Life After Theft (12 page)

We repeated the process twice more before Kimberlee looked at my watch. “Good time,” she said. “Now hurry back.”

Now I was so terrified I really did have to pee. Unfortunately, despite the enormous pass in my hand, I no longer had time.

I walked back into class and slid into my seat, sure everyone’s eyes were on me. But I heard nothing but the scratch of pencils on paper surrounding me. After another ten minutes passed, I allowed myself to breathe normally.

Every day that week Kimberlee and I skipped out of a different class and hit three or four more lockers. If that sounds like a lot of progress, let me break it down for you: It wasn’t. It was like trying to empty a bathtub with a teaspoon.

But at least we were doing
something
.

Kimberlee tended to disappear for most of the morning—far longer than should have been necessary to get the combinations to our target lockers. That was fine with me, though; the less she was in my life, the better.

Thanks to Sera, I had started to think of lunch as the most wonderful time of the day. Things were getting a little less weird with her friends, though I still didn’t participate in the conversations very much. But I was starting to realize that Sera didn’t either. Not that she was standoffish, just quiet. Maybe even a little shy. It was like she wore cheerleader camouflage to fit in, but she wasn’t really one of them, in a lot of ways.

On Friday we slipped away from the lunch table fifteen minutes before fourth hour. Sera was talking about some assignment for her Trig class as she was getting books out of her locker, and I was sort of listening, but I admit she was wearing one of her shorter skirts and I was taking full advantage of the fact that her back was to me. Besides, I was in AP calc—if she asked me a question, I could
probably
come up with a decent answer fast enough to avoid getting caught.

Sera pushed her locker closed with a clang and turned to me with a smile. “You’re such a good listener,” she said appreciatively.

I shrugged in a faux-modest way.
Just don’t ask me what you were talking about
.

“Other guys I dated wanted to talk about their games and their latest session in the weight room and . . . well, about themselves, pretty much all the time.”

“That’s the advantage of dating a nerd,” I said. “Guys are pretty much all the same. We like to talk about how awesome we are and all the coolest stuff we’ve ever done. For jocks it’s their big goal in football—”

“Touchdown,” Sera corrected with a grin.

See, I’m funny
, I thought, laughing inwardly at my little joke. “Yeah, that,” I said. “But the coolest thing I’ve ever done is gone on a date with the . . .”
What did she call it?
“Junior co-captain of the cheerleading squad.” Her widening smile told me I’d gotten her title right.

And then, because I was feeling both confident and bold, I reached down for her hand, curling my fingers around hers. I held my breath, wondering if she would pull away.

She didn’t. In fact, she leaned closer. My heart was racing when she tilted her head toward mine and kissed me.

This was no dark parking-lot kiss. This was a public, in-school, in-front-of-her-classmates kiss. A gossip-starting, relationship-cementing kiss.

I’m telling you, a good relationship is all about finding common ground.

And then making out on it.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the knuckles rapped on the lockers right next to my ear. “Break it up, Miss Hewitt,” Mr. Hennigan said, not slowing as he strode by.

Sera’s cheeks flushed a little, but I wasn’t even fazed.

I scored another quick kiss as I dropped Sera off at her history class. As far as I was concerned, this was the green light for our relationship to get going full speed ahead. The possibilities were endless. I dropped into my seat and started planning my weekends.

Long movies in a dark theater, long drives in a dark car, long . . . talks . . . in dark parks.

I was sensing an emerging theme.

“Okay, I got ’em,” Kimberlee said, startling me from my daydream.

I just stared stupidly up at her, not yet out of my lust-induced haze.

“Would you get out your pencil?” she yelled. “I can’t remember all these numbers forever!”

Locker combos—right. Hello, reality.

“WE CAN’T DO THIS MUCH LONGER,”
I hissed to Kimberlee as we left the classroom and speed-walked down the hall. “My teachers are all going to think I have some kind of bladder infection or something.”

“I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas,” she said, her voice both strained and desperate. I was reminded how few options
she
had.

