“What?” I said.
“I’m saving you from yourself, Princeton. As a great poet once said, ‘Illusion never changed into something real,’” Digby said.
Sloane and her posse finished a choreographed line dance, and a slow song from Britney’s golden age came on.
“You know, they’re only popular because you make them popular. Those girls live off your hate. Look away and you starve them of their oxygen,” he said. “It’s a pull-my-finger situation. Stop pulling her finger.”
“It’s impossible to look away. I mean, she made up that choreography and made them learn it. Who does that outside of a teen movie?” I said. “And look at this place . . . this is the gym. Imagine how her house looks.”
“You’re really angst-y tonight. What’s with you?”
“Everything’s bugging me. Plus I’m not excited about Bill’s scam.”
“So you really didn’t set up my date with Bill?”
“No.”
“I’m relieved, Princeton. I thought you were sending me a message.”
“What message would that be?”
Digby shrugged.
I suddenly realized we’d been slow-dancing this whole time and I felt weird and awkward. I stepped out from our embrace.
“Where is your date, anyways?” I said.
He gestured vaguely. “Checking out cigarettes someone found in the faculty lounge trash . . .”
“That’s lame.”
“Especially since I have a whole pack. She coulda just asked.”
“You don’t smoke.”
“No, but I pay some of my guys in cigarettes.” His phone buzzed. “Speaking of . . . one of them just spotted Ezekiel at the 7-Eleven downtown.” He showed me the picture of Ezekiel that he just received on his phone. “We gotta jet.”
“What? We just got here.”
“That whole cult’s gonna be gone soon. If we don’t find out what the hell’s going on now, we’re never gonna find out.”
“I’m not that curious. And shockingly, I’m enjoying myself. I wanna stay. Sorry if that makes me boring.”
“Boring? Who’s boring?” Bill rejoined us, stinking of cigarette smoke and chewing gum. “I’m not boring. I’ll do it. Whatever it is.”
“You’re not invited,” I said.
“Invited to what?” Felix arrived eating a brownie. He saw my worried face and said, “I checked the ingredients.”
“We’re going downtown,” Digby said.
“We’re going downtown? Awesome. I’ve never been downtown. Mom dreamt we were murdered downtown and stuffed in our car’s trunk, so we never go,” Felix said. “We go to Connecticut for excitement instead.”
“See this? This is a bad idea,” I said. “No, Felix, we aren’t going downtown. Besides, how would we get out of here?”
There was a strict door policy: Once signed in to the dance, students could only leave if a parent or guardian signed them out.
“Mr. Talbot let our pothead limo driver sign us in. D’you think he’ll drop the hammer on us now?” Digby said.
“Except Auerbach’s doing the sign-outs now,” Bill said.
Whereas Mr. Talbot, the art teacher, played Nirvana during class and told stories of peyote-fueled naked painting sessions in the desert, Mr. Auerbach taught government and told us his part-Mohegan grandma still had the scalps of French soldiers in her attic.
Mr. Auerbach stood across the doorway, arms crossed and frowning.
“Kids check in but they don’t check out,” Digby said. “Felix, could you get Dusty to check us out?”
“Digby . . . Felix should stay here,” I said.
“I’m coming,” Felix said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t . . .” Digby said.
“Well, it’s technically my limo, so unless you want to walk downtown . . .” Felix said.
“Welcome aboard, Felix,” Digby said. “Now, can you call Dusty?”
“Sure,” Felix said. “What’s his number?”
“Why would I have it? He’s your limo driver,” Digby said.
“Dad has it, but I put him in the hospital . . .” Felix said. “He’s okay, by the way. He texted.”
Digby waved at Henry to come over.
“What’s happening?” Henry said.
“We’re taking off,” Digby said. “Downtown.”
“I’m in. This dance sucks,” Henry said.
“You’re not going anywhere.” We hadn’t even seen Sloane come up to us. “Do you know how much work went into this dance?”
“Your mother hired a decorator and some movers,” I said.
