Creeping with the Enemy

by Kimberly Reid

  “Who the hell is calling here at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning?” She grabs my phone from my hand and holds it up in my face for emphasis, or evidence, I’m not sure.

  “Eight is not that early.”

  “I pay the bills around here, and if I say eight is early, it’s early.” Lana is always surly when you wake her before she planned on waking, but it’s okay because she’s also a little slow on the draw and a lot easier to fool.

  “It was Marco wanting to talk,” I say, wishing that was true.

  “I thought he was ...” Lana says, trying to find a delicate way to say out of the picture, which is tough when she’s still half asleep and not in a delicate mood at all.

  “We’re trying to work things out.”

  “Well, I’m glad ya’ll made up, but can’t he call you at a decent hour?”

  “I’ll tell him not to call before ten from now on.”

  “All right,” she says, planting a kiss on my forehead, which I don’t remember her doing in forever. “If you need to talk later, we can.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I’m going back to bed. Put this on vibrate,” she says, handing me my phone.

  Once I know Lana is in bed and probably asleep, I throw on some clothes and leave the house as quietly as possible. No sense in waking her again when I call Bethanie to curse her out, so I’ll do a walk-and-talk up the block. If I wasn’t awake before, the cold morning has slapped any leftover sleep right out of me. I should have worn a hat and scarf because my ears are freezing. Another reason to curse Bethanie.

  “I am so through with you,” I say when Bethanie answers.

  “Did my mom call?”

  “Of course she called, asking to talk to you, and I had no idea what you told her about how long you’d be staying with me.”

  “I know, I know. I forgot to tell you the whole plan.”

  “Why didn’t you answer last night?”

  “You’re worse than my father. You don’t have to check up on me, Chanti. Cole is not some criminal. I thought you trusted him by now.”

  “I do,” I lie. Even if he isn’t the missing informant, he’s still shady. “But I’m starting to feel weird lying to your parents, especially when I keep having to tell your mom you’re in the shower.”

  “Don’t be mad at me, Chanti. I’m so, so happy today. I want you to be happy for me.”

  “Why so happy today? Did he finally come around to ... you know?”

  “This is love. I’m in love. I promise, this is the last time you have to cover for me. Monday at school I’ll be able to tell you everything, and tell my parents everything.”

  “Everything about what?”

  “It’s a surprise for now.”

  “Okay, but you’d better tell me everything. And be at school early because I won’t be able to wait until lunch.”

  “That’s the least I owe you.”

  “Damn skippy,” I say, feeling apprehensive about whatever Bethanie’s mystery is but also glad I’ll be seeing her tomorrow and this whole stupid charade will be over. “Where are you anyway? What’s all that noise this early in the morning? Sounds like you’re at an amusement park.”

  “Something like that,” she says again. “I have to go now.”

  “What about your mom? She wants to know if you’re sleeping over again because she wants to stay another night in Black Hawk.”

  “Black Hawk? So my dad’s trying to go it alone.”

  “He isn’t alone. He’s with your mother.”

  “Never mind. I’ll call my mom after I hang up with you.”

  “What if she asks why you’re calling from your cell instead of from my house?”

  “Uh, you’re confusing my mother with yours. Mine will never even notice that.”

  “So can you at least give me a hint about your surprise?”

  “Seriously, Chanti, I have to go. I promise, Monday.”

  And then she’s gone.

  A few hours have passed since I spoke to her and I still don’t feel right about Bethanie’s surprise. It could be that she and Cole finally got busy, which would explain all the I’m in love talk. I don’t know about it personally, but I remember when Michelle gave it up to her sorry ex-boyfriend Donnell, everything out of her mouth about him was love this and love that. I know Bethanie has been on a mission to defy her parents, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t something she’d be excited to share with them unless she’s even weirder than I thought.

  Since I do my best thinking over something good to eat, I’m sitting in my favorite booth at Tastee Treets when I see Marco walk in with some girl. I immediately ascertain she’s a skank, though anyone else without my keen sense of observation might think she’s a nice girl since on the brief walk between the door and the counter, she manages to hold the door open for an old man, give napkins to a little kid who can’t reach them, and help clean up the same kid’s spilled soda. She’s totally overcompensating for knowing that in truth, she’s a skank.

  Marco doesn’t notice me, but I have a clear view of them at the counter. I can’t hear what they’re saying but I can tell from his gestures that they have a history, and not a he’s-just-a-friend history. They’re standing too close together, everything she says is funny to him, and in a very simple transaction of burger ordering, they each find about three reasons to touch one another—on the shoulders, back, arm—everywhere considered decent to touch in public. I’m pretty sure Marco and this girl never had the problems Bethanie was having with Cole. She must be Angelique, Marco’s ex. Well, not his ex because clearly that status now belongs to me.

