High and Dry (18 page)

“Hold on. Ellie said the Marias made up, though,” I pointed out. “They were getting along at the party. I think Posey changed her mind. I don't think she dosed Salvador after all.”

If it wasn't
Sound of Music
Maria who'd slipped her the huge amount of LSD, who was it? When did they do it? And why?

“We have to tell the sheriff's department about Griffin, what he's been doing, what he's been making you do,” I said.

Ryder looked away and let his head swivel around on a kind of figure-eight track. “No, man, I don't know … If Griffin found out I squealed, this'll be a pleasant memory.” He pointed to his face.

“Stay here tonight, and we'll go in the morning; I have to go down there anyway to get my car back. We'll tell them everything you told me. They have him on tape dropping her off! They'll arrest him; you'll be free—you'll never have to do any of this shit again.”

A brief spark of hope ignited in his good eye. “The reason I asked you to throw the game …”

“It's okay, I get it now. You
had
to get out of here.”

“It wasn't so I could make money. I mean, it was, but it wasn't just that. It was so I could nail Griffin. He's betting you'll win.”

I flashed on Griffin at the trailer, grinning his sick grin at me and whispering, “Go get 'em, killer.”

“He thinks you're on his side. Thinks I brought you over yesterday to make sure you did everything you could to win. He doesn't know I have my own bet going. I want him to lose big, put a dent in his cash flow, so he'll have to cool it for a while.”

I looked at Ryder and I didn't see a beaten young man, desperate and half ruined; I saw him as a kid, strong and proud and defiant in the summer sun, throwing his bat against the chain-link fence. That kid was still in there somewhere, and I had to help him.

“I get it,” I said. “This'll all be over tomorrow.”

THE SHORT ARM OF THE LAW

MOM MADE US WAFFLES FOR BREAKFAST. ON RYDER'S WAFFLE
, she placed a chocolate chip in each minisquare, the way she used to when we were kids. When he smiled at her, it was more like a wince that traveled up his face to squeeze the pain out of his black eye.

As an afterthought, Mom asked if I wanted chocolate chips on my waffle, too.

I opted for a box of Total. When my mom was growing up, her parents had no money, so the only thing she and her sisters got for Christmas were common grocery store items, like a variety pack of twenty small boxes of sweet cereal (Froot Loops, Lucky Charms). After they ate the cereal, they kept the boxes and played “grocery store checkout” with them.

When my mom looks at Ryder, I think she sees those Christmas days, the idea of going without and emerging tougher and leaner. She learned to cherish the kinds of things her classmates threw away.

I think she really believed the work she did with Fresh Start was supposed to level the playing field—give every student a fairer shot. And maybe it would have if Ryder hadn't failed the drug test,
and if Ryder wasn't, in fact, stealing Mr. Donovan's test questions to tilt the scores in favor of the kids who could pay for them.

I consoled myself with the thought that soon Ryder wouldn't have to do that anymore. With Griffin locked up, he wouldn't need to make money to escape—he could just live his life. But what kind of life would he have at this point?

Dad wasn't scheduled to teach his New Media journalism class until ten on Thursday mornings, so he took us to the sheriff's department before school. I marched up to the counter and requested an audience with Deputy Thompson, our private protection service all those summers ago when we first moved to town.

From that point on, nothing happened the way I expected it to.

Turned out the deputies had tangled with Ryder before.

“You catch him breaking and entering?” said Thompson, walking up to my dad and ignoring me and Ryder completely.

“What? No!” I said. “That's not why we're here.”

“I knew this was a bad idea,” muttered Ryder, looking ready to rabbit.

Thompson didn't even glance at us. He was immobile, a brick wall, waiting for Dad to reply.

“Absolutely not,” said Dad firmly. “We've never had problems with Ryder. He's an old family friend, and he's in trouble, and we came here for help. Is that a problem?”

“No problem at all,” said Thompson unconvincingly. “Come on back.” He led us to a private room with no windows, just a long table and a landline phone. Dad and I happened to take our seats on one
side of the table, with Ryder on the other. I immediately regretted it; now it looked like we
had
brought him in for questioning. But Thompson sat next to Ryder before I could get up and move.

