I want to type “WTF?” because these seem insane. The bridge was extreme enough, do we really have to top that? And logistically, we don’t all have bikes and skis, so how in the hell can we do those? And biologically, how can we hold our breath for three minutes? You die after that long. I’d panic before I hit thirty seconds.
I log off and scramble to the shower, hoping it will clear my head. It doesn’t, but seeing that Ginny’s door is still closed makes me happy. Bet she has a raging headache. I stomp extra loud past her room and head downstairs.
My parents are, indeed, huddled at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee between them. Dad reads the paper while Mom stares at nothing. Both are in their robes, not dressed for work. Neither seems to notice me when I reach between them and fill a travel mug. I look at the calendar to be sure it’s Friday and not Saturday. Maybe they’re taking the day off? Maybe they both quit their jobs? Maybe they’re not really my parents and when I come home tonight they’ll have moved on and my real parents will be here? Hopefully they’ll take Ginny with them. I grab a cereal bar and head out the door.
John’s sitting on his front porch when I roll up. “Man, you look like hell,” he says.
I chew on the bar and nod. “I know. Ginny came home last night, so I didn’t get to bed until late. Then Ricky was all messaging me.”
“What’s going on? He hasn’t sent me anything.” John crouches to be at my face, and I feel bad waving him off.
“Nope. I’m not saying jack until we’re all together. I don’t know what’s up, because he wasn’t exactly clear.” I know that’s a half lie, but I’m too groggy for anything else.
“But what’d he say? Did we get the list? The check? What’s the deal with Trevor?”
I pull a hand over my face, and it only makes me feel more tired. “I don’t know.”
John accepts this like he accepts everything else, with a nod. Maybe Ricky was right? Maybe John needs my guidance on this? But right now he’s like a friggin’ giraffe next to me, and I feel like a terrible zookeeper.
“Mornin’, boys.” Ricky’s all smiles and doesn’t look like he barely slept last night. I feel like punching him so his eyes are as dark as mine. Or maybe for other reasons, too.
We nod, but I refuse to speak. I’m supporting John on this. He wants the list.
“So here it is.” Ricky pulls three sheets of paper from his pocket and hands one to each of us. It’s a printout of the message. John reads and I watch his face.
He goes white.
“These are crazy. I don’t ski, and with the season coming, I really shouldn’t do half of these.” John looks up.
Ricky asks, “But what’s more important?”
I think he means for the question to be rhetorical, but John clears his throat. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is agreeing to something and then not seeing it through.”
John nods. “I know, but these are scary, and really dangerous. Come on. You have to understand where I’m coming from.”
Ricky squeezes his shoulder. “I do. But you can’t tell me the car surfing and the jump weren’t dangerous? You want this.”
John chews on his lip and then looks over at me. I stare at the list and ignore him.
“Read those again and number them. You know, which ones you’d most like to do as number one, and so on. We’ll decide at lunch. All right?”
John nods, but of course he does. At least he spoke up.
I say, “Yeah, sure,” but wish I could articulate more.
The bell rings, and John and I look at Ricky as if we need more time.
“See you at lunch,” he says and takes off.
We cram the papers into our pockets and head to class, and I pray the caffeine provides me the ability to concentrate.
—
I bombed quizzes
in all of my classes. No multiple choice, all short answer and essay. I know Newton’s laws, but when I was staring at the questions asking me to describe each, all I could think of was my messed-up life. The dares or the crap at home may apply, but I certainly wouldn’t get credit for writing
losing my house
as an example for the First Law, and
playing chicken in traffic
for the Second.
Math was as ridiculous. This whole “show your work” nonsense is just that—bullshit. I could have maybe guessed the answers, but I have no clue how to actually get there. Kind of like with the bike and the pond scenario, or which is better, a mortgage or rent? I’m sure I could figure it out, but is it worth it?
And English. Jesus Christ, I can’t even write fluff today. I’m normally an expert at the fill-in-the-blank essay format, inserting the names of characters and plot points where they belong. But not today. The only stories I had were of my family living in a shack or of how John, Ricky, and I all died jumping from a rooftop and slamming into the alley below, or being pinned underwater by some rock, waiting for the stopwatch to reach three minutes.
