League of Strays (11 page)

“Got it,” Nora said. “So now it goes, ‘I’ll see you at nine tonight at the post office parking lot, like we talked about. Wear black. Until then, Michael.’”

“Did you put tomorrow’s date on it?” Zoe asked.

“Of course,” Nora said.

Because Dave Harper didn’t know my voice, I was nominated to perform the next part. I wasn’t sure I could pull off the seductive
act, but here was my chance to show Kade a more enticing side of me.

“What about Caller ID?” asked Zoe.

“I’m unlisted,” Kade said. “Comes up as ‘Unknown.’”

My finger trembled as I punched in the number from the school directory.

“Hello?” He sounded half asleep.

“Hi,” I whispered. “Is this Dave?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“If you’d like to know, you’ll have to meet me in the parking lot behind the post office at nine tomorrow night.” I tried not to laugh. It was all so corny. Not to mention embarrassing.

“Oh, and wear black,” I added.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why?” I mouthed to Nora.

She rolled her eyes and whispered: “No one can see what you’re doing in the dark!”

“So no one can see what we’re doing in the dark,” I told him.

Nora pressed her mouth against Kade’s chest, stifling a laugh. I stared at her, hoping she’d pull away, but she just turned her head, avoiding my eyes.

“Come on, who the hell is this? Don’t jerk me around,” Dave said.

Nora handed me page two of the script.

“It’s time for us to meet. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed …”

“Is this Ashley?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t wait.” I threw the phone down. True to form, I was blushing clear down to my toenails.

Kade leaned over, whispering into my ear, “I’d come running if I were him.”

I turned my head so he wouldn’t see that I was redder than a Hawaiian sunset. But then I saw the time on his alarm clock.
Crap
. “I told my parents I’d only be gone an hour. I have to go.”

The way they stared at me, you’d think I’d just announced that aliens had landed in Glenwood.

“Do you always do everything they want?” Kade asked. The question was softened by the concern in his voice.

I looked down, not sure how to answer.

“Bye, Charlotte, see you next time.” Nora dismissed me with a wave.

“This was really fun, thanks.” I tacked on a smile for good measure.

Kade offered to walk me out. I pulled on my Keds and headed for the door. When we reached the stairs, he said, “I’m really glad you joined the League, Charlie.”

All I could do was nod.

“Does anyone know the maximum value of the function?” Mr. Furino inquired, his voice weaving in and out of my thoughts.

It was eleven in the morning. Showtime. I put my head on the desk and imagined the “plan” in action.

“I need a bathroom pass,” Zoe would moan to her study hall teacher. Then she’d sprint to the gymnasium, where she’d take a sip from the water fountain. Kade would move past her, into
the boys’ locker room. If anyone walked up, Zoe would have a coughing fit—Kade’s sign to crawl into a shower stall until all was clear. But more than likely, he’d have time to insert the love letter through the vents in Mark Lawrence’s locker. Later, probably at practice, Lawrence would open his locker and find the “misplaced” note addressed to “Big D.”

Kade said he knew how these guys worked, that they’d come up with a plan to catch Dave in a compromising position. There was no lost love between Mark Lawrence and Dave Harper, Kade told us. Apparently, the coach had picked Dave, a lowly junior, as quarterback over Mark, a senior. Since then, Mark had been out to get the school superstar. I hadn’t known any of this, but I wasn’t exactly up on jock gossip. Kade, on the other hand, seemed to have his finger on the pulse of every living organism at Kennedy High.

I watched Mr. Furino explain the homework without hearing a word of it. When he turned to the board, my eyes swung back to the clock. Kade should’ve left the locker room, crossing paths with Zoe before they headed in opposite directions.

When the bell finally rang, I dashed out of the room and down the hall, looking for anyone who could tell me anything.

“Charlotte?”

I turned around, but it was only my orchestra stand partner, Amie.