Sloane put her hand up in my face. “Henry, no. You can’t.”
“Sorry, Sloane, I’m going,” Henry said.
“Fine. I’m sure Mr. Auerbach will want to hear about this.” Sloane stomped off.
“Dude. Stop her,” Digby said.
Henry ran and grabbed Sloane’s arm. We watched them have one of those classic “darling, please” arguments. Even without audio, it was dramatic.
Finally, Sloane came back. “Fine. But I’m coming too. I refuse to be left here without a date.”
It was getting ridiculous. “Really? All of us?” I said.
But Digby was already planning our escape. “The way I figure, they’ll get suspicious if our entire group tries to leave together or if we go out in boy-girl pairs on account of the whole teen pregnancy thing. So, Bill and Sloane—you two go first. Tell Auerbach one of you got your . . . you know.”
Bill and Sloane looked blank.
“Your period,” I said.
“Yeah, that . . . and your . . . things are in the limo,” Digby said.
More blank looks from Bill and Sloane.
“Your tampons,” I said.
“Will that work?” Bill said.
“Look at him. Digby can’t even say it. Most guys can’t. Yeah, it’ll work,” I said. “Sloane should do the talking, though.”
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s go,” Sloane said.
As predicted, Mr. Auerbach looked disgusted and waved them through.
“Henry, you and Felix . . .” Digby pointed at Mrs. Boschman, our music teacher, who was so tiny that pushing even an empty drinks cart overwhelmed her. She and the cart were going sideways into the wall.
“Got it.” Henry cut off Mrs. Boschman and took over pushing the cart. Then, when no one was looking, Henry grabbed Felix by the scruff and threw him onto the cart’s lower shelf.
“Turns out, that cape of his is crucial to the whole operation,” Digby said.
It was true. Curled up in the cart, Felix looked like a bundled-up tablecloth. A brief explanation to Mr. Auerbach and they were out the door.
“Genius. But that leaves us. You boy. Me girl. How are we getting out?” I said.
“Man, I keep forgetting you’re a girl,” Digby said.
“Shut up.”
“Kidding. You’re dressed like a cream puff. You are all girled out tonight. I saved the best one for us. You and I are climbing out the window.”
“In my tight feathered dress. Wonderful.”
We went to the windows hidden behind the fake cityscape they set up for the formal photos and Digby gave me a boost. Halfway out, dangling ten feet above the quad on the other side, I realized that, as usual, I hadn’t thought things through. Then Digby pushed on my feet and I flew out the window.
Digby’s head poked out of the window above me. “You okay? Whoa . . . it’s pretty high.”
“Yeah, thanks for pushing me out,” I said. “Because my fear of death was preventing me from jumping out on my own.”
I remember thinking, At least my stockings are okay. But then Digby jumped. By the time he was done trampling on me, my stockings were trashed.
“Ow! Get off me!”
We were tangled up on the ground when someone walked up.
“You kids . . . Zoe Webster? Is that you?”
It was Miss Viv, our sexed-up English teacher, jingling and jangling toward us in an even lower-cut version of what she usually wore.
“Oh-ho . . . and I had you down as a good girl. Sneaking out at the dance, huh?” Miss Viv sighed. “Oh, my . . . I remember being young. Carpe diem, kids, it won’t last forever.”
“Um . . . okay,” Digby said.
“And, Zoe, I expect your participation in class when we talk about what Juliet means when she says ‘lovers can see to do their amorous rites by their own beauties.’ You know exactly what lovers get up to in the dark.” Miss Viv winked and pointed to her cigarette. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell. Only you’ll get caught if you do it here. Go by the parking lot.”
Digby and I had accidentally gotten her to let us go and we didn’t want to blow the deal by saying the wrong thing, so we slinked off in silence.
“Well, that was a freebie,” Digby said.
The idling limo’s interior was flooded with a bright green neon light and the music blared as someone rapidly jumped around radio stations. Dusty was on the hood, smoking what was clearly not a regular cigarette. He giggled in between inhales.
