Risen (7 page)

QUATTRO (4)

The next day, things get weird.

Jay and me are sitting next to one another in Western Civ, it’s the only other class we share.

Mister Grimes is droning on and on about the jury system and the Supreme Court, and I’m taking notes but my eyes are practically closing. It’s such a dull class, but I’m acing it—a nice boost to my GPA.

“Richardson,” Jay whispers.

I glance over at him. He covertly slides his phone out and nods his head at me.

Types into his phone, then gestures to me.

Even though it’s technically not allowed and I could get kicked out of class for it, I pull my phone from my backpack and turn it on, remembering to turn the volume all the way down at the last second.

Mister Grimes is at the blackboard. He’s one of the few teachers who still regularly use a blackboard instead of power point or other computer based presentations.

His gray hair is greasy and his wrinkled button-down shirt has coffee stains on the shoulder. How on earth he managed to get coffee in that spot is anyone’s guess.

Jay’s text comes through.

U ready to get into bizness 2gether??

My brow furrows. I quickly text him back.

What business?

Mister Grimes’s voice continues on without break as I wait for Jay to clarify things.

“Now, that’s why the president’s appointment to the Supreme Court is so important,” Grimes says. “A Supreme Court Justice can hold that office for a very long time and set quite a bit of precedent. It’s a big responsibility.”

Jay’s text comes through moments later
. Simple. People give u $$$ and u take
it.

Money for what?
I respond.

Not over the phone, he writes back.

Not over the phone? Then why the hell are we texting in the first place? I wonder. And now I’m so distracted that I don’t hide my phone quickly enough. Mister Grimes seems clueless, but occasionally he’ll surprise you.

“Excuse me, Mister Richardson.” Grimes looks over at me, one arm still in mid-air holding a piece of white chalk. The chalk dust is smeared on his fingertips. “What is that?”

I finish zipping up the front pocket of my backpack and drop the bag onto the floor near my feet. “What is what?”

“That electronic device you just tried to hide, a bit conspicuously might I add. I believe it’s known as a cell phone, and it’s disallowed during class time.”

“Sorry sir, just…ah….checking the time.”

A ripple of laughter passes through the room. There’s an enormous clock on the wall, not five feet from where I’m sitting.

“I’m very serious when it comes to the rules about cellular phones. If it was up to me, they wouldn’t even be allowed in the building. Please go and see Mister McCafferty.”

“I swear, it won’t happen again. Please don’t kick me out.” I can’t help it, the panic shows in my voice. I’ve never been kicked out of class before.

Grimes points to the doorway. “Out. Zero tolerance policy, that’s how my classroom works.”

I stand up, grab my backpack, and walk out. Everyone’s watching me. I can’t even look at Jay, I’m so pissed at him for getting me in trouble.

Mister McCafferty, the housemaster, probably doesn’t even know who I am.

When I get to McCafferty’s office, I tell his secretary that I’ve been kicked out of Western Civ for texting.

She gives me a look over her wire-rimmed glasses. “You know better than that, don’t you?”

“It was a mistake.”

She frowns and punches the intercom. “Mister McCafferty, I have a student here for you.”

I sit down on one of the tiny chairs and try to relax. Isn’t this the story with Jay?

He somehow finds a way to twist every situation into something negative and dangerous.

At least, that’s how he used to be and it doesn’t seem like anything has changed much in the meantime.

It takes awhile for Mister McCafferty to bring me into his office, but finally he does. He’s a tall guy, with red cheeks and a thick sheet of gray hair that falls across his forehead. He occasionally brushes it away as he talks.

“Have a seat,” he says in a deep voice that almost rumbles, closing the office door behind us.

My hands are sweating.

McCafferty’s office is small and smells like coffee. He goes back around his desk and sits. I sit down in one of the two chairs pulled up in front of his desk. There’s a mountain of papers and binders across the desk, forming something of a pyramid.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, leaning back and locking eyes with me.

“Mister Grimes kicked me out of Western Civ for using my cell.”

“Everyone knows he’s strict about that sort of thing. And you should know better than to be using your phone in class.”

