Don't Get Caught (18 page)

Libby chuffs some more. She’s so good at it that she had to be a steam engine in a past life.

“But what I really regret is wasting my time worrying so much about you. I don’t think about my mom or my friends as much as I’ve thought about you. I even catch myself having arguments with you in my head. That’s just sad on my part. Who wants to live that way? I’m better than that. So in order to let all this go once and for all, I need to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Well, for two things: One, for getting in the way of you and Troy. I honestly thought you two were finished, but apparently you weren’t. You and I were friends in art, and I should have asked you what the situation was before agreeing to go out with him. It did nothing but cause problems, and girls shouldn’t treat each other like that.”

“Whatever,” Libby snorts.

“And two, I apologize for your drawing. I feel bad for what happened to it in the display case, because that piece was really excellent and I destroyed it. You shouldn’t have had to suffer that sort of humiliation. Believe me, I know.”

“
You’re
the one who did that?” Libby gapes at Malone, who’s looking back at her with just the slightest of smiles.

“You’re in so much trouble,” Libby says, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Probably.”

“I’m going to get you expelled.”

“Okay.”

“You think your life was ruined before, it’s over now!”

“Maybe.”

“I’m serious!”

Malone still hasn’t really moved, but now she put her hands out in an
oh well
way.

“You are such a bitch!” Libby shouts.

No one in the room makes a sound.

Malone sighs and says, “You know, Libby, maybe if you didn’t act this way, you and Troy wouldn’t have the problems you do. Maybe then he wouldn’t have broken up with you and come running to me in the first place.”

There’s a collective inhale as everyone gasps at Malone’s surgically focused insult. Libby stands frozen, gaping, then beautifully and 150 percent awesomely lets out a howler-monkey scream, a sort of primal wail that only our cavemen ancestors could have understood. Tears geyser from her eyes, and she shrieks before sprinting down the aisle and out Watson’s door, her sobs fading the farther she gets down the hall.

For a long moment, no one moves or breathes. Then Tina Manetti, Libby’s friend, raises her hand.

“Can I go check on her?”

“Of course,” Watson says.

Malone says, “I’m sorry for the interruption, Mr. Watson. I didn’t want that to happen here.”

Watson, who has been behind his podium the entire time, says, “You know, in my years of teaching, I’ve learned that sometimes you just have to let things play out. It’s all over, so let’s get back to our discussion.”

Of course, we don’t get squat done the rest of the period. Watson could begin juggling flaming bowling balls and all we’d be able to think about was Libby’s epic destruction. When the bell rings, both Ellie and I rush over to Malone, who doesn’t say anything until we’re in the hall.

“God, that was awful,” Malone says.

“Awful?” I say. “More like amazing.”

“Good for you, Kate,” Ellie says.

“I tried to be nice,” she says.

“What made you do that?” I ask. “Libby’s said stuff like that before.”

Malone stares at me for a good long couple of seconds. “Do you really want to know?”

It’s such an odd thing to ask, I don’t know how to respond. Why would I have asked if I didn’t want an answer?

“You’re the reason,” Malone says.

“I don’t get it.”

Malone frowns like she regrets bringing it up but knows she can’t go back.

“It’s just that watching how you’ve handled yourself these last couple of weeks got me thinking. A lot of people, after getting arrested like that, would’ve done their best to remain invisible the rest of the year. But you didn’t do that. If anything, you’ve put yourself out there even more, like you’re not going to let one thing sink you. I figured if you could do that, I could do it too. So I did. And I feel a whole lot better.”

When Malone finishes, there are tears pooling in her eyes.

“That’s why Tim finally walked off the field the other night,” Ellie says. “You didn’t know that?”

I shake my head, but now I understand his mystery text. The whole thing is so flattering, I’m not sure what the right response is.

“I’m…honored, I guess,” I say.

“Yeah, well, don’t go getting a big head,” Malone says. “If you tell anyone I almost cried in front of you, I’ll kick your ass. I’m not kidding, Max.”

Deal.

