Don't Get Caught(14)

“Wait, no—” I say, backing up.

“You’re dead.”

His anger is so authentic, so primal, that I freeze, wishing I’d told my parents I loved them this morning because I’ll be spending the next decade in a coma.

That’s when Goon winks.

And I understand.

I should never have doubted him.

“Dead,” Goon shouts, and he comes faster now.

My feet unstick from the floor, and I backpedal a few steps before turning and running for my life, the trophy tight in my hands. I zigzag around tables, with Goon’s bull-like grunting close behind. I hear other footsteps too, and I know the rest of the lacrosse team is salivating at the chance to kill. Kids leap up to watch the excitement, and I race for Potatoes’s table.

Stranko leaps down from the stage now, shouting, “Cobb, get over here!”

It’s worry, though, not anger in his voice. Sure, I’m about to get murdered in front of hundreds of witnesses, but God forbid the championship trophy gets damaged.

The entire cafeteria rises to its feet, cheering. Stranko angles to cut me off, and I turn toward the front of the stage. Goon closes in a few feet behind me now, ready to maul me when he gets the chance.

It never happens.

The second I pass Potatoes, he jumps up from his chair directly into Goon’s path and yells, “I’ll save you, dude!”

I don’t get to see Potatoes get stampeded and eventually tossed onto the stage like a…well, like a sack of potatoes, hence the name…but I hear the collision as he smashes into the table. Or possibly through the wall. I want to look back—this may be the last time I see Wheeler alive—but I don’t have time.

Wheeler’s the crew’s maniac, the person who doesn’t give a shit for personal safety and is willing do whatever’s necessary to make the heist work. In Wheeler’s case, the possibility of a hospital stay and therefore missed school was all it took for him to accept the job.

I run to Stranko for safety and hold out the trophy. He jerks it from my hands, pulling it close to his chest like it’s the Holy Grail. Then Goon tackles me, crushing my spine and sending me across the tiled floor. We rehearsed the tackle in my basement using pratfalls Ellie learned in theater class, but Goon, fully embracing his role here, crashes into me like he’s trying to take off a lacrosse opponent’s head. My body screams in pain, or maybe that’s me. I’m pinned to the floor, my cheek wet from what I’m guessing is blood. If so, it’d fit my code name.

I manage to lift my head up just enough to see Potatoes, angling through the crowd toward Shadow, sitting alone in back, with the illegal cell phone data extraction device Potatoes borrowed from one of his H8box friends.

Step Three, the Grab, is complete.

? ? ?

Or not.

I can’t be sure the Grab is a success because I’m under a pile of lacrosse players swinging blindly, doing more damage to each other than to me. Over their shouts, Stranko yells for them to stop, although with not as much urgency as I would like. Goon smothers me with his weight, pulling his punches and wrestling more than anything. He has my knee pinned against my ear and smiles widely, like this is the most fun he’s had in his life.

“I can’t breathe,” I eek out.

Goon lets off a bit, but it isn’t until other teachers arrive to stop the fight that the chaos ends. The fight’s over, but the shouting in the cafeteria seems louder than ever.

Goon whispers, “Time?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes backward, and the players on top of us fall away. I’m supposed to act hurt, with lots of limping and groaning, maybe even pretend to pass out. But acting isn’t necessary because my entire body throbs like one massive exposed nerve.

“Get up,” Stranko snarls, practically yanking my arm from its socket.

I stumble to my knees, then, achingly, to my feet. Varelman and the rest of the lacrosse team breathe hard, fists clenched at their sides like they still might come at me. I risk a quick look to Shadow sitting hunched over her laptop. Potatoes is nowhere to be found.

“You’re finished here,” Stranko says.

“But I was only—”

“Shut up.” He turns to Goon and says, “Return the trophy and get your ass to my office.”

I’m led away to cheers. I can’t tell if the students are on my side or are calling for my beheading, but Stranko’s opinion is clear.

“I’ll have you expelled by the end of the day.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Shut your mouth.”

If being a jerk keeps Stranko’s focus on me instead of what I hope is happening right now in the cafeteria, he can say whatever he wants. He drags me through the hall to his office, his grip so tight he’s almost grinding bone. His administrative office is beside Mrs. B’s, and just as we’re passing, she and Crybaby, whose eyes are puffy from her crying fit, emerge.

“What happened?” Mrs. B says.

“Cobb decided to get cute and race around the cafeteria with the state lacrosse trophy. I’ll handle it.”

Mrs. B’s face remains calm as she looks at me.

“Max?”

“But he told me to do it,” I say, pointing at Stranko.

His grip goes from tight to crushing.

“What did you say?”