Notable (Smith High) (10 page)

I
t was
probably
heroin.

Unfortunately, the un-cited Wikipedia article I found wasn’t exactly overflowing with hard evidence. Apparently, Cambodia had a bit of a reputation for supplying tourists with heroin instead of cocaine. Interesting, but far from a reliable answer. Then again, the article also mentioned how easily drugs could be acquired in Cambodia.

That matched my firsthand experience.

I quickly scanned the article. Drug abuse among street kids was on the rise . . . as were the number of HIV/AIDS cases from shared needles. It twisted my stomach, but I had to stay focused on the problem at hand. Saving thousands of street kids from drugs, diseases, and freaking land mines was much-needed work for an entire organization, not one high school girl who already had a Buddha-shaped target on her back. So I skimmed over the drug transportation part and then . . . I totally hit pay dirt.

Rithisak Sovann.

His brief bio read like Hollywood’s idea of the perfect übervillain. Rumored to be the biggest drug lord in the area, Mr. Sovann was a card-carrying member of Cambodia’s wealthiest elite. He dined with military officials, vacationed with leading politicians at his luxury hotel in the capital city of Phnom Penh, and just so happened to own the country’s largest daily newspaper.

Oh, and the guy was certifiably insane.

If the rumors were to be believed, Rithisak Sovann had once pulled out a gun on a cruise ship and demanded to be treated with more respect . . . and then a year later he shot the tire of a taxi cab because the driver didn’t want to wait for his friends to show up. His trigger-happy reputation probably would have made me laugh if I had no connection with him whatsoever. But there was nothing funny about a psychopath with the funds to send an army of thugs to hunt me down.

He certainly didn’t seem like the kind of man who would react calmly to the news that half of his shipment had been stolen. Nope, he would make it his mission to destroy the guilty party, if only to send a warning message to his rivals.

If this guy was involved—which admittedly was something of a stretch—I was in a world of trouble.

I peered at the screen, trying to memorize the drug lord’s features so that I would be able to recognize him anywhere. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him. Dark black hair combed back with enough product to look professionally slick. Eyes that were on the border between brown and black, a wide-set nose, and a pair of full lips that were spread in a welcoming smile. I scrolled down and stopped abruptly at a candid photo of him. Rithisak Sovann wasn’t smiling in this one, but he also didn’t look overly concerned about the swarm of journalists around him. Probably because he had a security detail of his own keeping them at bay.

One of whom bore a striking similarity to Boss Man.

I couldn’t be positive since the image was grainy and I hadn’t exactly conversed with the thug during a stress-free afternoon tea. Maybe beating the crap out of someone was business as usual for Boss Man, but it had definitely rattled me. Which meant that it was entirely possible I had confused him with another imposing Cambodian man . . . but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mr. Sovann’s bodyguard and the Boss Man I had encountered last night were one and the same.

This was my guy.

As if Houston could read my thoughts, a new message popped up in my email inbox with a subject line that left virtually nothing to interpretation:
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

The contents of the actual email were equally direct.

I hesitated only momentarily before responding.

All things considered, I thought it was a pretty nice response. Polite. Concise. The
x
’s and
o
’s were downright affectionate. My parents would be so proud of the way I was taking the moral high ground.

Actually, they would probably be spitting mad.

Since they were the ones who had insisted I make a new start for myself in Cambodia, I didn’t think they had the right to whine about the way I went about it.

Houston’s quick response took me by surprise though.

I stared at the screen in disbelief. All of their worst thoughts of me should have been confirmed. Neal was in prison because I had stolen a Buddha full of heroin! They should have been
thrilled
to distance themselves from any association with me. Frankly, an
hasta la vista, princess
was all that I deserved.

At an impasse, probably. Houston wanted to play it safe in a high-risk/high-reward situation, and I was determined to play the hand we’d been dealt. Maybe I was behaving like the spoiled princess he accused me of being, but this time I wasn’t going to be the first to fold.

I blinked in confusion as I searched Houston’s one-word answer for some kind of hidden meaning.
Fine, you’re on your own. Try not to get yourself killed, princess.
That seemed like something he would write.

I braced myself for the worst as more words appeared on my screen.