• • •

Nothing is more motivating than knowing people are watching you and—dare I say it—getting inspired by you. This shocking revelation is what gives me the extra push I need to really focus on a plan to take down the Chaos Club. And as if I need any additional motivation, Ellie stops by my locker this afternoon and whispers, “Think of what you could do with a guaranteed yes, Max. The sky’s the limit.”

I simplify the Chaos Club problem by breaking it down to two questions:

1. What do I want to happen?

2. How do I make that happen?

Then I spend the weekend doing what I enjoy best—watching my favorite caper films, some of them twice, and filling an entire notebook with ideas. Most of the ideas are inventive but unrealistic. Others are realistic but dull. A dozen are incredibly stupid. And one makes me literally jump off my bed and stare down at my notebook, not believing the idea that just came to me.

It’s crazy.

It’s epic.

It’s flat-out brilliant.

And I just happen to have the crew to make it work.

• • •

Before I tell the others my plan, I have to fully commit. Because if I think too much about this, Just Max may reappear and talk me into chickening out. So as soon as I get to school on Monday, I head straight for Stranko’s office, where he’s talking with the new lacrosse team captain, Jason Bruno.

“What is it, Cobb?” Stranko says.

“Do you have a minute?”

Stranko tells Bruno they’ll talk before practice. With Adleta’s quitting, the team’s in a death spiral, having lost by four on Saturday to a vastly inferior Athens team. Still, it’s hard to look at Stranko and not remember his sad shock and confusion when Tim walked off the field last week.

“Remember back in September when you said we’re to come to you if we know something?” I say.

Stranko says a long, “Yeah.”

“Well, I know something about the Chaos Club.”

Stranko straightens in his chair.

“What about them?”

“I think I know what they’re going to do for their end-of-the-year prank. And I think I have a way to catch them.”

“Do you now? Then tell me.”

There’s something in his voice—is it skepticism?—that causes me to stumble a bit.

“Well, I, uh, just know they always pull a prank at the end of the year, and with the Asheville Celebration coming up, I was thinking that would be the perfect time for them to strike.”

“And you’re telling me this why?”

Because you’re going to be out there guarding the grounds if I warn you or not. This way I can control what you do. Otherwise, you’re a wild card, and I can’t have that.

“Because you’re the vice principal, and you’ve been after them for years. I thought you might want to stop them from ruining the celebration.”

Stranko doesn’t blink for a good ten seconds.

“You don’t ever stop, do you, Cobb?”

“Huh?”

“Even after trashing my office, getting arrested, and spending ten days out of school, you’re still playing this game. Let me make it simple for you: your reputation is zero with me. If I had it my way, you’d have been expelled weeks ago.”

“But I really think they’re going to hit the celebration.”

“Right, and I’m betting that next you’ll tell me some idea you have for catching the Chaos Club, maybe even give me a role in your plan. Is that right?”

He wants me to say yes, so I do.

“Uh-huh,” he says, “and then, when the time comes to execute your plan, something happens. Maybe you have me in one place while your friends vandalize a different area or you trick me into busting the wrong people while you attack someplace else. Am I close?”

“No, I—”

“I’ll save you the trouble, Cobb. You can’t fool me. I know who you are and what you are, and if your club comes within a mile of the Asheville Celebration, I will make it my life’s goal to have you in jail. Do you understand?”

“But I—”

“Now get out of here and tell your friends you failed.”

I hotfoot it out the door and head for the bathroom, where I take a newly purchased burner phone from my backpack. Then I send a single text to Stranko’s old phone, which is currently packaged in a bubble-wrapped envelope addressed to Stranko’s home. Accompanying the phone is a letter from a Good Samaritan explaining how she discovered Stranko’s address in the contacts file after finding the phone in a booth at McDonald’s where “two loud and rude teenagers had been sitting.”

The whole thing almost makes me feel bad for the guy.

Almost.

Ellie calls it Operation Eagle Eye and gives each member of the Water Tower Five code names related to our roles.

Adleta is Sluggo.

Malone is da Vinci.

Wheeler is Captain Calamity.

Ellie is Puma.

And I was hoping for Mongoose, but once Wheeler hears the plan, he renames me Master Baiter.

