The Rule of Won (15 page)

Erica's chest heaved, then stopped moving. I was afraid she wasn't breathing anymore, but she let out a few short bursts of air from her nose and smiled. Something she was dreaming about struck her as funny, I guess.

A nurse wheeled a cart behind me, making me step forward
into the room to get out of the way. I didn't hear myself make any noise, but Erica did, because her eyelids fluttered open.

“Caleb?” she said softly.

“Hey,” I said. “Pills, huh? I thought drugs cause cramp. Like that poem.”

“They do indeed.”

“But you're okay?”

She blinked and stretched a little, then wriggled under her sheets. “Yep. Except for the
Girl, Interrupted
thing.”

“Right. That. Which was about . . . what?”

“I just . . . I just really wanted to get into Hampshire Arts.”

“And attempted suicide was on the application?”

“I misread the form.”

“No, really,” I said. “Was it guilt because you thought you caused Eldridge's accident?”

She looked away and wrinkled her lips. “More that part of me didn't mind if I
did
cause the accident. When I realized that, I felt like I didn't deserve much of anything.”

“Like breathing?”

“Like breathing.”

I pulled up a chair and sat in it backward. “First of all, you never wished for Mr. Eldridge to get hurt. You haven't got a mean bone in your body. Second of all, I'm starting to think
The Rule of Won
is totally whack. You didn't make anything happen. It just did.”

“That's what Mr. Eldridge said.”

“You talked to him about it?”

“Who better? I apologized.”

“Gutsy.”

“He said there was nothing to apologize for.”

“See? And he's a teacher. He knows stuff.”

She smiled a little.

“But, Erica, you were freaking out way before Eldridge's accident. What's so damn important about a school? I mean, it's just a school, right?”

She leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “I guess it's hard for you to understand . . .”

“Because I'm a slacker? Because—”

“No. Because you've lived here all your life. You're used to it. I just never felt like I could be myself in Screech Neck. It's like I'm constantly surrounded by things trying very hard to make me not me. I just thought maybe at an arts college, I could be myself again, or maybe for the first time.”

I leaned in and nudged her shoulder. “Erica, wherever you wind up, I'm very, very sure you have been and always will be Erica.”

I wasn't sure where that came from. She gave me that weird half smile she gets sometimes.

“You don't hate me, do you, Caleb?”

“No. Why would I?”

“Or think I'm totally crazy.”

“Well, you did try to kill yourself. That does take a few points off the sane score.”

“I won't do it again.”

“Promise?”

She looked me in the eyes. “Yes. It wasn't nearly as romantic
or peaceful as I thought. Lots of crying and screaming, mostly, which I suppose means I never really wanted to die in the first place. I think it was just what they call a desperate cry for help.”

“Okay. But next time maybe you could just say, ‘help'?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. I was worried about that intravenous thing, but it didn't seem to bother her. “And if I did, would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Help.”

“Uh . . . does it involve algebra?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Then . . . yeah.”

I shifted uncomfortably, then put my hand on hers. I expected it to be cold, because the room was chilly and her skin was always so pale, but even her fingertips felt warm. I was worried it'd feel strange, but it didn't. It felt good.

We didn't say anything else until the station nurse came in and said it was time for me to go. I was a little relieved. I was happy to sit with Erica, but her parents would be back and I didn't feel like dealing with them, what with not knowing what to say and not wanting them to grill me or treat me like I was her boyfriend.

By the time I made it back into the hall, the elevator was opening and I heard some people talking. Worried it was the Blacks, I slipped into the stairwell.

And there I heard a voice. “Are they okay?”

On the next landing up a girl stood, maybe middle-school
age. She had on these weird, tight stockings, one pink, one green. I wasn't sure who she was talking to.

“Are they okay?” she asked again. “Erica Black and Mr. Eldridge?”

Turns out she was talking to me.

She spoke as if she were entitled to an answer. Her tone reminded me of someone.

