How to Live on the Edge

by Sarah Lynn Scheerger

  Chapter 34

  Over the next two days, something settles within Saffron. I give half the credit to Fletcher and her supportive gaggle of friends, and half to the six weeks we’ll have to wait to see a specialist. Saff’s forced to shift her focus—to sleep and eat and do homework and think about ordinary things. Maybe I get a teeny tiny bit of credit too? Like one percent? Because I keep promising her I’ll be proactive. I’ll listen to the doctors. I won’t make her get her boobies hacked all by herself. We’ll do it together.

  So in the spirit of moving on, we’ve decided to finish the next Mom video. One of Tee’s friends has whisked her and the Minions off for a thrilling afternoon at the community pool, so Saff has Tee’s car. I’ve graduated to a walking cast, and I can’t believe how free I feel. Just ditching those crutches has rebirthed me. I can actually bend to search for the hidden key from the flowerpot on Micah’s porch.

  Turns out I don’t need the key, though, because the door to Micah’s house is unlocked. This is strange because Alicia and Micah have driven up to Las Vegas for a cousin’s wedding. You’d think they’d lock the door when they’re out of town. Maybe Micah’s dad is in and out between flights.

  Unlocked doors always freak me out—my mind fastens on sinister intruders. The truth is lots of people choose not to lock their doors. Axel and his roommate never lock theirs. They’re more worried about being locked out themselves when they forget a key than about someone getting in. Luke, on the other hand, is a fanatic door locker.

  The darkened house sits cool and still. “Hello?” I call out after Saff and I enter. I flip on lights. Everything’s normal—cluttered, of course, but Alicia’s typical level of disarray.

  The enclosed porch, however, looks like it’s been ransacked.

  “Did we have an earthquake that I missed?” Saffron jokes. I think this might be her first wisecrack in days.

  “Micah and Alicia were probably looking for something and didn’t have time to put it back.”

  “You don’t think someone robbed them, do you?”

  “No. You think someone’s after all the treasures in this house?” I lace the comment with heavy sarcasm. If Alicia sold everything under her roof in a garage sale, she’d walk away with less than a thousand dollars. It’s all junk with sentimental value.

  Except for the technology, of course. I open the desk drawer that holds the laptop and charger. It’s empty.

  “Wait. Where’s the laptop?”

  Saff peeks inside. “It’s usually right here. Maybe someone did take it.”

  “It’s probably worth more than everything else in the room combined. Maybe someone came searching specifically for it.” I reconsider the unlocked door.

  “That video—the one we were in the middle of watching—she was starting to tell us about the money.” Saff sinks down onto the couch. “Possibly large amounts of money.”

  “Yeah but a thief wouldn’t know that. No one knows that,” I remind her.

  “Except Micah and Fletch.”

  “And Axel—I told Axel,” I remember.

  “Oh. My. God.” Saff stands up. “Do you think Axel took the laptop?”

  “Why do you go straight to him?” I’m offended. “It could’ve been Fletch.”

  Saff gives me an “oh please” look. Fletcher once drove fifteen minutes back to the grocery store when he realized they’d given him too much change. “Maybe Micah has it. He was the one who told us to stop watching. Right in the middle of Mom explaining about the money.” Saff’s voice turns shrill. “Cay—those videos and that journal are all we have left of Mom! We have to get it back!”

  “We will,” I promise, sounding way more confident than I feel. “Don’t panic. Let’s think this through. Micah’s had access to the laptop all along. Why would he take it? He could just keep watching the videos without us knowing. Maybe he’s even watched all of them already.”

  This idea unsettles something in my stomach. Maybe Micah knows how much money we’re getting. Maybe this is why he’s been so nice to me. Maybe this is why he said he wouldn’t care whether I had breasts or ovaries. I’d have watched ahead if I were him. I’ve been reading Saff’s journal entries—same difference, right?

  “You’re right,” Saff says, talking fast. “It’s not Micah. It’s Axel. You opened your big mouth about the money, and when he realized you were breaking up with him, he came here and snatched it. Simple.”

  “He can be an asshole,” I admit. “But he wouldn’t do that.”

  “Wouldn’t he? Didn’t he break into Donut Diva after he lost his job?”

