Down to the Liar(20)

“Are you sure?” he asks. And no wonder. It goes against everything I’ve ever told him. But I am sure it’s his best shot, so…

“Yes.”

“What do you think my chances of success are?”

“It depends on how you define ‘success,’?” I say, trying to be both positive and honest. “But if you mean everything working out to your benefit, I’d say fifty to one.”

“Those are pretty crappy odds.”

I choke back the words I want to say. I’m coming. I’ll fix it. Don’t do anything without me.

“Don’t hate the player…,” I say instead. Because at heart, I’m a jerk.

“Yeah, I know.” He pauses, and I can practically hear him thinking. “Julep?”

“Yeah?” I say, my heart tangling in my vocal cords.

“I—” He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. I know what he’s feeling.

“Me too,” I say. Then I end the call before I start crying again.

I set my phone down on the coffee-ringed desk, my thoughts whirling like desert-hot dust devils laced with jagged glass. Each gust nicks and burns me. So I still myself, ignoring the wind until my mind eventually empties. Then I pull my grifter grit from the deepest recesses of my soul, strapping it on like armor. And in the space of another breath, I’m ready to crush a villain.





The Sting


It’s D-day, and the only ones who know it are me, Tog, and the mark. I contacted Tog last night after my talk with Sam about changing the error message. I also sent another Facebook message to the mark saying that the web link I’d sent before was broken, that I’d fixed it and it was set to expire by noon today. The classic shutout: a ticking clock. The bait is ten times more tempting if it’s a limited-time offer. But it’s risky. I won’t be able to use the same trick on the mark twice. Hopefully, I won’t have to.

I’m not concerned about the mark at the moment, though. I’m standing outside a nondescript apartment building in Chicago’s March drizzle, waiting for a chance to make amends. The rain complements my mood, so I don’t mind it. And this time I’ve got an umbrella.

“What are you doing here?” Dani asks as she walks up to me.

It’s a fair question. I’ve been loitering outside her apartment for twenty minutes now waiting for her to come out, and I’m skipping school to do it.

“It’s raining,” I say.

“Is it.”

I hand her the umbrella, and she takes it without moving her gaze from mine.

“I’m not really any good at this,” I say, hating how awkward I feel.

She’s not smiling, but she’s not scowling, either. She seems curious to see where I’m headed with this. Well, so am I. I didn’t exactly come with a speech prepared.

“I need you. I mean, I know that you already know I need you. But the part you don’t know is that I know that I need you. I know it. I don’t say it. And I keep myself from asking for your help because I—because I’m afraid of needing you. Or rather, of admitting I need you and then losing you, too. So I don’t say it. But I do know it.”

Dani’s expression turns completely unreadable. Her guard is so good that I feel like I’m always knocking at the door with her, when, with most other people, I just open the door and waltz right in.

“Dani…” I feel like I should kneel or something, which is just weird. “Will you help me?” Pretty sure there should be a please in there somewhere. “Please?”

She doesn’t answer right away, so I keep going like an idiot. “I—I mean, obviously you’ve been helping me all along, and I’m grateful. I’m just officially, you know, asking—for myself. Ugh, damn it, I’m messing it all up.”

She smiles, shaking her head, and hands me the umbrella. “Get in the car. I will drive you to school.”

—

By 11:54, I’m tapping my foot and checking my phone every two seconds. Ms. Shirley knows something’s up. For one thing, I’m actually sitting in my chair instead of meandering the halls like I usually do during study hall. For another, my eyes are permanently glued to the clock above her desk.

Promptly at 11:55, the bell rings for fourth period. Everyone files out except for me and Ms. Shirley. There’s no fourth-period class in the computer lab, so I slip into the back and wait. If anything’s going to happen, it’ll be in the next five minutes.