Narc

by Crissa-Jean Chappell

  “The sickest 2-D platform game of all time,” said Brent. “I’ll take the old-school NES over the Xbox. Those 360 games give me a freaking headache.”

  As he blabbed on about alien life forms, my mind shifted back to Finch and the deal. How long would it take? I didn’t know how this stuff worked. The most hardcore thing I’d done was buy weed off Collin’s brother.

  “Shall we battle?” Brent asked.

  “I’m kinda out of practice.”

  He grabbed a joystick. “I’ll be gentle.”

  I hadn’t played the game since junior high, but I remembered all the cheat codes and tricks, like how to jump through walls. Brent was impressed. “You’ve got to teach me some tricks, man. You’re, like, the old-school master.”

  I shrugged. “It’s all good.”

  “You’ve got a lot of rage inside you.”

  This took me by surprise. “You think?”

  “It’s cool, man. My dad used to beat the shit out of me and I’d hide in my room all day, playing Quake with my friends online. Just pretending I was fragging him.”

  When Brent told me this, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. I mean, I still hated the kid. But it was pretty obvious he had problems of his own.

  Didn’t everybody?

  When we stepped outside, Finch had already disappeared. The girls were getting restless. Morgan wanted to walk to a gas station for a Red Bull. Skully kept dancing around, pretending to karate-chop me in the face. We squeezed into Brent’s car, a black-and-white Mini Cooper that he called Nigel because it’s “the most British-sounding name” he could think of.

  He sped down Biscayne Boulevard, swerving between lanes. I looked at him and wondered if he was really okay to be driving. I still wasn’t sure what he had in his system. Skully stared dreamily out the passenger window. Morgan bounced in the back seat, her long legs sprawled across my lap. Not that I was complaining.

  We pulled into the Shell station near my place. It felt strange coming here with the group of them.

  Brent jumped out. “Want anything?”

  “I’m good,” I told him.

  As soon as he took off, a truck pulled up, blasting rap anthems.

  “Check out the yo-bros,” said Skully.

  The guys in the truck were checking us out, too. One of them leaned out the backseat, a musclehead in a Miami Hurricanes jacket. He tossed a Fanta bottle, which bounced against the driver’s side door, spewing an orange geyser. Talk about gross.

  “Ugh. That is so wrong,” Morgan said.

  The guy who tossed the bottle was hooting with his buddies. I could tell they were wasted and looking for a fight.

  “Just ignore those assholes,” I said. “It’s not even worth it.”

  Skully popped up through the sunroof. “You homeboys want to mess with me?” she shouted. “Nice rims. What is that? Compensation? You got short man syndrome?”

  The girls cackled over Skully’s joke. I’d heard that one before. In junior high, people never ran out of one-liners: “Hey Aaron. You need cash? Or are you a little short? Hey Aaron. Do you smoke weed because it makes you high?” I used to drink these chalky protein shakes, hoping it would kick start my growth hormones. Maybe it did. Or maybe Morgan was different. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel small.

  “I would define it as vertically challenged,” Skully added in the voice of a documentary narrator.

  The yo-bros stared. One of them yelled, “Hey. Are you a dude or a chick?”

  I caught a glimpse of Skully’s face, the hurt registering, and I wanted to pound the guy into the concrete. Sure, her hair was kind of butchy, but I would never mistake Skully for a dude.

  “Fuck you,” Skully yelled.

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” he said, igniting more guffaws from his crew. He got out and strutted toward us.

  “Enough,” I said, climbing out. “You guys need to step away from the car and take it easy.”

  “ ‘Step away from the car’?” he said. “What are you? Highway Patrol?”

  That’s when I slammed my fist into his jaw. Clocked him so hard, my knuckles popped. Almost instantly, he managed to scramble back on his feet. That’s the thing about drunks. They were always the ones to shake off a fight or a car crash.

  “Oh shit,” said Brent, racing toward the car. “Get in, will you?”