I blame Sun Tzu for that. If you’re not up on your early-fifth-century BC military strategists, Sun Tzu was a general whose
The Art of War
is still studied today. In my search for a way to set up the Chaos Club, I ran across this Sun Tzu quote: “Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.” Using that idea as the template, I arranged Operation Eagle Eye into three parts: Bait, Wait, and Punish.

Catchy, yeah?

Well, except for the whole Master Baiter thing.

• • •

At this point in a heist film, you’d be treated to a planning montage where each crew member works on his or her individual assignment.

You’d see:

Adleta rejoining the lacrosse team after a lecture from his dad and Stranko and suffering through a forced apology to the team.

Malone working long nights in Boyd’s barn, her clothes and body smeared with plaster as she creates her masterpiece.

Ellie producing a short documentary about Zippy, still currently under renovation and scheduled to make its long-awaited return at the upcoming Asheville Celebration.

Wheeler hijacking the school’s sound system to announce during seventh period, “This is Captain Calamity, and I have a message for the Chaos Club. You are put on notice that I, Captain Calamity, will expose your identities at Saturday’s celebration. Your reign of terror ends there. Show up if you dare.”

And finally, me sending Stranko texts he’s come to believe are from a high-ranking member of the Chaos Club about an end-of-the-year prank. How did I trick Stranko into believing this? With a deft hand like any master baiter would.

• • •

The last day of school comes way too fast, and with most of my brain power going toward planning our assault on the Chaos Club, I’m going to have to come up with good explanations for my terrifyingly bad performance on my precalc final and the C- I received on my Weird Science project. (Solar Oven S’mores—don’t ask.) But right now, I have more important things on my mind. Because unlike most kids who are attending parties where they’re drinking warm beer from red plastic cups, settling yearlong arguments with either a hug or a fistfight, and writing lies in each other’s yearbooks (“I loved being in the same English class together!”), at 8:30 p.m., I’m hiding in the tree line on the edge of the parking lot with Puma. She’s dressed in black spandex workout pants and a long-sleeved, tight black Under Armour shirt like our first night at the water tower. And yes, it’s as distracting now as it was then.

Setup for the Asheville Celebration began two days ago, and carnival rides and booths fill the front lawn. Erected on the walkway to the school is a fifteen-foot-high curtained barrier concealing the Zippy statue that arrived this morning. A large stage has been constructed in front of the school’s entrance, with a large white screen behind it that will show Ellie’s documentary tomorrow. And there, sitting in lawn chairs on the stage like the Royal Guard of Assville, are Stranko and Hale.

“What are you smiling about?” I say.

“This,” Ellie says. “All of this is awesome. How often in life are we going to get to do something like this?”

“Probably not very much.”

“But we are now. That’s why I’m smiling. Even if this doesn’t work, this has been an awesome year. I’ve loved having a project for all of us to work on. It almost makes everything that’s happened worth it.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“Ready?” I say.

“Absolutely.”

I take out my phone.

Me: Where r u???

We watch through the trees as Stranko takes his phone from his pocket.

Stranko: ?

Me: I’m in the tunnel. Hurry up.

Stranko: ?

I’ve texted about the tunnel to Stranko’s phone more than a dozen times in the last week, but whenever he’s asked for more information, I haven’t answered. Now it’s finally time to give him what he wants.

Me: Duh.

And with that, I attach a picture I’ve had waiting for just this moment.

Stranko stands up and shows the text and picture to Hale, who rises to join him. But Stranko shakes his head, and Hale sits back down. No way Stranko’s going to leave the statue unguarded. When he descends the stage stairs and disappears into the building, I send a text to Adleta.

On his way.

Adleta doesn’t reply, but he’s not supposed to. Leading up to this night, Adleta’s job was to keep close tabs on Stranko, and the only way he could do that was to be a part of the team again. It’s only because of his sacrificial apology to Stranko and the team that he knew tonight’s practice schedule and, therefore, Stranko’s whereabouts. It also gave Adleta a reason to be in the school well after hours—something we needed from him.