“I’ll work on it,” I said as I reached the first locker. “Is this Khail’s?” I’d been carrying around Khail’s bag since Tuesday. But for three days in a row Kimberlee refused to get the combo for reasons I couldn’t even begin to guess at. Only after I threatened to stop returning stuff did she finally bring me his numbers. I felt like I owed it to Sera as her shiny new boyfriend to get her brother’s stuff back to him.

“Yes, I promise. Just do it and let’s move on.”

“Keep watch.”

She walked several feet away and peered down the hallway.

Unfortunately, people can come from both directions. I didn’t even hear Khail’s footsteps until he’d grabbed the front of my shirt and slammed me against the lockers. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I was too terrified to make a sound.

With his iron fists still holding me prisoner, Khail took two steps toward the bathroom door and used me to push it open.

Next I got slammed up against the tiled bathroom walls. Much more painful than lockers, but thankfully also more private.

Kimberlee wandered in sheepishly and stood in the corner, watching.

“Why were you breaking into my locker?” Khail asked.

His voice was incredibly calm—
scary
calm. I still couldn’t speak, but I managed to gather enough wits to hold up my hand, still clutching the bag containing his belongings.

Khail’s eyes darted to the bag, and widened. He loosened his grip. A little.

With one hand still on my collar, he reached out and snatched the bag from me. After looking at it for a minute he released me entirely. “You stay right there,” he said, jabbing one sausage-sized finger against my chest.

Yes, sir!

He opened the bag and pulled out a worn black Yankees hat. “No way,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. As he was staring at the hat, a pair of red silk boxers fell out and onto the floor. He eyed them for just a second before recognition dawned on his face and his hand darted out to grab them and shove them in his pocket.

Then he saw the sticker on the bag.

His eyes narrowed and in about half a second his hand was back at my throat. “Tell me what you think you know.”

Know?
“I don’t know anything!”

“Then why did you take these?”

“I didn’t steal them. I’m just giving stuff back.”

He paused for a second. “Did you give Sera her skirt and shoes?”

“Yes.” Honesty seemed like the best policy at the moment, even though Kimberlee was yelling, “Deny! Deny!” at the top of her lungs.

“Where did you get them?”

“I just found them,” I said in a much higher voice than I usually use as his grip tightened around my neck. I’d always felt that my six-foot-two height gave me an advantage over bullies. Apparently it made no difference to this five-foot-eight mass of muscles.

“I’ve been watching you hit on my sister all week.”

Oh shit
.

“And I haven’t stopped you. You seemed like a nice guy. But now? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t give you two black eyes
and
promise to break your arms if you even speak to her again.”

Then he raised his fist of death and I experienced a level of desperation at which I would do or say anything in order to stop the inescapable pain rushing toward me.

“Kimberlee Schaffer’s a ghost!” I shouted, then covered my face with my hands. As if that would help. I’d probably just wind up with two black eyes
and
two broken hands.

But Khail’s arm stilled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“No, no!” Kimberlee shrieked. “He is the
last
person in the world you want to tell that to!”

But I babbled on anyway. “Kimberlee’s a ghost but I can see her and she won’t leave me alone unless I help her return all the stuff that she stole I have no choice in the matter and I’m not trying to hurt anyone I thought I was being the good guy.” The words rushed out in a single breath.

Khail glared at me for a long time. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“It’s true. There’s this big cave on her parents’ beach and it’s full of stuff I have to give back and every day Kimberlee gets locker combos for me.”

“Kimberlee. The
dead
Kimberlee?”

Kimberlee tossed her hair in offense but I nodded. “Kimberlee Schaffer. I shouldn’t even know about her; I just moved here. I’m not lying.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“No, no, I’ll show you. Look.” I remembered the tactic Kimberlee had tried to use on me that first day. “Hold up a number behind your back.”

“What?”

“A number. On your fingers,” I said. “Hold it up behind your back. I’ll close my eyes and Kimberlee will tell me what it is and I’ll tell you.”

Khail rolled his eyes. “You think I’m an idiot?”

“Please? Just once.”

Khail glared. “Don’t you dare try to run.”

“I won’t.”

He sighed and I covered my eyes with both hands.

“Ready,” Khail said, sounding bored.

