house. The screen door slams against the frame. And for a moment it's quiet—the party between songs—then the music kicks back on. Louder. Harder. I skip down the steps and head around back, cutting through a neighbor's yard and landing back in the street, weaving between cars until I reach my bike.
What a waste.
* * *
Or not.
"Parker?"
My spine stiffens; my locker door closes with a bang. "Yeah?"
"You know Vince?"
I study this face—this kid who's cornered me. Tall, but not as tall as I am. Scrawny. Lanky. Shaved head. "I'm sorry?" I ask, not understanding.
"Vince De Luca. The party the other night. You two were smoking on the deck."
I wrack my brain. Vince De Luca? The guy—Vinny? "Yeah. I know him," I lie.
"I mean, like, you know 'em know 'em?" He stares at me expectantly. I'm not sure how to answer this, but I've learned that if you keep your mouth shut long enough, people will tell you anything you need to know—whatever you want to hear. Nervous people talk too much. And this kid looks more than nervous. Sure enough: "It's just that I've heard some things...." he trails off. "It seemed like you guys were tight."
"I know him," I repeat. "Why are you so interested?"
He shrugs. "Do you think you could maybe put in a good word for me?" he asks, voice lower. When I refuse to answer, he continues: "I mean, you know how he is with his shit. The other guys got in, but I ain't got forever to wait, you know? If you could let him know I'm cool…that would be cool."
He wants me to let some guy named Vince De Luca know he's cool because he wants his shit?
Shit.
"Sure. I'll see what I can do."
Relief washes over his face, shoulders relaxing. "Thanks, man. That's awesome of you, you know? And hey. Anything I can do for you, anything my boys can do, let us know, all right?"
I nod.
The guy saunters away. I glance to my left where Tyler and Friend hover at their lockers, trying not to stare.
"Any chance you know him?" I ask.
"Brandon Garrels," Friend says.
"Who is he? He's not in any of my classes."
"He's a junior. He plays basketball and baseball."
Basketball and baseball.
An athlete.
I thank them, then ease into the crowd, heading for the front office. I pass Jaden on my way. She's sitting at that table in the lobby, collecting money for the poor kids of Bangladesh.
Isn't her Harvard application padded enough?
Shut up. It's important to think about things bigger than yourself. Her voice hums between my ears, chastising. I steal another quick glance at her, feeling the sides of my mouth lifting in a grin.
Principal Howell stands in the main office discussing papers with one of the administrative assistants when I enter. He nods when he sees me, finishes with the secretary, then motions for me to follow him back.
I shut the door behind us.
"What can I do for you, Parker?"
"When was the last time the locker rooms were searched?" I ask.
He scratches his balding head, brows lifting. "I can't say they ever have. Not since I've been here."
"I'd like permission to check them. The guy's room," I clarify.
"All right. But they're not assigned to any particular student. They're used as needed."
"But they're being used, right? Bags? Clothes?"
He nods. "There's a home game coming up. We'll get a plan together."
"Okay. And, while I have you, do you know a guy named Vince De Luca?"
He shakes his head, eyes narrowing, thinking. "Name doesn't ring a bell."
"He wasn't a student here or anything?"
"Not that I can recall. Please keep in mind, however, that this is only my third year here. If you're curious, the library has copies of the yearbooks."
"I'll check them out. Thanks."
* * *
The librarian nearly has a coronary when I ask where to find the yearbooks. I nearly have a coronary when I discover Vince De Luca attended Bedford High four years ago.
At the apartment, I log into the station management information system via my Chief Anderson-issued laptop.
Male. Eighteen
What a waste.
* * *
Or not.
"Parker?"
My spine stiffens; my locker door closes with a bang. "Yeah?"
"You know Vince?"
I study this face—this kid who's cornered me. Tall, but not as tall as I am. Scrawny. Lanky. Shaved head. "I'm sorry?" I ask, not understanding.
"Vince De Luca. The party the other night. You two were smoking on the deck."
I wrack my brain. Vince De Luca? The guy—Vinny? "Yeah. I know him," I lie.
"I mean, like, you know 'em know 'em?" He stares at me expectantly. I'm not sure how to answer this, but I've learned that if you keep your mouth shut long enough, people will tell you anything you need to know—whatever you want to hear. Nervous people talk too much. And this kid looks more than nervous. Sure enough: "It's just that I've heard some things...." he trails off. "It seemed like you guys were tight."
"I know him," I repeat. "Why are you so interested?"
He shrugs. "Do you think you could maybe put in a good word for me?" he asks, voice lower. When I refuse to answer, he continues: "I mean, you know how he is with his shit. The other guys got in, but I ain't got forever to wait, you know? If you could let him know I'm cool…that would be cool."
He wants me to let some guy named Vince De Luca know he's cool because he wants his shit?
Shit.
"Sure. I'll see what I can do."
Relief washes over his face, shoulders relaxing. "Thanks, man. That's awesome of you, you know? And hey. Anything I can do for you, anything my boys can do, let us know, all right?"
I nod.
The guy saunters away. I glance to my left where Tyler and Friend hover at their lockers, trying not to stare.
"Any chance you know him?" I ask.
"Brandon Garrels," Friend says.
"Who is he? He's not in any of my classes."
"He's a junior. He plays basketball and baseball."
Basketball and baseball.
An athlete.
I thank them, then ease into the crowd, heading for the front office. I pass Jaden on my way. She's sitting at that table in the lobby, collecting money for the poor kids of Bangladesh.
Isn't her Harvard application padded enough?
Shut up. It's important to think about things bigger than yourself. Her voice hums between my ears, chastising. I steal another quick glance at her, feeling the sides of my mouth lifting in a grin.
Principal Howell stands in the main office discussing papers with one of the administrative assistants when I enter. He nods when he sees me, finishes with the secretary, then motions for me to follow him back.
I shut the door behind us.
"What can I do for you, Parker?"
"When was the last time the locker rooms were searched?" I ask.
He scratches his balding head, brows lifting. "I can't say they ever have. Not since I've been here."
"I'd like permission to check them. The guy's room," I clarify.
"All right. But they're not assigned to any particular student. They're used as needed."
"But they're being used, right? Bags? Clothes?"
He nods. "There's a home game coming up. We'll get a plan together."
"Okay. And, while I have you, do you know a guy named Vince De Luca?"
He shakes his head, eyes narrowing, thinking. "Name doesn't ring a bell."
"He wasn't a student here or anything?"
"Not that I can recall. Please keep in mind, however, that this is only my third year here. If you're curious, the library has copies of the yearbooks."
"I'll check them out. Thanks."
* * *
The librarian nearly has a coronary when I ask where to find the yearbooks. I nearly have a coronary when I discover Vince De Luca attended Bedford High four years ago.
At the apartment, I log into the station management information system via my Chief Anderson-issued laptop.
Male. Eighteen
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