Hush Money

  My stomach clenched. This was exactly the conversation I wanted to avoid and really couldn’t put off much longer. Marco and his expectations were going to land me in jail. Or worse. “This weekend? You really think that’s a good idea? I mean what with Krista and all?”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Damn, I could use the cash. That’s ok, though, because I’ve got something else coming up. Something big.” He clapped me on the shoulder again and this time there was no show of strength, just the connection. “What would I do without you, buddy? You’re always thinkin’. Always got my back.”

  Yeah. You bet.

  * * *

  Joss

  How bad does it have to get before I can call it the worst day ever?

  First Krista, then freakin’ Dobbs, and then Mr. Hanson. He cornered me after Chem to talk to me about my lousy performance on the latest test. My dad was going to have a fit about that. Bad grades, like outstanding grades, draw attention. A solid B average is the thing to aim for. Anyway, the impromptu summary of the covalent-whatever deal—which I still didn’t get—had delayed me in my usual pre-lunch routine, and gotten me nabbed by a hall monitor. Do Not Pass Go, do not sneak up to your usual hideout, go directly to the Fifth Circle of Hell, otherwise known as the cafeteria.

  It’s not like I’d never been to the cafeteria before. I used to have to eat there when I was a freshman, for a few very long months, anyway, before I figured out how to avoid it. I remembered now that the best caf’ strategy was to take your lunch with you to the class before so you could race down there, as inconspicuously as possible, and claim an empty table. It was ok for later arrivals to sit at your table, which they might do, crowding together on the opposite side like you have a disease, but whatever. As long as you got there first, you didn’t have to ask to sit at anyone else’s table—and risk being told no, because what’s more humiliating than that? Sometimes people would just take all the chairs from your table and carry them off to other tables, and that’s sort of embarrassing too, but not as bad if you don’t let it get to you and remind yourself that lunching alone is a valid lifestyle choice. On the whole, though, the cafeteria is a bad scene and to be avoided whenever possible.

  So there I was, standing in the doorway, taking a quick scan of the room and scoping things out. I still had a notebook and textbook for Chem, so I moved them to carry them under my arm. Because you can’t be holding books in front of you like a shield. It’s way girly and makes people think you’re scared. Posturing is very important in the wild; watch a few documentaries, you’ll see.

  I couldn’t spend too much time hovering, because that was only going to draw attention, so I just plunged in and hoped for the best. The caf’ was friggin’ chaos as usual. I think I have a low tolerance for chaos. I kept scanning, knowing that I wasn’t going to find an empty table, but hoped maybe I’d see an empty space near someone I was at least on speaking terms with, and could come up with some burning question I had to ask. It’s hard to look around for such a specific situation while still trying to avoid eye contact, let me tell you.

  And then I saw it. There were two chairs just standing there in the corner against the wall. One was pushed all the way into the corner and facing out into the room, the other facing the corner. I could sit with my back to the room, put my boots up on the one in the corner, prop my textbook up on my knees, and pretend like I just had to absorb some chemistry knowledge. Perfect.

  Except for the fact that I had to pass Marco’s table, and I was so excited about the chairs that I didn’t even notice it until my books flew out from under my arm and hit the floor. I think I knew what happened before I even saw him. Some kind of prey recognizes predator right before it gets eaten kind of thing.

  “Oops,” he said, in that obnoxious, I so meant to do that way.

  I had to squat down to pick up the books, because of course papers went flying out of my notebook when it landed. Thankfully they didn’t go far and I didn’t actually have to go crawling under tables for them.

  “Sorry about that, Joss.”

  “Sure.”

  “Surprised to see you here.”

  I didn’t answer. I had some answers in my head; it just seemed better to keep my mouth shut and move on.

  “You never come here for lunch. Are you meeting your girlfriend? Why don’t you bring her over? Jeff, get a couple chairs for Joss and her new girlfriend.”