  “Yeah, but just to take the money they owed him.”

  Saff looks pointedly at me. “And you don’t think he feels like you owe him something?”

  I digest this thought for a long time, so long in fact that Saff probably thinks I’ve short-circuited. I remember texting him to say that Mom probably buried the cash in a tin can, or came up with treasure hunt clues. Finally I say, “Let’s pay him a surprise visit.”

  ✱✱✱

  I’ve never seen Saff drive this fast. She’s whipping around turns, tires squealing, like she’s training for NASCAR. We screech up to Axel’s apartment.

  “We just gonna walk in?” Saff asks, climbing out of the car.

  “For damn sure.” I slam my door. “I’m not giving him a heads up.”

  I turn the front doorknob slowly. Unlocked, as usual, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. Will Axel be lounging in his bed, watching Netflix? Or out spending our money? The thought breaks me apart like a chisel to ice.

  The place is empty. Dirty dishes in the sink. Coffee stains on the counter. Laundry piled up in baskets and hanging from doorways. Axel’s roommate is not the neat freak he is. I close the door behind me.

  “Should we dig through his stuff?” Saff whispers, and I nearly laugh.

  “You’re asking me? Your morals trump mine by far. So if you’re good with it, so am I.”

  “Surprisingly, I feel totally okay about this. I kind of hate Axel, and I don’t normally hate anyone.”

  I tug her toward Axel’s room. “You are becoming one with your angry side. This means you are no longer a saint. Thank god. Welcome to humanhood.”

  Saff holds back, hesitant. “Do you think you should message him to see where he is? What if he walks in on us?”

  “I say, bring it on.”

  And with that, we comb Axel’s place. His room is military-organized and sparse. In one drawer we find a thick stack of cash bound with a girl’s hair band (oh my god) and five phone chargers (who needs that many?). Under his bed I find a lacy underwire bra (that does not happen to be mine—OH MY GOD). In his roommate’s mess of a room we find a long-lost remote control and two cockroaches (dead and crispy).

  I sit down on the floor, seething with fury. I cannot believe he has someone else’s bra! Don’t think about that right now. Focus, Cayenne. I spread the money in a half circle around me and start counting. Three hundred and seventeen dollars. Asshole. It’s one thing to be a self-centered reckless jerk, but to steal from me? And from Saff? Scum.

  “Should we steal it back?” Saff whispers, her eyes flashing with the excitement of revenge.

  “Absolutely.” I struggle to calm myself. “Maybe then he’ll think to lock his freaking door. Take basic precautions like a normal person.” Of course, I don’t have much room to criticize, given that I couldn’t even be bothered to wear a seat belt until recently . . . I shake my head. That was the old Cayenne. I’m no longer that person.

  I stack the money back up and slide it into my purse. It’s too thick to fit in my wallet. We return the chargers and the remote to their places. I keep the lacy bra—I’ll destroy it later. I’d love to put the crunchy cockroaches in Axel’s bed, but I can’t bear to pick them up.

  We scramble back out of the apartment, tripping over each other, and tumble into the car. My adrenaline shoots up, and with that flash of energy, an image of Axel bursts in
to my mind—as well as his smell, his touch, the texture of his skin. Although I’ve known for a while that Axel spells bad news for me, it’s not until this pivotal moment, running from his apartment, that I feel a complete severing from him. No going back. No repairing this relationship. I’m done.

  Saff zips down of the street, spinning around corners with the same fervor she showed on the way over. I tilt my head back and werewolf howl, prompting her to join in, which sets off a serious case of giggles. As we regain our breath, my pulse slows, and so does her driving. “Cayenne?” Saff works the words out of her mouth carefully, and with effort. “This is a lot of money, sure, but I was kind of thinking Mom would be leaving more than this. Otherwise why all the theatrics? Sure, this is a ton of cash for binge spending, but as an inheritance, it’s basically nothing. A few new outfits for each of us.”

  I absorb what she’s saying. “Huh. Good point.” I pull the bills out of my purse.

  “What if this isn’t our money?” Saff’s voice cracks. “What if Axel just doesn’t believe in bank accounts, and keeps his life savings in his underwear drawer?”

  I smooth the bills and place them back in my purse. “Then that would mean two things. One—we’re officially burglars. And two—someone else took our laptop.”

