League of Strays (28 page)

It never occurred to me that he might not read the letter right
away. If the ring didn’t drop down in front of Mr. Reid, the entire plan would fail.

Kade’s head swung around, scanning the crowd. I had the sinking feeling that he was looking for me. I pulled back, dizzy with fear. I could only see Mr. Reid’s profile. I watched him, the walkie-talkie poised by his mouth, the veins on his hand protruding from his grip. I peered around in time to see Kade unfold my letter. I pressed a hand to my mouth, tense with expectation.

The ring on the chain dropped down, drawing circles in the air. Before I could take another breath, Mr. Reid sped across the hallway and snatched the note out of Kade’s hand. He pretended to read it, jaw slack with surprise as he held up the ring. Our principal was a decent actor. Almost as good as Kade.

“That’s my mother’s. Give it back!” Kade demanded. Every head within thirty feet turned in his direction.

Mr. Reid lifted the ring to the light to read the inscription, then said something inaudible into his walkie-talkie. Kade raked his fingers through his hair, making an uncharacteristic mess. He took off, long steps carrying him down the hallway.

“Stop right there!” Reid called out.

Kade picked up speed, shoving a boy into the trophy case. Mr. Reid stood there, watching calmly. I didn’t get it: Was he going to let Kade get away? I hugged my arms around my waist, a reminder to stay where I was. But if Kade escaped, the police would never catch him. He’d steal his uncle’s BMW and be out of the state in a couple of hours, I was sure of it.

But then Mr. Jansen, the baseball coach, stepped out from behind the vending machine. The two police officers, Price and Henderson, materialized from the opposite direction. Caught between the bases, Kade had nowhere to go.

“I didn’t do anything!” he shouted, shaking off Price’s attempt to handcuff him. His eyes darted wildly about, searching for an exit like a squirrel caught in a trap. He spotted the nearest classroom and took off, shouldering his way toward it. If he made it inside, I knew what he’d do. He’d send a foot through the glass and tumble out the window onto the gravel sidewalk. Then he’d scramble to his feet and take off.
Gone
.

In a blur of motion, Officer Price sprinted across the room and whipped Kade’s arm behind his back. Kade doubled over from the pressure Price applied to his elbow, his struggles ending in grunts of pain.

Officer Henderson snapped the cuffs onto Kade’s wrists. Whispers from the crowd broke the silence, drowning out what Officer Henderson was saying to Kade. I knew the words, anyway, from watching one too many cop shows with my dad.

You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law …

I caught one last glimpse of Kade’s face before he was dragged from the building. Sharp features. Angular chin. Black eyebrows knit together. Chin jutting forward in defiance. He didn’t look the least bit attractive. He looked like a criminal. Kade Harlin was being removed from Kennedy High for the last time.

I allowed myself one small smile before turning to go to class. I nearly bumped into Nora, who stood beside me, so close that
our shoulders practically touched. Her eyes were on the closed door as if she expected Kade to shake off the police and stroll back inside the building.

“It’s over,” I said, bracing myself.

Nora shifted her gaze to me, blinked the tears from her eyes, and gave a single nod. “I know.”

AFTER MY PARENTS RANTED ABOUT MY SECRET “
THING”
with that “horrible boy” and recovered from shock, Dad said, “You don’t need to testify at the preliminary hearing, Charlotte. They should have enough evidence to find probable cause and send him to trial.”

Should have?
“But what if Kade makes up a story about finding the ring somewhere?” I asked.

I could tell Dad was caught between a parental need to protect his only daughter and his legal knowledge of how to win a case. Like the good lawyer he was, the truth won out. “Yes, it would be better if you told them what he said to you,” he conceded.

I didn’t need to think about it anymore. “I want to testify,” I said.

• • •

It was a hot June afternoon when my parents and I celebrated the court’s decision to send Kade to trial. We were at Double Rainbow, and Mom was wavering between coffee crunch and rocky road when Dad’s cell rang.

“Uh-huh … yes … that’s what I expected … right. Thank you,” he said into the phone.

“What?” I asked, cookie dough ice cream paused at my lips.

“That was the prosecutor,” Dad said. “They’ve agreed to a plea bargain.”

I lowered my cone. “A
what
?”

“The attorneys have proposed a sentence that they’ll submit to the courts in lieu of Kade going to trial.” He looked at the expression on my face, the ice cream melting down my knuckles, and said, “Ninety percent of criminal cases are settled by plea bargain, honey. It helps keep the system from getting clogged up with trials.”

“Does this mean he’ll get a better deal?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s the trade-off.”

I couldn’t believe it. Where was the justice in that? “How much better?”

“The court will probably suspend some of his sentence. My guess is he’ll serve one year in juvenile detention, with three years’ probation.”

I was stunned. “That’s all?”

“He’s only seventeen,” Dad said. “He might straighten out his act after being locked up for a year. Maybe he’ll realize there’s more to life than scaring teachers.”

I seriously doubted that. But I couldn’t argue the point, and I couldn’t tell him about all the other things Kade had done, because I hadn’t told anyone—not my parents or the courts—about the League of Strays or the other plans. Just as I’d thought, Kade hadn’t revealed anything more than I had, protecting all of us in the process of protecting himself.

“Serious consequences are enough to turn most people around,” Dad said.

He was right about the “most people” part. But none of these people knew Kade like I did. One day, they would learn, but by then, it might be too late.

Whenever help was requested with graduation setup, or ushers needed for the musical revue, or student tutors requested to offset final-exam freak-out, I volunteered. This was my own self-inflicted community service. It was all I could do.