“Kimberlee?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “This is the lamest thing ever. I’m not helping you; I am not helping him!”

I pointed my finger at her—or at least I tried to; it was kind of hard to be sure with my eyes closed—and hissed, “You tell me right this minute or I am done. I swear I am done!”

She let out an annoyed sigh. “I hate you!”

“Hate me all you want. What’s the number?”

“You are a head case,” Khail muttered.

“Kimberlee, he hits me, I ditch you, and you walk the earth for
ever
,” I growled through my teeth.

Kimberlee was silent for several excruciatingly long seconds, but finally she told me what I needed to know.

“You’re not holding up a number,” I said. “You just have a fist.”

Khail didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he spun me around, not only holding me tight in a headlock, but with his forearm pressed tight against my eyes. “Do it again,” he said, his voice soft, controlled, and with a deadly edge that scared the shit out of me.

“Two,” I whispered, grateful beyond reason when Kimberlee spat the number right out.

A moment passed and nothing happened.

Nothing.

Then the enormous forearm retreated and sunlight pierced my eyes. After blinking a few times I looked over at Khail. He looked like he’d swallowed something too big for his throat.

“You honestly believe what you’re telling me, don’t you?”

I was too scared to talk. I felt like the whole rest of my life might balance on this moment. I just nodded.

Khail licked his lips. “Ask her what I gave her for her tenth birthday,” he said after a long pause.

“Um, dude, she’s not deaf.”

Killer eyes swung at me.

I raised my hands. “Sorry.”

Kimberlee rolled her eyes. “Trick question. He hasn’t come to one of my birthday parties since I was, like, eight.”

I conveyed the message.

Khail’s jaw clenched, his jaw muscles—even
they
were huge!—working furiously along the side of his face. “Ask her . . . ask her . . .” Then he was silent.

The bathroom was silent for a long time and I couldn’t tell if Khail was leaning more toward believing me, or swinging back to wanting to kill me.

“Jeff,” Kimberlee piped up softly. “Tell him he doesn’t have to ask.”

“What?” I said, turning my head away from Khail, but feeling him jump at the sudden noise anyway.

“Tell him he doesn’t have to ask.”

“Uh . . . she says you don’t have to ask.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Khail asked, but his voice was quiet now.

“Tell him I haven’t told anyone. Not even you.” It was the most sincere thing I’d ever heard Kimberlee say, and she was staring at Khail like it hurt her eyes to look at him.

I faced Khail again. “She said she hasn’t told anyone.” I shrugged. “Even me.” I hoped I sounded as clueless as I felt.

His eyes widened and suddenly it looked a little like he was having an asthma attack. His breathing went ragged and he looked around the bathroom like a man hunted.

Or haunted.

“Where is she?” he asked.

I pointed off to my left where Kimberlee stood.

Khail’s gaze flicked to where I’d pointed and his eyes narrowed like he could will himself to see her. Finally he released the front of my shirt. “Tell her I hate her.”

“She can—”

“I want
you
to tell her.”

“He hates you,” I parroted obediently.

Instead of looking defiant, or bored, like I expected, Kimberlee stared at the ground, cowed.

“Tell her she has no idea how badly she messed things up and how glad I am that she’s dead.”

I repeated his words again.

When I was done Kimberlee’s head was so far down I couldn’t see her face anymore. After a few moments a sob wracked through her chest and she gasped against it. I swallowed hard; I’d only heard that sound a couple of times in my life—once from my mom, at her sister’s funeral.

“I didn’t do it,” Kimberlee choked out.

“She said she didn’t do it,” I whispered, wishing Khail could hear her himself. “I think she means it.” I wanted to mention the tears, that awful sound, but I had a feeling Kimberlee would kill me if I did.

But Khail didn’t look fazed at all. “She’s a liar,” he said, his voice like iced steel.

Kimberlee fled the bathroom without another word.

“This isn’t over,” Khail said. “I don’t want
her
”—he said it like it was a nasty word—“in Sera’s life, even as your invisible friend.” He hesitated. “Don’t tell Sera about this,” he warned. “Not a word.” Then he was gone, the door closing noisily behind him before I could even catch my breath.