“It won’t happen again.”

McCafferty nods. “You’ve never been in my office before, have you?”

“No--I’m a pretty good student.”

He smiles. “You seem nervous.”

“I’m just not used to being in trouble, getting kicked out of class. My parents would kill me.”

“Nobody’s contacting your parents over this. Consider it a warning. When you’re in Mister Grimes’s class, play by his rules, okay?”

“Definitely.” I can barely keep the relieved smile off my face.

“Some teachers are more laid back about this kind of thing, but rules are rules.

You clearly understand that.”

“Yes sir.”

He smiles and sits forward. “Okay, then. Consider this your Get Out of Jail Free Card.”

“I usually just try and roll sixes.”

He cocks his head. “Excuse me?”

“You know, in Monopoly,” I say, smiling to show it’s a joke. “You can either use the Get Out of Jail Free card or you can roll sixes…” I make a pretend dice throw but it’s not happening. My little joke attempt is a flop.

McCafferty’s mouth twitches as the awkward silence deepens. Then finally he says, “Just keep your nose clean from here on out.”

“Absolutely.” I take a deep breath and get up to leave.

“By the way, just because I went easy on you today, don’t let this be the start of us seeing more of one another,” he says, when I reach the door. “I’m only nice the first time.”

Leaving the office feels like I just got a new lease on life.

I’ve gotten off easy. I really need to start being more careful. I can’t let Jay drag me into anymore dumb stuff. Mister McCafferty was sending me a message and I want to listen to the message.

Unfortunately, Jay has different ideas. He’s waiting for me at my locker.

“Did you catch any shit from McCaffer-crotch?” he says, examining some dirt under his thumbnail as he leans against the metal doors.

“Not really.”

“Good.”

“But I did get kicked out of class. No more texting in Western Civ for me.”

“Grimes is such a bitch about technology. That guy must have been born on the Mayflower.”

I just look at him. “Whatever. I just can’t go getting in any more trouble. So this new business plan you’ve got, leave me out of it.”

Jay’s eyes are suddenly flat and unfriendly. “Okay Richardson. See you later, then.” He starts off.

Suddenly I realize what I’ve done. The last thing I need is for Jay to hate me. As much as I don’t want to get in trouble, I also don’t want Jay to despise me.

What if Nate comes after me again? I’d be on my own.

I run to catch up with Jay before he gets too far.

“Jay.”

He’s pissed now.

“Jay,” I say again.

“What.”

“Sorry if I was being a baby about getting kicked out of class.”

“Nah, Richardson. You made your point. You enjoy being a straight-A student and getting into MIT. Have a fun life.”

I’m surprised by how desperate I feel to have him not be mad at me anymore.

“Dude, I don’t give a shit, okay? I don’t care about Grimes. The guy’s a total idiot. I was in a bad mood for a second but I’m over it.”

Jay stops walking and looks at me. “Don’t take that shit out on me.”

“So what’s the thing you were texting me about?” I ask, wanting to make him happy again.

“I don’t know, Richardson.” He waves to one of the little girl groupies walking by.

“Come on, I’m curious.”

“But we might get in trouble,” he whines, mimicking me—but making me sound like an eight year old girl.

“Dude, just tell me.”

He gives me a long, hard stare, as if deciding whether it’s worth it to keep me around anymore. Finally, he must decide that it is. “I talked to Nate Diaz yesterday.”

“When?”

“After football practice. I ran into him—anyway, it doesn’t matter when,” he says, waving the question off. “Point is, we’re totally cool now.”

“That’s good, I guess.” I wait for the rest of it.

“And so we’re moving into Phase Two of my big plan. And I thought you might want to be part of it.”

“What’s Phase Two?”

“Remember when you were saying I was charging that kid for protection?”

I don’t reply. I’m trying to figure out where this is all going.

He looks annoyed again. “Well, I’m going to do it. Charge kids for protection.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Actually, WE’RE going to do it. Unless you want to start in on being a boy scout, in which case you can just forget this conversation and I’ll see you around.”

“You want me to be in on it?”

