Keep Your Friends Close: A Gritty YA Crime Thriller, page 7
She pressed her forehead into my chest. “I thought something had happened to you and it worried me to death.”
“Well, they certainly did a number on you at that party,” April told Wes, frowning at his bruises.
He ignored her. “What the hell is this about?” he snapped at Brooklyn.
“We have to wait for Diego,” she insisted.
Within seconds, his Charger came gunning down the street. “Alright. We’re all here…” Diego called as he climbed out of the car. “What’s so urgent?”
Brooklyn brushed her hair behind her ears. “We have a problem, guys. Mack came to see me. She thinks Coach Donahue killed Riley.”
My hand covered my mouth. I thought I was going to throw up. We stared around in silence for a beat. Then Diego burst into laughter.
“Dude?” Wes frowned at him.
“No… That’s perfect. Don’t you all see? If she goes to the police with those claims, that totally throws them off our trail.”
April nodded. “Well, that’s a good point.”
“Guys, come on,” Brooklyn said, her voice breaking. “That’s sick, and you know it. Coach Donahue is innocent. We know he is.”
I moved to console her, but she hid her face in her hands.
“Wait a minute,” Wes said. “Why the hell is she telling you instead of the cops?”
Brooklyn sniffed. “She wants my help investigating him. You know, collecting evidence and stuff.”
“Evidence, from where?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know—at their home or in his office, maybe. I don’t really know. I just can’t do it.”
“Yes you will,” Diego said.
I turned to him. “What? She said she doesn’t want to—”
“I don’t care. If she plays along with Mack, she’ll be our inside person to mislead her.”
“Inside person? What are you—?”
“Wait,” Diego said. “The way I see it, we couldn’t have asked for a better thing. I don’t give a shit who feels guilty. I’m not going to jail for this. You might’ve done it, Eddie, but we all helped conceal it.”
“I might’ve done it? Don’t stand there and pretend like this is the first crime we’ve covered up. What about Mr. Wright?”
Diego scowled. “It’s not like you were so against it, Mr. I-Didn’t-Make-The-Swim-Team. If the police investigate any of us, you’re the one who has the biggest motives in both cases.”
I hesitated. Diego was right. Gasping heavily, I turned away from everyone, hands tugging in my hair. I was totally fucked. How did I not see it this way before?
“Shut the fuck up,” Wes spat, as Diego laughed teasingly.
“Nobody’s investigating anyone, but this shit with Mack… Brook, go along with her for a little while. If it gets too weird or uncomfortable, just back out. I’m sure you’ll come up with an excuse for why. Fair?” He stared at her.
She nodded, turning to me. “It’ll be alright, Eddie,” she promised, but I didn’t believe her.
10
Eddie
Then
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Coach Donahue demanded as he barged into Mr. Wright’s class. It was Friday, Halloween Eve.
Mr. Wright glanced up from his desk, peering up at Coach over the top of his glasses. “Excuse me? I am in the middle of—”
“I don’t give a flying shit what you’re doing. How dare you go behind my back and have my best swimmer removed from the team!”
My ears perked up. Best swimmer? Who? Riley or Wes? If Coach was that upset, it must’ve been Riley. At the mention of Riley, I realized he wasn’t in class today. I peeked a glance at the two teachers. I was praying it wasn’t Wes. Hank would kill him. I still hadn’t even told Hank I’d missed tryouts. Wes thought we’d stall him by saying they were on hold until a couple of months from then.
My heart sank as Mr. Wright said the name I’d hoped he wouldn’t.
“Wesley failed his—”
Coach Donahue raised his hand to cut him off once again. “He could’ve done a makeup test. You did this deliberately to sabotage my race.”
Mr. Wright huffed a breath so hard it could’ve fogged his lens. “I don’t know how you do things, Donahue, but Wesley is all out of favors and makeup tests.” He made air quotes. “If he doesn’t get his grades up, I’m going to have to fail him. You ought to be glad the principal and I only dropped him off the team. Besides, this isn’t something we should discuss in front of my students.”