“All right, what's this about?”

We went over Griffin's history of dealing and forcing Ryder to be the guinea pig. I filled in the blanks whenever Ryder faltered. Thompson took notes on a legal pad.

“These are pretty serious allegations,” he said, turning to face Ryder at last. “What made you come to us now? Trying to get out of your own mess by turning your brother in?”

“No, I'm not—I'm just sick of it. I want out.”

“Can you help us or not?” I said. Dad gave me a look, but I let it bounce off me.

“I'd like to, but as far as Charlie's car, we haven't been able to lift any prints, certainly none that match Griffin's. I believe you're telling the truth, or part of the truth, but we have nothing to hold him on. Unless you want to press charges for that?” He motioned to Ryder's black eye.

Ryder looked at Thompson like he was crazy. “He'll deny it, and the most you can do is hold him for, what, seventy-two hours?”

“We handed you Griffin on a platter, and you're not going to do anything?” I sputtered, standing up and slamming my hand on the table.

“I knew it,” said Ryder, standing as well, his eyes darting anxiously, looking around like Griffin was about to show up and finish the pummeling he'd started the night before.

“Wait, hold on,” said Dad. “The other deputy told us about a baseball cap, how the driver caught on tape was wearing a Flynn Scientific cap. Charlie saw Griffin wearing it.”

“Circumstantial,” said Thompson. “Hey, I wish I had a better answer for you, and I appreciate you coming down here, but we can't move on this information without something more concrete than a vengeful little brother's testimony. A vengeful little brother with priors of his own.”

“Thanks for serving and protecting. Truly. I think I might be tearing up at your dedication to this community,” I said.

“Charlie—”

“This is bullshit, Dad, and you know it.”

“Arguing and making smart-ass remarks isn't going to help your cause. I think—”

“What if …,” said Ryder quietly, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. We all leaned forward to hear. “The next buy is two days from now. Saturday night. I can tell you the time and location and you can see it all for yourself.”

“On Saturday nights most of my men are stationed at check points for DUIs, but I'll see what I can do.”

It didn't sound very promising.

“I'm in,” I told Ryder the second we were outside, waiting for the deputies to pull my car around and release Amelia back to my custody. Dad had already left for work.

“What do you mean?” Ryder asked.

“I'm in. The soccer match. Whatever you need me to do. I'll give Steve three penalty kicks if that's what it takes. We have to bankrupt Griffin.”

“
We
don't have to do anything. This is my problem, not yours.”

“I want to help.”

He told me the spread, the money on the line, and what the different scores and outcomes would mean. Griffin had bet that Palm Valley would either win or tie. Ryder had bet that Agua Dulce would win flat-out. If Agua Dulce won by any amount, Ryder stood to make three grand and Griffin stood to lose one. If Agua Dulce won by two goals or more, Griffin stood to lose three.

I had to make sure we lost, preferably by two goals.

Amelia had never looked worse and had never felt better. Her fender was scratched and she still had white fingerprint dust all over the wheel and dash, but she ran like a dream. Autonomous again, I dropped Ryder back at my house so he could recuperate some more, and I took off for school.

It was time for Phase Two of my plan to break into the principal's office.

LIBERATING THE FLASH DRIVE

THERE WERE THREE WAYS TO GET SENT TO THE PRINCIPAL'S
office:

1. Pick a fight

2. Sass a teacher

3. Cause a public disturbance

To expedite the mission I went for all three.

As I pulled into the parking lot at Palm Valley High, I received confirmation from Jonathan that he'd completed his end of the heist. Ellie's jacket was planted in lost and found.

“Bammity bam,” his text said. I guess the new generation had their own lingo. Or maybe it was just Jonathan being weird.

In second period, I made sure to sit behind the infamous Fred, lincoln-douglas extraordinaire, he of Ellie's bad macking session at the party on Sunday. I was going to enjoy this part.

