really loud in the empty hallway and I flinched, waiting for classroom doors on either side to fly open with people pouring out to ask me what the hell I was doing, but nothing happened.
I pulled open the door and took a step back. Ick. At the bottom of Justin’s locker was a pile of gym clothing and football gear that smelled like he last washed them sometime around sophomore year. The odor waves were nearly visible to the naked eye. It was possible that there were a few lunch leftovers buried in there too. Something had a vague banana-past-its-prime smell to it. I held my breath and started rummaging around in his jacket pockets. Nothing.
Lincoln High forbids students from having cell phones in class. I was certain Justin would keep his in his locker like everyone else. I gave another quick look around. I didn’t have time todo an archeological dig in the compost pile at the bottom of the locker. How did he manage to get so much stuff in here already? I reached my hand up and tried to feel around on the shelf, hoping that I wouldn’t grab a hold of anything too nasty since I couldn’t see what he had up there. I felt his keys, a tennis ball, and what I desperately hoped was not a jockstrap even though that’s what it felt like, and then—BINGO—his phone. I snatched it off the shelf and fought the urge to do a celebration dance. I snapped it open and dialed my own cell number, waited for the call to connect, and then hung up. I slid it back onto the shelf and shut the door.
I made it one step before I snapped back, nearly falling to the floor. It felt like someone had grabbed me around the neck. Shit. My scarf was shut in the locker.
I gave my scarf a tug, but it was caught. I could hear someone walking down the other hall. They were going to round the corner any second. I turned around the best that I could, given that the locker had me in a choke hold, and gave the scarf a yank. It didn’t budge an inch. I tried to figure out if I could lean against the door and look casual. Nope. My fingers flew over the lock, spinning in Justin’s birth date. It clicked open and I yanked my scarf out, shutting the door an instant before the janitor came around the corner. He looked at me with my hand on the lock and sweat pouring down my face.
“Wrong locker,” I said with a nervous laugh. “They all look alike from the outside. How’s a person supposed to tell which one is theirs?”
“They’re numbered.”
I looked at the lockers like I had never seen them before. “Well, look at that, they are numbered. That’s handy.”
The janitor gave me a look and kept going, pushing the AV trolley. I went back to Justin’s locker during biology, English, and study hall, and did the same thing, minus the whole getting-my-scarf-caught part. Karma was clearly on my side, because not once did anyone ever see me in his locker and the timing was perfect. When I went back to my locker at the end of the day there was a text message from Lauren letting me know they were meeting up at Bean There Done That after school. I also had a long list of calls from Justin’s phone. Perfect.
Chapter Twelve
Bean There was a classic Starbucks knockoff—squishy brown sofas pulled up close to a gas fireplace and clusters of scarred wooden tables with tiny bistro chairs scattered around. There were stacks of papers folded open to the entertainment and sports sections on all the windowsills, and the smell of coffee and high-calorie muffins floated through the air. The barista had his black hair tied back and a row of silver hoops marched in lockstep up the side of his ears. He called out the drinks in a singsong voice.
“One large capp-uchiiiiiiiiiii-no.” He slid the cup across the counter, confident that it wouldn’t go hurling off the edge, and I saw a harried-looking junior girl lunge to grab it before it could slide too far.
I found Lauren and the others at the back of the café. The tables in the back were up a small riser, just
I pulled open the door and took a step back. Ick. At the bottom of Justin’s locker was a pile of gym clothing and football gear that smelled like he last washed them sometime around sophomore year. The odor waves were nearly visible to the naked eye. It was possible that there were a few lunch leftovers buried in there too. Something had a vague banana-past-its-prime smell to it. I held my breath and started rummaging around in his jacket pockets. Nothing.
Lincoln High forbids students from having cell phones in class. I was certain Justin would keep his in his locker like everyone else. I gave another quick look around. I didn’t have time todo an archeological dig in the compost pile at the bottom of the locker. How did he manage to get so much stuff in here already? I reached my hand up and tried to feel around on the shelf, hoping that I wouldn’t grab a hold of anything too nasty since I couldn’t see what he had up there. I felt his keys, a tennis ball, and what I desperately hoped was not a jockstrap even though that’s what it felt like, and then—BINGO—his phone. I snatched it off the shelf and fought the urge to do a celebration dance. I snapped it open and dialed my own cell number, waited for the call to connect, and then hung up. I slid it back onto the shelf and shut the door.
I made it one step before I snapped back, nearly falling to the floor. It felt like someone had grabbed me around the neck. Shit. My scarf was shut in the locker.
I gave my scarf a tug, but it was caught. I could hear someone walking down the other hall. They were going to round the corner any second. I turned around the best that I could, given that the locker had me in a choke hold, and gave the scarf a yank. It didn’t budge an inch. I tried to figure out if I could lean against the door and look casual. Nope. My fingers flew over the lock, spinning in Justin’s birth date. It clicked open and I yanked my scarf out, shutting the door an instant before the janitor came around the corner. He looked at me with my hand on the lock and sweat pouring down my face.
“Wrong locker,” I said with a nervous laugh. “They all look alike from the outside. How’s a person supposed to tell which one is theirs?”
“They’re numbered.”
I looked at the lockers like I had never seen them before. “Well, look at that, they are numbered. That’s handy.”
The janitor gave me a look and kept going, pushing the AV trolley. I went back to Justin’s locker during biology, English, and study hall, and did the same thing, minus the whole getting-my-scarf-caught part. Karma was clearly on my side, because not once did anyone ever see me in his locker and the timing was perfect. When I went back to my locker at the end of the day there was a text message from Lauren letting me know they were meeting up at Bean There Done That after school. I also had a long list of calls from Justin’s phone. Perfect.
Chapter Twelve
Bean There was a classic Starbucks knockoff—squishy brown sofas pulled up close to a gas fireplace and clusters of scarred wooden tables with tiny bistro chairs scattered around. There were stacks of papers folded open to the entertainment and sports sections on all the windowsills, and the smell of coffee and high-calorie muffins floated through the air. The barista had his black hair tied back and a row of silver hoops marched in lockstep up the side of his ears. He called out the drinks in a singsong voice.
“One large capp-uchiiiiiiiiiii-no.” He slid the cup across the counter, confident that it wouldn’t go hurling off the edge, and I saw a harried-looking junior girl lunge to grab it before it could slide too far.
I found Lauren and the others at the back of the café. The tables in the back were up a small riser, just
Similar Books
