I look at our site again and am confused. I know you can make coin off YouTube, and we’re certainly doing that or O. P. wouldn’t be paying us. So where are the ads? Isn’t that how it works?
I type in the web address for Get Out There and wait to be assaulted by ads linking to our videos, but the page looks exactly the same as the last time I saw it. Everything needed for outdoor adventure is a mouse click away.
But why no links to us? And honestly, what business pays a bunch of kids to thwart death? I need to talk with someone who could answer that question, but it’s either Trevor or Ginny. Trevor’s out, because I don’t trust him not to go back to Ricky. Things are settled now, and I’d like to keep it that way. And I’m not calling Ginny. She’ll tell me to stop. And at this point, even with the fear of Jesse Holmes or McNeil or the police, what would be the point of stopping?
Yup, we’re sticking with Laws One and Two. We’ll worry about Three later.
CHAPTER 18
I
pull up
outside John’s and he ambles out, waves to me with his formerly busted hand, and the movement is off. I’ve been picking him up for the past two weeks, and ever since he got the cast off he’s been trying to use his arm more. It’s not pretty, and he hasn’t said anything, but I’d put money on him losing that scholarship.
“Morning, Benny. Shit, it’s cold.”
“See, aren’t you glad I moved so now you don’t have to walk?”
He waves away the ridiculousness of my statement and I drive on.
“Hey, I think we can get our SAT scores next week.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”
“They’re supposed to be posted in like two to three weeks, so, you know.”
Right before Thanksgiving. Right before our next dare. Figures. The Writing and Critical Reading sections were easy except for the grammar. I don’t remember learning any of that. The math shit on me. Truly. It felt like problem after problem was dropped right on my head. I should have known how to do everything, but because I never brushed up, it was all out of reach. I went home that afternoon and napped until I had to go to work. Mom thought I was sick.
“Great. Can’t wait.” I pull into the lot and park.
“Yeah, like you’re concerned. I’m mildly retarded, and without ball . . .”
John stops short and I kill the engine. “Without ball you have more free time to mess up your life with me.” I smile wide and fake.
“I think you’re losing it, Benny.”
“Of course I am.”
“At least Jesse hasn’t come after us. Or anyone else. Guess McNeil is staying tight-lipped and whatever Trev’s doing must be working.”
It’s true. So far, so good. Even Chuck came out fine. Cops showed up, but all he had to say was, “I don’t know why they mentioned me or where they got those shirts.” They talked to each of us, too. Spent a lot of time with the cooks and Alexia. She said it was because she dates Jesse. Wanted to know who his enemies are. They only asked me how school was going.
We head inside and pass Alexia’s locker. Chantel’s with her. Jesse’s there, too. He’s flirting with Alexia, but Chantel’s watching his every move. I call to Chantel, but she doesn’t turn. Jesse shoots us a look like he’s trying to read our minds.
“Cold. Benny, that’s ice.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that,” I say with more force than is necessary. Probably because I’m trying to convince myself more than I’m answering John. Chantel was into me, but then she started protecting Alexia. At least I haven’t seen her with any other guys. So there’s that.
Ricky’s at his locker with Trevor, who has his laptop out. We approach and he says, “Look.”
The YouTube video begins and some guy steps back from the camera. He’s with two other guys, dressed exactly like us, down to the masks and T-shirts. It’s disorienting and feels like I’m watching some twin or that German word—doppelgänger? Why couldn’t I remember a word like that for the SAT?
The guy in the video doesn’t speak. He just points to his crew, and they all lift baseball bats and smack them into their palms. The camera pans to a mailbox and back to the twin for Ricky. He nods and the setup is clear.
The next scenes are of the car driving down Jasperg Lane, where we did our first dare, to the McMansion development over, where each of them is taking turns smashing every mailbox in it. My mouth goes dry. The video ends with a shot of the car racing away, baseball bats sticking out the windows.
The screen prompts to replay and we all stare.
“Copycats!” Ricky stamps his foot. “These assholes are going to ruin it for us.”
“But we don’t do stuff like that. It doesn’t make any sense.” John’s voice is high and nasally.