“Then let’s take it to the hallway,” Coach Donahue bellowed. “This is far from over.”
Mr. Wright placed both hands on his desk and pushed himself up. “Do you really want to do this, Robert?” Coach Donahue didn’t reply. He turned and headed for the door. Mr. Wright glared at me specifically. “Carry on. This should only take a few minutes.” He stalked after Coach Donahue. The door shut hard behind them.
I gulped, eyes flicking to Brooklyn. “Where’s Wesley?” I half-whispered.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he left,” she whispered back.
My stomach flopped. What the hell was happening? And why was I just finding out about it now?
The door swung wide. “You can bet I’ll speak to the principal about this on Monday,” Mr. Wright entered, shouting over his shoulder.
My brows dipped. I’d never seen two teachers argue before, but that must’ve been pretty serious.
“We’re wearing those tonight,” Riley said on Saturday, holding a plastic bag. It was Halloween. He sent a group text to meet at his place after midnight. He and Wes were together already, having ditched school earlier. I hitched a ride with Brooklyn and April, who hung in the car as I approached the others to find out what was happening. Riley shoved the bag at Diego.
“Halloween masks?” He produced a zombie and clown mask. “We’re too old to trick-or-treat, aren’t we?”
Riley rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get going.”
Wes kept his arms folded, gazing straight ahead. I tried talking to him about what’d happened, but he had nothing to say. Besides, it was simple. Mr. Wright had pissed on us once again.
“Where are we going?” I asked for Riley and Wes were awfully quiet.
Diego tapped me on the arm. “Are you in or out?”
I glanced behind me at Brooklyn and April in her BMW, ready to follow.
I hopped in with the guys. After five minutes, I knew exactly where we were heading—to Mr. Wright’s place. I laughed nervously. “What are you guys planning?” No one spoke. “It’s Saturday. Wright can’t be at the hospital tonight. Besides, visiting hours are over.” Still, silence. But I pressed on. “I’m sure Wright’s changed the locks after our last encounter, anyway.”
Riley and Wes snuck a glance at each other but still wouldn’t talk. Why were they acting so weird?
Mr. Wright’s Jeep came into view in his driveway. He was definitely home.
“Whoa!” I gripped Riley’s shoulder and pointed out the windshield. “If he’s here, what are we doing?”
Riley shrugged me off. “We’re going in there just like before. Only this time, Wright is in for the scare of his life.”
I looked at Wes, who wouldn’t face me. He shifted his gaze toward the window instead. “I-I don’t know about this. What if—”
“What if nothing, Eddie,” Riley snapped, his dark eyes flicking to me through the rearview. “It’s time that son of a bitch realized he doesn’t own us. He doesn’t get to play chess with our fucking lives.”
“What am I going to do now?” Wes uttered softly. “I won’t get a scholarship from swimming because no one will ever know if I’m any good.”
My shoulders sagged. We were both counting on our athleticism to get us into college. “We could be in even more trouble, though, breaking into his home,” I said. “He could, like, call the cops on us. Shouldn’t we at least rethink this?” I wished Brooklyn was there. She’d back me. Yet her car was right behind us. Had they already mentioned the plan to her?
“According to Wright, we’re always in trouble,” Diego said.
“Exactly,” Riley agreed. “We can get nothing right in his eyes. So, what’s the point? Yeah—we’re going inside, wearing those masks. So what if he suspects it’s us? He won’t be able to prove it.”
“Who knows? Maybe after this, he’ll leave us the hell alone,” Wes said. “Although it’s too fucking late. The damage is already done.”
I folded my arms, defeated. There was absolutely no talking them out of it.
Riley shut off the engine. “I want the skull,” he said, reaching behind the seat for the bag of masks.
Wes took the jack o’ lantern, and Diego had the zombie. Of course, I ended up with the clown. It wasn’t a horror clown either, but a happy-faced, rosy-cheeked, kiddie clown with tufts of red hair poking out from the sides.
I rolled my eyes. “And what about the girls?” I asked. Brooklyn’s lights were out, but neither had exited the car.
