Pushing Perfect(40)

“Thanks,” I said. I looked away as I buckled my seat belt so he didn’t see me tearing up.

He got in and put on his seat belt, not turning the car on right away, and not turning to me. “Look, I know Alex and I talked about us all meeting up together, but I thought it might be easier for us to talk one-on-one. It seems like what’s going on is more about you, anyway.”

That was true, and there was no need to tell him that the whole mess at his house was kind of Alex’s idea. I didn’t want to get her in any more trouble with Raj than she was already in. “You’re right about that,” I said. “I’m really sorry about what happened. I can explain.”

“I’m ready to listen.”

I hoped he really meant it. “I appreciate it,” I said as he started driving. “Where are we going?”

“I thought we could probably use some coffee.”

“Philz, then?” It was pretty much the only place anyone from school hung out.

“Too many people we know. There’s a place the next town over that’s not bad—okay if we go there?”

“Wherever you want.” I was so relieved he was willing to talk to me that I didn’t care where we went. In my head I rehearsed explaining what happened, though I wasn’t sure knowing the whole story was going to make him any less mad.

We rode quietly for a while, down El Camino Real, past strip malls and car washes and fast-food places, until we got to a small café called Mary’s Place. It was run-down and mostly empty, with little tables in front and a row of booths in the back, which was perfect. I ordered a mocha and Raj got a black coffee and we sat in a quiet booth where no one who came in could see us.

Best to just launch right into it. “I’ve been getting these text messages,” I said. “Pictures of us at that party, when I got the Novalert from you, and other stuff too.” I got out my phone to show him, watching his face as he skimmed through the texts to see if I could read anything in his expression. I had a feeling I’d learn more from that than anything else.

And I was right. No shock, no confusion. A nod of recognition. Just like Alex.

“This is happening to you too,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“It was,” he said. “I should have realized what was going on. This is all my fault.”

Wait, what? Had I been wrong again? Was it his fault because he was responsible for this somehow? I opened my mouth, but I wasn’t sure whether to ask questions or start yelling. My instincts had been wrong before, though, so instead I just took a sip of my coffee and waited.

“My turn to explain,” he said. “I’ll start at the beginning.” He took a deep breath. “I started getting texts maybe a few months after I got here. I’d had some problems in England, and somehow this person seemed to know about them.”

“Problems?” I asked. Raj seemed so carefree; it was hard to imagine him having real problems.

“Some school stuff. Things I didn’t want my parents to know about. I don’t know how he found out, but he knew, and he knew my parents were doctors and told me to find a way to get drugs from them that I could sell to kids at school. Then I’d have to get him a cut.”

“That’s crazy,” I said.

“I know, right?”

But I hadn’t necessarily meant it that way. The story sounded so crazy I wasn’t sure I believed him. I waited for him to keep talking.

“Every month I’d leave money in an envelope somewhere in school, and when I went back to check, the money was gone. I tried hanging around and waiting to see who came, but I never managed to catch the person in the act.”

So far, I wasn’t getting a sense of why any of this was his fault, though I was starting to worry about what Blocked Sender was going to ask me to do. And what he might know. What if he somehow had pictures of the monster? The thought of people seeing my actual face wasn’t as scary as the thought of going to jail, but it was still horrible. My stomach started feeling all twisted up.

“A while ago I got instructions to start sending the money online.”

Now at least some of the pieces were starting to add up. I wasn’t sure what Alex had told him, if anything, so I didn’t mention that this had probably happened when Alex helped Blocked Sender set up his finances.

“It was this whole horribly complicated thing, but I did it. Except . . .” He stopped and took a sip of his coffee, then put the cup down and started picking at his fingernails. I hadn’t noticed the torn cuticles before. I guessed we all dealt with our stress in different ways.

“Except?” I prodded.

“Except recently I stopped sending money,” he said. “Or rather I stopped selling. I think that’s why he came after you—to get me to start again.”

“I don’t understand. Why would coming after me make you start again?”

“Because I think he thought you’d ask me for the prescription. And he must have known why I stopped, though I can’t imagine how.”

“Well, why did you stop?”

He looked away for a minute, trying to decide what to say. I remembered reading about microexpressions and ways to tell people were lying, but I couldn’t remember which direction they’d look in when they weren’t telling the truth. Finally, he turned back to me. “I stopped selling because of you.”