You

unit out of town, I had the fortunate opportunity to entertain a rather eager and adventurous young lady at my home. It’s amazing what some people will do if you just ask nicely. I even managed to get you a souvenir. Anyway, full details when we speak in person. Shall we say good old Midlands at nine tonight? I’ll leave the window open for you. Till then, au revoir, mon ami.”

You delete the message, then look at the clock on your father’s nightstand, the one above the drawer where you found your cell phone. Four forty. Your mom would be home first, picking Paige up from her after-school program on her way from work. Your father would roll in closer to six. You want to be gone before they get here. You won’t be able to get into the school until after the maintenance crews have left, probably no earlier than nine. Over four hours to go, and already your jaw muscles ache from gritting your teeth. It’ll be late for a school night and your parents will be pissed, but Zack will be at the school and there’s no way you’re not going to be there.

In your room, you take off the polo shirt you wore to the mall and fling it in the direction of your bed. You miss and it lands on the floor, followed by the jeans you were wearing. You pull on a black Warped Tour T-shirt and a pair of black jeans, yanking a black hoodie from your closet. Later, much will be made about the clothes you’re wearing, but the truth is that you just grabbed what was there.

Back down the hall to your parents’ room. You’re not going to leave a note-that will be discussed tomorrow as well-but decide you’d better put your phone back where you found it. Not getting the job and staying out late are bad enough, no need to make it worse. Before you put it in the drawer, you look at the phone. You look at it for a full minute before you play the first message-the message Ashley sent last night-one more time.

“Kyle, oh my god, I really need to talk to you. Ugh, I didn’t want to tell you in a voice mail, but I can’t wait, I’m so excited. Okay, I’ll just say it. I really love you.”

If only the phone message ended right there.

It would be perfect and nothing else would matter, not your parents or school or the job thing.

Perfect.

But, just like the other eight times you played it, there’s more.

And knowing what’s coming doesn’t make it any easier.

“You’re like my best friend in the world, so I know you’ll be happy for me, and not like all judgmental. Okay, you can’t tell anybody, but guess who asked me to skip school with him tomorrow?”

The building is dark and you didn’t see any cars in the parking lot, but you hang back along the trees for ten minutes, watching, just to be sure. You cut across the field, sticking to the shadows, angling in toward Zack’s French class window.

By the time you get to the window the sweat’s beading up on your forehead. It’s not a nervous sweat because you’re not nervous. And you don’t sweat when you get angry, so it’s not that. Then again, you’ve never been this angry before. If you thought about it you’d realize that it’s an unusually warm night and you’re wearing a hoodie. But you’ve got other things on your mind, don’t you?

From outside, the window looks locked, but it slides open like it did the last time, and you slip inside as easy as an Xbox ninja. There’s light coming through the window in the door, not much but enough to let you see your way around the room. You reach for the doorknob and stop.

The last time you pulled the door open the alarm went off. If Zack is not here yet, if he hasn’t punched in the code, the alarm will go off again.

What was the code?

Four numbers and the star key.

But which four?

You stand there for several minutes, replaying the scene in your head, Zack showing off and you ready to hit him.

What if you did? What if you had hauled off and smacked him one, right in his smart-ass mouth? Maybe that would have done it. It might have ended right there and you wouldn’t have to be here now. But you didn’t. You stood there and took it. He played you and you let him get away with it.

Those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.

You won’t make that mistake again.

Eight, six, zero, four. The last four digits of the school’s phone number. You open the door and step into the hallway.

No alarm.

And no Zack.

You start down the hallway, keeping close to the lockers. The alarm could be off because the cleaning crew is behind schedule or some ridiculously dedicated teacher is working late. You ease your way through the building, listening for voices and footsteps. The hum of faulty fluorescent lights, too low to hear during the day, masks any noise you might make, the same way they might mask the sound of someone creeping up behind you.

There’s a cavernous black space behind the glass doors to the cafeteria. You know what’s in there-a lot of metal picnic tables, the kind that they can fold in half and roll away, the aluminum racks where you’re supposed to put the trays, not enough garbage cans. You don’t check the doors to see if they’re locked. Zack isn’t in there. It’s too dark and he likes the spotlight.

As if on cue, you hear the electric pop of the PA system, the light tapping of a finger on the metal microphone, and then Zack’s voice echoes down the corridors.

“Kyle Chase, please report to the main office.”

He knows you’re here-or he’s guessing. And if there was anyone else in the building, they know now too. But you know it’s just you and Zack. You can feel it. It’s better this way.

You continue down the hall and make a turn. You go past the science labs, past the upper-level math classes, past the stairwell where you and Jake the Jock first met, past the office where the school psychologist asked you about your scar, and make the last turn to the main hall.

Zack is waiting for you by the trophy case. He’s wearing his black sport coat and a bone-white shirt, a pair of those out-of-style jeans. He stretches his arms out wide, that smirk big on his face.

“Mr. Chase. Outstanding, sir, simply out standing.”

So far it’s going pretty much the way you thought it would. In the hours you wandered around the mall, waiting for nine to arrive, you thought through how you’d handle this. If you rushed him, he’d see it coming. He’s not much bigger than you, but no reason to make it easy for him. And if you walked up with that look on your face, he’d see that, too. No, you have to do this differently.

Zack doesn’t know what you know-and he’s dying to tell you. That’s why he called you here.

He finds your weak spot, then keeps pushing till you crack.

You didn’t think you had any, but it turns out, you’ve got more than you thought. And he’s found them all. But you’re not going to crack. And he won’t see it coming.

You step out of the shadow of the hallway and into the bright foyer by the trophy case, hands in your pockets, feet scuffing on the polished tile, smiling your best smile.

“Sorry I’m late. Couldn’t get my locker open.”

He gives a fake little laugh. It’s the same laugh he’s always used, only now it’s lost its magic. “I hear a tire iron works nicely. How are you doing, sir?” He reaches his hand out and you shake it, the same old-fashioned way you shook the hand of the guy at Sears.

“Any problems getting in here?”

“Moi?” He steps back, acting hurt and surprised. “My good man, you offend me.”

You shrug, playing it cool. “Hey, how am I supposed to know? You had a busy day, you might have been distracted.”

He looks at you and there’s this glint in his eye, and you know you said too much, too soon. He leans against the edge of the glass case, crosses his ankles then crosses his arms. Mr. Casual. “Indeed. It’s been a very busy day.”

“Really?” You put one hand up to the top of the trophy case, the other you keep in your pocket. It’s not comfortable, but you hold the pose.

“Oh yeah, busy. Let’s see, it started at ten this morning. I had an appointment with Mr. Loman. You know Mr. Loman, don’t you?”