  See, this is a thing between Marco and me, and it’s really unpleasant. When we were freshmen, I guess he had this thing for me because he asked me to the Homecoming dance. And he kept bugging me to go out with him for like a week or something until I finally had to get nasty with him so he’d leave me alone. Not like insulting his masculinity nasty, just, you know, the I don’t like you truth of it. I don’t know why we have to think that telling the truth is being mean, but sometimes I’m powerless against my socialization, what can I tell you? Anyway, ever since then he’s been on this You must be a lesbian thing, because I guess that’s the only way it makes sense for him that I wouldn’t just fall at his feet. Mostly I just avoid him.

  Which is what I tried to do at that point by standing up with my books and taking a step away from the table, except that he caught my arm.

  “Let me go, Marco.”

  “Or what, you’ll get your girlfriend over here to kick my ass?”

  Jeff chuckled at that, and I knew that would only make Marco feel like he had an audience so he’d be more into hassling me. I couldn’t help but glance over at Dylan. Because I’m an idiot. He was at the other end of the table with Eric. They had their noses stuck in a car magazine and didn’t seem to notice what was going on.

  I think Marco noticed because his eyes narrowed at me, and my stomach rolled. Marco can be really mean, and what’s more, he’s not that typical big, stupid bully as seen on TV. He’s smart enough to come up with the kind of stuff that really hurts. Stuff that sticks forever.

  “Joss, where have you been? Come on. Lunch is half over.”

  What the…? I turned my head—Marco still had my arm—and Kat was standing there. I wouldn’t even say I had a speaking relationship with Kat. She’d said “hi” to me last month, and one time in the locker room she asked to borrow lotion from me which of course I didn’t have. She was new to Fairview High this year, and I had to wonder what she was doing, and if she realized how stupid it was to get on Marco’s bad side.

  “Kat? You and Kat?”

  “She and Kat need to study for Chem,” Kat said in her sassy way, with a quick glance at my books. “Because I just don’t get it. So…if you’d just turn her loose, I’d sure appreciate it.”

  Kat is pretty. There’s just no other way to see it. She’s got this gorgeous café au lait skin, light green eyes, and lots of dark brown curls. When she turned that pretty smile on Marco, I felt his grip go slack.

  Then I, being an idiot as I might have mentioned, glanced at Dylan again, to see if he’d noticed Kat’s smile. Which he did, and was now paying attention to the drama. I wondered how many more people were, now that Kat was there.

  “Chemistry. I’ll bet there’s some chemistry goin’ on there. I’d like to see some of that action. Maybe the three of us—”

  “Marco, honey, I’m gonna have to wreck your fantasy and tell you that not only are Joss and I not involved with each other, and not only are we both straight—which you’d think any straight guy would realize—but I would do her and half the guys at this table before I would even let you watch me change my shoes.”

  Eric opened his mouth to say something but Kat immediately cut him off, “No, Eric. You’re in the other half.” But I have to say that the smile she threw him made me think maybe that wasn’t true.

  While they all sat there digesting that, Kat gave me a tug that almost spilled my books again. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself pushed into a chair at Kat’s table which was full of girls whose names and faces I’d known for years. But I’d never spoken more than a few words to
any of them. They were all looking from me to Kat and back again.

  “You guys all know Joss, right?”

  There were another few awkward moments as the girls muttered and nodded. Then they sort of shrugged and turned back to each other and whatever they’d been talking about before. Backs on either end of the circle turned away from Kat and me, leaving us relatively alone.

  “You know that was stupid, right?” I said in a low voice. “Trust me, you do not want to get on Marco’s bad side.”

  “Well hey, you’re welcome.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’m sure Marco will totally lay off now that you diffused that situation so brilliantly.”

  “Wow. I’ve been wondering if you’re really the ice bitch everyone says you are.”

  “Yeah, well, now you know.” I started to get up, but Kat put a hand on my arm.

  “I’m not sure I do...”

