Still Waters

by Ash Parsons

  The door scraped the tile as he left.

  My fist rammed the closed door. I turned and slammed my back against it. Scrubbed my hands over my face.

  If I quit, I’d be out eight hundred dollars. I could take that, but would Dwight really stop there? What would happen to the drugs he’d planted in my locker? What if there was a random search today or the police received an “anonymous” tip?

  And what about Clay? Dwight wasn’t so stupid he wouldn’t remember my pre-Michael friend. If I didn’t cave, Dwight could try the same ploy on Clay’s locker. Or worse.

  My shoulders bunched.

  I went into the hall. Didn’t go to my locker, although every part of my brain screamed that I should. Go, pull out the drugs, flush them. Can’t make the obvious play. It’s what Dwight would expect. Maybe even want. Too many people around, anyway.

  I made myself turn away from the hall where my locker stood. Made myself walk to my first class instead.

  The bell dismissing homeroom toned. Kids swarmed into the hall. I let the crowd carry me past the nurse’s office.

  Glimpsed Dwight in there, a cold pack held to his lip.

  In English I sat at an empty desk. The teacher pretended not to notice that I had no book, paper, or pencil. I looked out the window the whole time. My mind like a rat in a maze.

  The best move would be to go. Get Janie out of school somehow and take off, like we planned. But it was still too early in the day to go home to get our money. And we could really use the extra eight hundred. I couldn’t just leave without telling Clay. And Cyndra . . .

  I could pretend to quit. Tell Dwight to ditch the drugs or I’d rejoin. Watch him do it, but from a distance. Once they’re gone, squirt superglue into the lock, and Clay’s lock, then go tell Michael. Get Dwight exiled permanently. Hang around tonight, long enough to get the money.

  Then leave.

  Leaving Clay unprotected.

  Too much trouble for an assured revenge from Dwight. I should just stop like he wanted. It was all ending anyway.

  But I already knew it wasn’t safe. Winning might not be enough for Dwight. He’d liked the handcuff idea.

  At break I waited for Cyndra by the courtyard door. Watched out the window as Dwight edged closer to Michael. Dwight’s eyes cut around the space, looking for me.

  “Jason,” Cyndra called as she walked up. She gave me a perfect, heart-stopping smile.

  I took her elbow, pulled her away from the windows.

  “Listen,” I said.

  She turned her face to me, and her expression stopped the words in my mouth. It was tight. Frozen and tense, but aiming at relaxed. Fake.

  Paranoia slicked into my brain. And a question I wasn’t ready to learn the answer to: Did she already know? Was she in on it somehow?

  Was she playing me?

  I couldn’t keep it off my face.

  She bit her lip, and her eyes glimmered. Was something forcing her? The strain was naked on her face. She didn’t want to do it.

  “What is it, Jason?” Her voice mouse-small.

  “Has Michael told you about the drug for your stepfather?” For some reason, this question bled to the front of my brain. Instinct, like a razor against my throat.

  “No. What drug?” Cyndra’s emerald eyes slid away, like she was worried about us being overheard.

  “You’re lying to me.”

  She chewed on her chapped lip. “Yes.” The word just air.

  “Why?”

  “Michael told me already, but he said if you told me, I should pretend I didn’t know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would make you feel good to tell me. That’s all. That’s not bad, right? It’s a good plan. I think that stuff could work. And it’s nice he’s thinking of me, and you—if you wanted to tell me.”

  Contortions of thought. All jutting elbows and knotted flesh.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I said. “Ever.”

  “I can’t.” She shifted, tightening her arms over her books. “I couldn’t. You saw.” She flashed a smile, open this time. “It was stupid to try. Even if it was a white lie.”

  “Do you know anything about my locker?”

  Her eyebrows creased together. “No. What?”

  A pure gaze. Unwavering.

  “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” Because what could she do? She’d go to Michael. And his constant lies, his feel-good manipulations, made me want to keep him out.

