Under Locker and Key

by Allison K. Hymas

  How on earth did I not see this lunatic coming?

  “I don’t mean to be a pain, but can you and I have a little privacy to talk?” I tilted my head at Mark’s buddies, who were still milling around.

  Mark nodded and laid the sweet charm on his associates: Hey, I’ll see you later, got to finish up some business, you know how sixth graders can be, all the usual lines. He still had that glow around him, that arrogance of someone who’s gotten away with a crime. I knew it well; all the people who ripped off my clients had the same glow. I guess Mark hadn’t looked into my eyes yet and seen that the game was up.

  “So,” Mark said, putting a hand on my shoulder, “what can I do for you? Oh, wait. I remember. You want payment.” He dug into his jeans and pulled out a crumpled green bill. Stretching it to full length in front of my face, he added, “No chocolate cake for you, my friend. You’re worth a little more than that.”

  I froze, mesmerized by Andrew Jackson. Most clients paid me for my services—it made them feel honest—but payment usually came in the form of chocolate cake or IOUs for future favors. An actual greenback, and twenty dollars at that, shone just like the clip-on waterproof flashlight it would buy.

  I closed my eyes and shook off the spell. “I’m sorry,” I said, looking up past the money to Mark’s face, “but I can’t accept that.”

  “Not enough?”

  “No, it’s plenty.” Oh, so much money. I could put it toward a real set of night-vision goggles. “It’s just that the job isn’t finished.”

  Threatening an eighth grader isn’t something one does lightly, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t take comfort in the fact that he was a nobody to his classmates. “You hired me to retrieve a stolen key, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Mark chuckled and folded his arms. He stared at me, releasing short bursts of laughter as if that would make everything I said a joke. After a minute his grin faded. “You’re not serious.”

  “I seriously am.”

  “Look. You did good, kid. Take the money and revel in a job well done. The master key. Kids will be talking about that for weeks. Well, maybe days. At least until they have something better to talk about.” He laughed again.

  I bristled at him calling me “kid” but moved past it. “No one knows about the master key, so I doubt they’ll talk about it. But that’s good news. It’s not too late; give me back the key and I’ll return it, no one the wiser.” I didn’t actually think he’d accept my offer, but it was worth a shot. For good measure I played the guilt card. “Stealing is wrong.”

  Mark rolled up the twenty and shoved it back in his pocket. “Like I believe you mean that. You’re the school’s biggest thief . . . or you were.”

  I wanted to argue that retrieving wasn’t stealing, but you can’t argue with crazy. “What are your plans for the key?”

  “What does that matter to you?”

  “It always matters to me when a new . . . thief . . . encroaches on my territory.”

  Thief. The word felt dirty in my mouth. But Mark, through his trickery, had turned me into what I had fought against since starting at Scottsville Middle. Like it or not, until the key was returned, I was a thief.

  As I spoke, I watched Mark’s face. Dealing with Becca had taught me that even the barest twitch of the eyebrows could speak volumes. And believe me, she caught every unspoken word. Mark never betrayed shame or guilt, but his eyes widened, just a twitch, during my last sentence.

  “You’re thinking of making a name for yourself as Scottsville’s new thief,” I said, trying to channel Becca’s annoying smugness.

  Mark smiled. “Why not? If you can do it, how hard can it be?”

  “I’ll tell you, it’s pretty easy when you have a master key doing all the work for you.” I shook my head. “Taking the easy way out like that? You disgust me. Have you no professional pride?”

  “Maybe not,” Mark said. “But pride is worth nothing. We know that. We know what really matters.”

  “And what is that?” I was so sick of this kid.

  “Being untouchable.” Mark’s smile had slipped away. He folded an arm across his chest, resting his hand on the bruise on his arm. “With all the powerful people you’ve stolen from in the last year, someone should have dropped you facedown in the Dumpster behind the gym, or at least complained to a teacher. But that hasn’t happened. No one touches you, Jeremy. They all know that if they mess with you, you can take everything they own and reveal secrets they might not even know they had. The power you have makes them afraid of you. Your name, your reputation, is your shield.”

