How to Win at High School (25 page)

A cream-colored Lexus with big chrome rims drives past on the street in front of Cardigan's.

(Drives

s
    
l
    
o
    
w
    
)

Adam shakes his head clear. “Living proof,” he tells George.

A cream-colored Lexus with big chrome rims.

Jamal's car.

Maybe it's paranoia. Maybe it's real. Adam starts seeing that cream Lexus more and more.

Usually, it's drifting by in traffic, in the corner of Adam's eye. Usually, he turns to look for it and it's gone.

Sometimes, though, it's there. Sometimes he sees it idling at the stoplight at the end of Nixon's lush green front lawn. Sometimes it drives past as Adam walks home from school.

Sometimes, he looks out the window during geography class and that big Lexus is parked across the street.

Sometimes, Jamal's out there, leaning on the hood, staring up at the school with a gleaming white grin on his face, searching the windows like he can find Adam's face in the glass.

Sometimes, Adam gets scared.

But not always.

Most of the time, Adam convinces himself he's seeing things. Convinces himself he can hide from Jamal.

He walks home on back roads. Sneaks out of school. Sometimes he has Wayne handle the meetings at Cardigan's, just so he can fly under the radar.

“Christ, man,” Brian says as Adam slips into his Sunfire a couple blocks from school. “How is this even worth it anymore?”

Adam has the nicest watch in the school—

(TAG Heuer)

—financed by the pills they've been selling. He's dating—

(sleeping with)

—Alexis Van Deusen, the head cheerleader, now. She's a senior.

Adam's saving up for a car.

“Hell yes it's worth it,” Adam tells Brian.

Adam can afford to be scared.

Adam comes home from Tommy's one day with
literally
a million pills in his backpack.

(Not literally.)

Brian drops him off outside his house and Adam takes his overflowing backpack from the trunk of the Sunfire and walks up the drive and . . .

Victoria's there.

She still takes Adam's breath away.

She's standing by the side door like she's been waiting for a while. She's not smiling. She looks nervous. Adam takes one look at her, and he figures out the whole story.

(
She finally broke up with Chad.
)

(
She totally wants you
.)

(
She finally realized she wants to be with a god
.)

Adam can't keep from smiling. He tries to sound casual. “Hey,” he tells Victoria. “You want to come inside?”

Adam lets Victoria into the house—

(His dad's gone out somewhere, thank god.)

(Adam's not really up for that level of mortification right now.)

Shows her the shitty kitchen and the shitty living room, the shitty computer and the shitty TV. Offers her a glass of shitty tap water. Victoria shakes it off. Looks around.

“So this is where you live,” she says.

Adam nods. “Uh-huh.”

“It's not so bad,” she says. “You don't have to be so ashamed of it.”

Adam looks around. Shrugs. It's a shitty little house and they both know it. It's no place for a god.

“I won't be here too much longer,” Adam tells her. “Anyway, what's up? What can I do for you?”

Victoria fiddles with some cutlery on the kitchen table. Worries a place mat with her fingers. She can't look at Adam. Time passes. The question lingers.

Adam takes a couple steps toward Victoria. Moves in to wrap his arms around her, to kiss her. He's a god now. He's confident.

(Maybe she wants to sleep with him, even.)

“It's okay,” he tells her. “You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm just glad you came back.”

He reaches out to pull her closer to him, to kiss her. Victoria stiffens at his touch. Draws back. “Adam, are you dealing?” she says quickly.

Adam blinks. Adam hesitates. “Um, why?” Adam says. “Do you want to score or something?”

“What?” She looks at him. “Oh my god. No, Adam, I don't want to score.” She shakes her head. “Jesus. Steph told me you were selling drugs and I thought she was crazy, but it's true, isn't it?”

Adam shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“That's a yes,” Victoria says. “Oh my god. What's
wrong
with you, Adam?”

“It's just for a little while,” Adam tells her. “The money's good. Pretty soon I'll have enough for tuition.”

