Don't Get Caught(4)

Make that two balled-up gym socks.

We keep walking the perimeter of the fence, pointlessly looking around for clues. From the other side of the water tower, I hear Malone tell someone to shut up. Dollars to doughnuts it’s Wheeler.

“I thought it was crummy what Tami said in class today,” Ellie says. “I felt bad for you.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“No, no one deserves that. Especially you.”

Each Thursday in philosophy, we have Big Questions of Existence, when Watson divides the class into two sides to debate whatever topic he chooses to torture us with.

Today’s question: Is every life valuable?

The topic was handled with the sensitivity and respect you’d expect from a class of teenagers. Admittedly, I didn’t pay too much attention. Instead, I was busy completing an extra credit assignment due in English second period. Normally, I’m not a big extra credit guy, but my grade sort of demanded it. Besides, it’s not like I could turn down this assignment: Concoct a Scheme in Which Gatsby and Daisy Live Happily Ever After. My idea involved Gatsby killing that bitchy tennis player Jordan Baker, then framing Daisy’s * husband, Tom, for the murder. It’s this type of thinking that goes a long way toward explaining my empty social calendar.

So while I was busy arranging for Tom Buchanan to spend the rest of his life locked up in prison, Watson called on Tami Cantor.

(Quick—ever known a nice person named Tami? Exactly.)

Tami, doing her best to live up to the reputation of every Tami in recorded history, said, “Look, some people just aren’t as important as others. Not everyone can be somebody. There have to be nobodies too. I’m not being mean. It’s just statistics.”

In the commotion that ensued, Tami decided to raise her position on the Bitch Power Rankings by saying, “Look, I don’t mean nobody in a bad sense. Nobodies can be good people. They’re just not very important. Like Dan over there. He’s nice and people like him, but he’s not special or anything.”

I looked up from my notebook, wondering just who Tami was talking about because there isn’t any Dan in our class.

Then I saw where she was pointing.

And everyone was looking my way too.

This is my life.

“My name’s Max,” I said.

Tami did a perfectly executed whatever shrug that made my face burn.

“We’ve been in classes together since kindergarten,” I said.

Tami huffed and said, “Well, that just sort of proves my point, doesn’t it? And don’t get so defensive. I’m not saying you’re a bad person. You’re just kind of there. You’re just Max, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Here’s the ethical question Watson should offer next week: Is it technically murder if you kill someone without a soul?

The dismissal bell rang seconds later, but Tami’s comment about me being a nobody, being Just Max, pinballed around my brain all day.

Now, fifteen hours later, here I am.

“Wait, you don’t believe Tami, do you?” Ellie says as we approach the fence gate.

“Uh, no, of course not.”

“Look, she’s the nobody, Max. The only reason people like her say things like that is because—” Ellie stops and points. “What’s that?”

Stuffed in one of the diamond-shaped holes in the fence gate is an envelope. Ellie almost comes out of her shoes to get it.

The front reads: Initiates.

“Should we call everyone?” Ellie says.

“No, you found it—you get the honors.”

Ellie tears into the envelope like she’s expecting a Wonka Golden Ticket inside.

Out comes another black Chaos Club card, and Ellie reads the back before turning it my way.

Climb up.





Chapter 3


When we get back to the others, Wheeler’s throwing rocks at a streetlight, Malone’s on the curb, comatose with her music, and Adleta’s off by himself, probably calculating long division in his head. So much for everyone looking for clues.

“We found something,” Ellie says. “Come see.”

As the card makes the rounds, Ellie bounces hard on her toes. Malone’s the last to read the instruction to climb. Then she looks up at the dark tower.

“I don’t like it,” she says.

“Why not?” Ellie says.

“Because now it definitely screams setup.”

“You’re just being paranoid,” Wheeler says.

“It’s called being smart,” Malone says. “Maybe try it sometime.”

Wheeler opens his mouth to say something, but his bruised ass keeps him quiet.

“They could be up there right now listening to us, waiting to see what we’ll do,” Ellie says. “We could be on a time limit.”

“Yeah, or someone could be up there waiting to throw us over the railing,” Malone says.

“Why did you even show up then?” Wheeler says. “No, don’t get all pissed again. I’m serious. If you’re just here to hate, why come at all?”

Instead of clobbering Wheeler into next week, Malone just makes a frustrated face and shakes her head.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ellie says. “Why don’t we take a vote?”