Rebel, Bully, Geek, Pariah (5 page)

I forced myself to look away from his stomach and spotted a tattoo on his chest. I barely had time to register a thin scrawl of black before he dropped his shirt again. Probably the name of some girl he was trying to impress. River City boys made smart choices like that.

York lumbered over to Boston and grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, dragging him toward the river. “Go get 'em.”

Boston pulled out of York's grasp and smirked. “You go get 'em. Oh, wait, that's right. You can't.”

York's fists clenched and I tensed, expecting another beating, but he only popped a finger out of one of those fists and pointed it in Boston's face like a warning.

“Hey,
little guy
,” Andi said very deliberately. “You shouldn't poke the yeti. Yeti big. Yeti get angry.”

She laughed at her own joke, and I took a step away from her. It seemed to me that she was the one poking the yeti, and he didn't appear to be above taking a swing in our direction.

“Who are you calling a yeti, slut?”

Whoa.

He may as well have thrown a punch.

Andi pinched her lips and took a step toward the boys, as if meeting a challenge. The moonlight hit her dreadlocks, making them look like thick icicles. “Call me a slut again,” she dared him. There was ice in her voice, too. It cast a decided chill over the otherwise sweaty August night, and for a moment we were all frozen, watching the stare-down between York and Andi.

York caved first—whether because Andi had intimidated him or because he'd had too many beers to win a staring contest, I couldn't be sure. He looked away with a shrug and turned back to Boston. “Keys. Now.”

Boston crossed his arms. “Like I said—you want them, be my guest.” He nodded at the water.

York stayed rooted to the spot, his eyes darting between the river and us girls, and even in the dark, I could see his cheeks turning red.

Boston grinned in our direction. “He can't get them, because he can't—”

Whatever he was going to say next was lost in a muffled thump as both boys hit the ground. It was hard to say whether York had tackled Boston or just drunkenly stumbled into him, but I took
an involuntary step forward in case they started brawling again. It seemed like someone should help, even if Andi was right—the little guy
was
poking the yeti.

I managed only that one step before I bumped into something long and hard—Mama's violin. Andi was holding it out like an extended arm, a barricade to keep me back.

“Stay out of it,” she warned.

I reached for the violin but she swung it away, and my fingertips only brushed the strings, releasing a soft chord of music into the night. Andi moved a good distance away from me and tucked the violin back into her messenger bag.

“If you're going to be shadowing me all night, it looks like I'll need a ride.” She snapped her fingers at the two boys, still sprawled on the ground. “I've got fifty bucks for whichever one of you fishes those keys out of the water and drives me home.” She pulled something out of her pocket and waved it around—a wad of bills.

My
wad of bills.

My chest clenched as I scrabbled around in my purse and came up with only crumpled pages torn from magazines—a beach in Thailand, an iceberg in Alaska—
No, wait
, I'd put the cash in my pocket at the pawnshop. I shoved a hand into the back pocket of my jeans, but all I found in there was lint.

“That's my money!” I shouted.

The boys startled at my explosion, and I realized it was the first thing I'd said since stupidly blurting out my name.

Quiet, but prone to outbursts.
That's what the family therapist at Mama's old halfway house once said—as if I was the one
who needed psychoanalysis. Also
antisocial
and
unpredictable under duress.

I was pretty sure I was under duress right now. Standing in these woods that I hated, out of a job, robbed of all my money, and just steps away from the only thing I wanted but couldn't get my hands on—even I couldn't predict what I was going to do next.

And I never found out, because just then the wail of police sirens sliced through the woods, and the dull hum of music and laughter from the party somewhere above us turned into a roar of shouts and stampeding feet.

“Cops!” York shouted.

Andi shushed him and cursed in the same breath.

He ignored her and shoved Boston toward the water, still yelling. “Keys! Now! I'm not screwing around!”

Those keys were already buried under the Mississippi mud, but Boston obediently kicked off his flip-flops and waded into the river up to his knees, the water soaking the edge of his cargo shorts.

“There's no way,” he said. “I threw them too far out.”

“You are dead!” York punched at the air. “Dead!”

“Shut your face!” Andi barked, and it came out with such force that the boys did, indeed, shut their faces. “You're going to get us busted,” she said.

Busted for what?

I hadn't had so much as a sip of alcohol, and while I'd never been to a party like this—or any party, really—I doubted the kids up the hill would get anything more than sent home for the
night. I knew from personal experience that cops had bigger fish to fry than underage drinkers.

But Andi had something to fear. She was carrying stolen goods. I had half a mind to shout out that there was a shoplifter and pickpocket down here. I would relish watching the deputies handcuff her. But something held me back—something deep and distrustful of police for all the times they'd been unfair to Mama. Plus, I reasoned, they'd probably take the violin as evidence, and then it would be gone for good.

Andi opened her mouth to say something, but it was drowned out by the distorted sounds of police barking into megaphones, ordering people to line up. Elsewhere, deeper in the trees, some geniuses were still trying to make a break for it. Shouts echoed through the woods like a round-robin song. “Ben! Katie! This way! This way!”

I wondered which way they could possibly think would keep them out of trouble.

“York!” Boston whisper-shouted, still knee-deep in muddy water. “They're making people get in line!”

“Citations,” York agreed.

Boston splashed out of the river and squished his wet feet back into his sandals. “I'm not signing one of those stupid pieces of paper saying I was drinking. That goes on your record.”

“I'm not signing it, either,” York whispered back. “One more and Mom and Dad—” He didn't finish his thought, running a hand through his hair instead. “We're getting out of here,” he said, sounding shockingly sober now. “Car or no car.”

He started moving down the riverbank, away from the hill. “This way,” he commanded, and Boston scurried behind him.

