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“Why? What can I do?”
“Extra pair of hands. Art was the only one available. I’ll give you a cut of the reward, of course.”
“It’s nothing illegal, right?”
“Of course not. You’ll be fine.”
I had no idea how far Miles’s definition of legal stretched, but maybe this was his form of a peace offering. He wasn’t stupid—if it was really, truly dangerous, I don’t think he would have asked. “Okay. I guess.”
Miles went with me to the newspaper room, where I handed over my memory card to Claude Gunthrie, showing him the pictures of Britney’s spray-painted car. First, Claude laughed. Then he downloaded them and sent an e-mail to his father, Assistant Principal Borruso, and McCoy.
I didn’t miss all the weird looks we got on the way to English. I thought it might be because Miles was smiling, but that didn’t seem like it, either. I didn’t like this new attention. It made my neck itch.
I’d hardly finished my perimeter check when Ria Wolf slid into the desk next to mine, looking eager. Chills ran up my arms and legs at her predatory smile. I wanted to get as far away from her as humanly possible, but I dug my fingernails into the desktop and forced myself to stay put.
“Hey, what was Celia like when she was spray-painting Britney’s car?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You were there, weren’t you?”
I looked around and realized Celia wasn’t there, and most of the class was watching us and waiting for my answer. “I mean—yeah, I was there, but she was just painting the car. . . .”
Holy hell, had it really gotten out that fast? It had barely been five minutes.
“Are you out to get her or something?” Cliff appeared next to Ria, talking to me like we were best buddies. He was even worse than Ria; every time I saw him, I knew he was half a second from lunging out at me with a razor blade. “’Cause that’s awesome; she deserves it.”
“Hey, Clifford,” Miles growled from his seat, “go find some other territory to mark.”
“Hey, Nazi, go find some more Jews to gas,” Cliff shot back, but even as he said it he stood up and moved back toward his desk.
“Do you understand what you’re saying when those words come out of your mouth?” Miles asked. “Or do you just repeat what everyone else says because everyone else is saying it?”
Cliff settled into his seat. “What the hell are you talking about, Richter?”
“Everyone in this room knows what I’m talking about. Stop calling me a Nazi.”
“Why should I?”
Miles’s hand came down on the desk. “Because the systematic slaughter of millions of people isn’t funny!” His sudden anger quieted the entire room. It even startled Mr. Gunthrie out of his newspaper.
I had thought he didn’t care when people called him a Nazi. A mixed wave of relief and happiness rolled through me that he did care, but why did it make him so angry?
“ENOUGH TALKING.” Mr. Gunthrie rose to his feet, looking between Miles and Cliff like he thought they might explode. “GET INTO YOUR LITERARY DISCUSSION PAIRS, AND I DON’T WANT TO HEAR A WORD OUT OF ANY OF YOU. UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes, sir!”
“BEFORE WE BEGIN CLASS TODAY, I’D LIKE TO HAVE A NICE LITTLE CHAT ABOUT THE VALUE OF RESPECTING ANOTHER PERSON’S PROPERTY. DOES THAT SOUND NICE TO YOU ALL?”
And so began our twenty-eight-and-a-half-minute lesson on why spray paint and car windshields don’t mix. Britney and Stacey watched him intently the whole time, nodding in agreement. Mr. Gunthrie gave us a last disappointed look and told us to get on with our discussion of Heart of Darkness.
Tucker, as usual, had already written up our discussion paper. He was being weird again, his expression closed like someone had shut a door inside him. I knew why as soon as he glanced over at Miles.
“So,” he said, “are you two, like, friends now?”
I tried to keep my expression neutral.
“I . . . I guess. He gave me a ride here this morning.” I paused, then said, “He spoke German.”
“What?”
“You told me to tell you if he ever started talking with a German accent. I got him to speak German, so that’s even better, right?”
If anything, Tucker looked more upset than before. “Why are you in his club?”
“Um. Community service.”
“For what?”
“It’s not a big deal. Just a misunderstanding at Hillpark.”
A smart person would be able to put the Hillpark Gym Graffiti Incident—which most of East Shoal knew about—together with my community service. But no one knew enough about me. Hillpark and East Shoal hated each other so much it severed the lines of communication. Out here in the boonies of suburban Indiana, it was red versus green, Dragons versus Sabres. You didn’t speak to someone from the other school unless you were spitting in their face. The only reason East Shoal knew about the graffiti at all was because Hillpark’s main gym had been closed for several games while they cleaned the floor. My reputation at Hillpark hadn’t bled into my time at East Shoal. Not yet.
But Tucker was separate from all that. He did know enough about me.
“When you two walked in, he was smiling.” Tucker looked down at his desk, tracing the grooves in its top with his pencil. “I haven’t seen him smile since eighth grade.”
“He’s only driving me to school,” I reassured him. “I’m not going to start hanging out or figuring out scoreboard-related mysteries with him or anything.”
“No, because that’s my job.” Tucker’s face lifted, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s on transportation duty and I get mysteries. I see you building your harem of manservants.”
“I’m looking at Ackerley next—I think he’d give a killer foot massage.”
Tucker laughed, but glanced over his shoulder as if Cliff was going to appear behind him and slam his head into the desk.
I knew how he felt.
For the rest of that week, I felt strangely buoyant. At work, at school, even when I had to go near the scoreboard. Everything was good. Celia was suspended for the paint job. I got all my homework done on time (and even understood my calculus, which was a miracle in itself), took enough pictures and did enough perimeter checks to put my paranoia at ease, and I had people to talk to.
Real people. Not homicidal people.
Miles drove me to and from school. Like most people, he didn’t act the same when you got him alone. He was still an asshat, but alone he was more Blue Eyes than jerk. On Wednesday, when the club stayed after school to work a swim meet, he even helped me bury Erwin.