“Our sneaky getaway needs work.” As we got closer, Digby called out, “Dusty! What are you doing?”
Dusty jumped and dropped his joint.
“Kid, man . . . you just almost made me stroke out.” Dusty looked at his hand and realized something was missing. “And, man, you made me drop my J.”
Dusty bent to pick it up just as the limo door flew open. There was a huge bang when it connected with Dusty’s head. Felix climbed out.
“Wow, that was so great. Henry rolled me past everyone. No one could tell.” Felix looked around. “Hey, where’s Dusty?”
Dusty was facedown behind the open door.
“That’s weird. Is he taking a nap?” Felix said.
Henry, Sloane, and Bill climbed out of the limo.
“Is he dead?” Bill said.
“If he’s dead, can we go back to the dance?” Sloane said.
“Oh, no! Does that mean the hijinks are canceled?” Felix said.
The nod Digby threw Henry said it all.
“I’d be minus one scar and an arrest record if that were enough to cancel hijinks,” I said.
Henry plucked Dusty’s chauffeur cap off the ground and put it on.
“Downtown, I assume,” Henry said.
I grabbed Dusty’s ankles and Digby took his armpits.
“You know it’s gonna be one of those nights when you start it with moving a body,” Digby said.
Sloane stepped over Dusty on her way to the front seat. “Whatever. But I’m not sitting in the back with you nerds.”
“Digby, let’s move. He’s heavy,” I said.
“Are we stuffing him in the trunk?” Felix said.
“What? No, Felix. What’s the matter with you? In the backseat,” Digby said.
We sort of carried but mostly dragged Dusty into the car. He was totally out and didn’t wake up when we banged his head on the roof while we were shoving him in.
“Listen,” Digby said to Henry and me. “Maybe we don’t tell these guys about the whole Marina angle tonight.”
“I thought your guys saw Ezekiel. What does this have to do with Marina?” I said.
“I dunno. Maybe something, maybe nothing,” Digby said.
“Hope it’s nothing, because Sloane wouldn’t be happy if Marina turned up tonight,” Henry said.
We climbed in and Henry pulled out of the parking lot.
“He looks dead,” Bill said. Dusty slumped over her when Henry made a turn. “Seriously, is he dead?”
Felix put his fingers on Dusty’s neck. “Nope. Pulse is okay.”
“He’s freaking me out,” Bill said.
Digby searched his pockets and came up with googly-eyed joke glasses, which he put on Dusty.
I had to admit, “That’s weirdly better, actually.”
And off we drove through River Heights.
TWENTY-SIX
We got to our destination: the 7-Eleven.
Digby rapped on the partition. “Pull over.”
“Ew . . . is this where you emo types go for a good time?” Sloane said to me.
Three goth girls who looked our age huddled around a payphone, smoking. One girl had dried blood caked on her cut upper lip. Some old guy rooted through the trash, collecting half-eaten food. Leather-and-chains bikers were partying around a cluster of bikes parked to one side. Even through the thunderous vroom-vrooming of their bikes, we could hear them cursing and shouting.
“They aren’t speaking English,” I said.
“French-Canadian bikers riding the interstate to the border. Stay away from them. Those guys are serious,” Digby said. “In fact, let’s pair up and stay close.”
“Ooh . . . my bodyguard,” Bill said. It was sickening watching her fawn all over Digby.
Digby pointed at the bikers and the goth girls. “Most of this crowd’s not local. They hop off the interstate and hop back on again without seeing the rest of town. Bikers, truckers, hitchers . . . people on the Greyhound.”
“I bet those girls are hitching.” Bill photographed them with her phone. One of the goths flipped us the finger when the flash went off. “They’re amazing.”
“There’s my guy Pedro,” Digby said.
“That’s your guy?” I said.
Pedro’s hood was pulled up over a baseball cap so I couldn’t see his face, but he had the height and build of a ten-year-old.