“Tuition?” Victoria says. “College? You're a freaking drug dealer, Adam. Are you using, too?”

Adam stares at her. “It's just a little bit,” he says finally. “Not much. You know, on weekends or whatever.”

“You need help, Adam,” Victoria tells him. “You need someone to help you. Get out of this craziness and go talk to somebody. This isn't normal.”

“I don't need help,” Adam tells her. “I'm a god, Victoria. I'm totally winning. What would I ever want to change for?”

“You're not winning,” Victoria says. “You're ruining your life, Adam. Let me help you before you crash and burn.”

Adam looks at her. “You want to help me,” he says. “That's why you're here.”

“I do,” she says. “You have to give up all this bullshit. No more homework. No drugs. Nothing. Okay?”

She's still smoking hot. And right now, all Adam can think about is how bad she must want him. How much she must love him, to come crawling back.

“Okay,” Adam says. “Whatever you say. You can help me.”

She looks at him. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” he says.

(He'll say anything at this point.)

(They can work out the gory details later.)

Victoria hugs him, tight. Adam hugs her back, feels the curves of her body, her warmth, and it's all familiar and wonderful and awesome, better than any other girl he's been with—

(even Janie Ng and Leanne Grayson)

—and Adam holds on to Victoria for a minute or two, and then he looks down at her and does what feels natural.

(It feels perfect.)

He kisses her.

Victoria goes stiff. “Adam.”

Adam opens his eyes. “What?” He doesn't let her go.

“Adam, no.” She squirms out of the hug. “I can't do this. I'm sorry.”

“I thought you wanted to help me,” Adam says. “You said you loved me.”

“I do love you,” she says. “I do want to help you. As your friend, Adam. As someone who cares about you.”

“You're still with Chad,” Adam says. “Admit it. You always liked him, even when we were together.”

“That's a lie,” she says. “I liked you. I loved you. I was happy with you. But you chose, I dunno . . .”

She gestures to his clothes, his shoes, the TAG Heuer on his wrist.

“So you went running to Chad,” Adam says. “The big, dumb high school quarterback.”

Victoria shrugs. “He is what he is, Adam. And he's happy that way.”

Adam says nothing.

Victoria looks at Adam. “Let me help you,” she says.
“Please.”

She's more beautiful now than ever, maybe. And she loves him. She'll stick by him and help him dismantle the whole machine and get him out of this whole sordid mess.

She'll be there for him. She'll do this. She can save him.

Adam knows this.

And then?
Adam thinks.

After she gets Adam out of the homework scheme, and the drugs and the parties and everything else?

After she's killed and buried the Pizza Man?

What then?

Nothing.

No friends. No parties. No popularity.

Adam won't even get the girl.

(Chad will.)

Adam shakes his head. “I can't do it,” he says. “Sorry.”

Victoria deflates. “You
can
,” she says. “I know you can. You just have to—”

“I'm sorry.” Adam walks to the door. Opens it.

“I think we're done here,” Adam says.

(Ice-cold.)

So, forget Victoria.

She's gone forever, but who cares, really?

Adam's still winning.

He's still a god.

(And gods don't waste time on frigid little freshmen.)

(Gods take over, don't they?)

Adam's taking over.

So Adam throws Sam that party.

Figures it's better than a stupid hockey game.

(Hey, the Red Wings lost anyway.)

Figures Sam will enjoy getting out of the house, getting a taste of the good life again. Figures it'll be a nice break from the doughnut shop and that shitty apartment.

Adam puts a blast out on Facebook. Invites everyone he knows. Books a suite at the casino hotel and tells Paul Nolan and Alton Di Sousa to round up every college girl they can find.

(Figures maybe Sam will get lucky.)

(Or as lucky as Sam can get.)

It'll be the party of the year.

Everybody will be there.

Sam will have a blast.

He'll forget about the hockey game.

(Adam hopes.)

(Probably, Adam knows this is all wrong, somewhere deep inside.

