Score!
Gah, you’re amazing!
I watch his cheeks go pink as he reads. Too much? Maybe too much.
I’m really not, but thanks I guess.
Modesty? Weird.
So what is it?
What’s what?
The plate number?
Not important.
What do you mean “not important”?!
Trusteth in thine Zan, thou must.
What are you, Yoda Jesus now?
He snorts.
Of course everyone looks again.
“Mr. Macklin? Is there something funny?” from Tripathi. (I don’t think Tripathi likes Zan very much. Not that I blame him….)
“No, sir,” Zan says. “Gnat flew up my nose. Please continue.”
Everyone laughs, and Tripathi’s jaw clenches, but he turns back around.
After about a minute, the note comes back to me. I kinda hate how excited I get when I feel the poke in the arm. It’s just that…well, this is kind of my first time passing notes in class. Ever. A realization that serves to remind me of my dearth of, you know, friends. And free time. To make them.
You’re funny, IQ, the note says this time.
Thanks.
You’re most welcome. The reason the tag number isn’t important is because I already made some calls and got the name of the cab company.
Okay, pause. Because why would he do all that? All I requested was assistance getting into the security footage. Now he’s seeking out further information on his own?
Not sure I like this very much.
Oh…
We can go by the headquarters after school…try to get the name of the driver and contact him to see if he remembers where he took her.
So this is a “we” thing now? And I kind of have to go along with it: he’s got the info. Except—
Can’t today. Prior engagement.
Oh…
Yeah. Sorry.
Tomorrow then?
Gotta work.
So when are we gonna go, Danger?!
In addition to this skin-prickling suspicion about Zan Macklin’s motives, I can now add annoyance at his flagrant lack of consideration that some people have to actually work for their money.
Perhaps asking him for help was a terrible idea.
Too late to turn back now, though.
Saturday?
Accepteth my lot, I musteth.
Okay, now you’re just making shit up.
He guffaws. Like loud.
Tripathi whips around. “Mr. Macklin?”
“My apologies, sir,” Zan says. “It’s just funny seeing Pope Paul, Malcolm X, and British politician sex in the same line, am I right, guys? That Billy Joel was somethin’ else!”
The whole class laughs.
Grocery shopping.
That’s the prior engagement.
Twice a month on Mondays, Jax and I make our family’s very tightly budgeted—by me—grocery run. I meet him at the apartment, and then we hop on the bus and hit what is probably our favorite place to go together: Kroger.
There’s a list.
Coupons.
Strategy.
Teamwork.
When we step through the sliding doors, I release a shopping cart from the lineup, he grabs a hand basket, and I pass him his part of the list. “All right, kid, head in the game,” I say. “You hit dairy, I’ll hit produce, and we’ll meet on the cereal aisle, got it?”
“Aye, aye, Coach!” With a salute.
Man, I love this kid.
We high-five and head off in opposite directions.
As I grab a big carton of strawberries, thoughts of a very specific, highly infuriating, ultra-rich turd of a boy fill my head. In addition to sitting beside me in class today, when I stepped into the cafeteria for lunch and took my regular seat—alone, in a back corner, slightly hidden by a large pillar—Zan totally popped up with the black guy he usually sits across from at his cliché-ass table full of popular jocks and cheerleaders.
“Danger, this is Finesse Montgomery,” he said as they both stood over me like some kind of adolescent male sentinels.
“Sup?” Finesse said.
My mouth was full of turkey sandwich at that point, so I just smiled with my lips sealed.
“We’ve come from the far reaches of the Norcross High School common area to rescue you from this island of solitude,” Zan announced.
I looked at Finesse. “What makes him think I want to be rescued?”
Finesse shrugged. “That’s what I told him.”
“Whatever,” Zan said. “So you comin’ to sit with us or what, Danger?”
Willingly place myself at a table with the richest, shiniest, most pleasantly fragranced kids in school? Me in my secondhand (maybe even third- or fourth-hand) jeans, “vintage” sweater, and a pair of Doc Martens I got from a church clothing drive?
Nope.
“While I appreciate the hospitality, Macklin, I’m gonna pass,” I said with a wink. “Kinda dig my ‘island of solitude,’ as you so aptly put it.”
Except now I can’t stop thinking about it.
It’s not only the fact that he invited me into his circle. It’s really bothering me that I don’t know why he’s helping me. As much as I’d like to believe he’s a nice guy, doing it out of the goodness of his heart…not buying it.
When I reach the cereal aisle, Jax is standing with That Look on his face. The one where he really wants something that’s not on the list, but he knows we can’t afford it.
Ugh.
“What is it?”
He points to a box of store-brand fruit snacks. “They’re only a dollar if we use the Kroger Plus card!”
Pretty sure I no longer have a heart because it just shattered into a bajillion frickin’ pieces.
But then an image of green rectangles of paper featuring the overly large face of Benjamin Franklin floats through my head. “You know what, Jax? You can get whatever fruit snacks you want,” I say. Mama is definitely gonna flip, but whatever. I’ll put a couple hundred dollars from my bonus into the account.