Ant-Man

by Jason Starr

  Scott had been called to testify at the trial. The evidence against Dugan was overwhelming—witness accounts, DNA samples, security-video footage of one of the murders—and Scott wanted to do whatever he could to help put Dugan behind bars. He felt a personal responsibility to help send Dugan away for life, so he couldn’t kill again. Scott had a lot of guilt: If he hadn’t saved Dugan in that fire, the people Dugan had killed would still be alive.

  Logically, Scott knew he wasn’t responsible, but that didn’t change the way he felt.

  During the trial, Dugan didn’t make eye contact with Scott. Not during the testimony, or when he was entering or exiting the courtroom—never. Scott knew this was purposeful, that Dugan was trying to send him a message—but what was the message?

  Dugan was convicted on two counts of first-degree murder. The judge handed down a series of compounding sentences that added up to life in prison. But Scott still had a gnawing feeling that he hadn’t heard the last of Willie Dugan.

  So it didn’t really surprise Scott when he learned, last year, that Dugan and several inmates had spent nine years diligently building a tunnel and had escaped from Attica, one of the most notorious and highest-security prisons in the country. If anybody had the patience and determination to pull off such a complicated and well-coordinated escape, it was Willie Dugan. Dugan was a mastermind, a genius, and one of the most determined people Scott had ever met. He wasn’t an off-the-cuff kind of guy—he was a planner. So it also didn’t surprise Scott that the other guys who’d escaped with him had been caught within twenty-four hours, while Dugan remained a fugitive. Dugan always had a plan, and he was usually a couple of steps ahead of the cops. He was a patient man, perhaps the most patient man Scott had ever met. He wasn’t a risk taker. He didn’t gamble unless he was one-hundred-percent certain that the odds were in his favor.

  Scott knew that Dugan loved to play the long game—he probably had some big plan in mind. Did that plan include killing Scott and his family as the grand finale to his murder spree? That was the big question.

  There was no way Scott could sleep now—he had way too much on his mind. He paced the apartment, snacked on a small pizza left in the fridge from a few days ago. One thing he wasn’t great at was keeping up with the food shopping. He munched on the pizza until he realized how sucky it tasted, and then threw the rest in the trash.

  He went down to check out the situation. It wasn’t hard to spot the Feds—had to be that black Charger across the street with the tinted windows. He was officially under protective custody. This was actually happening.

  Back in the apartment, his cell phone chimed, announcing an incoming text. It was from his ex:

  WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!!!!!

  She was pissed off—no surprise there. Was there any ex-wife in the world who wouldn’t flip out over having to go into protective custody because of her ex-husband?

  Trying to calm her down, Scott responded:

  I’ll make this go away, don’t worry I promise.

  She fired back:

  You better, or ELSE!!!!

  He didn’t appreciate the threat. What did “or else” mean? Would she get vindictive and reveal to the Feds that Scott was Ant-Man? Peggy loved Cassie, and Scott didn’t think she’d do anything that potentially could endanger her daughter. That said, Scott’s criminal past had been a major issue in his relationship with Peggy, and he’d worked hard to convince her he’d gone straight for good. The last thing he needed now was for her to have new information she could use against him. In a worst-case scenario, she could argue that he was an unfit parent and that she should have full custody of Cassie. Scott had been trying hard to provide stability for Cassie, and the last thing he wanted to do was put her in the middle of another custody battle. And if Peggy was determined to take Cassie to Oregon, a judge could easily rule in her favor since a) the courts often ruled in favor of the mothers in custody cases, and b) Scott was an ex-con with a long rap sheet.

  The arrival of the Feds hadn’t brought on a full-fledged fight-or-flight reaction from Scott, but this did. Cassie wasn’t just Scott’s daughter. She was his best friend—and the main reason he’d decided to turn his life around. The thought of losing her was unimaginable. He knew she was better off with him in New York.

  Scott wrote back:

  Trust me Just relax All will be well

  and left it at that.