I give up. It’s already October, so why shouldn’t I? By Thanksgiving I’ll be on academic probation, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll either be living in some shitty apartment downtown or out in Arizona with the tumbleweeds. Or dead.
I close my locker and John’s face replaces the space where the metal grille was.
“You decide?”
I sigh. “No. You?”
“I tried. But this was hard. It was a hell of a lot easier when Ricky was telling us what to do.”
When we arrive at the cafeteria, all is the usual until I look at our table. There, planted at Ricky’s elbow, is Trevor. The two of them are talking about something real intensely. Trevor’s gesturing and Ricky’s nodding and adding comments to whatever Trevor’s saying. If I didn’t know them, I’d think they were friends. They both look up when John and I sit down, but keep talking. They use words like “bandwidth” and “screen splitter.”
We eat and ignore the big question hanging over us. I think it’s called the “elephant in the room,” but what would I know? My English essay might as well have been written in crayon.
“Guys, hey, sorry about that, Trevor and I needed to get some of this camera work stuff out of the way.”
John and I stop eating, but he was almost done anyway, so that doesn’t really count. I wait for more, but Ricky moves on like everything is normal.
“So, lists? Let’s take a look.” Ricky pulls his out of his pocket, and I’m glad to see that Trevor doesn’t have his own copy. Neither John nor I move, though.
“No, you explain what’s going on here.” John points with his fork. “Since eighth grade you’ve been ready to punch this weasel into the ground. And now? He’s in on this?”
Trevor stares ahead as if John’s talking about someone else, not him.
Ricky smooths his list on the table. “I told you that I would be talking to Trevor. That we’d sort this out. We did, and then decided that it would be best if he did our camera work and helped us with online security. He’s good and it would make things easier.
You
remember our conversation with McNeil, right?”
I know John’s not going to answer, so I clear my throat. “Of course we remember, but that’s not the issue. It seems like
you
decided something pretty significant for
us
. Aren’t you the one who told us not to tell anyone? So it’s kind of f’ed that
you
did. And besides that, you hate him. What’s the deal?” The fog in my head hasn’t lifted and this exertion isn’t helping, but Ricky had better have one hell of a good answer. I know when shit is worth worrying about, and this is monumentally concerning.
Ricky clenches his jaw and turns to me. “I sent you that message last night. You could have told John before now.”
A pit opens up in my stomach, and I feel John’s eyes on me. Well played. “Still, I only would have been telling him what you are now. Which is?”
Ricky backs away from the table, hands up, like a politician. “Hey, of course. I understand. That’s what this list is all about. We decide together. I went ahead with Trevor because I thought it would be best for
us
.” He leans back in. “And you heard what McNeil said. Trevor is the only one that can keep us off his radar.”
Ricky’s always been up to no good, so I don’t know if I should be surprised, but this is the first time Ricky’s sided with an enemy. I don’t like it. At all.
“Bullshit. I’m calling bullshit on all of this. We all know that Trevor’s dead to us. So forget the damn list for a second and answer that question first.”
“Which one?” Ricky offers his fuck-you smile.
I stand. “You tell me what’s the deal with him or I walk. Because right now I feel like I’m being played. You got us to get this shit started and kept Trevor in the wing for some reason I don’t understand. So you explain or I’m out.”
Ricky twitches. “So like you, Ben. You fold when shit gets tough.”
“
I’m
not the one who sold us out. The kid sitting next to you did.”
John adjusts in his seat and is about to stand with me, but Ricky sticks out his hand. “John, please. Hold on. Give me a second.”
I like how his voice quavers a bit. It’s good to see him a little nervous. Shocking that I caused it, but good. I sit because all that bravado has left me feeling weak.
Ricky balls up his fists and rubs them against his temples. He speaks to the table. “I was wrong to spring this on you, but please believe me that I’m not pulling any shit. There’s no master plan with Trevor. Things collided and then all of a sudden made sense.”
“Like with O. P., there was nothing you kept from us, right?” John’s voice is cold.
Ricky looks up. “That’s fair.” He nods. “Shit, I get how this looks. Fuck, I don’t really know how to make you believe me, so walk if you want to. I’ll still give you your cut of the cash.”