“Hi,” I said cheerfully, determined not to show my disappointment. It wasn’t her fault that she wasn’t one of us.

“Hey, Charlotte. Listen, I was wondering if you’d have time
after school to help me with the Mussorgsky. I get totally lost in the middle, and you can do it in your sleep.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” I hadn’t looked at the Mussorgsky in days. In fact, I hadn’t touched my viola in the past forty-eight hours. A world record. But there was so much going on, what with the plans and my new friends. I briefly considered the homework that I was blowing off now that I actually had a life.

“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” I told Amie. “Maybe next week?”

Her smile dimmed. “Oh, yeah, sure. That would work. Anytime.”

With a wave, she disappeared into the science lab. I felt a pang of guilt but quickly dismissed it. Kade said guilt was for the weak-minded who couldn’t stand behind their own actions.

My gaze moved like a pendulum, to the left, to the right, then up and down the stairs. It looked like I’d have to wait longer to get the details of part one.

As it turned out, it wasn’t until after school, when I unfolded the paper airplane that had been flown through the bars of my instrument locker. One word, all in caps, scrawled diagonally across the back of a flyer for a youth leadership club: SUCCESS!

I let out a tiny squeal and allowed myself a smile that stayed on my face all the way home.

NOW WE JUST HAD TO WAIT FOR DAVE HARPER TO SHOW UP
at the post office parking lot. We decided to meet thirty minutes early so we could find the best place to watch the scene unfold.

I hadn’t counted on my parents getting in the way. Mom thinks that dinner is a sacred time, which wouldn’t have mattered if it weren’t for the fact that Dad came home an hour late.

“Maybe I should fire my client. The man never stops talking.” He pitched his briefcase onto the recliner. “Even the three-hundred-dollar-an-hour fee doesn’t shut him up. Sorry I’m late. What’s for dinner?”

When he eyed the plates, forks, and knives arranged on the dining room table, I recognized my mistake. I’d never set the table in my life without the requisite lecture on teamwork and family. But today was different. I had somewhere to be.

“Let’s eat,” I said. “I’m starving.”

Dad glanced at the table, then at me. “Looks nice.”

“I didn’t even have to nag,” Mom said.

“I knew you’d be hungry when you got home, Dad.”

Mom spooned corned beef onto our plates. My parents complained about the high heat bill. I dug in, eyeing the clock.

“How was school?” Mom asked.

The conversation was so … Disney. I had an urge to be honest, to poke holes in the family armor.
I’m going to sneak out with my friends, Mom and Dad. We’re going to do something bad, and you can’t stop me.

The word “bad” stuck in my mind, bold as a marquee. I filed the image away. “Uh-huh,” I said.

The forkful of limp cabbage paused halfway to Mom’s mouth.

“Oh, fine, nothing new to report,” I corrected.

Dad winked. “Same old, same old, huh?”

“Right.”

Another fifty seconds were gone. What if I ran into Dave Harper on the way to the post office? Kade would be furious.

“So Charlotte, I have something to run by you,” Dad began.

Oh God, not now! Dad’s favorite dinner activity was to explain a case he’d been working on, then see how fast I could figure out a solution to his legal problem. If I got it right, he thumped me on the back. If I got it wrong, he lectured me on my fallible strategy. I was correct about 75 percent of the time, which Dad says is impressive, given my lack of training. But the thought of stumbling through a maze of legalities at that very moment made me want to vomit.

“My client hit a child with his car last year. He broke the boy’s leg in six places. The small-time police department botched the job and didn’t give him a Breathalyzer. He ended up walking,
which irked a few hundred residents. Fast-forward two months. This same guy passes out in a stolen BMW, wrapping it around a utility pole. Here’s the question: Can he get a fair trial within a hundred miles of his hometown?”

“Unlikely.” I glanced at the clock and watched the second hand march forward. “The trial should be moved to a neighboring county to prevent juror prejudice.”

Excellent, Charlie. I mean, Charlotte. That was a good, succinct answer!