  He knew from experience that antagonizing Peggy was always a mistake. It was a better strategy to back off and keep the peace.

  She didn’t text back, so maybe she’d let things settle down. Maybe the police would catch Dugan, and this whole thing would blow over. The protection order would be lifted, and they’d all be able to go on with their lives.

  Scott lay in bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He had a gnawing feeling that before things got better, they were going to get much, much worse.

  USUALLY when Cassie Lang’s alarm went off, she groaned, hit snooze, and stayed in bed for as long as possible. But today she couldn’t wait to get to school and see Tucker McKenzie. She would probably see him during lunch and before humanities because there was some kind of tenth-grade class on the same floor. She’d only spoken to him twice so far: once when they passed each other near their lockers and he said “Hey” to her and she said “Hey” back, and another time when she saw him after school outside a pizza place on York Avenue and he said, “Yo, what’s up?” and she was so excited he’d noticed her that she’d stuttered, “Oh, uh-uh, hi.” But she knew it was only a matter of time until they started hanging out.

  She got dressed in her favorite jeans and that cool new top from Uniqlo, but the top didn’t look as good as when she’d tried it on in the store, so she put on the purple one from H&M. She didn’t really like it either, but she didn’t have anything else to wear. This was how it had been since her mom had moved to Portland, Oregon, and she found herself living full time with her dad. Last time she went shopping, he gave her two hundred dollars, which was like nothing in Manhattan. She understood that they were living on a budget, and that it was hard to pay for things as a single parent, but it still sucked when she couldn’t find anything nice to wear. Her dad had a lot of great qualities, but he didn’t get how important it was for her to look cool at school.

  In the bathroom, she checked herself in the full-length and decided that she didn’t look so bad. Kind of cute, actually—especially after she put on her makeup, including the new shadow she’d bought yesterday. She hoped the makeup made her look older, too, like a tenth-grader. She was pretty sure it did.

  She went to the fridge to get some breakfast, a quick bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, when she heard: “Cassie.”

  She turned around, startled. Her dad stood there with some gray-haired guy she’d never seen before. The guy didn’t look very old—he just had gray hair.

  “What are you doing home?” Cassie asked. Her dad usually left for work before she woke up.

  “We need to have a little talk,” Scott said.

  Cassie thought, Did I do something wrong? Her dad had been getting weirdly strict with her lately about stuff like texting at the dinner table, but was there really anything to talk about? And what did that have to do with the gray-haired stranger? Was this some kind of punishment?

  “What did I do?” Cassie asked.

  “You didn’t do anything,” Scott said. “But something happened. Nothing bad, but, well… Roger’s going to take you to school.”

  “Roger?” Cassie asked.

  “I’m Roger,” the man said.

  “Yeah, I kinda figured that,” Cassie said. Then to her dad: “But why is he taking me to school? What’s going on? Is this like some kind of joke?”

  Her dad took a deep breath, then said, “There’s a situation, Cassie.”

  Cassie barely listened as her dad went on about how this was just temporary, but there was a chance some guy might have a grudge against him, and this was just a precaution, and it would be over soon. All she was rea
lly thinking about was how embarrassing it would be to go to school with this weird guy along with her.

  She interrupted whatever her dad was saying with, “I’m going to school alone today.”

  “I’m sorry,” her dad said. “You have to do it. We both do. I’m not exactly crazy about the situation myself, but apparently we have no choice.”

  “I don’t need any protection,” Cassie said.

  “It’s for your own good,” the guy, Roger, said.

  “This is all your fault,” Cassie said to her dad. “It’s all because of the past, isn’t it? Because of all the criminals you used to hang out with?”

  “Yes, it is sort of related to that,” her dad said. “Okay, totally related to that.”

  “See?” Cassie couldn’t control herself. “This is why Mom left. Because you’re always screwing things up. And you think just because you’re—”

  Cassie was about to say, “You’re Ant-Man,” but before she could, her dad cut her off:

  “Okay, I think that’s enough. Eat your breakfast and then go to school with Roger, and we’ll discuss this later. Is that understood?”

