FIRST ON MY LIST TO ASK ABOUT THE FLASH DRIVE WAS other-fullback Josh.
As we walked out to the soccer field for practice, he admitted he'd been at the library second period last Friday but said he left before the bell rang to use the bathroom (which meant he'd left before Bridget and couldn't have stolen her flash drive). I could confirm his story with Patrick, if I wanted. They'd seen each other at the sinks and discussed the upcoming game against Agua Dulce. Josh sounded confident and casual when he told me this, and since we saw Patrick at the same time out on the field, it would've been impossible for him to ask Patrick to lie before I reached him. I mentally crossed Josh off Bridget's list and moved on.
Practice was brutal. I'd been ever so slightly buzzed for several hours over the course of the day, and running drills nearly made me puke. I keeled over twenty minutes in and had to take a break on the bench. Mr. Mitchell, the assistant coach, brought me a bottled water and a face towel and sat down beside me.
"You okay?" he said.
"Yeah, I think I just got that bug that's going around."
"You sure that's all it is? You look pale, like you've lost weight, too."
The all-booze Ellie Diet. "I'll be all right in time for Friday."
"Why don't you take it easy today, hit the showers, and see how you're doing tomorrow. I'd hate to take you out; we could really use you for that game, Charlie." He lowered his voice. "Josh is good, but he's not you."
Josh.
Josh had given me a top-up at lunch, kept me buzzing midway through the day. Was he trying to sabotage me so he'd get to open against Agua Dulce instead of me, maybe even play the whole game?
I'd been playing soccer long enough to know it wasn't exactly what you'd call fair. There's no objective reality to it. The ref either sees you foul someone or he doesn't, and if he doesn't, well, it's like it never happened. I've pushed guys out of the way and flat-out stolen the ball, and they've done the same to me. Everyone does it at some point. Were you offside? Doesn't matter-unless the ref saw. Did the ball bounce over the line into the box and then bounce back out? Doesn't count as a goal-unless the ref saw.
This is supposedly one of the reasons Americans don't like soccer, while the rest of the world shits themselves during the World Cup. The game's existence defies American values: our love of Fairness and the American Dream, which states that anyone who works hard and follows the rules deserves to succeed. Soccer's not like that. Your goal could be wrongly disallowed, your opponent could trip, push, shove, or kick you out of the way without repercussion, and dumb luck could prevail at any moment. The best team might not win. Or it might. (Or it might, but only in the long run.) Consistency is still rewarded, though. If you have majority possession of the ball, with solid passing and good strikers, you'll probably win. But only probably.
For me, soccer's randomness was what made the victories so great. Because it didn't have to go that way. It didn't have to go any way. So many things in my life felt inevitable, out of my control. (Ellie. College.) This was glorious lunacy, unpredictable bliss.
Until recently I'd been psyched about the regional championship. My rival on Agua Dulce's team was this preppy, floppy-haired, cokehead-looking guy named Steve, and he was a dream to foul. It was especially entertaining to mess with the guy's head; I'd foul him as quickly and ridiculously as possible, and he'd be so enraged he wouldn't be able to concentrate the entire first half.
My team counted on me to get at least a yellow card every other game. It wasn't dirty playing-it was part of our strategy: Charlie brings the rough stuff and takes the hit. I was the drop of liquor in the team's Gatorade, the thing that dirtied us up. If that meant I got kicked out for a few matches each year, it just increased my reputation for the next game, as someone dangerous to watch out for. Some guys spent so much time avoiding me they didn't even try to gain possession.
When I'd played center forward, it was a whole different story. Then, I was the one trying not to get fouled; I was the one trying to score. But sometimes you have to make do with what you've got.
I showered in the gym building, changed into my regular clothes, and headed back outside. The school was basically on lockdown at night, except for prescheduled club events, so I had to reenter from the front to get to the auditorium.
The school always looked damned depressing at night. It was only four thirty, but it felt much later. From this part of town, the San Gabriel Mountains cut us off from the sun half an hour earlier than at home. The school parking lot was dark and half empty. The windows and doors of the building were dark except for a few beams of light shooting out the front entrance by the auditorium. Inside, all the empty hallways and silent lockers were barely illuminated by tiny floor lights. The classrooms were hollow except for slivers of light sneaking through vertical blinds.
Ryder bumped my shoulder as I walked up the steps toward the double doors. "Hey," he said, ubiquitous cigarette in his mouth, box of orange Tic Tacs in his hand. He quickly slipped the Tic Tacs into his pocket and took a drag off his cigarette.