  Chapter 35

  We drive all the way home and zombie-watch a half hour of bad television before we decide we’ve made a terrible (and criminal) mistake, and that we’ve probably left our fingerprints all over his filthy apartment. We can’t agree whether this would be a misdemeanor or a felony, but either is bad, really bad. So we decide to go back, preferably as fast as possible without getting pulled over.

  I feebly argue that regardless, Axel deserves this for having SOMEONE ELSE’S BRA on his premises, but this argument falls flat. My adrenaline surge rebounds, double strength. Not that I wanted Axel to steal from us, but I can’t tolerate the possibility that Micah did. Saff refuses to consider Fletcher as a suspect. Plus Fletcher has a solid after-school job and well-off parents. He clearly isn’t hurting for cash.

  While Micah has this stellar house, I know about his dad’s gambling problem, and that he’d been hoping for a full scholarship for college but only got a partial. Would he have watched the video and taken the money? I can’t wrap my mind around this idea.

  I text him while Saff drives. Can’t find the laptop. We’re ready to hear about the $.

  No answer for a long time, and staring at my phone while Saff whips around turns is making me dizzy. Finally he responds, I took it. Sorry. I need it right now . . . probably more than you do. My second scholarship didn’t come through.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt truly incredulous in my life other than this moment. Disbelief hijacks my every cell. “Micah took it! He admits it!” I practically spit the words out like they taste bad. “What a faker. He acts like this stand-up guy and then meanwhile he’s stealing from us?”

  “Whaaat?” Saff swerves.

  “He said his scholarship didn’t come through. But come on, this is way over the line—”

  “Um, Cayenne?” Saff pulls to the curb back at Axel’s. “I think we have bigger problems now.” She points to Axel’s apartment building, where a police officer presses the buzzer. I instinctively suck in a deep breath. From our spot on the street, we watch. Axel opens the front door and speaks to the officer, waving his hands wildly.

  “Oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god.” Saff slumps forward on the wheel as if praying to the dashboard. “I can’t believe we did this.”

  “We can fix it. We’ll put it back.”

  “How?” Saff practically howls. “Axel’s at home, there’s a cop here—how can we put it back without getting caught?”

  “I’m still thinking.” The truth is, I have no idea. It’s not like I can slide it through his window or under his doormat. What if I hobble up there and claim I grabbed it by accident when packing up? Maybe I can say that I scooped it up along with my clothes when I left?

  In the absence of a better plan, and feeling urgency to act quickly, I unclick my seat belt. “I’m going up there. Stay here.”

  Saff nods weakly, probably relieved that she doesn’t have to be involved in returning the money. She’s a terrible liar anyway. She’d probably break down and confess immediately.

  I hobble over to the building, pulling the cash and the lacy bra out of my pocket. I wrap the bra around the money. It doesn’t fit neatly, of course, but it binds the loose bills, and it makes a point. Maybe I’ll hand this combo to Axel and say, “Oh, sorry, I realized I got home with the wrong bra, you asshole!” And then he’ll know that I’ve realized what a creeper he is. Adrenaline propels through my veins. I’m pissed. More than pissed. Righteously pissed.

  I open the door without knocking. My confidence rises when I realize the cop is a forty-something woman wearing a this-is-a-waste-of-my-time expression.

  “Hi there, officer. I’m sorry to interrupt. I just have to clear some things up with my ex.” I turn to Axel. “How long have we been broken up, Axel? Two days?”

  “Uh—” He glances around, like the answer is on the walls.

  “And when I came to pick up my stuff from your room, I accidentally grabbed SOMEONE ELSE’S BRA.”

  “What? Wait, that’s not what it looks like—”

  “Two days!” I add to the officer for emphasis. “After a year together.”

  “That’s not what happened.” He moves forward, lifting his sweaty arm. “I’ve had that bra for six months.”

  “You WHAT?”

  “I mean years—six years.” He seems flustered.

  “Six years ago you were twelve.” So that settles it—he’s been cheating on me. “Oh, you are so disgusting. I can’t believe I—” I swivel toward the cop. “Can you arrest him for being a royal asshole?”