  “No,” Cassie said. “It’s not understood.”

  But she knew there was no point in arguing about it anymore—once her dad got all serious, that was it, the discussion was over—so she went back to her cereal. She had no appetite, though. After a couple of bites, she marched into the living room, grabbed her knapsack, and left the apartment without looking at her dad or Roger.

  Roger followed her downstairs and out of the building, hurrying to catch up to her.

  “My school’s only three blocks away. This is so stupid,” she said.

  Roger was telling her how he understood, and his goal was to inconvenience her as little as possible. Cassie stopped listening and started looking around for people. Meaning people who went to her high school. Oh my god, there was Ryan across the street, walking with Nikki and Carly, and ahead of them there were Charles and Justin.

  “This is so embarrassing,” Cassie said.

  “I have a daughter, too, so I get it,” Roger said. “My daughter’s twenty-three now.”

  “Did a strange guy your daughter had never met ever walk her to school in the ninth grade?”

  “Well, no,” he said.

  “Then how do you get it?” Cassie said.

  He tried to explain, but Cassie wasn’t listening. She walked with her head down, hoping no one saw her.

  When they were around the corner from school, she said, “Okay, I can walk alone from here.”

  “Sorry, have to stay with you all day,” Roger said.

  Cassie stopped walking and said, “Wait, all day? I thought you were just walking me to school. You can’t go into the school with me—they won’t let you.”

  “The school already knows about the situation,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet.”

  “Discreet? You’re gonna follow me around school all day, and you expect to be discreet?”

  “I do this all the time,” he said. “Well, not all the time, but a lot of the time, and I know how to stay out of the way, okay?”

  “I’m going home,” Cassie said, and headed back toward her apartment.

  Walking next to her, Roger said, “Look, come on, trust me. You’re imagining this is going to be much worse than it will actually be.”

  Cassie shot him a look.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Roger said. “I just mean it won’t be so bad. And if you skip school, you’ll miss out on learning and just hurt yourself.”

  Cassie remembered that she had a big precalculus test today she couldn’t miss—and, besides, she was dying to see Tucker. “Whatever,” she said, and turned back toward school.

  She hoped Roger was right, and today wouldn’t be as bad as she imagined. When she entered the building on Seventy-Sixth Street, she pretended that it was a normal day, and Roger wasn’t right there behind her. She stared straight ahead, trying not to notice the weird looks she knew everyone was giving her.

  At least Roger didn’t come into homeroom with her.

  But Cassie’s friend Zoe noticed, because she asked, “Who’s that guy?”

  “What guy?” Cassie asked, trying to play dumb. Then said, “Oh, him. He’s just a, like, school supervisor, or something.”

  That didn’t make any sense, but she couldn’t think of any other explanation.

  “A school what?” Zoe asked.

  “He just like monitors students sometimes and… it’s nothing, never mind.”

  Zoe didn’t push it, but eventually everyone in school would be asking her about Roger—especially if this went on for days, weeks, or even months. What if this guy had to follow her around for the rest of high school? Maybe she could make up a story—tell people he was, like, Secret Service. She could say her dad was running for governor of New York, and that was why she needed protection. But would anybody believe that? They could just google “governor candidates New York” and find out it was a total lie.

  Ugh, she hated Google—she hated everything. And any way she looked at it, she was screwed.

  Roger followed Cassie to her first class, drama, but it wasn’t so bad. The hallways were crowded, and Roger wasn’t right next to her, so people didn’t seem to notice.

  Then Cassie saw that Tucker and a few of his friends—including Nikki and Carly—were looking at her and laughing. She hoped she was just being self-conscious. Maybe they weren’t really laughing at her. Maybe they were laughing about something else.

  But then later, before chemistry, it happened again. Tucker and a couple of his friends—different friends—kind of smirked at her and walked away.