“That’s the point. They’re trying to get us caught,” Trevor says. “Holmes has been denying the charges up and down. Whoever did this wants to keep the cops busy and make us look bad.”
I remember how Jesse stared at us as we walked by. Would he? Would he be smart enough to have this figured out? Would he be dumb enough to risk everything after being arrested?
The bell rings and Ricky sighs. “We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”
We all nod and head to class, not that much will get absorbed today.
—
In physics my teacher
rambles on about the importance of equilibrium and stability. He talks about how in spite of the importance of balance, little changes to a system do not necessarily affect the equilibrium and sometimes are good because they cause the system to adjust and learn to help balance.
Econ and English are both filled with quizzes that I fail, and calculus is all about the rate of change.
Balance. Change. The story of events. Are these classes representing my life, or is my life somehow shot through them?
John and I enter the cafeteria into a chorus of angry talk. People are pissed. We slip through to our table. Trevor’s got his laptop out and is mumbling. Ricky looks at his food but doesn’t eat.
“They’ve killed our plan. When they find out it’s us at the end of the year, it won’t matter. Because of this they won’t care about all the cool dares we performed,” I say.
“No shit,” Ricky says, adding, “so we need to figure out who they are and get them back.”
John shifts in his seat and clears his throat but doesn’t say anything.
“There might be a way.” Trevor’s voice is calm and clear. He turns the laptop toward us and taps the screen. “Check the comments.”
We read the slew of anger.
“So what, Trev?” I say.
Trevor frowns and shakes his head. He’s beyond our mental capacity. I wonder two things: what he scored on the SAT and how the hell he deals with Ricky? I love Rick, but he’s got street smarts, period.
“It’s not
what
they’re writing, but
who isn’t
.” Trevor lets his words hang and for one of us to respond. We don’t. He continues after a frustrated growl. “Think about it. All the kids on here are popular. Those mailboxes were all in front of homes with lots of money. These kids are pissed that someone—us—would do that to them. So the question is, who of the popular kids isn’t chiming in?”
I get what he’s saying, and think maybe Holmes isn’t as put together as he seems. “Think about it. Whoever did this isn’t that bright. They just took a huge risk. Do you think they’d be smart enough to hop on the comments and act as if they were victims or were pissed that their friends were?”
Trevor says, “Thank you, Ben.”
Ricky leans back. “So you’re saying somebody who’s onto us did this?”
I go to say, “Possibly,” but am cut off by John.
“The only people in this school messed up enough to do this are Jesse and his friends. Trust me, I’ve seen plenty. We’re nuts, but they belong in some home.”
I forget at times that John is an athlete, or
was
, and so he knows that world more than any of us. And I remember all that has happened to Alexia and could not agree any more with him.
“Trust me. I know, too.” Trevor’s voice is more harsh than I’ve ever heard it. He and John share a glance, and then Trevor looks at Ricky and back at his computer. “We need to fix this.”
Ricky sighs. “Let me think. But first I need to get in touch with O. P. and let him know what’s what. Benny, you may need some damage control on your end, too.”
It takes me a second but then I remember: Chuck.
And just as I’m in my throes of despair, Holmes and company strut past. They settle into their seats and do their thing, but they keep looking our way. Shit, we lit this match out of our desire to be popular. And now it seems the popular kids have caught wind.
Newton, do the popular kids win? Is that how the world always works? Or am I being my usual paranoid self? Or worse, is this evidence for your Third Law?
—
All I want to do
is talk to Alexia, but here comes Chuck, his face pizza-sauce red.
“What’s going on, Doc? Those kids smashed mailboxes?” Chuck advances on me as he speaks, his large belly pushing me into a corner. “Was it that Jesse kid? Alexia’s boyfriend? ’Cause this gives me all the more reason to take his punk ass out.”
So he’s noticed? I put up my hands. “I don’t know.” It would be so much easier to throw him under the bus, but if I’m wrong and I squeal twice, I’m dead.
Chuck’s eyes dart. “I’ve had customers in here all day and even more phone calls. They think I’m still connected to those idiots. Do you have any idea how much business I’ve lost?”
“I’m sorry, Chuck.”
