Double Digit by Annabel Monaghan Page B

collapsed onto his blanket right where he stood. Spencer positioned herself horizontally in front of the door, my hero. John laid his stuff out next to mine.
    Lights out. “Digit? You okay?” John whispered.
    I thought:
Not really. I’ve just flushed my life down the toilet and am lying down next to my old boyfriend who can’t stop staring at a girl I can’t compete with.
I said, “Not really. I’ve just flushed my life down the toilet and am lying down next to my old boyfriend who can’t stop staring at a girl I can’t compete with.”
    “Can we talk about this later?” Yeah, sure. I’m pretty sure visiting hours at Sing Sing are Thursdays from two to six.
    I turned my back to him and pretended to go to sleep. I was wide awake, fuming. I imagined tearing into Spencer with exactly the right insult and storming off to leave behind only the memory of my quick wit and sharp tongue. I got taller as I walked away, so tall actually that she came to fear me. But really, what was there to tear apart? Her beauty? Her willingness to delay my imprisonment? Her self-control around salad dressing?
    Regressing back to the fourth grade, I started playing with my new calculator. Typing 7734 and turning it over to read the word HELL . Amateurish. I tried to spell GO TO HELL SPENCER in numbers but got stuck on the G . I typed a 5 for an S and accidentally hit the Enter button with my pinkie. The calculator started to vibrate, silently, and I just held on not knowing what I was waiting for.
    All of a sudden, a piece of paper emerged from the left side, slowly, like it was coming out of an ink-jet printer. I could barely see it in the dark room, but the feel of the paper was familiar and unmistakable. I reached into my backpack to pull out my phone and shone a little light on it. It was a five-dollar bill.
    For fun, I pressed 20 Enter.
Vibrate, vibrate,
twenty-dollar bill. I pressed 100 Enter.
Vibrate, vibrate,
one-hundred-dollar bill. I’d just made $125. I ducked my head under my blanket and turned on the flashlight app on my phone. In the brighter light, the bills looked absolutely real, including the 3-D overlay of the metallic eagle on the twenty-dollar bill. I remembered reading that, besides the linen paper, that eagle image was the thing that kept amateur counterfeiters out of business. The change in ink and printing process of that 3-D overlay made dollar bills nearly impossible to replicate.
    Where did Mr. Bennett get this money machine? I sat straight up as it hit me. Jonas Furnis has money now. And they have money because they have Adam Ranks.
     
    “What the . . . ?” Evidently my eureka moment had sent my backpack, laden with my laptop, flying over to John’s makeshift bed. He sat up too, rubbing his arm where he’d been hit.
    “Shhh. Come under here.” I checked to see that everyone else was sleeping and scooted over to make room for John under my blanket. Half asleep, he moved over to lie next to me, scooping his arm around me like it was the most normal thing in the world. I lay there for a second, smelling the John smell of his T-shirt and feeling the John feel of his shoulder underneath my head. It was a stolen moment, a cheap thrill at the expense of a sleeping man, but I’d take it. Because I was about to fess up to another lie.
    “So I saw your dad,” I whispered into his chin.
    “I know you love him, Digit. We’ll find him. Tell me about your dream tomorrow.” He was more than half asleep.
    I whispered an inch from his ear, “I mean, I saw him for real, at the diner. He told me not to tell you, said that we needed to keep roaming around to buy him time to defend me. He’s found Jonas Furnis. He said they have money. And I know how they’re getting it.”
    All systems were go. “You saw my dad? Is he okay?”
    “Shhh. He’s making his way back to Langley. He gave me this.” I pressed the calculator into his hand. “Name a meal you really enjoyed.”
    “Okay, osso buco in Boston. The last