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WALLINGFORD PREPARATORY prides itself on getting its young men and women ready not just for college but for their place in society. To that end, students not only have to attend all their classes—they also have to participate in two enriching after-school activities. This year mine are track in the fall and debate club in the spring. I like the feeling of running, the rush of adrenaline and the pounding of my feet on the pavement. I like that it’s just me deciding how far to push myself.
I also like thinking up ways to trick people into agreeing with me, but debate club doesn’t start for many months.
I’m just finishing my last lap when I see two dark-suited men talking to Coach Marlin. He waves me over.
Agent Jones and Agent Hunt are wearing mirrored sunglasses along with their dark suits and darker gloves, even though the weather is still unseasonably warm. I’m not sure they could be more unsubtle if they tried.
“Hello, Officers,” I say with a fake grin.
“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Agent Jones says. “We got concerned.”
“Well, I had this funeral to go to, and then I had all this extra grieving to do. Really filled up my social calendar.” Although I think I’m managing to smirk like an innocent man, knowing that I’m the murderer they’re looking for really adds an uncomfortable layer of terror to the whole interaction. “There’s been loads going on since last Wednesday.”
“Why don’t you take a ride with us?” says Agent Hunt. “You can tell us all about it.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’ve got to take a shower and get changed. Like I said, really busy. But thanks for stopping by.”
Coach Marlin has already started over toward other runners. He’s shouting their times off his stopwatch. He’s either forgotten about me or is trying to forget.
Agent Jones lowers his glasses. “Heard your mother was skipping out on some hotel bills in Princeton.”
“You should probably just ask her about that,” I say. “I’m sure it’s a big misunderstanding.”
“I don’t think you really want us asking her about it, do you?” Agent Hunt asks.
“That’s true, I don’t, but I can’t control what you decide to do. I’m just an underage minor and you’re big strong federal agents.” I start walking away.
Agent Hunt grabs my arm. “Stop messing around. Come with us. Right now, Cassel. You don’t want us making things hard on you.”
I look over at my team, jogging toward the locker room, Coach Marlin in the lead. Some of them are jogging backward to see what’s going to happen to me.
“The only way I am getting in a car with you is if you handcuff me,” I say with resolve. There are some things a boy like me can’t live down, and being too friendly with the law is definitely one of them. No one wants to make an illicit bet with someone unless they’re sure that someone is actually a criminal.
They take the bait. I am pretty sure Agent Hunt has been wanting to do this since the moment we met. He catches my wrist, pulls it behind me and smacks a cuff down onto it. Then he grabs for my other wrist. I only struggle a little, but apparently it’s enough to annoy him, since when he gets the other cuff on me, he gives me a little shove. I wind up on my stomach in the dirt.
I turn my head toward the locker room and see a couple of guys and the coach still watching the show. Enough people to pass on the rumor.
Agent Jones pulls me back to my feet. Not too gently either.
I don’t say anything as they march me to the car and shove me into the back.
“Now,” Agent Jones says from the front seat, “what do you have for us?” He doesn’t start the car but I hear the locks of all four doors engage.
“Nothing,” I say.
“We heard Zacharov came to the memorial service,” says Agent Hunt. “And he brought his daughter with him. A girl that no one has seen in public in a long time. Now she’s back. Here at Wallingford, even.”
“So what?” I say.
“We hear that you and her were pretty close. If that’s even his daughter.”
“What do you want?” I ask, giving an experimental tug on the cuffs. They’re double-lock and plenty tight. “You want me to tell you whether that’s really Lila Zacharov? It is. I used to play marbles with her down in Carney. She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“So what’s she been doing all this time? If you know her so well, how about you tell me that.”
“I don’t know,” I lie. I have no idea where this line of questioning is going, but I don’t like it.
“You could have a life outside of all this,” Agent Jones says. “You could be on the right side of the law. You don’t have to protect these people, Cassel.”