He leans in, looks over at Alexia quickly, and then his eyes are on me. “Be straight with me, Doc. Between the two of us, was it that kid? I won’t go to the cops. I’ll handle it myself.”
I have never considered whether Chuck is capable of violence. He’s nuts, but harmless. But this, what’s before me, isn’t someone to tangle with. And I’m responsible, even if not this time. “I honestly don’t know. I’d love for you to take him out, but on good conscience, I can’t.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “You’re a good shit, Doc.” He releases me and stalks back into his office. I breathe and prepare for Alexia.
The phone rings. She picks it up and sets it right back down without answering.
I slide up. “Everything okay?”
“No. They’ve been calling since I got here, wanting to know when the mailboxes will be fixed.”
“Still, you should probably answer the phone, don’t you think? In case it’s an order?”
Her face sharpens. “Everyone’s saying it’s Jesse. That he did this to get back at whoever told the cops he was doing those stupid dares.” She stills for a second, and this is the Alexia of my past, the smart neighbor who played with me. “If he really did that, I don’t know how I can stay with him. It’s bad enough that he’s . . . grabbed me a few times. But if he’s this stupid, willing to risk so much, then I don’t know what he’s capable of.” She pauses. “And I don’t want to find out.”
My heart flutters. And not in some hell-yeah moment. Sure, I want Alexia to be as far away from Jesse Holmes as possible, but now for her safety. This doesn’t open some door for me. She’s hurt and scared and too smart to be blind anymore. It’s only a matter of time before this blows up and she realizes I’m behind what happened to Jesse. I will be dead to her then.
—
On my third order
a guy grabs my elbow and pulls me inside his house. “You gotta see this.”
I stand in his living room while he rewinds the local news on his DVR. When the broadcaster comes on, she begins the top of the news with a breaking story about “Mailbox Baseball Viral Video.” She plays the YouTube clip of Jesse and his boys and then our latest adventure. My stomach drops, and I sit on the guy’s couch.
The reporter goes on to explain how an anonymous email came into the authorities, alerting them that this baseball was a copycat and who the real suspects were. Jesse Holmes and his friends have been arrested again, the bats they’d used still in the trunk.
The reporter says, “And so this only deepens the confusion. Are these boys the daredevils gone wrong? Or copycats with a vengeance, with our would-be stuntmen still hiding in cyberspace?”
I almost pass out. The guy even looks at me funny.
But the story doesn’t end there. The coverage goes out to a crew of workers busy setting new mailboxes along the street. They won’t say who is paying them, but all are wearing get out there adventure shirts. The reporter ends with, “This development seems to add credence to the copycat story. It seems our local, unknown celebrities aren’t just death-defying daredevils, they also have hearts. Now, if only we could see who they are and thank them.”
I scramble out of the house so fast I forget to collect the guy’s money. I rip my phone out of my pocket and text Ricky:
Explain.
Chuck loses his shit on me, gathering me into an enormous bear hug and flinging me around the shop. Alexia goes home early, saying she’s sick. Fortunately, my shift is over and Chuck is more than happy to let me go.
My phone chimes. Ricky.
We’re good. O. P. likes what we’ve done. Thinks we should be fine.
I respond,
What did we do? You just called us out on TV? You said there was another crew.
Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.
I’m pretty sure I should be shitting myself. I set my phone down and my parents appear at my door.
“Ben, did you see the news?”
I nod. They look at each other in awe.
“So who is it? Who’s the guy you work with doing those dares?” Mom’s voice comes out in a rush.
I almost laugh, the sensation spilling across my tongue, but I hold it in. “He doesn’t. It’s a long story, but no one at the shop is involved in this.”
“Really?” Mom says. Dad shakes his head.
“Idiots. Him and his friends. Whoever they are. Gonna get themselves killed. And what for?”
I nod. “I know.”
My phone rings and I look at the number. It’s Chantel. “Can I take this in private?”
Dad shoots me a thumbs-up before closing the door.
“Hey, Chantel, what’s up?”
“Have you talked to Alexia?”
I can’t tell if she’s pissed or excited. Her voice is this noise, loud and aggressive. “Yeah, at work. Why?”