by Jaime Maddox
Chapter Twenty
Taking Care of Business
Trying hard to look casual, P.J. paced the corridor outside the girls’ locker room, an envelope in his sweaty hands. Even though he’d been in business for more than two months, and had already done this hundreds of times, it was still nerve-wracking. The fear of getting caught had him fumbling and stumbling, jumping at every noise, and he swore if the girl didn’t show her face in thirty seconds, he was leaving. Twenty bucks just wasn’t worth it.
Out in the parking lot, a dozen students were waiting for him, and every one of them had money for him. He’d be done and gone in five minutes flat. Here, he was a trapped animal and didn’t like the feeling at all. They were going to have to make some other arrangements, and soon. P.J. couldn’t handle the stress.
He couldn’t eat and was losing weight, and even though he was exhausted, his sleep was fragmented, interrupted by bad dreams. After he woke up, his thoughts often prevented him from falling asleep again.
“P.J.” Someone called to him, and he turned to see one of his classmates approaching him. Kevin Bennigan was bearing down on him quickly.
“Do you have physics?” he asked.
Shaking off his earlier concerns, P.J. smiled. “Of course I do.”
“Can you spot me, buddy? I don’t have the cash.”
P.J. frowned. He hated when this happened. Kevin was a foot taller than he was and outweighed him by a hundred pounds. He didn’t like to tell him no, but he didn’t have a choice. The envelopes he picked up from The Man were numbered, and the exams they contained were printed on copy-proof paper. At the end of the day, he either had to give The Man an exam, or a twenty. No exceptions.
He tried to act tough when he replied. “No can do, pal. You know the rules. No money, no goods.”
“Fuck, man, help me out here. We’ve been friends since kindergarten.”
Kevin had never been his friend, but they had played Little League on the same team one year. “Believe me, Kev, if it was up to me, I would. But they’re counted, and you don’t want to go fucking with my boss.”
The door at the end of the hallway opened, and a boy carrying a black instrument case walked through. “P, what’s this nerd’s name? He’s in our class, right? Lyle? Kyle? Who is he?”
“Lance. His name is Lance.”
Lance approached with a bounce in his step. “Hey, Lance,” Kevin said. “I’m in a bind here, man. Can you loan me twenty bucks until tomorrow?”
P.J. closed his eyes and fought the urge to punch Kevin in the mouth to keep him quiet. Lance was not only at the top of their class in academics, but he was a model citizen and the one P.J. would vote most likely to send him to jail. Lance eyed both of them suspiciously as he pursed his lips.
“I’d consider you my friend for life, Lance. Anything you ever need, man, I’ll be there. Anybody gives you any problems, you come to me.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yep, you’ll be my new best friend.”
Lance pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and removed a twenty-dollar bill.
“Thanks, buddy,” Kev said as he took the money and escorted Lance the rest of the way to the band-room door. He returned with a sneer.
“A loser’s born every minute,” he said as he handed P.J. the money.
“You got that right,” P.J. replied, and Kevin had no idea he wasn’t referring to Lance. P.J. searched his backpack and pulled out an envelope marked “Kane—Physics” and placed it in Kevin’s waiting hand.
Kevin practically skipped down the hall. “Gotta go lift, man. Big game this week. Thanks for your help.”
“Sure, no problem,” P.J. said, but he’d already returned his gaze to the locker-room door. He stopped and leaned against the wall, debating what to do. He didn’t want to piss off a customer, but how long could he be expected to wait?
Just as he was about to abandon the mission, the door opened and a girl in a black basketball jersey and shorts came through.
“Jesus, Kelsey, if you’d made me wait another minute I was outta here.”
“Sorry, P. Coach Dodge snuck up on me and wanted to talk,” she said as she handed him a twenty-dollar bill and accepted the envelope in exchange.
“Well, I can’t do this anymore. You’re going to have to meet me in town like everyone else. It’s too risky.”
Kelsey’s expression turned sour and her eyes flew open wide. “Don’t say that, P. You know I need you. We’ll figure something out, okay?”
