Trapped by Melody Carlson Page B

bank? What?”
    I look at my watch and see it’s nearly four thirty. “I have enough time to make it to the bank. I guess you can meet me there.” Then I tell him which branch, and with shaky knees, I get back into my car. Suddenly it’s like I’m on autopilot, like I’ve done this before or am programmed to do it now. I drive to the bank, go inside, make a withdrawal from my savings, smile at the teller as I thank her, walk outside, and there, parked next to the driver’s side of my car, is the black SUV. It looks like a Mafia car.
    â€œGet in,” he tells me through the partially opened window.
    I glance around but don’t see anyone watching, so I hop in. “These tinted windows come in handy,” I say as I reach into my bag for the cash. Am I really doing this? Is this really me?
    He counts out the bills, then slips them into his inside jacket pocket. “Okay, this is how it goes down.” He hands me a notepad. “Write your e-mail address here, unless you want to get a new account.”
    â€œA new account?”
    â€œSome people create a new e-mail account so they can use it and lose it. You know, dump the whole thing later and bury the trail. That’s up to you.”
    I think about this. “How would I get the new address to you? I mean, in time to get the stuff before my test tomorrow?”
    â€œGood point. Better just use the one you have.”
    As I write down my e-mail address, he continues to explain. “Anyway, I have a bunch of different e-mail accounts, so I never tell anyone which one I’m using. And for some reason my e-mails sometimes end up as spam. So if it’s not in your regular e-mail, make sure you go to your junk mail and look for the subject line ‘Better Yourself.’”
    â€œBetter yourself?” I repeat this, trying not to consider the irony.
    â€œYeah. The answers and the instructions of how to load and use the trig stuff are in the attachments. And don’t worry, I have the latest virus protection on my computer so my docs are always safe to open.”
    Again the irony hits me. Safe to open … better yourself … it’s almost laughable. Except that I feel like crying.
    â€œOkay, that’s it.” Dirk sticks out his hand to shake hands with me. I feel like a fool … like I’m sealing this shady deal … like I just sold my soul to the devil. “And don’t worry. None of my clients ever get caught. Not from my end anyway. If you blow it, then it’s your fault. But the smart kids figure it out.”
    â€œRight …” I feel sick, almost like I’m going to vomit.
    He smiles. “And don’t feel guilty. You’d be shocked to know how many kids are doing this. It’s like an epidemic.”
    I just nod and reach for the door handle. “Thanks,” I mumble.
    â€œGood luck, kid!”
    I take in a deep breath as I unlock my car. Then as his SUV rumbles away, I get inside and just sit there. What have I done? What have I done?
    As I drive home, I’m in a daze, trying to wrap my head around all that just transpired. By the time I go into the house, where I’m relieved to see no one’s home, I convince myself that I just kissed $250 good-bye. I know Dirk has pulled a fast one on me. Maybe Kelsey is in on it too. And I’m never going to receive the test answers. It’s all just a scam. And why not? Who am I going to tell? I can just imagine going to my parents, the police, or the school and telling them that Dirk the Dirtbag tricked me into paying him for exam answers and then took off with my money. Yeah, right.
    The first thing I do is go to the bathroom and wash my hands, over and over, with soap and water. I want to take a shower too. To wash away the nasty filth it feels like I just rolled in. Will I ever be clean again? As I’m drying my hands, I remember that God is the only one who can make me truly clean.