Narc (15 page)

“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Brent said.

He stormed back down the stairs. I was officially stuck. Mom was taking the truck later to work her shift. I had no form of transportation, no deal to report to the cops, and no time left. In other words, I had failed again. What a surprise.

I couldn’t look at Morgan, although I felt her walking behind me, the warmth of her there, as if she knew too much. Skully cracked a joke about the “fragile male ego,” but nobody laughed.

We made it back to the apartment. I went to the closet, grabbed a heap of blankets, and spread them on the floor. The girls stretched out like we were throwing a slumber party. Skully had already taken the bed, so I settled on the floor.

Morgan snuggled next to me. “Mr. Mystery,” she whispered.

“You really scared me tonight,” I whispered back. “Do you use that stuff a lot? I mean, the ketamine or whatever.”

“It’s a lot safer than the weight-loss pills my stepmom gave me.”

“Pills? When was this?”

“Junior high.”

“Shit. Are you still taking them?”

“Obviously not. Then my fat ass would still fit, you know … the size zero jeans I used to wear.”

“For the record, you’re not fat. How many times do I have to tell you? And who wears a size zero anyway? It’s not even a number.”

She traced the stubble along my jaw. “You’re funny.”

I waited to see what she’d do next. Soon she was snoring faintly, her chilly toes tucked against my own. I stayed awake, chewing the flavorless gum because my mouth felt too full. When I finally swallowed it, a trickle of sunlight had cut the room in half, the other side still bathed in shadow. And as I faded into sleep, I heard a familiar rustling: Wendy’s orphaned chicks at the window, cooing in minor keys.

For some reason, I felt like I was the one who let them down.

15 :
Carnations

The bus was late, as usual. Morgan slumped on the bench, doodling in her sketchbook. I glanced down at her ballpoint cartoon: a raggedy dude with bugged-out eyeballs. I’d seen this guy at the coffeehouse formerly known as Joffrey’s (hence vanquished by Starbucks). He always wore headphones and a rope-belted housecoat.

“That’s the Cleric,” I said, startling her.

“What? He’s just this homeless freak I’ve been following on the beach,” she said. “I might do a photo collage about him.”

“I know that guy. Not personally. But I see the Cleric all the time. He always gets free coffee.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve never seen him pay.”

“I have this theory about him. He’s actually a multi-billionaire genius. He’s, like, this computer-whiz inventor who struck it rich. He’s only pretending to be crazy.”

“And he’s getting more perverted each day,” she said, adding a garden hose (at least, I hope it was a garden hose), through which his lower body dribbled onto a patch of grass.

“You know, you’re a really amazing artist,” I told her.

“My drawings are crappy. And my parents aren’t exactly thrilled with the idea of me studying art.”

“I hear you,” I said, nodding.

She returned to doodling in her sketchbook, as if the pen were surgically connected to her fingers. “They think I’m going to end up in a cardboard box by the MacArthur Causeway or something. They’re totally in favor of me selling out.” She kept looking at the drawing the whole time, talking to the Cleric instead of me.

“That sucks,” I said.

“I was supposed to get this internship with that guy … you know the one on Lincoln Road who makes Pop Art flamingoes?”

“Yeah?” I said, although I wasn’t sure.

“Basically, I would be painting the flamingoes for him. You know, coloring inside the lines. But since I’d be working for free, my parents thought it was a waste of time. Then the weirdest thing happens. Right before I got fired, the bookstore asked me to do some lame-ass mural for them. I would’ve gotten paid and everything. They still want me to do it.”

“See? You’re official now.”

“Not really. I’ll probably blow it off.”

“Are you crazy? This is, like, your big break. What’s the problem?”

“I mean, it’s a lot of work and I really don’t feel like it,” she said, scribbling out the Cleric’s face. “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay?”

“Excuse me for believing in you.”

“Sorry.” Morgan capped her pen. “I didn’t mean to come off like a bitch.”

“That’s all right. I didn’t think you were. A bitch, I mean.”

She leaned against me, and I forgot how to breathe.

“Makes some room, homies,” said Skully, plopping down between us. She put on her heart-shaped glasses.

When the bus finally rumbled to the curb, a tide of people poured out, mostly old ladies with saggy, flesh-tinted stockings. As soon as they hit the sidewalk, they snapped open umbrellas, although the sky was smeared with just a few faint clouds, like chalk scribble.

“Guess they’re allergic to sunlight,” Morgan said, slamming her sketchbook shut.

We got on and found seats in the back.

“Man, I can’t wait to be old,” Skully said. “Then you can really hit the bitch-switch. Like, you’ll go out to eat at four o’ clock on Sunday, order the early bird special. And when your meatloaf comes out cold, you can yell at the waiter. Say things like, ‘Make it snappy!’ ”

Morgan tore a page from her sketchbook and crumpled it into a ball. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Geez, Louise. You’ve been bitchy all morning. Or should I say, ‘witchy’?”

“Too bad I can’t cast a spell on you. Then you’d finally shut up. And maybe,” she said, turning to me, “I would know why you deleted me from your friends list.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“When I got online this morning, I noticed my friend count had changed. So I did a search for your name. Sorry if I sound like a cyber-stalker.”

“I had a cyber-stalker last year. It was this kid I knew from grade school,” Skully said.

Morgan scowled at her. “Anyway,” she said, talking to the floor. “I noticed you changed your profile and I was like, What’s up with that?”

I swallowed the knob in my throat. Nothing else to do but confess. “It’s not me.”

Morgan looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Somebody made a fake profile,” I explained.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I swear.”