  Two of the girls switched seats and Heather pulled her chair up alongside Kat’s. Heather was petite and adorable, and just needed a few feathers and fringes to make her look like a Native American princess figurine in a gift shop. I wondered again why I was still there.

  “So what was that about? Marco being Marco?”

  “Yeah, he seems especially fond of Joss, here.”

  Heather made a sound in the back of her throat. “I hate that guy.”

  She looked across at me, an intense look that made me feel like she was seeing too much. I dropped my eyes. “Yeah, me too.”

  Kat’s next remark about Marco’s attitude, anatomy, and possible parentage made Heather laugh out loud and even I had to smile.

  On possibly the worst day ever, Jocelyn Marshall was sitting in the cafeteria talking to two other girls.

  Smiling.

  And violations of the Laws of the Universe were just getting started.

  Chapter 3

  Joss

  “But Jo-oss, it’s too hard. You do it.”

  “I know I didn’t just hear you ask your sister to do your homework, Jilly-bug.” Dad came out of the back room, pulling his coat on, and saved me from second grade math homework.

  “Um, no way Daddy!”

  “Good. Now honey, are you sure you’ll be ok with the Bug?”

  “Sure Dad, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  Dad was going to the range like he always did for the weekly target-shooting match. It was his guy night out, and he’d been doing it for as long as I can remember. Mom, Jill, and I used to watch the store on those nights, but, starting this year, I’d been running the store and closing up by myself. Mostly my parents had been pretty cool about it. A little nervous, maybe, but cool. I’d been working in the store like forever, so no big. But Mom had to go visit her sister out of town that week, so I had Jill and the store. It wasn’t any big deal to me, but you know dads, right?

  Plus there was the thing with Krista. He’d be wigged out about that. I knew he knew. He knew I knew. But we weren’t going to talk about it.

  “Maybe I should stay.”

  “Go!” we both ordered.

  So Dad gave Jill a smacking kiss on the cheek and walked around the counter to stand in front of me. He grabbed both my hands and looked hard into my face.

  Dad could change—just like that. One minute he was a normal dad, attentive parent, responsible business owner. The next…

  “You’re right. We have to keep things normal now. The last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves.” His voice was low and intense, and his eyes darted to all points around the room and back to mine. Away again. “If you see anything, anything suspicious, you know what to do. Under the counter, shotgun. Handgun’s under the register. Emergency locks?”

  “Panic button in the cabinet locks the door. Exit through the stockroom. Shoot anyone who doesn’t follow instructions. Passage behind the boxes in the bathroom leads out to stockroom next door with roof access. Follow planned route across to the next building, down the fire escape to the alleyway. Use untraceable cell phone to contact you to meet us at the rendezvous point.”

  “And how are you going to contact me with the cell phone if you don’t remember to pick up the G.O.O.D. pack?”

  G.O.O.D. stands for Get Out Of Dodge. It’s important—I really can’t stress this enough—it’s really important not to roll your eyes at Dad when he goes into commando mode.

  “Sorry sir. Secure G.O.O.D. pack from hook next to delivery door before proceeding to bathroom, as pack contains contact phone, provisions, medical supplies, extra ammo, and tear gas which may be necessary in an escape situation.”

  “Good girl, Joss.” And just like that, he started to fade back into normal dad mode. “I did all the checks this morning. You’re good to go.”

  “We’re not going to need it, Dad. Everything’s fine. Go shoot stuff, k?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. It’s all fine. You’re out of here by 9, bed by 10, got it?”

  “Yeah, Dad.”

  Dad gave me a peck on the forehead and walked out of the store without looking back. I knew he was thinking about who might be watching. I took a deep breath and let it out as the tension level immediately dropped back to normal range.

  And spiked again when I turned around and Jilly handed me the hugest, pinkest, most beautiful rose anyone has ever seen.

  “Do my math, pleeeeeeezzzzz?”

  “Jilly! Jesus H. Christ on a Crutch, get rid of that thing right now!”

  “Don’t you like it? I snagged the leaf from Mrs. O’Neill’s yard on the way home from school today.”

