“What were you gonna do if I didn’t come?” I said.
“You were always gonna come,” Digby said.
“This again,” Henry said.
“There’s no way you could’ve known I’d wear something that would hide my face,” I said. “Do what you were gonna do if I hadn’t.”
“Sure I knew. Good girls like you hide when they do bad things,” Digby said. “By the way, personal theory—you’re not hiding your face from the world because you’re afraid you’ll get caught doing something bad. You’re hiding your face from the world because you don’t want the shame of anyone seeing how much you like it. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I’m not doing it. Think of another way,” I said.
“It took hours to come up with this plan,” Digby said.
“Shut up, you just came up with it right now. Rummage around that insane brain of yours and come up with another one,” I said.
Digby pulled out his little black notebook and flipped to a flowchart titled: “Plans for Break-in.” The first box in the chart had my name in it with an arrow to another box containing the words spray fake snow on chiropractor door. Written over the arrow were the words good girl in disguise and a little doodle of my face covered up with a Batman mask. He’d drawn a halo over my head.
“If it were raining I’d ask you for an umbrella, and if I’d cut myself I’d ask you for a Band-Aid,” Digby said.
What could I say? I always kept a folding umbrella in my backpack. It was right by my first aid kit.
So I grabbed the snow spray from him.
“So you really just wear those diamond earrings everywhere? What, did your dad tell you to?”
“Do you want me to do this or not?” I pulled up my hood and got out of the car.
I was terrified. My heart raced and my feet felt like they were a thousand miles away from my brain. In fact, it took me a second to realize I’d tripped on the curb in front of the chiropractor’s door and was lying facedown on the ground. I heard laughing coming from the car.
The snow spray rolled out of my hand and I barely stopped it from disappearing under a parked car. Of course, my first worry was that the security camera had filmed my face and I almost got whiplash stopping myself from reflexively looking up straight into the lens to make sure it hadn’t. I stared at the ground and crawled to the door instead.
I heard the psssht of a soda popping open. I turned to see Digby offering Henry something from a little cooler. Who brings a picnic to a break-in? This fricking guy.
I pointed the can in the general direction of the camera and held down the nozzle. Digby hadn’t said how much to put on, so I sprayed until the can sputtered out. Little flecks of the stuff went up my nostrils.
“Whoa . . . did I mention there were two cameras we needed to spray with that can?” Digby said.
“No, you sure didn’t. The hell?” I’d used the whole can. Half of it had run down my arm.
“Kidding. You did good. You know, I actually thought it was gonna take a lot longer to convince you to go. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Digby said. “Maybe we can be bunk buddies in juvie.”
“Yeah, great, so I can strangle you in your sleep.” I wedged the can into one of my hoodie pockets.
“You can’t recycle that,” Digby said. “Just leave it.”
“That’s littering,” I said.
“Uh, let’s see . . . blocking a security camera before breaking and entering. Obstruction of justice? Tampering with evidence . . . Plus the actual breaking and entering, Juvie. You know, I think Juvie is catchier than Princeton.”
“I probably shouldn’t add littering to my rap sheet, then,” I said.
“You realize good girls don’t really go to heaven, right?” Digby said.
“Just let her keep it and let’s go in before someone sees us. By the way, Digby, you couldn’t have bought black spray paint? This is so . . .” Henry gestured at the clumps of snow spray on the door. “I mean, it’s September, dude.”
“Yeah, I guess black paint would’ve been less suspicious.” Digby smiled. Clearly, the ridiculousness had been part of the plan.
“Yeah, ha-ha, you’re funny. Come on. Let’s get going,” Henry said.
Digby tugged at Schell’s door handle. Of course it was locked.
“Hey, you never know.” Digby pointed at the sticker for the security company on the door. “Guy spends twelve grand on a state-of-the-art security system but puts a fifteen-dollar lock on the door. Total security theater.”