“Yo, Fred-day,” I said, five minutes before class ended. “Did you hit on my girl at Maria Posey's party?”

“What? Um—no—I thought—”

I kicked out the legs of his desk, with him in it, and he went sprawling.

“Charlie Dixon, what was that?” Ms. Daniels roared. “Sit back in your chair.”

That was it? What did it take to get sent to the principal's office these days? Short shorts and a crop top baring my belly button? I had to step up my game.

When Fred staggered to his feet, I whacked him in the midsection with my textbook like I was golfing. He doubled over, shocked and furious.

“Charlie, what's gotten into you?” Ms. Daniels sputtered.

I held my hands up. “You should've heard what he just called you. I won't repeat it because we're in mixed company, but wow.”

“What?” Fred gasped. “I didn't say anything!”

“I mean, I could come up and write it on the board, but I think we'd all be suspended just for looking at it. In fact, I'm not even sure I
understand
it—”

“He's lying! I don't really even know any bad words!” said Fred. “On the debate team, we argue eloquently.”

I should've hit him in the mouth.

“It starts with the letter C,” I said.

Fred tried to swipe at me, but I dodged him.

“Both of you are getting Cs for the day. I mean, Fs!” Ms. Daniels said, flustered. “Go to Principal Jeffries's office, now.”

I scooped up my backpack and skipped down the hall, urging Fred to follow suit. “Time's a-wastin', hurry it up now.”

“What's wrong with you?” he cried. “I didn't say anything about Ms. Daniels, and as far as Ellie—”

I stopped in my tracks and turned around. Fred took a step back, even though we had almost a full hallway length between us.

“Don't even think her name, let alone say it.”

“It was just spin the friggin' bottle,” he protested. “Everyone was playing. I'm surprised you didn't hear about the beckham drama. Delinsky kissed Patrick's girlfriend, Josh kissed Delinksy's chick, the Marias kissed, some dot-govs showed up at the last second, even Thomas' English Muffin was playing. Trust me, I wasn't thinking much about Ellie.”

I'm only human. I had to take a moment. “The Marias kissed?”

“It was only like time stopped, but yeah, sorry for kissing your
ex
-girlfriend for two seconds.” He rolled his eyes.

That's what Ellie meant when she said, “
They made up at the party. If you'd been there, you'd understand.
” They'd kissed! They hadn't just made up, they'd made out. Were the Marias in love with each other? Was that why they fought all the time? Did Ryder know? It gave new meaning to the phrase
at each other's throats
.

But there was no time to ponder the intricacies of down-low relationships. I had a mission to fulfill.

“Look, just shut up and follow my lead,” I said, praying that Danny had relayed my message to the drama kids in time.

I shoved open the doors to the principal's office.

“Hi, Mrs. Batiglio, we met the other day? This is Fred, he's like a major loose cannon, and I got caught in his path of destruction.”

The bell rang. Second period was over—six minutes till third began. When the bell stopped blaring, a trumpet took its place from somewhere outside the office, gaining volume as it approached us.

It was better than I could've dreamed.

Nine members of the marching band, in formation, three by three, followed by the entire drama club, all four years, called for my head on a pike.

Charlie Dixon, you will fall!

An attack on one is an attack on all!

The drama kids, those beautiful egomaniacs, had recruited the marching band to humiliate me: a trumpeter, cymbals crasher, drums, tuba, and clarinet. It was the ugliest “song” I ever heard, but it did the trick.

I'd figured I'd get an aria, like the time Will Norris, then a senior playing Romeo, stole a kiss offstage from the freshman girl playing Juliet. A huge etiquette breach. They serenaded him for weeks, rhyming “cradle robber” with “fishmonger,” which was apparently some kind of Shakespearean insult.

My punishment may have lacked finesse, but the distraction worked. The chant took hold and rocked the hallway as the group clogged up every corridor.

Charlie Dixon, you will fall!

An attack on one is an attack on all!

The old bat didn't know who or what to look at, which was the
whole point of the distraction. Principal Jeffries came outside to check on the commotion, too.