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“So my dad doesn’t know?” I ask, my voice cracking, my stomach jumping.
“Your dad has got enough on his mind. So, no, I haven’t shared this with him, and I don’t plan to… IF YOU STOP DOING IT NOW.”
“Yes, this isn’t something we should bother him with,” I say. “My dad is busy right now. Really busy.”
Sampson nods in agreement and says, “Yeah, I’m sure that was weighing on your mind.”
I stare at the floor with a look that I hope says, “I’m sorry for being a fool.” I should just shut up and stop while I’m ahead. But now I can’t resist asking just one more question.
“So I’m not going to jail?”
“Not this time,” he says. I’m waiting for a friendly smile.
It doesn’t come.
ITELLGABEwhat John Sampson told me, that he knows what we’ve been up to. Gabe’s initial reaction is exactly like mine: total fear. “Ali, can we get in trouble for this?”
“We’re really lucky,” I tell him. “We got off with a warning this time.” As soon as Gabe hears this, he is completely relieved.
Not me. I cannot calm down. I mean, after all, I’m the cop kid. I’m the policeman’s son. I camethisclose to living the nightmare. Plus I know that if my dad ever finds out what happened, he’d be more thanangry. He’d be the worst thing of all—disappointed.
So I carry a whole lot of nervous brain and rumbling belly around with me the rest of the day. At supper, I can only force down two slices of Nana Mama’s banana pound cake.
Anyway, here it is, nine o’clock at night on what should have been an ordinary Wednesday (but isn’t).
Okay, it looks normal enough. My homework is done. Dad is at work. I’ve read my debate notes so many times that I think I’ve actually memorized all the statistics and quotations. Between thinking about the debate and worrying about Dad finding out about our “intercepting” crime, I’m not doing well at all.
I go downstairs and watch Bree play a game on her laptop. (I’d love to play, too, but can’t use my phone until my grounding’s up.) A few nights ago, I taught her how to playAmong Us. The lady is not just a powerhouse in the game. She’s also become pretty much anAmong Usfanatic.
Here’s proof. At nine thirty, when Nana Mama comes into the dining room and says it’s time for bed, Bree—a senior detective, a courageous police officer, not to mention a wicked-good stepmother—says exactly what I usually say: “Oh, please Nana, just ten more minutes.”
Nana gives us the ten minutes, and then I’m up the stairs. Teeth brushed. Earbuds in place to listen to blink-182. Lights out. I gotta hit the peaceful button inside myself so I don’t hit the snooze tomorrow.
But then the debate invades my brain. The debate… the debate… the debate.… Damn. Where has that nightmare been hiding the past hour? Congratulations to Nana Mama’s fine cooking and that fine game for making me forget a little bit. But those few hours of peace are all in the past. Now I’m wide awake and dancing with the thought of the packed auditorium, the parents, the kids, the police, the demonstrations.
I hear the music in my earbuds, but I’m only thinking about the debate.
I pull out the earbuds and pull open my laptop. Twenty-five pages of debate notes, everything from information about the first US police force (New York City, 1846) to an article about “Brute Force in Blue” (University of Dayton Publishing). Yes, I have memorized it all. But reading it again won’t hurt. At some point, I fall asleep.
I’m sleeping with my laptop open when a loud, dinging alert from Gabe’s app startles me awake. My phone says 2:10 a.m. What the hell? How’s that possible? Gabe was supposed to disconnect the system hours ago. Instead I’m reading about a violent incident with possible firearms at 133 Bangor Street Southeast.
I text:R u serious? kill system now
Gabe texts:not sure it’s actually illegal
Then he texts again:Besides, 2 good 2 pass on this one
I text:ur going to jail alone
Gabe does not text back. Instead he actually calls.
“Come on, Ali. One last adventure. Then I’ll destroy the whole setup. I promise. Let’s do it,” he says.
“No way. Our one last adventure is going to get us arrested, ’cause we were too stupid to take a favor from John Sampson,” I say.
“Listen, if there’s a problem, we tell Detective Sampson that we tried to disable the app, but…”
“You know, for a genius, you make really bad decisions. No.”