It was a sweltering 101 degrees on Saturday, June 16th, the day I graduated from Kennedy High. Red and white balloons floated above speakers on either side of the stage, straight in the stagnant air. Sweat trickled down my neck, snaking under my gown. I scanned the symmetrical rows for Zoe and Richie. They were lost among an ocean of graduates in identical gowns and square hats. My gaze lingered on Kade’s empty chair, two rows back and four chairs over.

The class valedictorian, Emma Franklin, reached for her diploma, remembering at the last second to shake the principal’s hand. Nora was wearing sunglasses, her head down. I wondered what she thought about the speech, which touted a
bright future, the meaning of success, and a challenge to all of us to smile at someone on a daily basis.

In the last months of school, Nora had slipped further behind, eventually losing her grip even on salutatorian status. She looked just like the rest of us in a simple red robe.

Tiffany Miller was one of three students selected to give a graduation speech. As Kennedy High’s prom princess thanked her teachers, a whistle rose from somewhere in the middle rows. Hoots followed from the back of the bleachers. Everyone stared at her, waiting for a reaction. Images of Tiffany, dress clutched to her chest, paint dripping down her arms, girls giggling into cell phones, tripped through my mind.

She tossed a disdainful look into space and continued on with her speech. “Take the good things and leave the bad behind,” she concluded. “Memories are all we have to take with us.”

I thought of Kade’s “success” box, filled with stolen artifacts to help him remember everything he’d done.
Like getting souvenirs from the fair,
he’d said.

Tiffany finished, and the audience clapped politely. Our eyes met, and I smiled back, clapping harder. It wasn’t her clichéd speech that had impressed me. It was her resilience, something I hoped to find one day.

More people joined in until the entire crowd was clapping. Tiffany grinned and bounded down the steps. She edged past Nora and plunked down into her plastic, foldout chair.

Mr. Reid ended the ceremony with some generic wishes for our future. Hats and programs were tossed into the air like a flock of birds taking flight. I climbed onto my chair to search for
my parents. Mom was in the third row from the back, aiming a video camera at me. Dad was waving his arms over his head. I’d never seen him look so excited.

My viola teacher, Mr. Watson, stood beside them, primly observing the scene. I was glad he’d accepted my invitation and apology. When I’d finished the Paganini at my last lesson, he’d granted me a rare smile and said, “I suppose the vacation was good for you.”

Graduates filed into the aisle, forming an endless line that slithered up the hill toward the school. I moved to the side to wait for Zoe. She practically mowed people down to catch up with me.

“Congrats, Charlotte baby,” she gushed, out of breath. “Can you believe we made it?”

“Barely,” came a voice behind us. Richie smiled as he wiped off the dots of sweat from his forehead with the blousy arm of his gown.

As they babbled on about graduation speeches, I spotted Nora at the top of the path, scanning the crowd. We hadn’t spoken since Kade’s arrest. Her gaze settled on me, her fingers curling in a tiny wave. I took a step in her direction, but she spun around and disappeared into the throng of graduates and their parents.

Richie reached into the gaping pocket of his gown and pulled out a wrinkled letter. “Guess what? I’m heading to California in three weeks.”

My eyes cut to the first sentence: “The Culinary Institute is happy to inform you …”

Richie grinned back at me.

“Congrats, my man!” Zoe clapped him on the back. “Are you going to get one of those marshmallow hats those chef guys wear?”

“I already own three,” he admitted.

“Hey, my aunt and uncle live in Sonoma,” I said. I was about to suggest that I could visit him in the summer sometime, but I didn’t. It may have been the polite thing to say, but it wasn’t the truth. Richie and I wouldn’t be seeing each other after graduation; we both knew it. As much as I cared about Richie and Zoe, I understood that Kade was the tie that bound us together, and it had almost strangled us.

“The Bay Area’s beautiful,” I finished.

“I hear it’s cool to be gay in San Francisco,” Zoe said.

Richie raised the floppy collar of his gown and struck a pose, a poor imitation of either a rock star or a vampire. I wasn’t sure which. Zoe and I laughed. He was so nerdy, so completely Richie, and that, by itself, was cool.

“What are you doing this summer?” I asked Zoe.

“You’re looking at the next manager-in-training at Brooks Sports. I’m going to live at home for a while, at least until my mom gets out of rehab in July.”

“That’s great news, Zoe,” I said.

“I’m saving up for the police academy,” Zoe added, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of our reaction. When we didn’t give any, she opened them and grinned. “I can sign up when I’m twenty.”

“Officer Carpenter,” I said, testing it out.

“Sounds really good,” Richie responded before I could.

“Who knows, maybe one day I’ll get the bastard for good,” she said under her breath. But we both heard her loud and clear.

“What about you?” Richie asked me.

“I’m going to State,” I told them.

“What about Barrymore?” Zoe asked. “I thought you were going to call them.”

“I did, but it was too late. I missed the deadline. I’m going to audition again next year. Until then, I’ll keep practicing, and try out for State orchestra. Get some life experience, you know?”

“I thought the viola wasn’t your thing,” Richie said.

“It wasn’t Kade’s thing,” I responded.

The three of us looked past the graduation chaos, beyond the parking lot, to the mountains that separated Glenwood from the rest of the world.

Richie and Zoe walked off, blending into the crowd of celebrating graduates. My eyes swung back to the field like a person compelled to take another look at an accident scene. Kade’s chair, still empty. I knew he was out there somewhere, and all I could do was hope that, someday, I’d be able to stop looking.

Thanks to my wonderful critique group and writing partners, M’Ladies of the Book: Darcey Rosenblatt, Alison Berka, and Amanda Conran. Your insightful comments over the years have made me a better writer.

A special thanks goes out to my agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette, a great writer herself, a stellar agent, and an all-around excellent person. Much gratitude goes to the team at Amulet Books, who devoted many hours behind the scenes, and to Tamar Brazis, my talented editor, for her tireless revision notes that led to the heart of my characters.