“Geez . . . isn’t his mom worried he’s out so late?” I said.
“What are you talking about? Pedro’s twenty-eight. He has a ten-year-old daughter,” Digby said.
“I think he’s even smaller than I am,” Felix said.
We got out of the limo. Close up and in better light, I saw Pedro was definitely not a kid. He had a stringy mustache and a gold tooth. I couldn’t help staring.
“Like what you see, Miss Beautiful?” Pedro sucked air through his teeth and blew a wet kiss. “Hey, Digby, I like your friend.”
“She’s with me tonight,” Felix said.
“This is weird,” Sloane said.
“Henry, why don’t you guys go ahead? Princeton and I will meet you inside,” Digby said.
While they were walking away, Bill tripped and fell inches away from the goth girls. When the one with the cut lip walked toward her, Bill defensively curled up into a little ball.
“Chill.” The goth girl was holding Bill’s hat. “You dropped this.”
Bill made a ridiculous face that I was still trying to describe to myself, when Sloane said exactly what it was.
“You’re looking at her like she pulled you from a burning car. It’s a hat. A fugly one. If she’d wanted to do you a real favor, she wouldn’t have given it back.” Sloane stepped over Bill, still lying on the ground, and said, “You’re an idiot.”
“Pedro, you saw my guy? What time?” Digby said.
Pedro held out his hand. Digby patted his pockets, then turned to me. I was familiar with this move. I took a twenty from my clutch and gave it to him.
Digby slapped the bill into Pedro’s palm. “When?”
“An hour ago,” Pedro said.
“Was he alone?” Digby said.
“He was with some guy, but not one of the ones on your list,” Pedro said.
“What list?” I said.
“My persons of interest list that my guys look out for,” Digby said. “I can’t be everywhere all the time.”
“Persons of interest? Who else is on it?” I said.
Pedro looked at me. “Starbucks, yesterday at four thirty, bookstore, then the numb
er six bus at five forty-five,” he said.
“I’m on your list?” I said. “You have people follow me around town?”
“Just watching out for you, Princeton. You don’t always look both ways when you cross,” Digby said. “So, Pedro, did you see where he went after he left here?”
“Sure . . .” Pedro stuck his hand out again. “But that was overtime.”
Digby turned back to me. I fished out the second, and last, twenty from my purse.
“Tropical Hut. Room twenty-three,” Pedro said. “Want me to take you?”
“No, man, I know the place.” To me, Digby said, “Sloane’s driver took Marina to that motel.”
Digby and Pedro pounded out good-byes.
“Tropical Hut? You think Ezekiel and Marina are together?” I said.
Digby showed me the photo Pedro texted him of Ezekiel walking out of the 7-Eleven. Digby zoomed in on a package Ezekiel was holding. “Same motel and a huge bag of CornNuts? Maybe that’s a coincidence, but it’s worth a look.”
Digby and I walked into the 7-Eleven, where his order that everyone stay together had clearly never taken. Sloane was checking her lipstick in the sunglasses rack’s mirror. Henry was pouring a giant Slurpee. Felix was reading an Archie Comics. Bill was spying on the three goth girls through the store window.
Digby and I walked to the counter.
“Wait. You hear that?” he said.
I froze. Nothing. Just 7-Eleven sounds.
“No,” I said.
“Hm . . . it’s gone,” Digby said.
We started walking. After a few steps, Digby froze again. “There it is again.”
“I don’t hear it,” I said.
“Sounds like . . .” he said. We started walking again. “There.”
We stopped. Again, nothing. Then I realized what it was.
“Oh . . .” I tapped my foot. “My tap shoes.”
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“It’s not like I thought we were gonna be sneaking up on people. Wait, are we sneaking up on people tonight?”
“Well, we know you won’t be.”
A flash went off. Bill had photographed Digby and me.
“Hey,” I said. “Why are you taking pictures?”
“What? I’m not,” Bill said.
Trouble is a Friend of Mine Page 20