“I gotta go,” he said as he walked away.
“Thanks.” She tucked the envelope into her shorts and headed back into the gym.
P.J. pulled his car out of the school parking lot and made his way to the town library, where the lot was crowded with cars, most of them belonging to the students who were waiting for him. He looked around for signs of trouble but didn’t spot any security cameras out here, and no suspicious-looking cars. He approached a Mercedes SUV parked farthest from the building.
“Chemistry?” he said to the driver, an underclassman whose name he didn’t know. But this was the third chemistry exam he’d sold him in two months, along with biology, history, and algebra. P.J. didn’t know his name, but he knew the kid’s entire class schedule. “Yeah,” the boy said as he parted with the crisp bill and took a copy of the chemistry exam Mr. Lewis would give the next day.
“Thanks,” the boy said, and before P.J. walked to the next car, the Mercedes pulled from the lot.
A total of ten exams changed hands at the library, and then P.J. drove to the Dunkin’ Donuts a mile away and sold another six, then to the gym, where he passed along five more. His final stop in this neighborhood was at the park, where another five people awaited him. In less than forty minutes, he’d sold copies of six different exams to twenty-six students and had all the profits in a bank bag in his car.
He spent the next three hours in a similar manner, stopping at a variety of stores and public buildings, ever changing to avoid suspicion and detection, until, emotionally exhausted and nearly starving, he arrived at his final destination. “How much?” The Man asked when P.J. knocked on his office door.
Every night’s tally differed. It varied, based on the number of exams given on any particular day. The one constant was the ever-growing popularity of this little business, and P.J. was finding it harder to make all his deliveries. His territory covered four school districts, and each week more students showed up at the predetermined rendezvous points, causing more time to slip through his fingers as he raced to deliver the exams and get home in time to complete his own schoolwork.
“Sixty.”
“Whew! Nice job, Little Man. Anything else?”
“Ninety bucks in tickets.”
P.J. offered him the bank envelope, a bulging vinyl bag holding twelve hundred dollars, plus another envelope containing ninety additional dollars, plus the tickets declaring the wagers on the football games scheduled for the following weekend. He forced a smile as The Man counted the money and gave two hundred dollars back to him.
That was a bonus; their agreement had been ten percent of P.J.’s collections. Some days his take was fifty dollars, and on others like this one, a few hundred. Since he’d started this business with The Man, he’d been averaging almost a thousand dollars a week. It was more than his father made at the mall, and if business grew, he’d be earning more than his mother as well.
He hadn’t spent a penny of it. Even if he wanted to, even if he didn’t feel like a piece of shit for doing this, he couldn’t start spending that kind of money without raising Wes’s suspicions. Since he’d confessed, Wes had taken a bigger interest in P.J.’s activities, as if he needed to keep an eye on his brother. P.J. had lied to Wes, told him it was all over with The Man. He was also saving to repay his grandfather. But he couldn’t do anything to redress the situation with all the teachers he was cheating—people whom he respected and admired, and who thought highly of him. At least, though, he could make restitution w
ithin his own family.
“See you tomorrow,” The Man said, and sadly, P.J. knew he would.
Chapter Twenty-one
First Comes Love
Fall was slipping by and the leaves were long fallen from the trees in her apartment complex as Brit walked through her front door on the day before Thanksgiving. School had been dismissed early, and practice had been short. Now Brit had the entire afternoon for one of her favorite activities—baking pies. On this occasion, for the first time in her life, she wouldn’t be mixing dough and slicing apples in her mother’s kitchen, but in her own. And instead of her mother and sisters beside her, today it would be Alex.
Since she was a little girl they’d made pies, at first with her mother’s sister and her grandmother, and lately just the Dodge women. If there were no Alex in her life, she would have been at her mother’s house in the early afternoon and up to her elbows in flour shortly thereafter. She’d drink wine while making dough and mixing pumpkin and creating great memories. At night, she’d fall asleep in her childhood bed, exhausted but happy.