“I’m sort of bummed I’m going to miss this,” I say.

“We won’t,” Ellie says.

Before I can ask what she means, her phone vibrates.

FaceTime Request from Tim

She clicks Accept, and suddenly we’re in the loading dock, looking at the small open door and tunnel that Wheeler, Adleta, and I explored during work crew. Adleta crouches among the boxes on the opposite wall, hidden and waiting for Stranko.

“Wow, I should’ve thought of this,” I say.

“That’s why we’re a great team.”

I gnaw at a fingernail waiting for Stranko to appear on Ellie’s screen. But what if Stranko misunderstands the photo? Or he knows where the tunnel is but doesn’t go? Or shows up with someone else? Not that he would. If Stranko is going to bust the Chaos Club, he’s going to do it by himself. Which is unfortunate for him. If I’m not mistaken, I think the correct term is
hubris
. Wouldn’t the Asheville High English Department be proud of me?

Adleta’s wedged back in the boxes, so for minutes we can only see the tunnel entrance, but then Stranko’s jeaned ass fills the screen.

“There he is,” Ellie whispers.

Stranko has no idea he’s only a few feet from Adleta. He stands staring at the open door without moving for so long I think maybe the phone’s frozen. Then he takes one slow step forward and another, like an animal warily approaching unexpected food in the forest.

“He’s thinking about it,” Ellie says.

Stranko takes one more step, then bends over for a better look at the tunnel. He’s probably wishing he had a flashlight with him right now. He inches ahead, then kneels in front of the tunnel, his head almost inside.

“Come on,” I say. “Get in there.”

But Stranko doesn’t enter. He just kneels there, listening hard, probably hoping for definitive proof someone’s really back there. It’s just when I think Stranko’s not going to move forward any farther that the screen changes, and we’re looking at the side of Adleta’s leg, and then there’s a blurry rush and the screen fills with light. The picture on the screen jumps so chaotically that I get dizzy. I have no idea what I’m seeing. It’s all just fuzzy, nausea-inducing pandemonium.

Then the image completely disappears.

FaceTime Ended

“What happened?” Puma says.

My instinct is to grab Ellie’s hand and run, but no, we can’t do that. If Stranko has Adleta, there’s no way we’re leaving him behind. I type a text to Malone and Wheeler reading
Abort
. My finger goes to Send, but right before I tap it, Ellie says, “Oh!”

FaceTime Request from Tim

“Don’t answer it,” I say. “It could be Stranko.”

“But it could be Tim,” she says. “Besides, if it’s Stranko, he’ll know Tim was FaceTiming me. It’d be in the call history.”

She has a point. And if Stranko has Tim, I’m not letting Tim take the fall by himself. So I tell her to go ahead, and Ellie touches the Accept button. There, standing in front of the closed tunnel door, which inexplicably has a large box against it, is Adleta giving us a thumbs-up.

“Awesome,” Ellie says, and returns the gesture.

Tim gives us the
one second
finger and starts down the hall. There, outside the noise of the loading dock, he says, “Man, that felt good.”

“Nice job, Sluggo!” Ellie says.

“Stranko had no idea what hit him. I shoved him from behind, and it sent him into the tunnel. But I think something broke on the door when I slammed it shut.”

“Will it hold?” I ask.

“I think.”

“Did he see you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Excellent. Get to position two.”

• • •

“Should I text da Vinci?” Ellie asks.

“Yeah, but here, use the burner.”

You’re up.

“Do you think the Chaos Club is somewhere nearby, watching?” Ellie says.

“They’re here. They have to be.”

“And if they’re not?”

“Then we’re doing all this for nothing.”

“Well, not nothing. It’s fun. That’s something.”

Across the lawn, Officer Hale remains planted in his chair on stage. Stranko’s been gone for twenty minutes, and I wonder at what point Hale leaves to check on him. No, he’ll probably call or text first. Not that it’d help. No signals can escape the concrete tomb Stranko’s currently buried in.

Across the parking lot, the flashers on Hale’s security car suddenly blaze to life, spinning red-and-blue lights in the dark. Hale jumps to his feet and is quickly down the stage steps.