Digby inserted a screwdriver’s blade into the keyhole of the lock assembly at the base of the door, hit the screwdriver with a small hammer, and punched out the lock barrel. Then he used the screwdriver to slide out the bolt, and the door swung open. As soon as he did that, though, a loud beeping started.
“Well, he’s probably pretty confident no one would be dumb enough to break in. You know, seeing as how he has a twelve-thousand-dollar system,” Henry said.
We stepped in and Digby closed the door behind us.
“Seriously, Digby, now what do we do?” Henry looked freaked out. I would’ve been freaked out too, if I hadn’t watched Digby memorize the security code.
Digby punched in 1-2-1-3-1, then stopped, short the last digit. The beeping continued.
“So, why’d you break up with her?” Digby said.
“What?” Henry said.
“Marina didn’t break up with you. She went crazy when you broke up with her. Why’d you break up with her?” Digby said.
“We didn’t get along. Just put in the code. Please.” Henry was trying to sound calm, but he was obviously panicking. Digby was loving it.
“Why not? She’s exactly your type. She even looks like she enjoys those craptastic school dances you like so much. How’d you meet her, anyway?” Digby said.
Henry took a break from panicking and looked embarrassed. “She asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“Exactly,” Digby said. “And why’d you break up with her at the beginning of the summer? You like your summer romances. Fourth-grade summer, Laura Prescott. Fifth-grade summer, Beth Daniels. Sixth-grade, Jane Parker—”
“I wasn’t ready to get serious,” Henry said.
“What does that mean?” Digby said.
The beeps of the alarm had been getting louder and closer together the whole time Digby interrogated Henry. Now even I was freaking out, so I shoved Digby aside, pushed the last digit of the code, and hit ENTER.
“It means she wanted to have sex and he didn’t. God,” I said. Henry looked shocked. “We’re about to break into her gynecologist’s office. What else could ‘serious’ mean? Now, can we do this already?”
“I wanted to hear him say it,” Digby said.
We went to the exam room and Digby turned on a flashlight to scan Schell’s desk. He flipped pages on the notepad, turned over the stapler, and did general thief-in-the-night stuff.
“It’d be faster if you told us what to look for,” Henry said.
“We need his password to open those encrypted files I cloned,” Digby said. “He’s gotta have it analog-style somewhere . . . the guy’s totally two-thousand-and-late.”
“That’s it?!” I was whisper-screaming, he made me so mad. “You made me break in here for a lousy password? We could’ve used decryption software from anywhere. I’m gonna kill you . . .”
Henry was already hunting around. “Doesn’t matter. We’re here. Let’s just find it and get the hell out.”
I started helping. “Put the stuff back the way you found it so it’s not obvious someone’s messed with his desk.”
Digby’s phone rang, but I was surprised when he answered a phone I’d never seen before and, in a clipped voice said, “Yes, sir. Yes, sir . . .”
When I caught Henry’s eye, he mouthed His dad.
Dig
by said, “Yes, sir, I read you five-by-five.” When he noticed me gawping, he ducked out to finish the call.
“Five-by-five?” I said.
“His dad was air force . . .” Henry said. “You know, I wasn’t, like . . . scared or anything. With Marina, I mean. We did other stuff. You know.”
“Uh . . . no, I don’t know,” I said. “But that’s okay. Don’t feel like you have to describe it or anything.”
He was quiet, but I could hear the little hamster running on the squeaky wheel in his brain as he relived the moment he just-said-no to Marina. The truth was, I was curious how far they’d gotten before Henry chickened out. Stuff sounded like something around third base, but before? Or after? Plus, there were a lot of stops between third and home . . .
Great. Now my hamster’s on his wheel, I thought.
“What?” Henry said.
Or I thought I’d thought it. I guess I’d said it aloud.
“I just wanted it to be special. You know. My first time,” Henry said.
I willed myself not to melt at how amazingly well he pulled off that sensitivity. “Uhhh . . . hey, look.” I flipped over a statuette of Buddha holding a pointy staff. A strip of paper was taped to the base.