But there was an Alex, and Mr. and Mrs. Dalton had invited Brit to Thanksgiving dinner at their house the following evening. Although it would mean lying to her family, she couldn’t decline. The expectant look on Alex’s face as she’d passed on the invitation had just been too precious to refuse. And then, when Alex told her it was her responsibility to buy the pie for dessert, Brit knew she was in trouble. No way could she allow her girlfriend’s family to eat frozen pumpkin pie after Thanksgiving dinner.
And so she’d told yet another lie to her family, begging out of their traditional pie-baking party with a false claim about a late-afternoon basketball practice. Her sisters had been sympathetic, but her mother was livid. Brit feared her reaction the next day, when she planned a migraine shortly after dinner to escape her parents’ house in time for a second Thanksgiving feast with the Daltons.
Slinging her briefcase under the desk in her bedroom, Brit slipped out of her sweat suit and pulled on a tattered old sweatshirt and her most comfortable faded jeans. Her fuzzy slippers came next, and then she wandered into the kitchen. The apartment was small but modern, and the kitchen was large enough to accommodate a table and four chairs, which gave her plenty of work surface for baking. Even if she didn’t have enough closet space in the bedroom, the kitchen worked out well.
Alex made Brit promise not to start without her, and so instead, she just put all the ingredients they’d need onto the table. They’d make the dough first and let it chill while they mixed the pumpkin and peeled apples for the two pies they’d serve for dessert. Brit had bought a few extra apples and planned tarts to share with Alex that night. Before the pies went in, though, Brit planned to broil a chicken breast for their dinner.
She’d read everything she could find about AS, and as it turned out, Alex actually was eating a very good diet. Even though she lacked cooking skills, she consumed tons of fruit and veggies and avoided red meat and sugar. Her famous peanut-butter sandwiches were a good source of protein. Tonight’s menu of chicken Caesar salad was perfect.
Sharing dinner had been one of the best parts of their time together in the weeks since they’d returned from Rehoboth. Alex wasn’t a fussy eater, so after practice they’d go back to one of their apartments and Brit would cook something simple, focusing on veggies and minimizing meat. Alex actually liked helping in the kitchen, not just with the cleanup, and they worked together well. They’d analyze their players and talk strategy while they cooked and cleaned up. Inevitably they’d end up on the couch or in bed, kissing and watching television. Most nights, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Opening the refrigerator door, Brit retrieved their chicken and put it under the broiler. Just as she was setting the oven timer, she heard Alex using her newly minted key. Brit peeked into the living room and studied her as she took off her coat and hung it on the tree beside the door. “Hi,” Alex said as she closed the door behind her, and Brit marveled that one simple word, spoken by the right woman, could cause such havoc to her senses. She strode quickly across the living room and into the kitchen, where Brit stood with her hands in the air beside her. She puckered her lips. “Kiss me, please, but don’t touch me. I’m full of chicken.”
Alex followed directions and placed a chaste kiss on Brit’s lips. “Hi,” Brit said. “Let me clean up.” She turned toward the sink. Alex was right behind her, and with her arms wrapped around Brit’s waist she kissed the back of her neck, working her way forward toward her ear. Brit leaned back into her, enjoying their touch. When her hands were dry, she swiveled in Alex’s arms and filled them with her hair, pulling Alex closer until their lips were touching, their tongues caressing, and their bodies sliding against each other.
After a minute, Brit pulled back and rested her head on Alex’s chest. “Wow, Alex,” she whispered.
Alex kissed her temple. “Yeah. Wow.”
“I’ve been waiting all day for that,” Brit confessed. Alex had spent the night with her but left early in the morning to go home and shower before school.
“Me, too. It’s hard to see you and not touch you, Brit. It’s hard to pretend.”
“Do you suppose we’re fooling anyone?” she asked.
“I’ve had questions since the day of the in-service.”