  I glanced back at the convenience store and saw the cashier, a straggly blond in a Playboy cap, punching buttons on a phone. Time to leave.

  When I hopped in the backseat, the girls were freaking out. Morgan started to sob, and Skully stroked her hair. Brent hit the gas. We peeled down a side street, past a block of construction sites, the cranes stabbing the horizon.

  Brent pulled into a twenty-four-hour bank and spun out. When I reminded him about the deal with Finch, he laughed.

  “He runs on Cuban time,” said Brent.

  “He’s Cuban?” I asked.

  “No. I mean the guy’s always late. Don’t sweat it.”

  Morgan groaned. She slumped forward, dropping her head between her knees. I was starting to get worried about her.

  “Hey, sleepy. Wake up,” I said, ruffling her hair.

  She didn’t budge.

  “Didn’t she just knock back an energy drink?” Skully asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Among other things.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We were with Finch earlier—”

  “Aaron, what did she take?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How come you don’t know?” Skully said, her voice rising.

  “Because I don’t, okay? Ask Brent. I saw him snort a line.”

  “Only a hit,” he said. “Not enough to put her in a K-hole.”

  “Maybe she did another line or something else when we weren’t looking?”

  I unsnapped Morgan’s army knapsack and rummaged through it. I pulled out two Band Aids, a pair of nylon footies, lip gloss in Matador Red, rolling papers, a Lifestyles Tuxedo condom, a Hello Kitty pen with the cap chewed off, a digital camera, a South Dade Library card, and a half-melted Jolly Rancher lollipop with gobs of hair sprouting from it.

  “Here we go.” I found a jar, about an inch long and the same murky orange as a medicine bottle. There was still a smidge of powder left in it. That must have been it.

  I tugged Morgan out of the car in the bank parking lot. She teetered backward, like she was going to fall, then collapsed against me. I dragged her along, as if she’d morphed into a zombie, her wide eyes fixed in some other time zone. Then she threw up on the sidewalk. Even the noise was enough to make the back of my throat tickle. When she finished, she just wiped her mouth. No big deal.

  As we staggered towards the alley, a security guard hustled over. He didn’t look happy.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” I said.

  The guard scowled at Morgan. “Has your friend been drinking?”

  Skully slid between us. “Too much caffeine.”

  “You guys have some identification?” the guard asked.

  Skully fumbled around in her tote bag. I pulled out my wallet. Morgan wasn’t exactly helping. In fact, she was sliding around on the sidewalk without lifting her feet.

  “Can I talk with you alone for a second?” I asked him.

  “We can discuss it right here. Your girlfriend,” he said, gesturing to Morgan, “is going straight to the drunk tank. She’ll spend the night there. Sleep it off, you know? Sober up.”

  “Her parents are going to kill me. Please. Just let me talk to someone,” I said.

  The guard stepped closer. No doubt hoping to get a whiff of booze on my breath. “Who do you want to talk to?”

  I could’ve
called the lead officer, but what the hell would I say? I glanced back at Skully, who had taken this opportunity to jump in the car.

  “Get in, man!” Brent hollered.

  Like an idiot, I grabbed Morgan’s hand and started running.

  The security guard was swearing, then I couldn’t hear him anymore. They guy hadn’t gotten a good look at our IDs; we might be okay. I shoveled Morgan in the rear door. Before I even slammed the door, Brent peeled out. The brakes squealed as we lurched onto the highway.

  Skully smacked him. “This is so messed up. The last time I went to jail was never. And just so you know … there’s no frigging way I’m doing this again. Everything else was rad, though.”

  Morgan slumped against me. “Think I’m going to puke,” she mumbled.

  “You already did that,” I told her. “We’ve got to take you somewhere.”

  “Any ideas?” Brent asked.

  “We could drive back to my place,” said Skully.

  “Forget it,” he said. “That’s too far away.”