  And then used her Talent to grow that incredible blossom from it in the palm of her hand. No wonder Dad was a basket case.

  “Go to the bathroom and flush it down the toilet. Right. Now.”

  Jill’s face screwed up and her eyes got really bright.

  “I love it, ok? It’s great. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And you know we can’t keep it. So go get rid of it and when you get back, your homework will magically be done.”

  “Really?”

  “Go!”

  Jill slid off her stool and ran off toward the stockroom. I made a mental note to myself to check the place for petals so Dad wouldn’t have an embolism.

  And you’d think the Universe would have the decency to call it day by that point, let me relax, feather dust the holster and accessories display, maybe find a better arrangement for the new rifle cases Dad had just leaned up against the wall near the boot “department”… But nooooooo.

  Because no sooner had the stockroom door started its backswing, than the sensor on the door that tells us a customer just walked in made its incredibly loud buzz. I just about had a heart attack, thinking it was Dad coming back in to use the bathroom before driving out to the range. But no, even that would have been too much karmic kindness to hope for.

  Nope, I jumped up and spun around, with what I’m sure was an oh-so-attractive deer in the headlights look on my face, and my eyes smacked right into Dylan’s baby blues as he sauntered into the store.

  Gene’s Army Navy has all kinds of customers. Even though downtown is having a hard time, and a lot of the stores in the once thriving pedestrian mall—once, like meaning back in the 20’s I think—have closed up and moved to the strip malls on the roads out from town, we do ok. I think this is partially due to our wide selection of merchandise. We’re not just military surplus, you know. Although we don’t sell any firearms because Dad doesn’t want to deal with the paperwork for that and get on anybody’s “radar”.

  Plus it helps to be almost right across the bricks from Vinyl Salvation, a pretty cool music store. It used to be a Record World, but it got better. There’s a decent thrift shop, with the oh-so-original name Second-Hand Rose, a few doors down from us. And a movie theater—ok, it only has one screen and shows a lot of independent films, but some of them aren’t bad—and an ice cream parlor called Sweet Blondies on the corner. Plus there’s Pizza Pit.

  So we get some kids coming in here sometimes, but thankfull
y more college kids than kids from my school. We don’t have the shoplifting problems that the other stores have because cops shop here sometimes and people think they’re friends with my dad, because he sucks up to them and gives them discounts. Then he spends twenty minutes muttering about them as soon as they leave.

  So not like Dylan’s never been in the store before. He usually just looks around. One time he bought boots. Nice boots too. My mom waited on him. I remembered I had to count some stuff in the stockroom. And no, that’s not hiding. That’s being a responsible employee. But now that I had the store to myself on Thursdays, I actually had to stay on the floor and deal.

  I expected Dylan to wander the store, but he was coming right at me. Well sure, I thought, ’cause I was standing right behind the glass display case where we kept the knives, and that’s one of the things guys like to look at. So I moved aside to, you know, give him some space. His eyes followed me, and his course changed, just that fraction to let me know he was coming toward me, not the knife display.

  I hate it when I do the girl thing, even in my head, you know? Oh my God, he’s going to talk to me. Please don’t let him talk to me. I’m totally going to curl up and die if he doesn’t talk to me. Ugh.

  “Hey.”

  Hey, Dylan, ’sup?

  Hi, welcome to Gene’s Army Navy, how can I help you?

  Hi, Dylan, how’s it goin’?

  Hey yourself.

  What are you doing here?

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “Um, how’s it goin’?”

  “S’ok. Thursdays are kinda quiet, usually.”

  He nodded, like he knew. “So…you here alone?”

  Why, are you planning to—Flippant and highly inappropriate thought crushed beneath my boot before it could make me blush or worse! come out of my mouth. Be cool. “Uh-huh.”

  “Cool.” He glanced over at the knife case. See, it was the knives. Did I want him to ask to see one, or was the risk of using it to put myself out of my misery too great at this point? “I wanted to—”