  When they turn from the counter in search of a table, Marco sees me. At first he looks completely shocked and slightly embarrassed, but quickly regains his usual take-everything-in-stride attitude and whispers something to Angelique, who looks at me and smiles. Someone else might think it was the kind of smile you give to someone you genuinely feel sorry for, like a friend who just told you she didn’t make the drama club when all she’s dreamt about since birth was acting. I see it for the evil smirk that it really is. Marco hands her the tray, which she carries to a table on the other side of the restaurant, and he walks toward me.

  “Hey, Chanti. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Yeah, I only live a block away, used to work here, and told you a couple of times that I’m pretty much always here.”

  I surprise myself by how much I sound like a jilted girl on an MTV reality show. I know girls who do that whole swiveling-head, finger-in-his-face boyfriend drama thing, but I never knew I was one of them.

  “Well, I live twelve blocks from here and they have the absolute best chocolate shakes. A friend told me about them,” he says, then smiles like he’s really here on a date with me, not that ... girl.

  “I thought I was more than a friend.”

  “Like I thought I was more important than your crazy obsession with playing detective. Not just crazy, but dangerous.”

  “But that’s what I do. It’s part of who Chanti is. Why can’t you accept me the way I am?”

  Did I just say that? Seriously, I’m not quite sure who I am at this very moment, because I’ve gone from an MTV reality show chick to a Hollywood movie queen who refers to herself in the third person.

  “I’d never try to change you because a lot of that is why I think you’re so great. It’s just that maybe you aren’t great for me.”

  “But I guess we can still be friends, right?” I say this in a tone that clearly implies we will not be friends.

  “There’s the whole thing with my parents. They have a legit concern that hanging with you is a little dangerous, but you just keep right on doing stuff that will probably get you in trouble, even though you know it’ll make it tough for us to be together.”

  “One time. It only happened one time.”

  “Well, when you’re just a few seconds from being killed, one time is enough. Besides, we both know that won’t be the only time. Before I walked up, you wer
e probably trying to figure out if Bethanie’s boyfriend is a bad guy, right?”

  No, I was thinking how if I had any kind of nerve I’d go up to you and that ... girl and go swivel-headed drama chick on y’all. Before that I was trying to figure out if Bethanie’s boyfriend is a bad guy. See how much you know? Of course, I don’t say any of this because the passive-aggressive Chanti I know and love is back (except for the referring to myself in third person part) and now all I can do is pout and say nothing.

  “Chanti, I need a girl who really wants to be with me, not just when she can fit me in between cases, especially when she’s not actually a cop and there isn’t actually a case.”

  “You mean a girl like Angelique.”

  “I should get back to her now,” he says, looking at me in a way that confuses me because I can swear his eyes are saying something different—that he’d rather stay here with me.

  “Yeah, you should,” I say, because as long as he walked in here with some other girl, there’s really no reason for me to be confused.

  “But we’ll still see each other at school, right?”

  “Oh, would that be the school Angelique said she wanted you to drop out of because going there instead of North High was like saying you thought you were better than she was? Wasn’t that the reason y’all broke up?”

  “She sees things differently now. She doesn’t want to change me anymore.”

  “Ironic.”

  “Like I said, Chanti, I don’t want to change you. It’s just we aren’t right for each other.”

  “Whatever. Go.”

  As he walks away, I noisily draw the last of my melted shake through the straw for reasons unknown to me except I really have no idea how to break up with a boyfriend, though I’m sure slurping isn’t the lasting impression you want your ex to have of you. I’m grateful to be sitting near the back door so I won’t have to see Angelique and her evil smirk/pity smile when I leave. And I’m sad not only because I’ve been officially dumped but also because the Tastee Treets is now off-limits. I really do love these shakes, especially at a time like this.

  Chapter 18

  It’s Monday morning and not only does Bethanie not show up early, she isn’t at school by first bell. When she hasn’t found me by second period or even sent a text to tell me what’s up, I’m beyond mad. And when no one has seen her by lunch, I’m beyond worried. The only good thing about worrying over Bethanie is that it keeps me from being sick over losing Marco. I managed to not see him the first half of the day. And because I’m so stressed wondering if she’s dead or alive, I can’t even focus on school, so I’m going off campus during lunch to find Miss Bethanie. She’d better be alive because I plan to set her straight about standing me up. If I’m lucky, I’ll avoid Marco after lunch, too, since we don’t have any Monday classes in the same hall. I know I’ll have to deal with seeing him eventually since we both have another year and a half at Langdon, but I can only handle one crisis at a time.

  The address Bethanie gave me for Cole’s place is just a few miles from school and I figure if I can get down the hill and reach the crosstown bus in time, I should be able to get there, curse out Bethanie, and if she’s still willing to give me a ride back to school after I tell her exactly what I think about her and her boyfriend, I might only miss the first half of fifth period. While I run to make the bus, I dial Bethanie’s number one more time to see if I was wrong about the new development that has me so worried. No, I hear the same message for the third time: this number is no longer in service.

