Take the Fall(62)

My stomach tightens. I’d been hoping it didn’t really work out meant he’d dropped out, not this.

Aisha stares at him, then shifts her startled gaze to me. I guess this isn’t news everyone wanted to share.

The doorbell rings. Aisha digs around in her pockets. “Shit, I left my cash in my other jeans.”

“How much is it? I’ll get it.”

“You’re not paying.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s pizza.”

“And Tyrone will probably eat half of it. You can’t pay for it.”

“Okay, then at least let me run up and get the cash for you.” I head for the stairs before she can stop me. “I left my phone up there anyway.”

“Fine. There should be a couple twenties in the denim capris by the desk. Left side, back pocket,” she says, making for the door.

“Got it, be right down!”

Once I’m on the second floor, I head straight down the hall toward the attic stairs, but I stop in front of Tyrone’s room. At first glance, it isn’t the neatest place on earth, but it’s a far cry from Aisha’s spectacular disarray. I look once over my shoulder to make sure no one’s coming before poking my head in. If there was ever a shrine to football, this could be the template. There are trophies and awards all over, posters from movies about football, even an actual football inside a plastic display case. Pennants from every major Division 1 school decorate the walls, including one from Notre Dame placed prominently over the bed. I look at the walls and shelves, but I don’t see any hint of a portrait of Gretchen. I leave the room.

I take the attic steps two at a time, coming to a halt at the sight of the heaps of laundry. There must be ten different pairs of jeans strewn around. I dig through my own pockets, but what I thought was a twenty and some ones turns out to be just a ten-dollar bill. I fall to my knees and search every pair I find with no luck. I’m about to give up and holler down for Aisha when I notice a patch of denim sticking up on the floor of the closet. It seems like a slim chance, but I kneel down and tug. The jeans pull free easier than I expect, setting me off balance, but when I see what else came with them, I gasp.

A white purse lies on top of the clothes. Out of it spills a pile of cash.

I freeze. It’s not loads of money like they show in TV bank robberies, but it’s more cash than I’ve ever held in my hands. I look toward the door, trying to decide what to do. There are several stacks of tens and twenties wrapped in bands like you might see at a bank—five thousand dollars after I’ve counted it all twice. I look more closely at the purse—a familiar white Michael Kors tote with a gold clasp—and that’s when everything inside me goes numb.





TWENTY-EIGHT


AISHA CALLS UP THE STAIRS, asking if I’m okay. Her feet follow on the steps and my heart races into action. Even if I had time to put everything back, I’m not sure I could pretend I didn’t find this—Gretchen’s purse filled with cash, hidden in Aisha’s closet.

“Sonia, I can only entertain the delivery guy so lo—”

I hold the money in one hand, the purse in the other, and blink up at her.

Her eyes are huge. “Where did— What are you doing?” She comes across the room, grabbing the purse and cash out of my hands, stuffing the bills back inside.

“What is this about?”

“It’s nothing—it’s not even mine.”

I swallow. “Yeah, I know.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

“Aisha . . .”

She wraps her arms tight over her chest, her nostrils flared. “I mean, this is my closet. What were you even doing snooping through my stuff?”

I step back at her tone. She hardly sounds like herself . . . or not like she has in a long time. When we were in middle school, Aisha went through this phase where she would take things at the mall. It was stupid stuff, a headband, a pair of socks, sometimes just a tube of lip gloss. Always little things she insisted no one would ever miss. Any time Haley or I tried to say something about it, this is how she sounded. She finally got caught one day, shopping with Gretchen. For whatever reason, that was the day Aisha decided to aim bigger. She took a sapphire ring from a jewelry store and was stopped the second she walked out the door. The police were called; Gretchen’s and Aisha’s parents had to come get them. It took a bit of smooth talking from Mr. Meyer, but the store finally agreed not to press charges. I only heard about it later, from Gretchen. Aisha never brought it up and I didn’t know how to ask her about it.

“How did you get this?”

“It’s mine, okay?”

“You just said it wasn’t.”

“I’m hanging on to it for a friend.”

“Aisha, c’mon—” My voice breaks. “We both know it’s Gretchen’s.”

She nearly backs into her floor lamp. “Maybe you should go home.”

I stand my ground. “Not until I know—”

Heavy footsteps clomp up the stairs. Aisha’s eyes widen. She shakes her head at me, panicked, gripping the purse like it’s some kind of bomb. I snatch it out of her hands and shove it to the back of the closet just as Tyrone steps through the door carrying a pizza box.