  Mark was right: I hadn’t been picked on or sent to the principal or anything you might expect after retrieving from so many scary people. I’d been so focused on doing my work and avoiding Becca that I hadn’t even noticed. Was he also right that it was because I, with my reputation preceding me, was scarier than the biggest, meanest bully in the lunchroom? That thought made my stomach clench.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You think using the key to rob everyone will give you a big, scary reputation and no one will ever bother you again.”

  Mark narrowed his eyes. “I know it will. Fear is the best protection a guy can have, and once treasures start vanishing from people’s lockers without any evidence of a break-in, I’ll inspire that fear.”

  “Hard to do that when no one knows you’re the one stealing from them.”

  “Oh, they’ll know. It’s all about timing. I’ll let them stew in their fear for a little while, and then I’ll start a rumor and everyone will know enough to call me a thief. They’ll call me a master thief. No one will touch me. But you, little Jeremy Wilderson, will fade into obscurity. The king is dead; long live the—”

  “Shut up.” I worked to keep my teeth from grinding. “Obscurity? I’m going to be here for two more years. You don’t even have two weeks.”

  Mark grinned. “Nothing like going out with a bang. A bang, by the way, that will echo through high school. People think that middle school is the end of it. They’re wrong. It’s only the beginning. What I start here will build in high school until everyone knows who I am.”

  This guy was a moron. “You can’t start anything when you can’t even use the key. It will be months before the heat dies down enough that no one connects the key with the thefts.”

  An evil glint lit Mark’s eye. “Good thing I didn’t steal the key.”

  That stopped me cold. Clever guy, using me to steal the master key. He could go ahead with his plans because every scrap of evidence left at the scene—if I left any—would lead back to me. I didn’t leave evidence; I don’t unless I want to. But I also had a reputation as sticky-fingered. If the other students lost precious objects, they’d blame me first.

  “Why do you think I’m waiting to reveal myself? First you’ll have to get caught,” Mark said. “The big, scary thief will have fallen, and no one will fear you anymore. But then I’ll rise, using the key to steal on a level you never had the courage to try, and they’ll transfer that fear to me, the new thief in town.”

  Never had the courage? Was that what he thought was holding me back from being the criminal he clearly wanted to be?

  I’d lost my patience with this idiot. “And let me guess: When you release these rumors and tell everyone that you’re the thief, you’re not going to mention using the master key, are you? No, that will be your secret.” I shook my head. “Come on. You’re no thief. You hired me to get that key to frame me, sure, but you couldn’t do it yourself. You don’t have a thief’s brain, and you certainly don’t have the mojo to pull off a heist of any size, let alone the big score you’re dreaming of, without cheating. But I do. Everyone says I’m the best at what I do, and they’re right. You should be scared of me, because there is nowhere you can hide that key that I can’t find it.”

  A slight flicker of fear tripped over Mark’s face, and I knew I had him. Then he smiled and said, “Good luck with that. As people start losing stuff, I wonder how lon
g you’ll have to track down one tiny key before they haul you in.” He turned and left.

  I was really getting sick of people ending conversations with me by walking away, but I wasn’t stupid enough to follow him. I bit my lip in frustration and walked to the seventh-grade hall to wait for Mom.

  I KNOW I SAID THAT I wanted an exciting job, but this was becoming too exciting. Mark had the key and was not afraid to use it. The next day I’d be busy with kids looking to hire me to retrieve the stuff they lost, and on top of that I’d have to work on a plan to outwit Mark.

  I meant what I said to Mark: The job wasn’t done yet. This whole mess was my fault because I’d stolen the master key, so it was my responsibility to take it back. It’s just what I do: retrieve stolen property and return it to its rightful owner. Mom would be so proud of me if she knew about my work.