  Cassie—with Roger trailing her like an annoying shadow—found Zoe near the lockers and said, “Why are people giving me weird looks? Did you tell them something about you-know-what?”

  “No,” Zoe said. “I don’t even know what to tell them. You didn’t tell me anything.”

  Cassie felt bad for accusing her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just really weird. Tucker McKenzie and all these other people keep looking at me funny like they know something, but I don’t know what it could possibly be.”

  “Oh my god,” Zoe said. “I think I know what it is.”

  “What?” Cassie asked.

  “You sure you want to know?”

  “Yes, tell me.”

  Zoe took out her phone, opened Instagram, and showed Cassie the display. It was a post by Nikki with a screenshot of Cassie’s text from last night:

  Cassie Lang: I think I’m in luv w Tucker McKenzie

  “Oh my god,” Cassie said. “I can’t believe Nikki did that to me. It’s so humiliating.”

  “When I read it, I thought you and Tucker were like a couple,” Zoe said.

  “We’re not a couple,” Cassie said. “I texted her last night, in like total confidence. Why did she do that to me?”

  “’Cause she’s jealous and wants Tucker for herself,” Zoe said. “Just a wild guess.”

  The bell sounded for the next period.

  As Cassie headed to class, Roger came up next to her and asked, “Something wrong?”

  “None of your business,” Cassie said.

  “I saw you looking at that girl’s phone,” Roger said. “You didn’t get an email or some message from an address you don’t recognize, did you? If you did, I have to know about it.”

  “It’s just an Instagram post, okay?” Cassie said. “It has nothing to do with you or my dad. I have a life, too, you know!”

  Cassie marched ahead and went into the classroom.

  At lunch, Cassie and Zoe went to Beanocchio’s, their usual coffee-lunch place on York, knowing that Nikki would be there, too. Nikki was at the table in back with a few other girls, and they all smiled and giggled when they saw Cassie approaching.

  “Why did you do it?” Cassie asked.

  “Do what?” Nikki pretended to be clueless.

  The other girls we
re listening in.

  “Come on, it was just a joke,” Nikki said. “Why’re you taking it so seriously?”

  “Take it down,” Cassie said.

  “Take what down?”

  “You know what.”

  “Oh that,” Nikki continued. “You texted it to me. I thought it was, like, public knowledge.”

  “I can’t believe you did that to me.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Please take it down.”

  “It’s my Instagram—I’ll do whatever I want.”

  Cassie didn’t understand why Nikki was acting so mean. She’d thought they were good friends. Was Nikki showing off for the other girls, trying to act cool?

  “I’ll tell the dean at school,” Cassie said. “It’s cyberbullying.”

  The girls laughed.

  “Oh, please! I was just being funny,” Nikki said. “You want me to take it down? Fine.” She took out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, then said, “Okay, it’s deleted, but the damage is done. Tucker’s never going to like you now.”

  “You’re horrible,” Cassie said.

  “Tucker McKenzie doesn’t think so,” Nikki said. “And why is that guy following you around, anyway? It’s, like, creepy.”

  Cassie hadn’t been in a fight since she was about eight years old and a girl at a playground had tried to push her off a slide, but she wanted to attack Nikki right now. Not in a girly way with face-slapping and hair-pulling: Cassie wanted to tackle her, punch her in the face. She couldn’t do it, of course, because she’d get suspended and, oh yeah, there was an FBI agent a few feet away watching her.

  So she left the coffee shop and skipped eating lunch. She walked back toward the school, with Roger following her the whole time.

  She zoned out a lot the rest of the school day, trying to forget how miserable she was. Teachers called on her to participate in class a couple of times, and she was lost—had no idea what was going on—and everyone laughed. She couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

  Finally the day ended, and she rushed home. Roger had to check the apartment to make sure that guy who was after her father wasn’t hiding in there— as if the guy was like Houdini or something, and could get in and out of a locked apartments without anyone noticing.