Morgan scrunched her eyebrows. I couldn’t blame her for not believing. Whenever someone ends a sentence with, “I swear,” you can bet they’re lying.

“Check on Aaron’s cell. It has Wi-Fi,” Skully said.

“It does?” I flipped it open. The screen flickered to life.

“You didn’t know? What’s the point of having a pimped-out phone if you can’t surf the net?” Skully pushed buttons until a miniature version of Facebook popped up. “Fire away,” she said, handing it back to me.

I typed my name, then a series of numbers and letters. It returned to the sign-on screen. I’d forgotten that I’d changed my password on the real page a few days ago. I tried again. When I finally reached the page, it looked different. Under Interests, it said,
Stealing your girl
. In the About You section, it said,
Fake ass poser.
I clicked on my picture.

NARC, it read in all caps.

I dropped the phone, which clattered on the floor and slid like a missile toward the back of the bus. I scrambled out of my seat. Skully beat me to it.

“Maybe they phished your password,” she said, handing it back.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You click on a link and they hijack your profile. Are you getting a lot of spammy bulletins?”

“No. I didn’t click on anything. I don’t know how it got messed up.”

“Oh, well. Just change your password.”

“I did.”

“Change it again.” She laughed. “Don’t freak out. It’s no big deal.”

Morgan touched my knee. “Any clue who did it?”

“Nada,” I said. Another lie. Maybe it was her psycho ex-boyfriend sending those messages. Or some random person at school. Hell, it could’ve been Nolan Struth, traveling in his time machine.

“I don’t think that’s the profile I saw this morning. So which one is the real you?” she asked.

I got the same kind of feeling you get when you’re crossing the street and a truck almost hits you.

“Neither of them,” I said.

She pursed her mouth. For a minute, I zoned out, watching her lips close and open over that crooked smile. When I drifted back to earth, Skully was saying something about tech support.

“Send them a message. They’ll kick off the imposter.”

“Okay. Cool,” I told her.

She waited. “Why don’t you do it now?”

“Later,” I said. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“It’s easy. Go to Inbox,” she said, hovering over my shoulder.

“God, Skully. Give him some space,” Morgan said.

“Listen,” I said. “Check this out.” I showed them the message, the one with the date and address. “Do you know who could’ve sent this to me?”

Skully squealed. “Oh, my god, Double A. You got an e-vite to a Halloween blowout in the Everglades? That’s sick. Why didn’t I hear about it?”

“Do you recognize this username?”

Skully shook her head. “Nope. But I am so there.”

“Wait,” I said. “There’s nothing in the e-mail that mentions a party. It just says Tamiami Trail.”

“It’s on All Hallows Eve. What else would it be? Anyway, Morgan should know. She’s the witch,” Skully said.

Morgan turned to me. “Could be mildly amusing. You plan on going?”

“Hell no,” I said.

“Well, now you have no choice,” she said, smiling. “Because we’re not having fun without you.”

I sank down in my seat.

For the rest of the bus ride, the girls wouldn’t stop talking about the “Glades party.” If Skully posted a bulletin to all ten thousand of her closest “friends” in cyberspace, the entire school would show up.

The cops were planning a big bust. This meant an arrest of epic proportions—not just the dealer, but any kid from Palm Hammock who was caught smoking chronic or knocking back a few beers.

I was in this weird position, like I was Mr. Innocent, like I’d never touched weed or got wasted. The truth is … I made lots of mistakes. Not because I was a bad person. There’s all kinds of reasons why someone does a bad thing. Most of the time, we only see the surface of people—the face they put on at school, the shield, the battle armor.

Before I got to know the girls, I’d already made up my mind about them. At first, I thought they were just scene queens. I guess you could say I was judging, the way people had judged me. Now I was drifting on the other side, past the gates of social limbo. Except it felt more like Hades, the land of the dead.

16 :
Do Unto Others

When I ditched the girls, they gave me the third degree. I used the babysitting excuse, saying my little sister needed me. In a way, this was actually true. I stepped into the parking lot at the bookstore, took out my cell, and dialed the magic number. No dice. It didn’t even ring once. I tried again. Same thing. I looked at the screen.

Searching for service.

I headed back inside and glanced around the store, at the bald dudes thumbing through sports magazines. I asked if I could use the phone behind the counter to make a local call.

“There’s a pay phone at the Metro station. Go across the street,” said the cashier.

I called the lead officer, then a Sunshine cab, and booked it out to Key Biscayne.

We weren’t supposed to meet so soon (the less time I spend around cops, the easier it should be, staying undercover). He didn’t ask why I called. Just materialized in the front row of the marine stadium, wearing his pleated khakis and aviator sunglasses.

The seats faced the bay, where bands used to perform on a floating stage. Graffiti was splashed across every part of it, from the crumbling skybox to the weed-infested orchestra pit.

I got there first and killed time, inspecting the aisles. On one of the seats, a tagger had sketched (with colored Sharpies, no less) a mural of Tom, the cartoon cat, hightailing it after Jerry the mouse. I never understood why people thought that shit was funny. Once in kindergarten, I raised my hand and told the teacher that I didn’t get why ninety percent of kids’ shows violated the Golden Rule, which she made us memorize and recite like robots. Ms. Kemp frowned. She asked if I knew the difference between the real world and make believe.

The cop was sweating. I wanted to jump in the waves and backstroke away from the questions I knew he’d ask.

“What have you found?” he asked, taking out a memo pad.

I told him about the date with Finch.

“So you bought a jar of X from this guy?” he asked, trying to be cool, speaking the lingo.