“But what about—?”

I cut him off. “Dad, I’m feeling kind of tired. Think we can talk tomorrow?”

He raked his fingers through his thinning hair, leaving neat little rows of scalp. “I suppose it will still be an issue tomorrow.”

Mom started clearing the dishes. “Why don’t you go to bed, Charlotte? Make it an early night.”

“Great idea.” I dragged myself up the stairs.

Behind me, I heard Dad say, “What was that all about?”

Up in my bedroom, I tried to figure out a way to get out of the house. But I’d just told them I was tired, and it was a Monday evening—not a likely time for a spontaneous calculus tutoring session.

As hard as it was to do, I lay down in bed and waited. Mom would either show up to do a last-second check, or I’d be free to make my escape. A minute later, I had my answer.

“Do you need anything?” she asked, opening my door a crack. I kept my eyes and mouth shut. She pecked me on the forehead, no doubt checking for a fever.

“Sleep tight,” she whispered.

I waited.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she added. Like always.

She shuffled out of my room in the slippers I gave her for Mother’s Day a few years ago that were a size too big and would fall off her feet if she walked like a normal person. I heard the almost soundless shutting of my door.

Thirty seconds later, I stepped back to admire the lifelike “body” under my blanket. I was getting good at sneaking out. Some accomplishment.

I locked my bedroom door and carefully slid open the door to my porch. A minute later, I was scrambling up the side yard and sprinting down Maple Street.

Fluffy snowflakes drifted through the air as I raced into the post office parking lot. Kade, Richie, Zoe, and Nora hunkered down behind a blue sedan with multiple parking tickets stuck to the windshield.

“Looks like you could use some defrosting.” Kade curled an arm around my waist. I moved in closer.

“We were wondering if you were going to show up,” Nora said.

What was that supposed to mean? So I was a little late. She’d been late before, too.

“Sorry, I had a
huge
test to study for,” I said, staring her down.

Kade and I huddled together, watching the snow swirl overhead. The flakes settled in his hair. Nora inserted a hand between us to brush them away. Kade didn’t even flinch.

“You aren’t easy to startle, are you?” I said.

“You’re not the first one to say that.”

Nora squinted at the dull numbers on her glow-in-the dark solar watch. “What if they don’t show? How long do we plan to freeze our asses off?”

Zoe unwrapped three pieces of gum and popped them into her mouth. “Believe me, they’ll show.” She blew a bubble. “A jerk like Harper wouldn’t miss the chance to have sex with—”

“Over there!” Richie pointed to a streetlamp in the corner of the parking lot.

I peered through the filthy sedan windows at Dave Harper, who stood under a flickering lamplight. He wore jeans with premade holes in the knees: required uniform among Kennedy High’s elite.

I remembered begging Mom for a pair earlier in the year. They seemed like a ticket to the private world of high school cliques. Of course, my mother refused to shell out money for something she’d normally throw in the trash. But later in the day, I found her on the couch, methodically distressing my “back-to-school” jeans with a pair of sewing scissors.

Dave was only fifty feet away. As my eyes traced the slope of arm muscles beneath his football jersey, Zoe adjusted her position, accidentally stepping on a full bag of potato chips that someone had abandoned. It made an explosive popping noise—or at least it seemed that way, accentuated by my nerves. Dave’s head snapped in our direction. He reached up, twisting the brim of his baseball cap to the back.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

I held my breath. Snowflakes tapped on the dry leaves. Dave paced over to a postal truck, checked his reflection in the side mirror, and walked back. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He wouldn’t wait around much longer.

Just then, Mark Lawrence and his crew came into view, hopping like Mexican jumping beans from the grocery store toward the lot. The five of us were like spectators at Wimbledon, our heads swiveling back and forth from Harper to Lawrence.

“Hey, who’s there?” Dave squinted into the night.

“It’s Mikey,” crooned Mark. “Your boooooyfriend.”