Made You Up(53)

“Hey, Angela,” said Miles, calm as could be. The girl yawned and waved.

“Hi, Miles. He’s fast asleep. I crushed those pills up in his dinner like you said.”

“Awesome, thanks.” Miles pulled out his wallet and handed Angela a twenty-dollar bill.

“Good work. He’s still in the same room, right?”

“Fourth on the right,” said Angela. “Mom and Dad are on the left, so you shouldn’t have to worry about them.”

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

The two of us set off up the stairs. At the top, we turned to the right and crept down a long hallway. It was all so disturbingly normal—besides the sheer amount of money that must have gone into it—that for a moment I thought the whole place might be a hallucination.

Miles stopped at the fourth door on the left, touched the handle hesitantly a few times as if he thought it’d be scalding hot, and then pushed the door open.

Whoever owned the room was incredibly disorganized. Clothes lay all over the floor. Papers and diagrams and maps of different places littered a desk against one wall. Models of cars and superheroes and mechanical animals covered the top of the dresser. Science posters were taped to every wall, including one of the periodic table that glowed in the dark.

The sleeper rolled over.

“Here.” Miles unzipped the backpack and pulled out the container of IcyHot. “Go to the dresser. Should be one of the top drawers—smear this in the crotch of every pair of underwear you find.”

“I—what?” I took the container. “That’s disgusting.”

“I’m paying you fifty dollars for this,” Miles hissed, turning toward the bed.

I went to the dresser and yanked open the top drawer on the left. Empty. Crisp white underwear and boxers filled the one on the right.

Well . . . at least they were clean.

I picked up the first pair of underwear and uncapped the IcyHot. As I worked, I watched Miles out of the corner of my eye as he yanked the bedcovers back and harnessed the sleeper to the bed with the bungee cords, from his shoulders to his ankles. Then Miles upended the bag of black specks— fleas?—over the sleeper’s head.

“Okay, I’m done,” I whispered. I slid the drawer shut again.

“Now pick up every pair of underwear you can find on the floor and shove them under the dresser.” Miles began setting the alarm clock on the bedside table.

With my index finger and thumb, I played a sort of crane game and picked up pairs of underwear, touching them as little as possible. I made a pile next to the dresser and shoved it under with my foot.

“The sleeping pills should wear off before the alarm goes,” said Miles. I handed him back the IcyHot. “All we have to do is get out of here.”

I crept over to the bed to get a better look at our poor, unsuspecting victim.

I froze.

“Oh my God, Miles.”

“What?”

“It’s Tucker!”

He looked so innocent in his Einstein T-shirt and pajama pants covered in atoms—and I’d put IcyHot in his underwear—

“Calm down!” Miles grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the room. We hurried down the stairs and back into the foyer, where Angela waved to us from the living room. Then we were out on the porch. Miles locked the door and reset the security system, and we ran to the van. Art waited in the front.

“You dick!” I said once the doors were closed and Art stepped on the gas. I punched Miles’s arm with all the anger welling up in me. “You didn’t tell me it was Tucker!”

“Would you have done it if I had?” Miles asked.

“Of course not!”

“Yeah, but you’re fine doing it if it’s anyone else.” Miles shoved his glasses up to rub his eyes. “Bit hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” I crossed my arms and glared out the window. Awful guilt roiled in my stomach. “You should have told me.”

“Why? Because you feel bad for him? Because he follows you around like a dog? He’s never going to know you helped. He’s going to be flustered and uncomfortable, and you’ll be fifty dollars richer.”

Another flood of anger shot through my limbs. “It doesn’t matter—it’s the principle of the thing!”

“No it’s not, not when you suddenly decide it’s bad because it’s Beaumont!”