“No!” Andi said, forgetting her own order to be quiet.

The boys ignored her and kept moving. I watched Andi, waiting to see which way she would go. Neither direction scared me, since I hadn't done anything other than have a conversation with the wrong girl in the wrong place at the wrong time. I planned to follow the violin and my money, whichever way they went.

“Shit,” Andi whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

She pulled at one of her dreadlocks and flicked her eyes back and forth between the sounds of police above us and the retreating backs of the boys. Finally she seemed to make a decision, and uttered one last “shit” before running after Boston and York.

“What are you doing?” Andi asked when I caught up. “Go back!”

“Give me my money,” I demanded.

“Your money? I thought you wanted the violin. Make up your mind, girl.”

I wanted to push her into the river.

Just ahead of us, Boston and York were arguing and not bothering to be quiet about it.

“I told you I didn't want to come here,” Boston said. “Now we're screwed.”

“We're only screwed because you tossed the keys, you little worm.”

I bristled at the word “worm” for a split second until I realized it wasn't directed at me.

“I have a spare set at home,” Boston shot back.

“But how are we
getting
home, asshole? We can't outrun the cops.”

“There's a dirt road up ahead. It goes down to the old boat dock.”

“Wait,” Andi said. “Not the boat dock.”

York glanced back at us. “He's right. There's a road—”

“I know.” Andi grabbed at the back of York's shirt, trying to slow him down. “That road meets up with the one to the party. We'll get stopped. Let's just wait here until everyone's gone, and—”

“We
want
to get back up to that road.” York walked faster, his shirt pulling out of Andi's grasp. “We can catch a ride with someone on their way out.”

It was strange how much they all seemed to know about the forest back roads. Maybe their parents were all druggies, too.
Or maybe some people actually use the woods for regular old recreation. Imagine that.
It's possible the woods were nice during the day. I wouldn't know.

“Do whatever you want,” York said, not breaking his stride. “Say hi to the cops for us.”

Andi looked pained, almost panicked, but she continued stomping after the boys.

“What's the big deal?” I said to her. “Forget them. Go wherever you want. Just give me my stuff first.”

“Fine.” Andi surprised me by lifting the bag from her shoulder. “If I give you your shit, will you go back to—”

A megaphone crackled through the woods behind us.

“Attention in the trees!” There was almost an edge of laughter in the officer's voice.

What fun, breaking up a party and terrifying teenagers!

“We have your license-plate numbers. We
will
be following up on any cars left behind. Come on out.”

He sounded close—much closer than the hum of teenage voices and the music from the party, which had inexplicably been turned down but not off. Someone really liked their hip-hop.

Boston stumbled on a tree root. “He means our car!
Our
license plate.”

“Relax.” York grabbed Boston's elbow to keep him from falling. “We'll say we got a ride home with someone else after you lost the keys. You won't even have to lie.”

“But Mom and Dad will know we were at this party! And the police will probably automatically cite us for drinking just for being here.”

“How would you know?” York said. “You've never been busted for anything.”

“Yeah, well, I've got this big brother who gets busted all the time, so I know—”

“All right! I'm sorry, okay? Sorry I tried to show you a good time.”

It didn't sound like much of an apology to me, but it seemed to settle the argument, and they kept walking.

The megaphone blared again. Another warning. Or was it a threat?

My body thrummed with something like fear, or maybe a thrill. I had no reason to worry about the man behind the megaphone, but instinct told me to keep moving.

Or maybe it was just in my DNA to run away from cops.

 

6

“HE SOUNDS CLOSER,” I said to no one in particular.

“Then move faster,” York answered.

At that moment, someone finally cut the music back at the party, and the woods went suddenly silent. The twigs snapping under our feet were as loud as cannons now, and we all stopped in unison, as though we were part of some choreographed marching band.

“Shh,” Boston said unnecessarily.

“It's over,” Andi whispered. “We should just go back. I know a path—”

“No, we're here,” he said, tiptoeing around a large tree in our path. “The dock is just on the other side of— Crap!”

Boston ducked back behind the tree, and York leaned around him to get a look.

“Awesome! A car! I wonder who parked down here. Maybe we can hitch a—”

Boston pulled York back with a force his skinny arms didn't look capable of. “Not the car. The cops!”

This time we all peeked around the tree, leaning against one another so our heads stacked up like a totem pole next to the tall oak. A silver SUV glimmered under the summer moon, its front doors wide open, and next to it, two police officers stood talking quietly.

“They're searching cars,” York said, his voice a breath below a whisper. “Probably stealing all our beer. Pigs.”

The officers appeared to be standing guard over the SUV, waiting to bust whichever partygoer thought they were clever for parking at the bottom of the hill. After a moment, one of the officers turned away and disappeared into the trees in the direction of the river, probably heading to the boat dock, though I couldn't see it from here. The other cop rested a hand on the holstered gun at his side and turned in our direction.

We scrambled back behind the tree, tripping over one another's feet in the process.

Boston looked at all of us and swung an arm in a circle over his head.

We're surrounded
, he mouthed.

Andi replied by pointing a finger at herself and each of us in turn, then jerked her head violently back up the hill. Her message was clear.
Let's go
.

York held up his hands as if to silence the both of them, even though they weren't making a sound. Then he pointed one finger, telling us to hang on, and scratched his head, apparently trying to think.

This game of charades was so ridiculous, I had to suppress a giggle.

At least, I
tried
to suppress it. I really did. I held my lips together as tightly as possible to seal them closed, but when I looked at the trio around me, it was too much. The charades had exploded. Andi was waving her hands back and forth, warning me not to make a noise; York was reaching toward me as if to put a hand over my mouth; and Boston was shaking his head so fast it looked like it might wobble right off his neck.