“Uh . . . Eldridge is pretty bruised, but Erica seems fine. Do I . . . do I know you?”

An ever so slightly smug smile spread on her face. That looked familiar, too.

“My name's Alyssa,” she said. “Alyssa Skinson.”

Of course. That's who she reminded me of. Ethan.

“Oh. I'm—”

“Caleb Dunne. My brother talks about you.”

“Okay. I saw some of your drawings. You're good.”

She smiled more genuinely. “Thanks. Ethan thinks they make things happen.”

“No kidding. Do you?”

She shook her head and looked a little sad. “No way. It's just coincidence, but he doesn't believe me because of that book. He's changed since he read it. I thought maybe if I helped him a little, he'd change back, but he's only gotten worse.”

“Hard to believe he was ever better.”

“He was. He doesn't like you, by the way. He didn't like you before you quit, but now he really doesn't. None of them do. It was only a few hours ago, but some of them are already talking about you on the board.”

“Ethan lets you read the message board?”

She raised an eyebrow. “He doesn't
let
me. He just leaves his passwords lying around sometimes.”

Out of the blue, I asked, “Alyssa, do you think you could help me?”

“I won't draw any pictures for you, if that's what you mean.”

“I don't know what I mean,” I admitted. “Any idea what ‘Vanuatu' means? Or
Mondo Cane
?
Mondo Cane
's an old documentary, but I can't rent it anywhere. I can order it online but I don't have the money.”

“No,” she said. “Sorry.” She turned, ready to leave. “I have to get back now.”

I wanted something more from her, what, I couldn't say. I didn't think I should tell her I'd eavesdropped on that call with Ethan, but I wanted to hint that I knew something more was up, so I blurted out with my usual subtlety, “I think people should study on their own, too.”

She spun back and eyed me. “If that documentary's old, it could be on tape. Do you have one of those VHS players?”

“My grandfather does. Still won't switch to DVD.”

She nodded, then walked off.

It was dark by the time I made it home. The sky was as clear as it gets, and you could see one or two stars poking up above the buildings, like little Christmas lights. It was almost curfew for me, and I was looking forward to getting some sleep.

Outside my building, on the stone stoop, four shadowy figures loitered. When the tallest spotted me, they all turned to stare, like I was what they'd been waiting for.

I was afraid it was Dylan, Mike, and the other Crave jocks, ready to stab me to death with a new “1” pin. I was too tired to run, though.

As I got closer, even though they were trying as hard as they could to look tough, I had to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Moore, Guy, Drik, and Mason,” I said, walking up. “What the hell are you—”

“Shh!” Moore said, waving me closer. He had a black case in his hands.

Drik, who had on a scarf and long coat that made him look like a Dr. Who wannabe, looked around nervously as Mason hissed, “Keep it down.” A thick kerchief covered most of her head, almost like a burka, only there were little Pokemon printed on it.

“Fine,” I whispered. “What's up with your bad secretive selves?”

Guy had on a real black leather jacket, and I had to admit, he almost pulled off the tough-guy thing. He looked me over like he was frisking me with his eyes.

“It's true. The pin's gone,” he said to the others.

“You did quit,” Moore said with a thin smile.

“Were you at the hospital? How's the girl?” Mason asked.

“Erica? Fine. She's okay. What's going on? Finally going to tell me what ‘Vanuatu' means?”

Moore handed Drik the case. “Something big is going
down. We want to make sure someone other than us knows about it.”

“Someone we can trust. In case something happens to us,” Guy intoned mysteriously.

“Happens to you? The only thing that would happen to you guys is you'd get abducted by aliens at a
Battlestar Galactica
convention.”

All four eyed me. “This is serious,” Moore said.
“Serious.”
He said it slowly, to make it clear they wouldn't put up with any more geek jokes. “It's about what happened to Mr. Eldridge.”

I heard a laptop hard drive whir to life. Drik was booting Moore's rig.

“You mean the accident?”

