Don't Get Caught(59)

It’s a question I’ve been asked a lot since returning. And in true Rule #2 fashion—Be cool—I give them my standard reply.

“My lawyer says I can’t talk about it, sorry,” but I add a wink, letting them know what’s really up.

“Cool, man, cool,” the guy says, and both of them hold out fists for me to bump.

“You’re like a rock star,” Wheeler says once they’re gone.

“Yeah, I heard you called Tami Cantor ‘Kami’ on purpose today in Watson’s class,” Adleta says.

“I couldn’t resist,” I say.

“Like I said, a rock star,” Wheeler says.

“Yeah,” Ellie says, “a rock star who’s on permanent lockdown.”

“Thanks for that reminder.”

I’ve become like one of those American hikers who accidentally crosses the border into some third-world country and is imprisoned indefinitely. Whenever I ask Mom or Dad how much longer my incarceration will last, I get the same reply: “We’ll let you know.” Mostly I stay in my room doing homework and watching Adleta’s lacrosse games on the school website.

“Tim’s the real rock star,” I say. “What are you guys? Four and oh?”

“Five and oh,” Adleta says. “Not that I’m paying attention.”

“No way, feel free to brag,” Ellie says. “You’re amazing out there.”

Amazing is probably the right word for it. So far, Adleta leads the league in every offensive category. It’s pretty cool having a friend who’s so completely dominant in something. I mean, yeah, Wheeler’s dominant as a suburban terrorist, but Adleta’s dominant in something that won’t end with him in a supermax prison.

“And now you’re a Vine star too,” Wheeler says.

“What?” Adleta asks.

“You haven’t seen this?” Malone says and opens the app on her phone.

The six-second video, sensitively titled “All Backbone or No Backbone?” shows Adleta standing stone-faced while his dad and Stranko simultaneously yell at him on the sideline.

“I don’t know how you sat through that without going nuclear on them,” Wheeler says.

“By being a master of looking like I’m paying attention when really I’m a million miles away,” Adleta says.

“That’s sad,” Ellie says, patting his arm.

“No, I’m fine.”

But I know Tim better than that now.

“That’s bullshit,” I say. “You shouldn’t put up with that.”

“Oh? And what do you suggest?” Adleta says.

“I don’t know, but if puking on them didn’t get their attention, maybe something else will. You’re crazy to let them get away with that.”

I return to my pizza but can feel Adleta looking at me.

“Does anyone else find it ironic that Max just used the word crazy?” Malone asks.

The rest of the table starts laughing. So we’re back to this again.

“I’m not crazy,” I say. “For the thousandth time, I heard what the girl said. ‘We’re planning something everyone in the town will witness live.’ The town hasn’t had anything like that until now. The Asheville Celebration will bring out everyone. That’s the plan, right, Ellie?”

“That’s how they talk at the planning sessions,” she says.

“And we know the Chaos Club always pulls an end-of-the-year prank,” I say. “What better place than the celebration they know everyone will be at?”

I should probably thank my parents for a lot of forced reflection time during my suspension and also the Chaos Club for breaking Heist Rule #20: Explain things on a need-to-know basis.

“What if it’s a red herring?” Wheeler says.

“Exactly,” Malone says. “Maybe they said it on purpose, so you’d think they were going to prank the celebration but really they’re planning something else. Have you thought about that?”

“Of course I have, but there’s not much we can do about it. This is the first real lead we’ve had. We have to follow it.”

Ellie, who’s agreed with me from the start, says, “Let’s just assume for a second that Max is right, because he could be. What do you think we should do about it?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? Because it’s one thing to know where the Chaos Club is going to strike next, but it’s a whole different thing to know how to use it to our advantage. The good news is that I have time to plan because the Asheville Celebration isn’t until school’s out, which helps because this calls for careful planning and execution.

“Look, I’ll come up with something,” I say. “Are you guys in when I do?”

“Sure,” Malone says, and the others agree. “If you’re right,” she adds.

“And if you come up with something,” Adleta says.

“Those are big ifs,” Wheeler says. “Huge ones.”

“Like my balls,” I say.

? ? ?

On a clear Saturday afternoon, five weeks after my arrest, Mom calls me into the kitchen where she’s making a chicken potpie while listening to the Wicked soundtrack. It’s beautiful outside, and all the windows in the house are open for the first time in months.