  I sent her into the courtyard and drifted toward the front of the school—and my locker. Still didn’t go to it, though. Some instinct kept me moving, floating right by.

  In my next class I thought about it. At lunch I’d have to choose or have the choice made for me. The skin on my back lifted and tightened.

  Then it hit me. A choice, something to get me out of the corner. I needed an ally.

  I didn’t wait for the bell. Stood and walked out of class. Jogged down the hall, up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Mr. Stewart. He’d offered to help me. Well, here was his chance. I’d tell him drugs had been planted in my locker. I’d get him to go with me to the principal. I’d turn the tables on Dwight.

  Save myself and maybe get him to be the one wearing handcuffs. Stay around long enough for the heist tonight, even set up Michael to take a fall after.

  Why not?

  At Mr. Stewart’s door, I drew up short. A young guy was locking the door, holding a lunch bag in his other hand.

  “Where’s Mr. Stewart?”

  He frowned at me and pocketed the key. “He’s at an in-service.”

  Like I’d know what that was. “When will he be back?” I asked, but already knew the answer.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Of course.

  I kicked the lockers. The substitute jumped. “Hey,” he said, faintly.

  I turned and pressed my back against the cool metal. Tipped my head back and closed my eyes. Forced my breathing to slow.

  The substitute edged away.

  So that was it. I’d go to lunch, pull Michael aside, then quit. Get Dwight to remove the drugs. Glue the locks. Warn Clay and keep an eye on our backs until late enough in the day to get Janie, get the money, and run.

  It was the best I could do.

  I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Large tiles with zigzag scar patterns hung in a grid. My eyes tracked them, circled the gray bubble of a security camera cover. Tracked farther down the hall. Circled another bubble.

  Then I had it.

  Dwight may have backed me into a corner, but he’d left a weapon there. And now I knew it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Outside at the lunch tables, Michael listened to Beast tell a story. Indulgence on his face like a mask of formerly withheld parental approval. Beast was flushed, happiness spreading color up his neck.

  Dwight rolled his shoulders as I walked up.

  “I need to talk,” I said to Michael.

  Beast froze, midsentence. Disappointment staining his face.

  Michael stood to walk with me. I turned to Dwight. “You should hear this, too.”

  Dwight’s expression changed as his brain caught up with the implications. His eyes daggered threats.

  The three of us walked out, away from the building, stopping on the other side of a short stand of rangy pines.

  “Dwight planted drugs in my locker. He jumped me in the bathroom this morning so I’d bruise him up. He says if I don’t leave the group, he’ll tell the principal I jumped him and about the drugs.”

  Michael’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He turned on Dwight.

  Dwight shook his head. “No. That’s not what happened. He did jump me.” He opened a hand at Michael. “He won’t be happy until he’s taken my place completely.”

  Michael knocked Dw
ight’s hand aside. “Your place isn’t big enough to hold him.”

  Dwight drew back as if he’d been slapped. He jabbed a finger at me. “You’ve just signed your arrest warrant. You think I’ll stop now?”

  “Something you said this morning stuck with me. Funny how something can be so obvious, you don’t think of it, or even notice,” I said.

  Dwight shook his head.

  “Go ahead and report me, Dwight. You just knew I’d go to my locker, right? Well, I haven’t. Those security cameras you talked about? Yeah, they got us going into the bathroom. Bet they also got you going into my locker.”

  Dwight’s jaw worked. A muscle flexed in his cheek.

  Michael slapped my hand, then clasped it. He turned on Dwight. “This is what historians would call a rout. Right, Ice?”

  Fierce joy surged into my veins, like power. Raw, bloody, and blazing hellfire. “I’m not going tonight if he is,” I said to Michael. “We can’t trust him.”

  My fists throbbed.

  “Ice, he’s not going to be anywhere near me.” Michael turned sharp eyes on Dwight. “Don’t speak to me. Don’t come near me or any of the others. You’re out.”

  We left him there. Watching as we walked back to the tables—and the group he was no longer a part of.