“Jesus.” Jay takes a moment to compose himself. “I don’t care, Richardson. It’s up to you. Besides, you’re kind of bringing me down. I want people to be excited or it’s not worth it.”

“I guess I just don’t understand. What would I do?”

Jay smiles. “You get to do the fun part.”

My stomach drops. Whatever this little scheme is, it can’t be good for me to have anything to do with it. And yet, something in me still wants to keep going further.

Something inside of me that I never knew existed before. It makes me nervous to realize I can’t seem to say no to Jay Stevens.

***

On Friday night, I show up to the football game alone.

It’s a pretty cold night and I’m wearing my North Face jacket and a skullcap.

Checking myself out in the mirror before leaving my house, I thought I looked kind of like a badass. Or at least slightly less “MIT techie nerd” than usual.

I told mom I was going to the game and she approved, since in her mind only good things happen at school football games. I’ve been staying home on Friday and Saturday night for years, and mom never tires of asking me why I’m not out with my friends. Of course she knows I don’t have any real friends, just school acquaintances.

But it got to where I occasionally would lie and tell her I had plans to meet someone at the movies and then I’d just go sit in the theater alone or grab some food at Burger King by myself.

I feel a momentary pang of guilt knowing that I’ve once again lied to my mom and that she thinks I’m just doing the whole school spirit thing. But at least this time I’ve actually got a social activity going on.

So it’s not a complete lie.

And then I’m entering the field and the echoes of the announcements and the cheers of the hundreds of fans overwhelm whatever thoughts I was having.

This feels real, I think. I’m here for a reason.

At first, I stand beside the field on the opposing team’s side, trying to remain anonymous. On the bleachers across the way I can see so many people from our school cheering and talking and running around.

Jay told me that the kids I need to see will be on the lookout for me, and they’ll be especially nervous because Nate Diaz has actually shown up to the game with some of his dirt bag friends. And as it turns out, I almost immediately spot Nate and three other guys stalking the grounds over by the concessions stands.

But they’re really only here to act tough and scare people, not to actually do anything. Jay assured me of it when he explained everything to me earlier.

After taking a few minutes to psych myself up, I walk across to the home bleachers. I act casual, sit down on one of the topmost rows, close enough to everyone that people can see I’m here, but far enough away that I’m out of earshot of most of the crowd.

I pretend to watch the game, which is closely contested despite the fact that Hudson is known to suck balls. Maybe the rivalry is too strong and Hudson doesn’t want to throw in the towel this early.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone pointing in my direction and then a small contingent of boys clomps up the metal bleachers and over to where I’m sitting.

They’re sophomores. I think they all play on the JV basketball squad.

The clear leader of the group is Robbie Wilson, sporting a shaved head and large fake diamond in one ear. “Jay told us to come see you with the chedda,” he says in his fake thug accent. He’s one of those kids who listens to 50 Cent and DMX and acts like he lives in the projects instead of a fancy gated community in Meadows Circle.

I keep looking out at the game. “You’re seeing me.” I pretend to be one of those fat mafia bosses from the movies. They always act casual in these situations. Can’t let any of these guys know that I’m nervous as hell. Let them be nervous.

“Is it cool if we sit down?”

I shrug. Shrugging seems right.

The little group of basketball players exchange looks and then slowly they all take seats around me.

Robbie is sitting on my right. He turns to me. “Nate Diaz is going to give someone a beat down tonight, or this coming week. But Jay said if I pay you—“

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I give him my best impression of an ice grille. A stone-cold stare, which surprisingly has the opposite effect of making me want to laugh. Suddenly I’m trying not to giggle.

Mafia dons don’t giggle, I tell myself. Not even a little. I shake my head and grin as if exasperated by his conversation. “Don’t talk business to me. I’m just here to say hi.”

He seems to get it. “My bad son.”

“Just…take whatever you’ve got and wrap it in something. Paper, a t-shirt, whatever. Then leave it on the bleachers and go.”

Robbie sits there for a moment. “But don’t you want to know how much—“ he says, confusion making his voice subtly switch back to that of a normal suburban kid.