  “Don’t you live around here?” Morgan slurred.

  “Yeah, but … ” I mumbled.

  My mom was a nurse. She would take one look at Morgan and know what’s up. I checked the time on my cell. Maybe Mom was at work? I couldn’t keep up with her crazy schedule. I wasn’t even sure if she was home or not.

  “Well?” Brent asked.

  “Turn left at the light,” I told him.

  14 : Crazy Good

  We drove back to the apartment. I stretched the rubber band around my wrist and stared out the window, watching the headlights gobble up the dark. The girls were going to see my place, the dirty laundry, the mess, and wonder why I was camping in the living room.

  I twisted the rubber band so tight, I lost circulation. By the time we pulled up to the apartment, I wondered if it was over. Finch had probably shown and left. I seriously doubted that he would wait.

  “This is your place?” Skully asked. “I mean, you actually live here?”

  I nodded.

  “Sweet,” she said.

  Mom saw us as soon as we pulled up. It looked like she’d just gotten back from the store or something. Now she stood there by the front door, hands on her hips, plastic bag hanging from one wrist. I was pretty sure she’d been drinking.

  “What’s the deal, mister?” she asked.

  “Everything’s cool, Mom,” I told her. Another lie.

  My oh-so-exciting Saturday nights were usually spent in front of the computer playing Call of Duty. No doubt Mom was curious about my new friends.

  Morgan got out and wobbled next to me on the sidewalk. “This was definitely a journey,” she said, slow and thick. She had started to come around again, shaking her head and saying things like, “I’m flailing hardcore.”

  “As mellow as you are,” I said, “you can be a total psycho.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “You better bust out some crazy good weed later.”

  Hopefully, Mom didn’t hear that part.

  “Wait,” Morgan said. “This isn’t your house, is it?”

  Before I could make up an excuse, Mom beckoned us inside. “Well don’t just stand there in the street like a bunch of damn criminals.”

  This was already getting embarrassing. I flinched. “Give us a second, okay?”

  Mom looked at her watch. “Okay. Time’s up.”

  “Oh, my god.” Skully laughed like this was the funniest thing ever. “Your mom’s hilarious, Double A.”

  “Now there’s a lady with a sense of humor,” Mom said.

  “Damn straight.”

  “Can’t pull the wool over your ice. That’s what the Marx brothers used to say. You wouldn’t know them. They were before your time.”

  “Are you kidding?” Skully said. “I freaking love the one where Harpo pretends to be Groucho in a mirror.”

  Mom grinned. “We’re going to be good friends.”

  The girls’ heels clattered across the lobby’s hardwood floors. Except it wasn’t really hardwood. More like particleboard. This was majorly awkward.

  “Watch for nails,” said Mom. “They tore out the carpets last week.”

  “Smells rank,” said Brent.

  Upstairs, the stink was even worse: moldy wallpaper and leftover chicken chow mein. Mom unlocked the door. Everybody ran around, checking out the digs. Mom headed straight for the kitchen.

  “Nice space. It needs more fabric elements, though. Where do you sleep?” Skully asked.

  “Here.” I unfolded my bed from the wall.

  “Yo. That’s old school,” said Brent, flopping into it. “Did it come with the original stains?”

  “Um. No. That’s actually an old futon mattress. This place is just temporary … until my mom gets her nursing degree.” I was rambling now. Beyond embarrassed.

  Morgan looked more alive now. She was taking pictures with her cell phone, documenting my laundry piles. Was there any chance that Finch would show up late? After what I’d seen tonight, I hated him more than ever. He had taken advantage of people at school and put Morgan in danger. She had called him “the only real” guy she knew, yet he was the biggest fake of all.

  Well, maybe not the biggest.

  Haylie came out of the bedroom, wearing my faded Andre the Giant T-shirt with the stretched-out collar. “Whoa,” she said. “How come I wasn’t invited?”