“X65*$$ . . . what’s this?” Henry said. “Is this his password?”
I photographed it. “Who knows if it’s the password, but it’s a password.”
“Why would you ever write down your password?” Henry said.
“That’s what happens when you have too many secrets,” I said.
My father had gotten careless too, when he was cheating. He’d left a pizza delivery receipt to a Jersey Turnpike motel in a sweater he knew I liked to borrow. When Mom found a tube of lipstick in the car, I had to let him tell her it was mine. It was a nasty orangey red that was worn to a point in the middle, like the person had applied it by sucking on it. Gross. The worst part of the whole cheating thing was how it forced my father to say and do the most weasely things. It was all so far beneath him.
“Maybe he has backup security,” I said.
“Like what?” Henry said.
Tchak-tchak.
There’s something about the sound of a shotgun racking that’s so familiar even if you’ve never heard it in real life. It’s like a rattlesnake rattle. True, that’s something else I’ve never heard in real life, but my point stands. You just know to be scared. My butt puckered.
“Turn around. Don’t try anything. I have a gun.”
The lights came on. Schell was in the door holding a shotgun. We all just stared at one another in the stunning brightness for a long while before the next thing happened. When it happened, though, it happened fast.
First, Schell recognized me. “You! You’re the kid with—”
Second, Henry threw the Buddha statue at him. It’s never a good thing when a quarterback throws something at your face. Blood flowed right away.
Schell screamed. “You little bastard!”
Henry rushed at him but it was a long space, so Schell had time to step back out of the room and slam the door shut.
“I’ll shoot through the door!” Schell said.
Henry and I froze and, before we could decide whether he actually would, Schell locked the door. We heard him call someone.
“Hey, it’s me . . . I’m at work . . . some kids broke in,” Schell said. “Look. They didn’t just walk in, they had the alarm code . . . I don’t know if she sent them, but the timing’s interesting, don’tcha think? Just get your ass here and help me get rid of them. I can’t do it alone, I’m hurt . . .”
Another long pause.
“Whatcha think I mean? Get rid of them,” Schell said.
Even I knew what he meant. Henry tried to call 911 on the office phone.
“I cut the phones, you punk-asses,” Schell said.
I dialed my cell, but I’d forgotten he had a cell signal blocker.
“I got you, you little bastards,” Schell said.
“Where’s Digby?” Henry said. “You don’t think . . .”
“We would’ve heard a shot,” I said. “He left us.”
It frightened me that Henry looked freaked out.
“Wow. I’m hurt,” Digby said.
We couldn’t find where his voice was coming from. It took a second to realize Digby was in the drop ceiling, looking down from a gap he’d made by moving a ceiling tile aside.
“I’m hurt, hurt, that you’d even think I could bail on you,” Digby said.
“Where were you? This guy’s got a shotgun. He’s on the phone talking about getting rid of us,” Henry said. “Dude, I think he means he’s gonna kill us.”
“Oh, ya think?” I said. “Digby, he’s blocking the phones.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t spring for the full spectrum one . . . Wi-Fi’s still on. Like I said, the guy’s so two-thousand-and-late.” Digby dialed. “Hello, I need to report a break-in at twenty-five twenty-seven Pine. Three intruders are being held at gunpoint. . . . What? No, we’re the intruders. Better hurry—I’m pretty sure he’s pissed off enough to kill us.”
Digby held out his hand and Henry gave me a boost. He climbed up after me and Digby replaced the ceiling tile. Then we heard a horrible metallic groan. The ceiling was buckling.
“Spread out!” Digby said.
We scrambled like roaches, arms and legs spread to distribute our weight across the tiles. The creaking stopped.
We heard Schell reopen the door.
“What the hell?! What the hell?!” Schell’s voice was high and hysterical.
He ripped apart his office. The wheeled office chair crashed around. He opened the coat closet and knocked hangers to the floor. He was so confused, he checked for us in desk drawers. Then, silence.
