Don't Get Caught(7)

I glance around the table, just as surprised by my outburst as everyone else. I slouch in my seat but fail to disappear completely.

“Would you care to elaborate?” Mrs. B asks.

Malone gives me a nod of encouragement, and when my silent prayer for a sudden embolism isn’t answered, I open my mouth. What follows is a ramble about the Chaos Club notes we received and the instructions to climb the tower. It’s sloppy storytelling at best, but the longer I talk, the easier the words come. I finish with, “Right after we saw the golden shower thing, Hale showed up. And that’s it.”

Mrs. B looks like she believes me. But Stranko’s glaring at me with such intensity I have to look away.

“Where are your parents?” he says to me, then turns to Hale. “Did you call his parents?”

“He said they were out of town. I left a message with his guardian.”

“Out of town?” he says to me.

“They left yesterday for Seattle for a broadcasting convention. Dad’s one of the speakers. I’m staying with a family friend.”

“Seattle, huh?” he says. “And who is this person supposedly watching you?”

Stranko sounds like he’s going to call bullshit on me. And when he does, the first thing he’ll do is leave the room and call my house. Then it’s RIP Not Max.

“I asked who’s watching you,” Stranko says.

And right as Not Max is about to fold, the universe gives me the first real break of my life, and in a moment of perfect timing, the conference room door opens.

? ? ?

Here’s the scoop on Uncle Boyd:

1. He’s not my real uncle but Dad’s oldest friend.

2. He calls himself an artist, although I’m not sure his so-called sculptures qualify as art.

3. And finally, and most importantly, Uncle Boyd sees me as the son he’s never had, meaning I can trust him.

Hopefully.

“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. B,” he says. “I didn’t get the message about Max until a few minutes ago. I must’ve had the radio up too loud.”

Boyd’s wearing ripped jeans and a paint-splattered Rage Against the Machine shirt. He comes up behind me and nods to Stranko.

“Howdy, Dwayne. Been a while.”

Stranko flinches like a bee’s just flown by his face.

“With students in the room, Boyd, I prefer to be called Mr. Stranko.”

“I’ll do my best, Dwayne. I mean, Mr. Stranko. Sir.”

“So Max is staying with you, Boyd?” Mr. B says.

“For the next few days, yeah. It doesn’t look like I’ve been doing a very good job watching him. I apologize for that.”

Stranko’s looking all bullshit again but doesn’t say anything.

Mrs. B says to Boyd, “Max here was just filling us in on the evening. Max, do you have any evidence to back up your story?”

I hold out my invitation and the climb up message from the gate. Stranko lays both on the table before taking pictures with his phone.

“Is there anything else?” Mrs. B asks.

“I have a video too,” Malone says.

Kate unlocks her phone, then passes it over to Mrs. B. Stranko and Hale crowd behind her, but they only make it through fifteen seconds of us on the tower talking about looking for another clue before Mrs. B turns it off.

“I don’t think I need to see any more,” she says. “Is there any other information you’d like to share?”

All five of us collectively shrug.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Malone’s mother says, “but this Chaos Club, is it a school-approved organization?”

“Absolutely not,” Stranko says. “We would never sanction such behavior.”

“Well, apparently you can’t stop it either,” she mutters.

Ellie’s mom raises her hand slowly and just above a whisper asks, “Can someone please tell me what a golden shower is?”

The room fills with an awkward silence, all of us wondering how to explain being peed on for pleasure to a woman who probably bathes in a swimsuit. And yes, Mrs. Wick is probably that naive. She only wears skirts and is the secretary at the town’s Methodist church, where Mr. Wick’s the minister. I’m not sure how they spend that much time together without wanting to kill each other. Jesus must be one heck of a marriage counselor.

“I’ve never heard of a golden shower either, Mr. Stranko,” Wheeler says. “Could you please explain it to us, sir?”

Stranko turns such a wonderful shade of red I think he might start bleeding from the eyes. I have to pinch my leg hard to hold back from laughing.

“Let’s focus on the issue at hand, please,” Mrs. B says.

“What I want to know is if our kids are in danger,” Wheeler’s mom says. “I mean, isn’t this bullying? These kids were targeted.”

“More like stupid,” Adleta’s dad huffs. “Putting their futures and scholarships in danger by being dumb enough to fall for a prank like this. It’s goddamn embarrassing.”

If it’s possible, Mr. Adleta is even bigger than Tim. He stands at almost military attention, his fingers digging into Tim’s shoulders like he’s trying to snap his collarbone. But all you really need to know is that when Tim was in third grade, Mr. Adleta was banned from Tim’s soccer games because he wouldn’t stop screaming at the refs. Third grade.