  But I wasn’t blind to the challenges.

  I would have to find the key, a three-inch-long piece of metal that Mark could have duct-taped into his armpit for all I knew (and I wouldn’t put it past him). Then I would have to return everything he took without getting caught by him or any of the teachers, who wouldn’t understand if stolen goods turned up in my backpack. And the clock was ticking. The job was a lot to handle. Too much for one guy.

  Ask Case and Hack? No. Definitely not. They would help me, but as long as the key was missing, my back had a target painted on it. If Case and Hack got involved and helped me poke around, they’d get that same target on theirs. Mark could easily point the finger at me. It would only take a few more words to implicate my friends. This wasn’t dealing with a few dollars of lunch money; this job had high stakes.

  Also, if Mark’s plan worked and he started to accumulate street cred as he committed his crime spree, he could get a few more friends. Big friends. Nasty friends. Friends who liked to hurt people. I was certain that Mark would send those friends after me, and anyone who helped me, if I tried to get the key back. Giving up the master key to Mark was not an option. I could put myself in harm’s way over a mistake I made, but I wouldn’t ever put Case and Hack in that position. No, Case and Hack had to stay in the dark on this one.

  I wouldn’t need a forger or a hacker for this job. Hack could keep working on getting himself ungrounded, and Case could stay busy being art class’s golden boy and working on his submission to the county’s summer art competition. (Remember the Picasso I mentioned? That’s not it.)

  But I needed help. Someone athletic enough to handle goons, but smart enough to play whatever con was needed. I had some contacts in the underground who might help—kids who tended to know where stolen stuff ended up—but they were thieves, and the master key was too tempting a prize. I had to find someone honest, someone the teachers would trust over Mark if he tried to implicate them in the theft, and someone who wouldn’t take the package and run once the job was over. Someone who might put rules above everything, but cares about student welfare above her own personal gain.

  I only knew one person who fit the description. And after Mom drove me home, I walked across the street to talk to her.

  “Hey, Becca,” I said when she opened her door. “Got a moment?”

  “If you’re here to confess, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  I peered into her house. “Are you home alone?”

  “Dad’s working on his closing remarks and Mom’s following a lead on a breaking-and-entering case. Why?”

  I took the liberty of walking into her front hall. “Because I don’t want to be overheard by the lawyer and the cop.”

  Yep. Lawyer and cop. And Becca’s their unholy offspring.

  She glared at me. “Rude, much?”

  “Can you close the door?”

  Becca did as I asked, but her face expressed how much she would have loved an excuse to throw me out the window just like Miss Trunchbull from Matilda. After she shut the door, she turned to me with folded arms. “Well?”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “All right, it was me. I stole the master key. I’m your thief.”

  Becca beamed like Christmas had come early and Santa had given her the stun gun she wanted. “I never thought you’d actually give yourself up,” she said, and laughed. “Hold on. Let me get my camera so I can capture this moment and keep it forever.”

  I grabbed her arm as she spun to go upstairs. “I’m not done yet,” I said. “There’s a lot more to this. We might want to sit down.”

  She led me to the kitchen table, where we sat and I told her about Mark and how he used me to get the key. Becca didn’t look sympathetic; her eyes and the tilt of her mouth screamed that I’d had it coming. When I explained Mark’s plan to steal from the lockers, her composure cracked. But when I presented my proposal, it shattered completely.

  “No way am I helping you with any thief work!”

  “Hear me out, Becca.” Neither of us was sitting anymore. She paced the hardwood floor, circling the table, and I followed, trying to make her see the sense of joining forces.

  “Not going to happen, Wilderson. I’ve got what I want. You said you stole the key. You’re going to do time in detention, and I’ll be there to see it. Maybe even try to get everything you’ve done on your permanent record. Problem solved.”

  “Not quite.”

  She stopped pacing and looked at me. I grinned. “You don’t have me.”

  “You confessed.”