Riley turned to see them. “They’re not coming inside. April’s gonna hop behind my wheel so she and Brook can be our getaway drivers.” Now it sounded like a heist.
“Let’s go.” Wes couldn’t be any more impatient.
I pulled on my gloves and mask and followed the others through the alley. The air was chilly and wet from the storm that day. Unfortunately, I wasn’t wearing warmer clothes, and the stupid clown mask made my vision blurry. I just kept low to the ground and close to the dark silhouette in front of me as we snuck to Wright’s house.
Instead of as before, this time, we went around the front. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but wished more than ever that I could’ve talked the guys out of it. The moment Riley calmly reached and rang the doorbell, I knew I should’ve stopped it. But my brain shut down, and my body acted, following whatever the others did.
After a couple of beats, a bewildered Mr. Wright cracked his front door, squinting to find out who in their right mind would be out at this hour.
“Trick or treat, motherfucker,” one guy called. They shoved their way inside.
“Hurry up. Shut the door,” Wes whispered to me. I stumbled in behind them, just as confused as Wright. What were they doing?
I adjusted my mask to clear my vision. Riley clutched a handful of rope. What the hell was going on?
“What the hell?” Mr. Wright mimicked my thoughts. His hands rose as he backed away from us. He seemed vulnerable outside of class. His body was frail beneath his plaid robe and matching pajamas.
We stood inside his living room, the TV on low, its lights flickering in dancing shadows. He was watching a black-and-white TV show. A bowl of half-eaten popcorn and diet Coke sat on the table.
“Sit down!” Diego pointed to the recliner.
Mr. Wright huffed an angry breath. “Now wait just a damn minute—”
Diego grabbed him roughly by the arm and attempted to shove him into the chair, but Mr. Wright struggled against his grip and slipped free. Wes moved in to help Diego, and together they escorted Wright to the seat and slammed him onto it. “Sit the fuck down,” Diego repeated.
I peered on, frozen in place.
“You’re not in charge anymore, Simon,” Riley hissed. He stalked around him, snapping the rope.
Mr. Wright eyed Riley. He wasn’t the least afraid. His legs moved to rise, but Diego and Wes were back at his side, pinning him down as Riley wound the rope around Wright’s body. All three struggled, for Wright was obviously stronger than they expected.
Part of me wanted to laugh. Because what was their plan? Tie the guy up, and then what?
Riley was losing his patience. “Help us,” he yelled back at me. I staggered forward and offered support to secure the knot.
Mr. Wright snickered, shaking his head. “Look at the want-to-be-tough guys. Pathetic.”
Riley slapped him hard. “Shut up!”
I gasped. No one said they were going to hurt Mr. Wright.
“This isn’t your classroom,” Wes said. “You’re not in control tonight, Simon.”
Mr. Wright dipped his head, his shoulders bouncing as he laughed. “I try to do my job, and this is the thanks I get?”
I shifted nervously. Wright had made us without a doubt. “Guys?” I croaked, my voice muffled by the mask. “We should get out of here now.”
Diego gripped Mr. Wright’s hair and tugged his head back until he winced. “Didn’t he order you to shut up?”
Mr. Wright knocked his head into Diego’s face, sending him sprawling backward in pain. Quickly wriggling himself loose, Wright stood and stumbled away, the rope tangled at his feet.
“Don’t let him get free,” Riley shouted.
“Fuck,” Diego said, clutching his head. He grabbed the end of the mask.
“Don’t you dare show your fucking face,” Riley warned.
This had gotten out of control. What the hell were we even still doing there?
Mr. Wright let out a hoarse cry, spinning around and wielding a baseball bat. “You think I don’t recognize you, imbeciles? Diego. Riley. And, of course, the twins.” He swung at me, cracking me in the shoulder.
Pain shot down my entire arm, numbing my fingers. “Ah!” I stumbled away. Another moan escaped my lips. As Wright raised the bat for another strike, Wes dodged into him, crashing him into the glass table. It shattered beneath his weight.