The authoritative tone made me roll my eyes at the sheer
Houston-ness
, but it also made a foolish grin spread across my face. He really meant it. They were actually willing to stick around for Neal . . . and oddly enough, for me. Even though they would all be safer leaving me behind to fight a war of my own making.

We just needed to get one thing straight first. . . .

I leaned back and braced myself for the first round of battle. It wasn’t long in coming.

Right. Because
I
was the only one who didn’t always play well with others.

I drummed my fingers on the scarred table while I waited him out.

I didn’t need to see my reflection to know that my smile had transformed into an
I’ve got you exactly where I want you
smirk. An expression that has been known to terrify freshman girls at Smith High School into speechlessness. Sure, I probably had one seriously angry drug trafficker gunning for me, but for the first time since leaving Oregon I finally felt like I was back in control.

I had the drugs, a semi-feasible plan, and now a group of teammates backing me up. My smile only widened as I typed my final email and logged off.

Oh yeah. My luck was definitely about to change.

I
hadn’t expected them to greet me with open arms. Considering that I’d rummaged through their suitcases for makeover supplies before ditching them—and that I’d do it all over again, if forced, without hesitation or apology—yeah, I could understand their anger. Still, I had hoped for a tight-lipped smile or a halfhearted wave or two when I met them at the bus station.

Instead, I found myself on the receiving end of four furious death glares.

“So I take it the thugs caught up with you,” Ben said easily. “That explains the hair, right? It’s some new kind of torture technique.”

I fingered one of the strands defensively. “It’s not
that
bad!”

“Liar, liar, head on fire.” His mouth tilted upward, and I knew at least one member of the group wasn’t going to stay mad at me forever.

“Okay, maybe not my best look. I can accept that. But it’s still got a high score on the disguise-o-meter, right?”

Even before the words were out of my mouth, I knew it was quite possibly the geekiest thing I had ever said. I mean,
disguise-o-meter?
Not even Mackenzie Wellesley would go that far.

I tensed as I waited for them to mock me.

Nothing happened.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised me. They might be furious with me for sneaking out of the hostel, but that didn’t mean it was open season on all things Chelsea Halloway. They weren’t going to leap at the chance to ridicule me the way Ashley or Steffani would if I were still back at Smith High School.

Now I just needed Amy to stop acting like I’d personally killed Bambi’s mother. Liz rolled her eyes. “You know the red looks good, Chelsea. Stop fishing for compliments.”

I shrugged and pointedly studied the chalkboard bus schedule. The first bus for Phnom Penh would be departing in fifteen minutes, and I had every intention of being on board.

Whether or not anyone else still wanted to join me.

“So where do you think we’re going?” Houston’s tone was mild but there was an undertone of anger. He may have agreed that it was my mission, my rules, but that didn’t mean he would back down without a fight. His eyes looked extra green as he struggled to keep himself tightly under control.

I held up my twelve-dollar bus ticket. “I’m going to Phnom Penh to see a guy about a Buddha. Feel free to join me . . . or not. Totally up to you.”

Liz eyed me warily. “Who is the guy, Chelsea?”

“Right now? He’s my first solid lead.”

“You seem to have thought this out.” Houston’s words came out clipped and measured, as if he was forcing himself to spit out only those specific words.

“That’s right.”

Amy nodded stiffly before marching right over to the counter. “One ticket for Phnom Penh, please.”

The others followed behind her, and I felt a surge of relief that we were finally doing
something
instead of just complaining about the situation. The terrifying sense of paralysis eased even further as I climbed aboard the bus and took my first breath of recycled air-conditioned freedom.

Amy wordlessly claimed the seat next to mine, and after trading shrugs and nervous glances, everyone else settled two or three rows behind us. Probably because they knew what was coming when she finally spoke in an unnaturally low voice.

“I thought you were dead.”

And just like that, the biggest dork at Lewis & Clark College stunned me into absolute silence.

“You want to know what happened, Chelsea?” Amy didn’t wait for a response. “At first we thought you weren’t coming out of the bathroom because you wanted some privacy to cry. But then we started getting worried and—” Her voice faltered as tears welled up in her eyes. “Strands of your hair were all over the place. All that red dye looks a lot like blood, so . . . I thought you were dead. I actually thought that if you’d gone with us to find the Internet café you might still be okay. But you hadn’t. We left you and you were
dead
and there was nothing I could do to fix it.”

