Casey’s arm as he turned around. “Uh”—he shook his head—“what’s the plan?”

  I looked down at the small amount of space between Casey’s and Kyle’s chairs. “To look around.” I glanced at Piper. “But we can’t draw attention to ourselves or look suspicious.”

  “Right,” Buckets said, softly punching the top of the table a few times with a closed fist. “Because coming to a coffee shop at midnight to solve a riddle isn’t suspicious at all.”

  “We at least need to have drinks in our hands,” I said. “I’ll go get us some coffee. You guys look around.”

  Kyle leaned his chair back on two legs. “For what?”

  “Anything,” I replied as I stood up.

  “This is absurd. We’re going to go on a wild-goose chase based on secretive lingo left behind by a dead teacher? Count me way out.” Winston crossed his legs; his body language was telling.

  “I agree,” Casey said, her bright burgundy lip balm accentuating the tightness of her mouth. “This seems a little crazy.”

  “I don’t believe JC anyways,” Buckets said. “I’m out.”

  “Would you guys get up?” I whispered. “I need your help. Don’t make me call in all the favors you owe me.”

  “Favors?” Winston’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t think I owe you any favors,” Casey said.

  Buckets shook his head. “I definitely don’t.”

  I exhaled, staring at Kyle with sinking eyes.

  He sighed and dropped his shoulders. “Fine,” Kyle said. “I’ll look around.”

  I smiled at him and glared at the others, then pivoted and walked toward the counter. “I’ll take four black coffees and one big, expensive one,” I told the barista, resting my forearms on top of the black-and-gray speckled countertop.

  Suddenly, a familiar voice rolled into my eardrum.

  “Figures you’d drink black coffee,” Cliff said. “But four of them?”

  I turned my head to the right, rolled my eyes, and then focused my attention on the barista. “I’m here with some friends.”

  Cliff glanced behind him toward our table, nodding at Kyle before turning back around. “Interesting group.”

  “What do you want, Cliff?” I asked him. “What are you doing here?”

  “It was either come to Geraldine’s or stay home and listen to my father and his drunk football buddies reminisce about the good old days.” Cliff grabbed the attention of the barista by placing his finger in the air. “I chose Geraldine’s.”

  “Lucky me,” I said, pulling two of the black coffees toward me.

  “Their night typically ends with a discussion on how my dad plans to increase rent at his condos, just to clear out certain families,” Cliff said.

  “He would never, would he?”

  “You sound like me.” His eyes widened. “Only a hell of a lot cuter and still hopeful that people aren't shitty humans.”

  I shook my head.

  “I’ll take a chai tea,” Cliff said to the barista, then looked down at me. “So Kyle and Langdon, huh?”

  I stared ahead and pressed my lips together. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do,” he replied.

  “They’re just friends,” I said. “And it’s really none of your business.”

  “Would you calm down, kid?” He glanced toward the back of the room. “I just find it interesting. That’s all.”

  “Calm down,” I repeated. “That’s rich coming from you and your recent speech on the football field.”

  “If you were constantly accused of leaking a video you didn’t leak, you’d reach your breaking point too.”

  “I’ll have you know that I'm one of the only people in this school who still questions whether or not you leaked it,” I said.

  Cliff dropped his head. “And why’s that?”

  I placed the piping-hot cups into a drink tray. “Because you’d do a lot of things . . . but I'm not convinced you’d do that to Lana.”

  Cliff rolled his shoulder blades back and cracked his neck, then exhaled. “I just hope Kyle knows what he’s doing,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

  “And what is that exactly?”

  “Come on, Sonny. It’s Casey. The girl’s—”

  “A Cobalt?” I interrupted.

  “She’s trash.”

  I shoved the last two cups down into the drink tray. “She’s not.”

  “Kyle’s too good for her,” he said.

  “Kyle’s too good for a lot of people,” I replied, glaring at Cliff.

  We locked eyes for an uncomfortable few seconds.

  The barista placed Cliff’s tea down on the counter and then rang me up. “Fourteen sixty-eight,” she said.

&nbs
p; Cliff reached into his back pocket and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “On me.” He took a sip of his tea, giving me one last stare down. He then glanced at the barista. “Have a good one, Ash. Tell your mom I said hello.”

  I watched Cliff walk toward the exit. On his way out, he passed by Piper, who glanced up at Cliff and then at me. I quickly turned around and walked toward the others.

  “What was Cliff doing here?” Kyle asked me as I placed our drinks down on the table.

  “Escaping his father,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Why didn’t you come say hello?” I asked.

  Kyle took a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know. Things are a little weird between us right now.”

  “The rumor?”

  He nodded again.

  “But you said you don’t believe it.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I don’t.”

  “Ky . . .”

  “Just drop it.” He stood up. “I don’t want to talk about it, Sonny.”

  I swallowed my comment. We both grabbed our coffees and walked toward the back wall where the group was gathered.

  “Did you find anything?” I asked them.

  Winston held his hand in the air. “I found a pack of unopened gum, a half-eaten panini, and a red ink pen.”

  “Do you think this is a joke?” I asked him.

  “Yes,” he replied. “But I’m also hungry, and you never pass up a free pen. Especially a red one.”

  “We’ve got nothing,” Buckets said.

  “Well, there’s this.” Casey tapped her finger on a glass picture frame.

  I walked toward the wall and stared over her shoulder at the frame. In the photograph was a little boy with curly brown hair. He stood in the middle of an empty field, holding a teddy bear in one hand and a blanket in the other.

  “That might be the single creepiest photo I have ever seen,” Buckets said.

  I stared at the sepia-toned picture in a daze.

  “There’s nothing here, Sonny,” Kyle said. “Maybe the riddle was an innocent joke.”

  “If Mr. Russell had something to say to JC, he could have said it before he killed himself,” Buckets added.