  The drugs were still in my locker. As long as I didn’t go there, I’d be fine.

  And if Dwight came after me or Clay, I could handle it.

  As lunch ended, Michael gestured for us to stay as other groups of kids jostled their way inside. Michael turned and stared pointedly at Dwight, still lingering in the background.

  Dwight flinched like acid had been thrown in his face, but he hunched into himself and went inside.

  “Dwight’s out,” Michael told the small group that remained huddled around the picnic table. “Ice, I’ll pick you up at the old gym at eleven. The rest of you talk to Cyndra—you’ll all be at my house by midnight. Where we’ll wait until the guard calls. Questions?”

  T-Man shook his head with the certainty of a fighter cracking his knuckles. Beast’s eyes were wide-round like all he had were questions, but he didn’t know where to begin.

  “Good,” Michael said. We filed inside as the tardy bell toned.

  After school Clay had an academic club meeting, so I went home and got Janie. We grabbed dinner at the closest burger joint, and I walked her to Clay’s as the sky got dark.

  At the door, she squeezed my hand. “Stay safe. This is it, right?”

  “Yeah. Be thinking about where you want that bus to take us.” Trying not to think of Cyndra, of her smile, holding her, the soft pressure of her body against mine.

  Janie squeezed me in a hug. “Florida?” Her voice lifted at the end like a balloon bobbing on a string.

  She let me go before I could get uncomfortable.

  It made me happy, though, in between the jagged pieces. Picturing Janie there. Sunshine and oranges and one of those stupid hats that the tourists all wear. Hell, maybe she’d relax enough to grow out her nails instead of chewing on them all the time.

  “Okay,” I said. “I haven’t said anything to Clay yet.”

  She nodded. “I’ll let you tell him. When you’re ready.”

  I watched until she was inside, then I walked back to school. Once there, I slipped into the old gym and changed into a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt, and the hoodie. I lay down and threw an arm over my eyes.

  • • •

  Banging on the gym door woke me. I went out to Michael’s car. He drove silently, weaving past the gatehouse and up into the hills. We parked and then walked through his empty house. Michael didn’t call out to see if his mom or dad were home, didn’t creep in because it was so late and we might wake someone. Because he already knew they weren’t there.

  Because they were always anywhere he wasn’t. Almost as if they knew he was dangerous—or just plain didn’t like him.

  Cyndra, Beast, T-Man, and LaShonda sat in the downstairs bar, scattered around the room-long sofas, waiting. Energy and nerves for the night yet to come were charging the air and making everyone laugh a little too loud.

  Mike-Lite and Ray-Ray weren’t there. And unless she was in the bathroom, Monique was missing, too. I cocked an eyebrow at Michael. “Three more down?” Couldn’t help the taunting note that edged into my voice.

  He shrugged and brushed his palms together twice—like he was knocking dirt off. “We won’t even notice they’re gone.”

  Ray-Ray and Mike-Lite had each other; exile wouldn’t hurt them. And as for Monique, always so eager to please, needing to be a part of things—that was about fear. The same fear that kept her away tonight.

  Just as well.

  Finally, Michael’s phone went off. He glanced at it and nodded.

  “Yeah,” T-Man said, drawing it out. “Let’s have some fun.” LaShonda kissed him like he’d invented adrenaline.

  The web of tension around Michael’s eyes eased. He held out a hand. T-Man slapped it.

  We climbed the stairs and walked out to the four-car garage. Michael pressed a paddle, turning on a light and opening one of the bays. A battered black cargo van was incongruously parked next to a Lexus. The sliding door squealed as it opened.

  Beast climbed in and settled on the floor. T-Man and LaShonda scooted to the back. Cyndra got in last. Michael gestured to the front seat, so I climbed in.

  “Where’d you get the car?” LaShonda asked.

  Michael started the engine and slowly pulled forward. “Bought it in cash. No registry. Got it off an illegal at the farmer’s market. It’s completely untraceable.”