Amy began full-on weeping, and I had no idea how to comfort her. Apologies didn’t come in a large enough size for what I had accidentally done.

“I, uh . . . left a note,” I pointed out. “I never thought that—c’mon, Amy. Don’t do this. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Yeah, well, now I want to kill you myself.”

“That seems . . . counterproductive,” I said wryly. “Any chance we could focus on saving Neal instead?”

“You scare me like that again and I won’t forgive you.”

I grimaced. “I promise I will never intentionally scare you again, Amy. Does that work?”

Amy shook her head in disbelief. “How can you be so calm about all of this? You’re just—” She pitched her voice an octave higher. “Let’s go rescue Neal from almost certain death!
Ready? O-kay!
” The last part came out sounding like a bad cheerleading routine.

“I’ve just had plenty of practice faking confidence under pressure. It sort of comes with the territory when everyone thinks you’re stupid.”

The truth slipped out so easily, it wasn’t until Amy rolled her eyes that I realized just how much I had revealed. I tensed instinctively as I waited for her to go right for the jugular.

“Nobody thinks you’re stupid, Chelsea.”

I nearly laughed out loud. “Do you really think I don’t know what people say about me? I’m a pretty girl—not a smart one.” I shoved back a strand of red hair just so I would have something to do with my hands. “That’s a direct quote from my mom, by the way. They sort of have a point. I mean, I totally choked during my SAT test. And then my ex-boyfriend, Logan, dumped me for the smartest girl at school. So he traded up. And every time I see them together it’s like—” I broke off. “I wasn’t good enough. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I never seem to be good enough. So I really am sorry that I hurt you, Amy. And you should know that it’s entirely possible Neal’s rescue will be just one more disaster to add to the list. But at least this time—even if I screw up—the attempt will mean something.
That
is why I can act so calm.”

Amy’s arms were suddenly wrapped around my neck, and I couldn’t protest her stranglehold because it felt like . . . friendship. The close kind that forms at a summer camp and disintegrates because the promises to call each other are soon forgotten. And yet, with Amy I thought it could last beyond our crisis with a Cambodian drug cartel.

I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with her very public display of affection, so I glanced over the back of my seat, fully expecting to see Ben chatting up some female traveler while Houston and Liz planned our next move. Instead, I found all of them staring straight ahead with their attention caught on . . . me.

The pit of my stomach dropped as I soaked in the mixture of guilt and defiance in their expressions. Houston’s unwavering gaze told me what I needed to know: They had overheard everything. All that stuff about my SAT test and
Logan
was now common knowledge.

If there was a gunman on the bus, I found myself hoping he would just take his shot, already. At least that way the situation couldn’t become any more awkward.

No such luck.

I coolly held Houston’s gaze, not even bothering to raise my voice. “You say a word about any of this to my dad and—”

“I already promised that I wouldn’t.” He rolled his eyes before he muttered, “What happens in Cambodia stays in Cambodia.”

“I knew that was going to catch on!” Ben crowed victoriously. “That was all
me
.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular Shakespeare.”

All four of us gawked at Amy, who looked surprised to find that she had spoken.

Liz beamed proudly at her. “Nicely delivered, Amy! We’ll have you trash-talking in no time.”

Houston grinned too—a genuinely amused expression that I’d only glimpsed once or twice before, but which fit his face to perfection. Not that it mattered. What we needed to be figuring out was how to help Neal, not wasting time
smiling
at one another.

That’s why I changed the subject. Not because I found myself wondering what it would take to see that expression on his face more often. And definitely not because I felt a surge of something that felt dangerously like attraction when his eyes met mine.

Nope.

I was too aware of all of Houston’s flaws to ever be taken in that easily.

And just to prove it to myself, I started passing out prepaid cell phones from the batch I’d bought right after I logged off with Houston. The ones I’d charged to my dad’s emergency credit card.

Then I leaned forward confidentially.

“Okay, so here’s the plan.”