You by Charles Benoit Page A

“And then star and, voilà !”
    The beeping stops, the red LED goes off.
    Your teeth are still clenched.
    â€œWell, Mr. Chase, that was close.”
    Yes, it was.
    â€œCome,” he says, swinging the tire iron up on his shoulder. “On with the mission.”
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    T here’s something different about the school at midnight. The fluorescent lights are on during the day, but they only add to the natural light that floods through the windows. At night they give the hallways an eerie glow. The windows on the classroom doors are black, hiding everything inside. The only sound is the rush of air from the vents overhead. It’s a different building at night.
    You notice it because, for the first time, you feel welcome here.
    You’re surprised at how little noise you make walking down the hall. Even Zack is quiet, both of you listening for a door to open or a distant footfall. You take the stairs to the second floor, Zack leaning forward to scope out the hallway before youcontinue. You come around the corner and freeze, a square-jawed Marine in dress blues saluting you from behind a glass door.
    â€œIt scares me, too,” Zack says, pointing the tire iron at the life-size cardboard cutout in the career center. “I think it’s the two different blues. Not natural.”
    It’s stupid, but you laugh and the tension is broken. You start walking and there’s a lightness to your step. You’re still alert—maybe more so—but now you’re not nervous. Now you’re having fun.
    â€œHere we are, Mr. Chase. Locker one seventy-four.”
    It looks like any other locker in the row—lime green, five feet tall, ten inches wide, a built-in combination lock next to the chrome latch. No decals on the front, no graffiti. Nothing that says THIS LOCKER BELONGS TO JAKE THE JOCK .
    â€œAre you—”
    â€œYes, I’m positive it’s his,” Zack says. “I observed the lummox at this locker several times this past week.”
    â€œAnd you’re sure it’s not his girlfriend’s?”
    â€œLocker three fourteen. And remember, there’s a school rule against sharing lockers.”
    You reach out for the tire iron. “Probably should come at it low.”
    â€œYes. Don’t want to pop the lock. That would give it all away.”
    You slip the flat end in the slim gap between the locker door and the frame.
    â€œGently. Don’t bend the metal.”
    With careful pressure, you bow out the door, creating a thin opening, a sliver of light shining in on a sweater and a stack of books.
    â€œHere.” You move your hands out of the way so Zack can grip the tire iron. Then you unzip your fly.
    Zack leans back and looks away but keeps the locker pried open. “Aren’t you glad I had you chug that Gatorade?”
    You’ve got good aim. You can hear the warm stream soaking the sweater and splashing down thebooks, a metallic ring as it finds the back wall of the locker.
    Zack edges farther away. “Watch it. Stay focused on the task in hand.”
    It takes a satisfyingly long time, but you finish and zip up. Zack eases the door closed, stepping around the growing yellow puddle at the foot of the locker.
    â€œSee?” he says. “I told you it would be worth it.”
    And he’s right.
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    M ission accomplished, you backtrack your way through the building. If you had tried something like this with Max or Derrick, somehow it would have gone wrong, with Max stuck in a window or Derrick making phone calls the whole time. And if it had been Ryan he wouldn’t have been happy until he’d smashed TVs and ripped up books.
    This way was best. Adventurous. Almost classy.
    It feels right.
    So maybe life doesn’t suck so bad after all.
    Until Zack stops in front of Ashley’s locker.
    â€œThis is your girlfriend’s locker, isn’t it? Miss Bianchi?”
    You wish, but you don’t tell him that. You