Then the lights shut off.

“What’s she doing?” I say. “He was coming.”

“She’s messing with him.”

“But that’s not the plan.”

“Relax, Kate knows what she’s doing.”

Hale stares at his car, probably worried he’s hallucinating, then climbs back up the stage steps. But as soon as his butt hits the chair, the light bar explodes again into red-and-blue disco lights. You can practically hear Malone laughing as she does it.

“And there he goes,” Ellie says.

You’d never use the word
running
for what Hale does as he heads for the parking lot—his weight makes running impossible—but it’s faster than a walk and slower than a jog. It takes him thirty seconds to get to his car, and as he walks around the front to the driver’s side, Malone’s shadowy figure creeps around the back. At least I assume it’s Malone. The ski mask she’s wearing makes positive identification impossible.

Hale opens the driver’s door and shuts the lights off. He looks around the parking lot, but there’s no one to see. From the other side of the car, Malone, still close to the ground, reaches up and opens the back passenger door, tossing something inside. She then scurries around to the back as Hale rushes—more like lumbers—around the back. By the time he gets to the open door, Malone’s circled the car. She’s flat against the trunk, only a few feet away from Hale. He stands at the open door, looking inside the car, presumably at what’s on the seat.

“Get it,” Ellie urges.

Malone risks a peek around the trunk and sees Hale move into the back, his fat body climbing across the seat where he had all five of us sardined after the water tower and me after my arrest in Stranko’s office.

I dig my fingers into the dirt.

“Come on,” I say.

When Hale disappears into the backseat, Malone springs out, slamming the door and trapping Hale in the back of his own patrol car—or, more accurately, the patrol car with no door handles in the back and the unnecessary bulletproof glass that makes it impossible for him to get to the front seat. Or even more accurately, the patrol car with the cell phone jammer in it that Hale was once so proud of that now makes it impossible for him to call for help. But at least he has the lunch bag Malone threw inside that he couldn’t resist. Inside the bag:

A Chaos Club card.

And a plastic doughnut.

Wheeler’s idea—“A fake doughnut for a fake cop.”

Hale pounds on the window. Malone’s just below him, and there’s no doubt he can see her. She’s supposed to run, but of course being Malone, she doesn’t. Instead, she points her phone at the screaming Hale and takes his picture.

So much for keeping evidence to a minimum.

Malone sprints away from the car, coming our way fast. But when she reaches the steps on the curb, her body goes rag doll. She falls, rolling and tumbling in the grass like her legs have gone boneless. Before I can react, Ellie breaks from cover. When I catch up, she’s helping Malone limp to the trees.

“Are you okay?” I say.

“That stupid curb,” Malone says. “I didn’t even see it. I’ll live.”

“What do you think?” Ellie says to me.

I look at Malone, who gives me a
yes, duh
look.

“Do it, Puma,” I say.

Puma stands up and puts on her backpack. From her pocket, she pulls a box cutter and holds it up.

“My weapon of choice,” she says.

Then Ellie grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me in, kissing me hard.

“For luck,” she says.

• • •

At Puma speed, Ellie covers the distance to the statue in seconds. From where he’s trapped, Hale can’t see Ellie approaching, but she stays on the opposite side of the patrol car anyway and drops at the base of the curtain. She slices a three-foot incision in the curtain and then pushes her backpack through first before disappearing inside.

“Do we need to get you to a doctor?” I ask Malone.

“I’ll be fine. But you’ll have to be the one to climb if it comes to that.”

I feel real fear for the first time that night.

“No way,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” Kate says. “I’m sure it won’t be needed.”

It’d better not be.

For the next three minutes, while Ellie is under the curtain, I make a meal out of my fingernails. My big fears are a car entering the parking lot, an additional security guard on the grounds for the night, or someone simply turning around who Hale might be able to flag down.

But none of that happens. Ellie slips back out from under the curtain and races across the parking lot without any trouble. Malone and I move aside as Ellie crashes back into the trees, out of breath more from excitement than exertion. She rocks back and forth on her toes, not able to keep still.