  “Maybe. But if I did, it was off the record. I didn’t say anything in front of an authority figure, I didn’t write it down, and I didn’t do anything stupid like, say, let myself get captured saying it. And proof is everything, isn’t it, in your business?”

  Becca’s mouth opened, and she swelled like she was going to yell at me, but nothing came out. She knew I was right. She had nothing but what I was willing to give her.

  “And suppose you did get me on record,” I added. “Best-case scenario: You’ll have me, but Mark will have the key. And Scottsville will be trapped in a massive crime spree. You’ll have solved nothing.”

  For a moment Becca looked unsure, but before long the old hard-boiled façade returned. She leaned against the table, facing me. “I know Mark has the key. All I have to do is turn him in to the principal.”

  I sat down and leaned back in the kitchen chair, two legs tipped off the floor, and looked up at her. “It will be Mark’s word against yours. And if he doesn’t have the key on his person, you’ll have no proof.”

  Becca pushed back on my chair, sending me crashing to the floor with a thud. “I should drag you into school and force you to confess in front of the principal. Then they’d know you stole the key and that Mark has it now.”

  Flat on my back, I waited until the pain subsided before giving her my best innocent expression. “Imagine how silly you would look when I said I had no idea what you were talking about.”

  Silence. Becca walked around the table as I stood up and returned the chair to its place. She sat down across from me with the sun streaming through the window behind her.

  “This,” she said. “This is why I hate you. You think you can get away with anything. And what’s worse? You. Always. Can.” She slammed her fists down on the table.

  “Yeah, Mark said something like that. He wants people to fear him like they fear me.”

  Becca leaned back. Her face was shadowed, but I saw her smiling. “Oh, that’s what you think it is.”

  “That’s what Mark thinks.” Personally, I’d rather not be feared. I hated the thought that Mark was right and the only reason I was good at stopping bad guys was because I was the nastiest monster out there. That’s not who I wanted to be.

  “Let me tell you something, Wilderson,” Becca said in a mild tone that made me think this was a bedtime story I’d prefer not to hear. “Remember the Rance McLeod job?”

  I thought back. “Stolen skateboard?”

  Becca nodded. “That’s the one.”

  Rance McLeod, seventh grader, stole a skateboard from sixth grader Jake Piedmont
. It was a simple job, one of my first, back in October.

  “I’d been noticing some strange things going on since school started,” Becca said. “People losing things and then getting them back. Doors unlocked when they should have been locked. I saw Jake without the skateboard in the morning, and then I saw him leaving school with it.”

  “What can I say? I work fast.”

  “I talked to Jake, and he gave me your name,” Becca said. “I investigated, but I found no evidence of theft. So I took Rance’s statement. He told me he knew you retrieved the skateboard from his locker, and that you were behind a number of similar cases. But do you know what?”

  “What?” The word was a trap; I shouldn’t have said it.

  “When I asked Rance to come with me and tell Principal McDuff what you did, testify against your vicious rule-breaking, he refused. Why? Because he said you’d once retrieved a retainer for him, and he might need you to do it again one day.” Becca bared her teeth and leaned over the table. “People aren’t scared of you, Wilderson; they’re scared that one day you won’t be there to help them when they need you.”

  “Oh.” I leaned, one-handed, on the table and thought, Now, that’s better than being feared. “That’s good.”

  “No, it’s disgusting!” Becca stood up and jabbed a finger at me. “Why should you get away with crime when no one else can? Why are you above the rules? Who made you so special? And then, after I talked to Rance, you had the gall to rub your illegal security in my face by asking me to join you! Someone needs to make you pay, just like everyone pays, and if no one else will put together a case against you, then I guess I’ll do it!”

  Becca was shaking. Her pointed finger hung in the air, a physical accusation. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Put together that case against me. But not right now. Mark is a bigger threat to the school than I am, and even though you hate me, I think you know that.”

  Becca sank back into her chair, folded her arms, and nodded once.