“I see the players watching us. I think they’re all suspicious.” Brit and Alex never behaved any way other than professionally when they were at school, and anytime they were in public, but the chemistry between them was obvious. Kim and Tam had commented on it, and Sal had known about them the first time she saw them together. Brit supposed one only had to know what to look for to see it.
“Does it bother you?”
Brit pulled back and looked at Alex. She was so in love that nothing bothered her. Even though they hadn’t made love, yet, Brit knew they would. And she also had no doubt that she would spend the rest of her life with Alex. She was beginning to wonder how to break the news to her family. “No. I don’t care who knows that I love you.” It was the first time she’d said those words to anyone other than her best friends and family, but Brit knew they were true. It was time Alex knew, too.
Alex swallowed as she stared for a moment, holding on to Brit for balance and hoping Brit didn’t notice how clumsy she’d suddenly become. And then Alex pulled her closer, wrapping her arms all the way around Brit. “I love you, too,” she whispered into the softness of Brit’s hair.
At that moment, the timer began to buzz, and Brit turned her attention toward the stove. When she turned back she looked at Alex. “Saved by the bell.”
“Oh, no. This isn’t over. Say it again.”
“What?”
Alex began tickling her. “Say it!”
“I love you.” Brit giggled, and Alex thought she’d never been happier in her life. So much had changed for her since she met Brit. She was truly a different person, simply because someone so amazing looked at her the way Brit did.
“I love you, too.”
“Okay, good. Ready to bake?”
Alex kissed the tip of Brit’s nose. “Ready.”
After washing her hands, Alex joined Brit at the counter. “What’s first?” Alex asked. She was growing more comfortable in the kitchen, thanks to Brit’s tutoring, and no longer feared losing a finger when she lifted a knife. They’d never baked pies, though, and because she knew how much Brit loved to bake, she was looking forward to this experience.
“First, the wine. Are you up for a glass of white wine?”
Alex made a face. “No beer?”
“No, sorry. Wine with pie.” Brit expertly uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses.
“Cheers,” Brit said as their glasses clinked.
“Cheers.” Alex tentatively took a sip from her glass. “This isn’t too bad,” she observed. “What kind is it?”
“It’s a pinot grigio. You like?”
Alex sipped again. “I can handle it.”
“It’s
light and crisp. A perfect complement to apples. Now let’s bake. First, we make the crust. Roll up your sleeves, Alex. You’re going to get messy.”
Alex mixed the necessary quantities of flour and salt and shortening and water that Brit poured into a large glass bowl, forming the ball of dough that would be their crust. When Brit was happy with the texture, she took it from Alex and placed it in the freezer. Then they did it all over again.
“Would you like some music?” Brit asked as Alex washed her hands.
“Sure,” she said.
Brit pushed the appropriate buttons on her iPod and the Kinky Boots soundtrack began to play again. They sat at the table, a dozen apples of different varieties in a bowl before them, and began peeling.
“Let’s go to New York, Alex. I want to see Kinky Boots,” Brit said as she sang.
“Why should you see the show? You already know the show. You know every word of every song.”
“Yeah, and I’ve seen most of it on YouTube. But I still want to see it on Broadway.”
“Why don’t we go in the spring?”
“Why wait?”
Alex tried to appear neutral as she concentrated on her work. She’d already ordered the tickets and planned to surprise Brit with them for Christmas. She rationalized that covering a Christmas surprise was an acceptable excuse for telling a tiny lie. “I’m saving my money for Christmas. I really can’t afford a trip to New York right now.”
Brit nodded. “I guess you’re right. I probably can’t either.”
“What does your family do on Christmas?” Alex asked.
“Oh, the usual. Everyone goes to my parents’ house on Christmas Eve, we go to mass together, then open presents. Lots of presents. Then they all go home for a few hours so Santa can come and are back at noon for a Christmas feast.” Brit used her forearm to push the hair back from her eyes and asked “How about you?”
“My family usually has dinner in the evening on Christmas because Andrew goes to his in-laws during the day.”
“Just like Thanksgiving, huh?”