  By the time I get off the bus in front of Cole’s building, I’ve had enough time to go from mad worried, to just plain mad, to making deals with God that if Bethanie is okay, I promise not to curse her out, at least not until tomorrow. I’m relieved to find it’s actually an apartment building, though it looks a little run-down for GQ Cole. Even though Bethanie said he’s just here temporarily, it’s hard to imagine Cole staying one night. At least it’s a real place. The whole bus ride over, I kept imagining the address was a fake and would lead me to a 7-Eleven. Bethanie would probably expect me to check it out online to make sure she wasn’t scamming me, which makes me wonder now why I hadn’t. Thinking about Marco definitely has me off my game, but now he’s Angelique’s worry, not mine. As soon as she reminds him why he dropped her in the first place, she’ll be the one up late at night crying and wishing she had a chocolate shake to drown her sorrow.

  When I get off the elevator and make my way to Cole’s place, I find the door open to an empty apartment, except for a cleaning crew. I check my notes again, glad I didn’t rely on memory this time because I must have written down the wrong apartment number. No, it matches the one on the door. So that means I must have the wrong street address, or the wrong street. I definitely got something very, very wrong.

  Just then a woman comes out of what must be the bedroom.

  “Make sure you clean the refrigerator,” she tells the cleaning crew. “Take whatever you want. He must have just gone shopping, because it’s full. Who are you?”

  “I’m looking for a friend, but I must have the wrong apartment.”

  “Was it the guy who just moved out? Because if it is, maybe you can tell me how to find him. He didn’t tell me where to send his deposit.”

  “Was his name Cole?” I ask, hoping it wasn’t, because if it was it would mean I have absolutely no idea where Bethanie is.

  “That’s it.”

  “Did he live alone?”

  “Thought you said you were a friend.”

  “I’m really looking for someone else, a girl. Cole was, is her boyfriend.”

  “Oh yeah. There was a girl here when he asked me to come by and get the rent.”

  “How’d she look?”

  “What do you mean, how’d she look? She was pretty, about your age. I thought maybe a bit too young for him, but what do I know. In my day, college boys wouldn’t be caught with a high school girl, and of course, all we wanted to catch was a college boy,” she says, laughing like we have a private joke. She’s getting lost in memories of ancient times when I’m just trying to find out where Bethanie and Cole are.

  “I mean, did she look sad or worried or something?”

  “Look, I don’t want trouble around here ’cause I run a nice building. Were they into something bad?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just they were having a few problems. She was thinking about breaking up with him.”

  “Didn’t look that way to me. She looked as happy as I’d have been when I was her age and landed a nice-looking college boy like that, and one with some money, too.”

  “Do you know where he went to college?”

  “Seems like your friend didn’t tell you too much about him, did she? I just assumed from his age that he was a college boy, but now that I think about it, I don’t think I ever saw him go to school.”

  “Do you know where he worked?”

  “He didn’t, unless he worked the graveyard shift. Nearly every night, he left around ten o’clock, didn’t come back until dawn. I figured he had a girl somewhere. Not that I was watching him,” she says, then points to the floor. “I’m in the apartment below, and I’m a light sleeper.”

  “What makes you think he had money? If he had money, he’d probably stay somewhere else. No offense.”

  “Some taken. I rent month to month. The fact he didn’t have a job but paid me three months rent ahead of time, plus a month deposit, all in cash, was a clue. Most folks barely want to pay me for one month.”

  She must have a higher regard for her building than I do.

  “Four months of whatever you charge for rent at this place, even in cash, doesn’t make a guy rich,” I say. “Sounds more like a guy who doesn’t want to be found.”

  “Maybe, but you can always tell a man with money, even one who’s just barely a man. You probably don’t know that since you’re just a girl yet.”

  “School me, then.”

  “Maybe you ain’t such a girl af
ter all,” she says, giving me a once-over. “Sound more like a cop.”

  “In this school uniform?”

  This seems to allay her concern that she might be talking to a fifteen-year-old police officer.

  “He drove a real nice car.”

  “That was her car, not his.”

  “Were you here? No, I didn’t think so.”

  She walks to a window and gestures for me to follow.

  “That there is her car.”

  She points at what looks to be Bethanie’s car in the parking lot below. I feel sick, but manage to suppress the nausea that always comes when I’m really scared.

  “He drove one of those expensive sporty cars. You remember that boy’s car, Roland?”

  “Yeah, it was a Porsche—silver 911 GT3 with a rear spoiler,” says the guy who’d been pushing a carpet cleaner when I first arrived.

  “Roland’s got a keen eye. Just wish he’d use it on the job. You missed a spot there.”

  I look down at the carpet and the missed spot.

  “Does that look like blood to you?” I ask.

  “Could be, now you mention it,” Roland says.

  “Like I said, looked to me like those kids were in love, and you’re making trouble where there is none, little girl. I don’t let bad elements lease my place.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say, not believing myself for a second.

  “I think they had even been on a picnic, which isn’t something a fighting couple would do.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Not that I’m nosy or anything, just wanted to get a good look at his fancy car. Saw he had picnic-type things in the backseat—a little cooler, a blanket.”

  Well, that doesn’t give me much to work with.