I wanted to tell him those Tic Tacs weren't going to cover up his smoker's breath; if anything they'd make it worse. And who eats the orange ones, anyway? It's the flavor of antiseptic.
"How was practice?" he said, gazing out at the field.
"Okay."
"Got out kind of early, didn't you?"
It made me feel guilty that he kept track of the practices, even four years later, of the team he should've been on.
"Yeah, Mitchell told me to take it easy tonight."
He patted his pockets. "I don't have your cash on me yet."
"No worries. Tomorrow's fine."
He nodded appreciatively. "Good lookin' out. We still on for lunch tomorrow? I may have a way for you to make more money, if you're interested. A lot more."
I said I definitely was, and then he was off again.
In my dehydrated state, I had a thought: If I saved my forty dollars per week from now until June, I could take Ellie to prom in style. It couldn't hurt to plan ahead, right? Just in case we patched things up between now and then? Maybe it was stupid, but with the extra money he'd just mentioned…yeah, maybe it could all work out.
I turned and watched Ryder go, until he merged with the darkness and all that remained of him was the orange glow of the tip of his cigarette.
Why was Ryder at school now, when he hadn't been all day? Maybe he'd finished doing whatever it was he did on Monday nights in the history room, courtesy of my unlocked window, and was making his getaway by strolling out the building in plain sight. I was happy enough making cash here and there, and I didn't want to stick my nose in it. Some things you don't ask and everyone's better off that way.
I watched the songbirds' dress rehearsal from the back of the auditorium, and during their fifteen-minute break I snuck backstage and down the stairs, past the makeup room and props storage, all the way back to the dressing rooms. I knocked twice and Sound of Music Maria, looking perfectly coiffed in the choir uniform of wine-colored vest, black turtleneck, and black pants, opened the door and scowled at me, like we were still at her party and I was still not invited. "What."
"Who swiped my keys from your place last night?"
"I don't know, and if I did, I'd tell the sheriff's department, not you."
"Can you at least give me the list of guests so I can figure it out for myself? And I'll save you the trouble: yes, I know I wasn't supposed to be there. I guess I had this coming to me, right?"
Bridget appeared behind her. Not the ex I was looking for. As usual. In her choir uniform, Bridget looked like a lusty caterer. She coughed at me. Roughly translated, it meant, "Stay on target."
I glared at her. Roughly translated, it meant, "Drift received."
Bridget held out a box of choir programs for Sound of Music Maria's benediction. They were for the upcoming winter concert. "I guess we're going to have to send them back," she said apologetically.
I plucked one from the stack and read the type under the title: "'Soloist: Maria Salvador.' Well! That's awkward."
Maria Posey shoved the box back at Bridget. "Get them reprinted by next Saturday. I can't include these in my college portfolio."
Bridget ducked back into the dressing room. It was strange seeing her all submissive, taking orders.
"You're still going ahead with the concert, even though your soloist is in the hospital?" I asked.
"It's going to be a fund-raiser for her."
"How altruistic of you. Why not leave her name on the program, then, as a tribute?"
"Because that would be inaccurate. Did you need something else?"
"Yeah, actually. A flash drive went missing from the library last week. I'm sort of on duty there, so-"
"You mean you were sentenced there for breaking Carl's camera under the stairwell. Props, by the way-"
"-so I have to look into it. I heard you were there second period last Friday?"
Maria squinted at me. "What're you, the library police? What kind of flash drive?"
"The kind that holds information," I said sarcastically. "Did you see anything suspicious last Friday or not?"
Her nostrils flared. She didn't answer right away, and then she snapped, "Not that it's any of your business, but I was getting tutoring help from Oscar with my French."
I sucked in my teeth. "Tutoring, huh? And here I thought you were gunning for valedictorian."
"Maybe you should stop. Thinking."
I tried to peer behind her. "Is Ellie back there?"
"She already left," answered Bridget, popping out again. Her Not-Ellie-ness had become an annoying habit of hers. "Come on, I'll drive you."
This didn't seem like a particularly good idea, considering what had almost happened last time I accepted a ride from her, but neither did walking five miles on a shaky stomach. Besides, we had business to discuss.
"Make sure you mention the fund-raiser on your college application. They eat that shit up," I said faux-sincerely to Sound of Music Maria.
"Thanks for the tip, Charlie."