Probably, he knows that a high school party—

(no matter how amazing)

—is a shitty substitute for a hockey game with his older brother.

(Even if the Red Wings lost.)

Probably, he knows that Sam would have a good time at the party, and maybe Adam even knows that he doesn't actually care.

He's not throwing the party for Sam.

Somewhere deep inside himself, he knows this.

Probably.)

Anyway, the party is off the chain.

Everybody's there.

All the gods.

All the goddesses.

The suite is amazing. It's, like, two bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a sweeping view of the river. Of Detroit.

(Somewhere in the distance, you can see the hockey arena where the Red Wings play.)

(If you're looking.)

Adam arrives early with Brian and Tommy. Brian and Tommy bring booze and weed and pills—

(everything's on Adam tonight)

—and the guests start arriving. The music starts bumping. The party's already raging when Sam texts from downstairs.

Adam excuses himself from Alton Di Sousa and a couple college girls. Takes the elevator to the lobby and finds Sam waiting in his wheelchair inside the front doors. He looks small and kind of frail and there's a food stain on his shirt.

“Hey,” Adam says. “You made it. Awesome.”

“Yeah,” Sam says.

“Tonight's going to kick ass,” Adam says. “Believe me. You'll see.”

(He took a pill earlier. It's just starting to kick in.)

Sam follows Adam through the lobby to the elevators. Looks around at the gleaming metal, the polished stone. Everything swank and sleek and modern. Everything money.

“How much did this cost you?” Sam says.

“Don't worry about it,” Adam tells him. “It's all on me tonight. Anything you want, I promise.”

Sam looks around some more. He doesn't say anything.

“Hey,” Adam says. “Did you have fun at the game? Did you wear that jersey I bought you?”

Sam looks at Adam like he's an alien. “I didn't go,” he says. “I couldn't find anyone to go with at the last minute. And I can't just go over to Detroit by myself.”

Adam frowns. “Well, shit,” he says.

“Yeah,” Sam says.

Neither of them says anything for a minute. Adam just stares out the glass elevator at the city lights beyond. The way the drugs are kicking in, the whole night looks magical.

(Even Sam has to be impressed.)

Then the elevator dings. The doors slide open. You can already hear the music from Adam's suite.

Adam grins at Sam. “Party of the year,” he says. “See if I'm lying.”

The party's going full steam when Adam and Sam get back. Paul Nolan and Alton Di Sousa are dancing with a bunch of girls. Wayne Tristovsky and Sara Bryant are making out in a corner. Brian and Amanda Rimes are dancing.

(Even Tommy's found himself a hot high school honey at last.)

Adam ushers Sam inside the suite. Gets him a drink. Calls over the gods and introduces Sam to every one of them.

“Oh, shit,” Paul says. “You're that hockey player.” He looks at Adam. “Dude, you never told us you were related to this guy.”

Adam looks at Sam. “I mean, shit,” he says. “Of course I am.”

Paul slaps Sam on the back. “You were the greatest, man. You could have turned pro.”

Sam gives Paul a smile back. Sam doesn't drink his drink. “Thanks,” Sam says. “Thanks, man.”

Rob Thigpen stays away, Adam notices.

He doesn't come anywhere near Sam, and with good reason, Adam figures. The bastard probably feels guilty about what his brother did to Sam.

(Adam didn't even invite him to the party, but of course he showed up.)

(And you can't very well turn a god away at the door.)

(Not even if his brother ruined your brother's life—

—and by extension, your own.)

“How does it feel to be related to the Pizza Man?” someone asks Sam.

Adam forces a laugh. “Come on,” he says. “This night's about Sam, not that Pizza Man stuff.”

It's too late, though. Sam looks at Adam. “The Pizza Man?” he says. “Who the hell is that?”

“Pizza Man Enterprises,” someone says, pointing at Adam. “He's the fucking Tony Montana of Nixon Collegiate. Tony Soprano shit. Boss.”