“That’s it? Nothing more?” I ask.
Ricky looks at me, and he appears genuinely hurt. “Ben, I don’t have word skills like you. I don’t know what else to say. Trevor and I buried the hatchet. He put two and two together after he heard us talking about McNeil. He offered to help. You know, as a sign that he’s sorry.” He pauses. “The three of us have been tight since April. I figured we could
all
be that way again.”
And I feel like an asshole. Ricky poured his heart out, and it all seemed so genuine and not at all a giant scheme. Shit. I look at him and then Trevor, and more than anything, I want to say, “I’m sorry,” but I can’t. I guess I still don’t trust something here. But I don’t know if that’s just me and my messed-up head, or if it’s intuition.
“Trevor, what’s your plan for all of this?” I ask.
He frowns. “It’s really all about anonymity and password protection. We put up the videos and encrypt each of them with a separate password. McNeil may find the videos, but he won’t be able to see them. He’d have to bother to find the passwords.”
Trevor has a slight lisp that I normally find annoying, but now, because of what he’s talking about, it makes him sound intelligent. Weird.
“We’ll dispense those passwords via Twitter, not Facebook. Stay off Facebook. Take down any messages you’ve already posted, and I’ll create a Twitter account through an external IP address. That way it can’t be traced to us.”
John says, “Huh.”
I clear my throat. “How are you going to
know
? Can’t McNeil, or anyone really, stumble across it?”
Trevor’s mouth shifts beneath his beady eyes. “It’s unlikely, but don’t worry, if that happens,
I’ve
got the technology covered. Ricky has some other ideas to keep you safe, the answer to the other half of your question. But I don’t want to go blabbing about either in the cafeteria where people could hear.” He tilts his head, indicating the room.
I look around. No one’s paying any attention to us. Still, I’ll give it to him, it’s a solid point, and overall, none of that sounded like he was pulling it out of his ass. He seems to know what he’s talking about. The only question is whether Ricky does.
“So what now?”
John nods and says, “Yeah?”
Ricky sighs. “Back to the list. How did you rank them?”
I go first and read my preferences, and then John does the same, followed by Ricky.
Playing chicken and skiing behind a car tie for last place. Holding our breath underwater is next to last. The rooftop jump comes in second and riding bikes into a pond is the top pick. John mutters an “amen.”
“So I’ll get back to O. P. and let him know. We’ll need some gear for this, right? Who needs a bike?”
We both raise our hands, and John adds, “How does O. P. know we have a pond around here?”
Now there’s a damn good question. Probably designed to see if there’s more to this Craigslist connection. Nice.
“I don’t know. Maybe he went on Google Earth?” Ricky shrugs.
That got us nowhere. Trevor’s staring blankly into space, as if none of this concerns him. I envy him a little.
“What about the ramp? Where’s that coming from?” I ask.
“O. P.” Ricky spits the answer.
“Is he going to come here and build it himself?”
Ricky looks at me now. “I don’t know. I’ll find out.”
“Fine. The checks?”
Ricky shifts. “It should be here this afternoon.”
I grip the table. “It?”
Ricky looks me in the eye. “Yes. We only get one. I promise to divide it evenly.”
I focus on the point that matters. “Why only one?”
“That’s what’s in the contract.”
Shit. I knew we should have read that more closely. “Get us copies.”
“Sure. Why?”
“You want this all to be cool with us, right?”
Ricky nods. “I do, Ben. Seriously.”
“Do this, then, and we’re cool?”
Ricky reaches across the table and we shake hands. “Thank you,” he says.
I don’t know what he’s thanking me for—there’s so much it could be—but there’s no point in asking. He deserves a bit of dignity. “You’re welcome.”
CHAPTER 10
T
he last period ends
and I run from school like it’s on fire. I don’t even see John next to me until we’re a block away. “That was some craziness at lunch,” he says.
“Crazy doesn’t touch it.”
John frowns. “I get what Ricky meant, but I don’t trust Trevor. And there’s more to it, I know it. Ricky’s pushing these dares like his life depends on it.” He pauses. “You think there’s something we’re missing? Is that why you asked for the contract?”