Moore's face remained unmoved. “The police don't think it was an accident.”

I furrowed my brow so hard I felt the skin at the back of my head tighten and pull. “Please. How do
you
know what the police think?”

“I maybe . . . sort of . . . hacked into their system,” Drik said as he spun the laptop toward me.

My eyes went wide. There on the screen, in glorious black and white, was a blurry video image of someone's driveway.

Moore put his finger near the screen. “This is the footage the police are looking at from Mr. Eldridge's security camera.”

My mouth got as round as a Cheerio. “How did you . . .?”

“We just did. Watch.”

Drik clicked and a figure dressed in black pants, shirt, and
ski mask climbed over Mr. E's fence. The figure fidgeted under the car, then slipped back over the fence. The clip was on a loop, and after a second, it played again.

“Holy crap!” I shouted.

“Indeed. No magic there. His brake line was cut,” Moore said. “Stupid amateur job. The police have no idea who that was, yet, but we're going to do a big story about it in the school paper for our first issue.”

My eyes were glued to the screen as the figure slid under the car again. “Who is it?” I asked. “Dylan's psychotic, but he's way bigger than that. Wait. Can you zoom in on his feet?”

“His feet? Why?” Drik asked.

“Tell you in a minute.”

Moore nodded and Drik made a little square around the feet by dragging his finger across the touchpad, then clicked on a magnifying-glass icon a few times. The picture got bigger, but it was also getting all blocky. Even so, I thought I could see them pretty clearly: two shoelaces glowing so brightly they looked as if they'd been bleached.

It was Ethan.

Silly me. I was thinking we should go to the police, what with Ethan having attempted the murder of Mr. Eldridge and all.

When I suggested it, Drik immediately got a wild psycho look in his eyes and screeched, “No!” so loudly it echoed down the whole block. “Do you have any idea how illegal it is to hack into police files?”

I reached up to pat him on the shoulder. “A little perspective, okay? I'm pretty sure they'd make an exception if you helped solve an attempted murder.”

“First off,
I
didn't say it was Ethan, you did. You say they're shoelaces, but at that low resolution they could just be lines on his sneaker, or shadows from the fence,” Drik said.

“Really? What about the rest of you? Don't any of you see the shoelaces?”

They all shrugged. The only real response I got was from Moore, who mumbled something like, “It really
is
hard to tell.”

“Fine!” I said. “I'll go to the cops myself!”

Guy, who'd been leaning against the concrete banister,
pushed himself up straight. “Let's say you're right, it
is
Ethan. Hey, I think it probably is, but do you really think the police will believe you about two blurry shoelaces when the student you're accusing just stole your girlfriend? They're still looking at you cross-eyed over the gym collapse.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me how
that
little problem could've been solved if you Pulitzer Prize winners had managed to publish one lousy issue!”

Moore shrugged guiltily. “The bottom line is we can't prove it's Ethan. And the only way we got Drik to show us their files in the first place was by swearing we wouldn't go directly to the cops with anything we found.”

“Oh, great. Just great,” I said. “So what do we do?”

A low wind whipping around her headscarf, Mason exhaled through her mouth. “We can try to force the issue. We'll finish our exposé, tell people how the grant was publicized the week before, how it was common knowledge Regis was having a flu epidemic . . .”

“And,” Moore added, “how an anonymous witness
thinks
they saw Ethan Skinson running away from Mr. Eldridge's home the night of the accident, which is pretty much true. That may bring out more witnesses.”

“Just as long as no one mentions the security video,” Drik said.

“Look, I hate to be the one to point this out,
again
, but you've been working on that issue for months. With Eldridge in the hospital, you don't even have an adviser. How are you actually going to print something now?”

Moore stiffened. “We still have access to the office. We'll put it together after school tomorrow. Marathon session. Faking a purchase order to pay for the printing should be easy enough. We can have it online by midnight, and the print version all over school by morning. Fast enough for you?”