We froze in our wounded soldier crawl poses. I prayed Schell would leave, but instead, a ceiling tile right by me rose. Schell was using his shotgun barrel to push it up. A second later, Schell’s shotgun barrel pushed up another tile even closer to me.
I panicked. I got up on my hands and knees. My body just wanted to run. There was a loud creak, then a huge SNAP. There was total horror on Digby’s and Henry’s faces. Then a split second later, the ceiling collapsed and I crashed into the office below.
Schell and I both screamed. My chin was on fire when I landed and when I touched it, my hands came away covered in blood.
“Where’s your friend?” Schell randomly stabbed ceiling tiles with his shotgun. Another section of the ceiling collapsed and there was Henry, sprawled on the floor in front of me.
“Get over there,” Schell said.
Sitting on the floor with a shotgun pointing at me, I imagined a crime show with some cop looking at my blown-off face saying, “Gentlemen, looks like for this kid”—puts on sunglasses—“school’s out forever.” Then credits rolling and some ’70s rock song about not getting fooled again starting with a scream.
After a second, I realized the screaming was no imagined rock song and that, in fact, the screaming was coming from me. Later, Digby told me I sounded like his grandmother’s cockatoo when its wing accidentally got caught in the vacuum.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Schell said.
But I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t even pausing for breath. I just screamed.
Then Digby exploded through the ceiling and landed on Schell’s back. Henry grabbed the shotgun, and the three of them twirled around, crashing into furniture. It felt like they went on like that forever until KA-BAM, the shotgun went off. Plaster from the wall behind me puffed up into a dust cloud.
After that, I couldn’t hear myself scream anymore. All I heard was a loud ringing. I watched them crash around on mute. Then, as Digby just about pried the shotgun away from Schell, two people ran in holding handguns. They must have told them to freeze, because Digby, Henry, and Schell stopped struggling. Schell slowly dr
opped his shotgun.
One of the new arrivals was a tall lady with bright red lipstick who immediately ran to me. I couldn’t hear her clearly but I think she yelled to the chubby guy who I guessed was her partner, “Call it in, she’s been shot!”
I thought, Oh, God, I’ve been shot? before I passed out.
TEN
When I came to, Conan O’Brien was standing over me holding a giant needle. Weirdly, he was dressed as a paramedic.
“Sir, are you sure you’re allowed to do this?” Henry said. “Shouldn’t we go to the hospital?”
“Relax, kid. I’m certified,” Conan O’Brien said.
It was then that I saw the needle in Conan’s hand was attached to black thread coming out of my chin. I realized Conan O’Brien was sewing me up with a huge needle.
“Yup,” Digby said. “There she goes again.”
Everything went white.
When I came to again, I was lying on the couch in Schell’s office. Digby, Henry, Lady Cop, and Chubby Cop were in the middle of an argument. No one noticed I’d woken up.
“Lemme see those badges again,” Digby said.
“You’ve seen them,” Lady Cop said.
“I wanna write down your badge numbers,” Digby said.
Chubby Cop looked exasperated, but he and his partner handed their badges to Digby. “You three are in serious trouble . . . breaking and entering’s a felony,” he said. “Me, I wanna bring you down to the station and book you, but my partner thinks we should give you a chance to explain what you’re doing here tonight.”
Lady Cop moved oddly close to Digby and used a gentle voice. “Look, kids, maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. We’re willing to listen . . .”
“You’ve got five minutes. Then I slap on some cuffs.” Chubby Cop pointed at Digby. “You look like the instigator. Start talking.”
Digby noticed I was awake and watching.
“Hey. She’s up. Her chin’s bleeding,” Digby said. “Maybe you should get her some water?”
“Sure, sure . . . let’s talk a little and we’ll get her water in a minute,” Lady Cop said.
Digby barked “Ha!” and crossed his arms. “A real good cop would’ve gotten her water.” Digby pointed at the pudgy cop. “And Officer Cooper? A real bad cop never would’ve winced at the blood.”
Trouble is a Friend of Mine Page 6