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I sit in the stairwell and watch a few kids try to get to class before they rack up three tardy slips and have to go to breakfast club.
I watch Sienna rushing up the stairs three steps at a time. And honestly, I’m so down that I don’t even feel better when she shoots a nod in my direction. I’m a little surprised that Sienna even acknowledges me.
As she disappears, three guys—one of them is A-Train—come strolling along. They’re going to be late for their next class, and it’s pretty clear that none of them really care.
“Hey, Cross. You skipping class?” says A-Train. I’m not liking his tone of voice.
“Best be careful, Cross,” says one of the guys with him. “I heard they’ve got a new punishment for kids who show up late for class.”
“Right on, Ronnie. New rule is: If you’re late, even once, they shoot you. They don’t kill you. But they do shoot you.”
All three of them crack themselves up.
I stand up fast.
“You guys are fools. Not even funny fools. Just plain old fools!” I yell.
What am I saying? What am I doing? Am I nuts? Three of them. And one of them is A-Train. I shouldn’t even think about messing with them. I backtrack.
All I say is, “Leave me alone, huh? Just leave me alone.”
To my complete surprise, that’s what they do.
YEAH,TRY SLEEPING,Ali. Just go ahead and try.
I’m listening to some podcast put out by a police training academy in Northbrook, Illinois. The instructor is talking about disarming underage assailants. He’s pretty sharp, and he’s pretty funny. (Although I’ve heard my dad say, “Police officers are good at many things. Humor is not one of them.”) But then at some point he says, “The first order of business is to make certain that the firearm the assailant is holding is actually a firearm.”
And then he just moves on like that’s that. Give me a break. Like a cop hasalwaysmade certain before reacting. Maybe this guy is not as sharp as I thought.
I tap off the podcast and tap on a playlist Cedric sent me a few days ago. Cedric is always pushing tunes from groups I’ve usually never heard of, and if I have heard of them, I really hate them—Neon Trees or Rixton, for example.
I’ve told Cedric that his faves always sound like stuff from the eighties, stuff that my dad and Bree like. But I appreciate Cedric trying to change me. I’ve gotta keep an open mind. Or in the case of Cedric’s playlist, an open ear. I listen to two tracks, and that’s enough. I remove my AirPods. I’ve got to try to get some sleep.
But five minutes later it looks like that’s not going to happen. Because…
Gabe’s police scanner app suddenly comes to life, pelting my ears withpings anddings. These ears of mine are working overtime tonight.
Within a second I am reading snippets of Washington, DC, police chatter. There’s been a break-in at one of the fancied-up refurbished town houses just off Massachusetts Avenue on 15th Street. They’ve been trying to “gentrify” this area ever since I can remember. And it looks like the gentrification is not completely catching on. Breaking and entering has actually gone up in the past year. Okay, only by 4 percent. But an increase in crime is never a great statistic.
I don’t think it’s worth the risk of sneaking out of the house just for a B&E. But then I keep reading.
“The husband and wife owner-residents were restrained with electrical tape; both victims sustained non-life-threatening injuries; elderly resident, female owner’s mother, is still unaccounted for.”
Elderly? Unaccounted for?
Hey, this could be the police scene I’ve been hoping for. I can lend my brain, and maybe I can even lend a hand.
I’m out of bed! I’m on my way!
IT TAKES MEten minutes to get from my house to the crime scene. It would have taken eight minutes, except I had to be really quiet sneaking out, careful not to wake Jannie or Bree or Dad or especially Nana Mama, who is able to hear a pin drop even if the pin is dropping in a house that’s three blocks away.
When I get to the house on 15th Street, I’m immediately hit with a few surprises.
First surprise: Turns out that the old lady, the mother of the woman who’d been tied up with her husband, is no longer missing. Cedric, who’s standing there with Gabe, tells me that they found the old lady hiding in a big, creaky wooden trunk in the basement. Of course I’m glad that they found her safe and everything, but a little piece of me, I’m ashamed to say, was hoping for some real crime drama.
Oh, yeah, here’s my second surprise: Cedric is there! And he’s acting like he’s always been part of the private, secret little detective unit that Gabe and I started.
I give Gabe aWhat the hell is this guy doing here?look, and Gabe, with just a little shrug and a head tilt, manages to communicateI’m sorry that I shot off my big mouth and told Cedric, but what’s the big deal?