  I wondered how many people had seen him drive it up here—or if the security guard would remember it.

  The black van eased down the driveway. Michael stopped at the Mustang to reach in and press the garage remote clipped to his visor.

  At the road, the engine squealed when he turned. Michael’s hands drummed the wheel, eyes manic, mouth a hard line.

  We drove down into the city.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  We approached a medical conclave—sort of like a suburb of doctors’ and dentists’ offices, surrounded by dried, clear-cut scrubland. Each office had its own lot and driveway. They almost looked like houses in a subdivision, developed and built by the same soulless company.

  Michael piloted us down the winding street. I knew we were at the right one when he tracked it with his eyes, head swiveling as we slowly drove past.

  “No one’s around. No night cleaning crews. No security guards, no one,” Michael said. He pulled into the driveway, and then drove around back and parked by a short delivery ramp.

  “Here.” He handed out black hoods. I pulled the stretchy fabric over my head. There were only eyeholes. I glanced behind me. LaShonda was making a face, like she didn’t want to muss her hair or makeup. She pulled the hood on, though.

  Even though he was already wearing his hood, you could tell T-Man was smiling under the tight fabric. Beast looked like a hulking executioner in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Except his eyes were scared, not mean.

  I couldn’t stop the laugh that choked out.

  Michael’s eyes shot to me. Misinterpreted my laugh as excitement. He reached out and cuffed my arm. “Atta boy.” The mask muffled his voice a little. “Get in the spirit of the thing.”

  “Don’t touch me.”

  Beast glanced between us. His scared eyes crinkled in confusion.

  T-Man scooted up, elbows on the backs of our seats. “Easy, Ice,” he said. “Easy.” Like he thought it was nerves.

  “Let’s get it over with,” I said, feeling the skin of my neck drawing tight, even as adrenaline jangled in my veins.

  Cyndra locked eyes with me.

  “Fine,” Michael said. “We’ll go in there.” He nodded at the delivery door. “LaShonda, you’re the l
ookout on the front door. Cyndra, you’re back door. T-Man, Beast, you’re wrecking. Rip it up.”

  Michael gestured to the back of the van, where a canvas tarp was folded. “Get whatever you need.”

  Beast flipped the tarp off a few hatchets, picks, a crowbar, even a chain saw. There were cans of spray paint and a couple buckets of red paint.

  Michael turned to me. “Ice, you find the surgical suite and dispensary. Grab all the drugs you can find.” He rummaged in the duffel and brought out a black backpack. Handed it to me.

  “Ready?” his eyes swept the group huddled in the van. “All in. Trash the bastard.”

  The back doors of the van opened with a shriek like a woman being stabbed. Michael and I piled out, slamming the doors behind us.

  We hustled up to the back door. It was unlocked. I guessed we had Trent to thank for that. T-Man tore through first, smashing tinted camera bubbles as he ran down the hall. LaShonda followed, disappearing through a swinging door into the front waiting room. I shouldered the backpack and started opening doors.

  All the doors on the right were little examining rooms like the one where Beast was already working. I hurried to each in turn, double-checking that they were empty.

  I found some cabinets and drawers in the hallway. Pried them open with the crowbar and found some samples in little blister packs. Shoved all of it into the bag.

  There was another private office complete with a massive desk. I didn’t even go in. After a janitor’s closet and another, lesser office, I found it.

  The surgical suite.

  Large silver lights hung in the middle of the space. There was a table for a patient to lie on and gleaming stainless steel trays on wheels. Suspended from the ceiling was a flat-screen monitor. A microscope under a cover stood to one side. There was a double sink with foot pedals, rolling cabinets. IV carts, tubes, sterile drapes. A portable X-ray machine. A defibrillator cart.

  You could almost smell the money.

  I went over to the rolling cabinets first. Immediately, I found vials of liquid and bottles of pills—some names I recognized from commercials or the street, sedatives, paralytics, antianxiety medicine, painkillers.