"You know, I really don't like the way she says my name," I told Bridget outside in the parking lot, my hands shoved in my pockets.
"Imagine spending the past four years with her," Bridget replied.
I shuddered. "Why'd you choose choir, anyway?"
"Poms was full and I wasn't good enough for valley belles." She said it matter-of-factly, without a trace of self-pity, but it made me see her in a new light…Bridget wanted to play volleyball but got stuck singing? I'd had no idea.
Some of the beckhams, like Josh, were tools, but at least I'd gotten my first choice in groups. It never occurred to me other people might've been trapped all this time with people they didn't like. Any group was still better than being a nomad, though.
"Maria agreed to help get me in at the last second, on the condition that I back her on everything and help her rise through the ranks quickly."
"On the condition that you be her slave," I recapped. Maria must've made the same deal with a couple other desperate girls, enabling her to assume the position of head songbird as an underclassman.
"I didn't have a choice," Bridget sniffed.
"So why couldn't you talk to her about the flash drive? Why were you hiding in the dressing room while I did all the work?" I asked.
"I don't trust her, but I can't accuse her of stealing it. She'd make my life miserable, and we still have five months left of school."
"Fine. How'd it go with the deputies?"
"I think your messages made them blush," she said. "Or maybe they learned something."
I cringed. "Great." I reached for her purse and dug sloppily through it, looking for the ticking time bomb. "So now you can erase every single one. And if you show them to Ellie, if you even allude to them in her presence, you can kiss your essay good-bye."
Bridget raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "'Allude'? Triple word score. Maybe I should just have you write my essay."
"I don't think I could accurately mimic your…unique voice."
"Why are you so hung up on your precious Ellie? You act like she craps Bazooka Joe gum. Refresh your home page already. She dumped you."
"What do you know about that?" I demanded.
"More than you do, probably," she said, sounding bored. We reached her car and she unlocked it.
"Suppose you tell me what you know, and I tell you what I found out about your flash drive." I ducked inside the car and saw her do the same.
"Well, it's just a rumor…"
I was done neutralizing her phone, so I tossed her purse back at her. "I can make up my own rumors. I want facts."
She thought for a second, biting her bottom lip.
I couldn't stand that she might be sitting on information, however inaccurate. "Well?"
"I heard it had something to do with soccer or Ryder," she offered.
I was confused. "Is it like a sixty-forty thing? Which one?"
"I don't know. That's just what I heard."
"So it wasn't about college?" I blurted out.
She pounced on that like a piece of candy, practically licking her lips. "Interesting. Why do you ask?"
I'd known for six years I'd be going to Lambert College. My dad's teaching job cuts tuition in half, and I wouldn't need room and board. It was a small liberal arts school with a large new-media endowment. Putting together the forms and signing up was just the last check mark on a very short to-do list. While my classmates scurried like rats, I'd been picked up by an unseen hand and plopped down right at the end of the maze. It was all decided, all finished. Inevitable.
Ellie, on the other hand, wanted to go back East, her old stomping grounds, maybe NYU or Columbia. She told me she would also apply to Lambert, but maybe that was a lie-maybe she'd just been biding her time until she broke up with me. Applications for most of the places on her list had been due last month; was it really a coincidence she'd called it quits with no warning and no explanation right before college plans needed to be finalized?
"You think Ellie dumped you because you'll be going to different schools?" said Bridget.
"Basically."
Lambert's paperwork was due this week. I still didn't know if Ellie had ever sent them her records.
Bridget shrugged. "Could be. Anyway. What did you find out about my flash drive? Maria seemed edgy, right?"
"She was hissy because she's supposed to be this genius or something, but she was in the library getting tutoring," I said.
"Maria puts on airs, but she's ranked like fiftieth in our class, which isn't enough to stand out. Her uncle went to Princeton, but there's no way she's getting in without a major donation."
"Well, it's a good enough alibi. If she was there with Oscar, I doubt she was creeping around other people's computers. I'll cross her off the list for now, and revisit her if nobody else pans out, okay?" I said. "And it wasn't Josh, either."
I didn't bother mentioning that after today, I was done being her errand boy. If I happened to hear something about her flash drive, I'd clue her in, but the case no longer concerned me. With the deputies off my back, there was no reason for me to help her, and I hadn't forgotten how she'd tried to blackmail me. Dear Neighbor and I were through.
We made it home, and when we reached the spot between our houses, my seat belt flew off and I practically jumped out of the car.
"You're welcome!" Bridget yelled after me.