  The girls oohed and aahhed over my little sister. She kind of had that effect on people.

  Haylie squeezed between them and started talking nonsense, as usual. “Your hair is so amazing,” she said, petting Skully’s spikes. “I’ve always wanted to shave the back of my head.”

  “Since when?” I asked.

  Haylie kept going. “And the color is totally badass. Did you do it yourself?”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Skully. “The magic of Kool-Aid.”

  Great. Now my sister was getting styling tips from Skully.

  “What’s up, rocker? Look at you, dressing all scene,” Morgan said, slipping her thumb inside the waistband of my too-tight and crumpled jeans.

  “They shrank in the wash,” I mumbled.

  “Didn’t your mom teach you how to do laundry?” She leaned forward, giving me a peek of her sunburned shoulders, among other things.

  “We should style him,” Skully announced, as if I wasn’t even in the room.

  Morgan grabbed a comb and had a field day with my hair. Not that I minded.

  “All the better to hide your crying emo eyes,” she said, raking my bangs.

  Haylie laughed. “Your guys are way cool. Next time you have a makeover party, let me know.”

  Mom had broken out the skillet and started sizzling hotdogs. We ate off paper plates, camped around the TV. Skully sang along to the commercials on Telemundo, where everything was in Spanish except for words like Whopper.

  Haylie kept playing with her cell phone the whole time. “My friend’s picking me up,” she said, dropping her plate next to the sink.

  “Isn’t it kind of late to go out?” I asked, but she ignored me.

  Lately my sister was never around. Yeah, it was Saturday night. Haylie always had more of a social life than me. At the same time, I couldn’t help wondering where she had disappeared to. And with who.

  “Want to go outside for a puff?” Brent asked me.

  Mom twitched an eyebrow. She’d never seen me smoke.

  “Be back in a sec,” I told her.

  Brent pounded down the stairs. “Damn. How long you been living in this shithole?”

  “Not long,” I said. This was worse than I’d expected. Epic humiliation.

  We slipped out the back door, into the sandy lot where the tenants parked their cars. A stray tabby was perched on to
p of Dad’s pickup. When we stepped closer, the cat hurtled into the bushes.

  “It must suck, not having your own room,” Brent said.

  “Thanks for reminding me.” What the hell? This was all my mom could afford.

  I checked my phone. Somebody had called without leaving a message.

  “Recognize this number?” I asked him.

  He gawked at it. “Nope. Doesn’t look familiar.”

  “They called like, four times in a row,” I said. “Probably when Morgan was having her moment or whatever. Are you sure it’s not Finch?”

  “Call them back. That’s the only way to find out.”

  I hit redial. The phone rang and nobody answered, not even a machine.

  When we got back inside, I found Morgan hunched in front of my laptop, pecking away. Shit. The lead officer never contacted me through e-mail, but there was plenty of other stuff I didn’t want Morgan to find. I’d been Googling everybody’s names from the whole damn school.

  “Just checking my e-mail. Your mom said it was all good,” she told me.

  I bit my lip. The last time I logged online, I didn’t clear my history. Hopefully, Morgan wasn’t the snooping type, but somehow I doubted it.

  “Let’s go to the roof,” I said. A lame attempt at changing the subject. This entire evening had been an epic fail.

  The girls squealed.

  Mom clapped her hands and said, “I’m going to hit the sack. Just don’t wake the neighbors, okay, mister?” She seemed weirdly okay with me having people over with no notice, especially given Morgan’s loopiness when we arrived. Maybe she just felt better knowing where I was.

  I lead the way, up into the stairwell. The steps creaked as we climbed past the busted fuse box. I kicked open the door and everybody checked out the glittering skyline.

  “There’s Wendy’s. I heart their chili,” said Morgan, snapping a picture.

  Brent tried to light a cigarette, but the breeze snuffed it. “Looks like somebody got the party started,” he said, kicking an empty beer can. “Let’s do something.”