The world paused as we stood and took in what happened. Wright lay in a mangled mess, chin pressed against his chest, his head stuck beneath the frame of the table. Seconds went by. Minutes. And then Wright uttered a wet gasp, his eyes flickering open, scaring us from our trances.
Mr. Wright made strange noises, pointing with a trembling finger.
“What the hell is he doing?” Riley murmured.
I turned in the direction he was pointing. An inhaler sat on the mantel. Mr. Wright had asthma?
“Shit.” Wes moved to get it.
“No!” Riley blocked him.
“What the fuck, dude?” Wes shoved him.
Riley shoved him back. I approached the mantel, but Diego gripped me tightly by my sore arm, making me cry out in pain.
“We have to go,” he told me.
“No,” I snapped. “We have to help him.”
“We can’t. Wright knows it’s us,” Riley said, tugging Wes toward the hall. “Grab that rope and come on. We gotta go. Run.”
I stared at Mr. Wright. His chest puffed as if his lungs were popping out of his chest. My stomach lurched.
Diego snatched the rope and shoved me from behind. “Go!”
We took off for the back door. Diego slammed it behind us. We dashed through the yard, our shoes crunching on dead leaves. We hopped the fence and stampeded through the alley to the cars. The guys scrambled at the doors of Riley’s station wagon. But I kept going to Brooklyn’s BMW.
“What the hell—?” She stared at me wide-eyed.
I stripped the mask from my sweat-soaked face and vomited.
11
Eddie
Now
It was the first day of school. Principal Marriott thought it was essential to begin with a meeting in the lecture hall.
“Everyone, settle down. This isn’t a hang-out session. I have an important announcement,” Principal Marriot said, standing at the podium in a lavender pantsuit. Everything about Principal Marriott was crisp and on point. Every curly salt and pepper strand was intact in her bun, her makeup soft and elegant and the same shade as her suit.
“First, welcome to Haywood High. I’m excited to see all of you again and look forward to a fulfilling year with you. We are beginning this school year with the SAT test. I understand that a fellow student, Riley Donahue, is missing and that many of you were close to him.
“You should know my door is open if any of you need to talk. No matter how embarrassing or personal or touchy the subject may be, I am here for you. And so is a grief counselor.” She stopped as hushed whispers filled the hall. She cleared her throat and continued.
“As most of you know, we tragically lost one of our teachers last year, Mr. Simon Wright. To those who didn’t know him, he was an outstanding individual with a passion for teaching. May his soul rest in peace.” She paused and scanned the students.
Call me paranoid, but it seemed her eyes stayed on me a beat too long.
I held my composure, my hands clamped to the sides of my legs. I didn’t shift or make eye contact with anyone from my group. I’d been on edge since Diego’s claim at the park. Wes remained unfazed. He insisted I wouldn’t give anyone a reason to suspect me if I carried on typically.
It was easier said than done, but I will give it everything I had. My life depended on it. If I could just make it to the Nationals, I’d be away from Haywood and its secrets for good.
“…I’d like you to welcome our new teacher, Miss Libby Harper,” Principal Marriott said, waving over a short, petite blond.
She had wide blue-green eyes that sort of reminded me of Margot Robbie’s.
“Hello, everyone. I’m excited to be here.” She spoke with a British accent. She was the opposite of Mr. Wright—young, friendly, and happy. Haywood High was going to tear her to shreds.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t that hungry,” Brooklyn said later that evening as we exited the restaurant, a Japanese place.
I got her to come to dinner with me around six, early enough to have her back home without her dad freaking out. She’d been moping around all day, so I wanted to cheer her up. Sushi was her favorite, yet she hardly touched her plate.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” I asked for the hundredth time. “Is it the Donahues?”
She sighed. “No. Yes. It’s everything,” she choked out, hurrying ahead of me.
I rushed to catch her, grasping her wrist. “Well, let’s talk about it. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m afraid, Eddie. I keep having these weird premonitions and dreams that something bad is going to happen to you.”