  I throw the bra at him, and as the fabric spirals, it loosens and the money inside flies out everywhere. “I am so glad I never had sex with you! Oh, and by the way, here’s the money you said I could borrow.”

  “Wha—?” His eyes widen.

  I spin on my heel—well, as much as I can with my bum ankle—and hightail it out of there. If only I had time to snap a photo of Axel’s bewildered face and the way the cop is appraising him with a layer of irritation and disgust.

  I am so out of here.

  Chapter 36

  “Las Vegas, here we come!” It’s road trip time.

  We pack up Tee’s car with a ridiculous number of snacks, crank up the music and roll down the windows. Both seat belts securely strapped (Saff double checks mine), we car-dance along Interstate 15. We snagged Micah’s cousin’s wedding invitation from the Johnsons’ fridge, so I enter the address into Saff’s GPS. Our destination is approximately four hours away.

  I send Micah twenty-three texts, none of which he answers. Maybe his phone’s off, or maybe he’s gambling with our money, trying to increase his haul. So now, we’re tracking him down. Or rather, we’re tracking his mom down. Because we’re planning to tell on him.

  “Men are scum,” I say, checking my phone to see if Micah’s magically texted me in the last five minutes. “Axel cheated on me. Micah stole from us.”

  “There’s got to be an explanation. I totally believe Axel would steal from us. Micah—I just think there’s got to be a reason for this.”

  “I know the reason. He’s ‘borrowing’ the money—he’s trying to win more in Vegas so he doesn’t need to take out loans. He probably plans to pay it back eventually, assuming he doesn’t lose it all. Simple.”

  “I don’t think so, Cay. That’s not his character.”

  “Character shmaracter. People take care of themselves.”

  “Yes and no. I mean, of course, if someone’s starving or something, they do drastic things,” Saff says. “But except for super dire circumstances, people make choices based on who they are.”

  “Okay, then how do you justify the ‘breaking and entering’ we just committed in the name of revenge? That’s no
t your character. You’re law abiding to a fault. You might be the most honest person in the history of the world.”

  Saffron is quiet for a few moments. Finally she sighs this long, drawn-out, leaky-tire kind of sigh. She pulls off the road and turns down the music. It kind of freaks me out. “Um, Cayenne?” Saff’s voice is tiny, almost childlike. “I have to tell you something.” Saff sucks in a huge breath. “I, uh . . .”

  “Spit it out. Are you a vampire? Or a spy?”

  Saff’s face is serious. “I don’t have the gene mutation.”

  “Whaaaat?” It takes me a few moments to register what she just said. “That’s fabulous!” The pressure that’s been in my chest for weeks dissipates. “Wait. Why the hell did you tell me you did?”

  “I didn’t actually tell you I did. I just didn’t tell you I didn’t.” The classic lie of omission.

  I study her face, trying to understand. “But we were planning joint surgeries. To do it together.” Complicated emotions are flickering in my gut. Relief—she doesn’t have it, she’ll be okay. Anger—she convinced me she had it and pressured me to make a decision. What if I’d had sex with Axel and gotten pregnant? Hopefulness—maybe now I can buy myself more time to figure out how to handle this . . .

  “I’ll still do it with you. Look, our family history is horrific, whether or not I’ve got the gene mutation. I bet insurance will still cover the surgery as a precaution.”

  I might cry.

  This is maybe the most generous thing anyone has ever been willing to do for me. I intend to talk her out of it, but I’m too choked up to get anything out. So Saff goes on, “I wish I was the one who had this stupid gene mutation. I’d trade with you in a heartbeat. I know I’d do the right thing. I’d be proactive. I’d do anything to be here for you. And I’ve been afraid you won’t do the same for me. Me telling you this—it can’t change anything.”

  “Yeah, but it does. For you—not me. It has to change your outlook.” I put my hands on her shoulders and awkwardly twist her so that she’s facing me squarely. “I promised you, Saffron. I’m going to take care of myself. And now, I’m going to make you promise me something. That you’ll make the best decision for your specific medical risk. Not for mine. You’re right that you still have the family history, and you could still be at risk. But you do not have to have surgery just to make sure I do. I’ll do it because I want to be here for you—and for myself, because I want to be here too. Let’s just keep the appointment with the specialist, and we can figure out what’s best for each of us.”