He looks taken aback by my tone, but easily recovers, tightening the knot and stepping away. “It’ll hold,” he decides.
“Thanks,” I mutter, trying to smooth over the tension. “It’s not that I don’t—”
He raises a hand, stopping me. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be ready to listen.”
I observe him, this strange man I barely know anymore. He’s not quite the same dad I remember. That dad had been firm, but unyieldingly present. He would have pushed. He would have interrogated me about this until we were both blue in the face, and then he would have opened that drawer over there, dumped it out, and given me the third degree about all the things inside.
This dad doesn’t know me—not really. But lately, all this space he’s given me feels less like a cold shoulder and more of a generosity. This dad is oddly patient, and I wonder if it’s the same kind of patience I’ve grown into. The necessary kind. The sort of patience you’ve been forced to feel. Sometimes I see the way he walks through the house, eyes averted, like looking at these walls is physically painful, and I feel bad for him. Because maybe the other dad was present and firm, but this is a dad I can relate to.
Somehow, he’s become the better version.
“Dude—” a voice whispers from the dark. “You’re late.”
I make out Ben’s face from where he’s tucked against the wall in a dark shadow. Caroline is next to him. They, like me, are dressed in formal wear—not exactly my first choice for a break-in. “Sorry. It was this fucking tie. I couldn’t find it, then I couldn’t tie it, and shit. I know. I’m here.”
Caroline assesses me. “The bowtie was a strong choice, McAllister. I approve.”
Not sure I was asking for her approval, but whatever. “Are you ready?”
“We’ve been ready,” Ben replies, holding up his laptop. “The cameras are shut off for the next hour—on a loop. Buster shouldn’t notice anything.”
Buster is old and probably taking a nap in his chair right now. He’s not my biggest concern. Dewey, on the other hand, is conniving and wise. He’ll be waiting for something to go down tonight, even if it’s just some d-bag spiking the punch bowl. That’s why we have Sebastian and Carlton, though.
It takes almost nothing to get into the main building. I’d already swiped and traced a key days ago. A little marker, some clear packing tape, an old orange juice jug, and some careful scissor work had provided me with a passable blank, which I’d already tested before the pep rally.
I slip it into the keyhole, using my torque wrench to turn the tumbler.
Caroline grins wolfishly when the door opens. “Radical.”
For several logistical reasons, we have to take the long way through the building, sneaking through the east corridor and past the languages wing. Unlike the gym at Thistle Cove, the hallowed halls of Preston Prep are not completely darkened. I feel exposed and jittery under the soft emergency lights, hugging the lockers and walls as we tread quietly.
When we reach the tech room, I pull my kit from my pocket and start testing picks. Swiping a key to the main doors was easy—it’s the most worn and accessible key on the janitor’s ring. But finding the key to this room in that mess? Fucking impossible.
Ben watches me work while Caroline anxiously surveys the hall, teeth gnawing at her thumbnail.
“So, uh,” Ben starts, eyes fixed on my hands as I work the pick through the tumbler, counting pins. “Fair warning and all, if we get through this, Emory has plans.”
Quietly, I reply, “Yep.”
Ben unnecessarily adds, “He’s going to kick your ass.”
“I’m aware.”
Ben is gloriously silent long enough for me to count twenty pins. Fuck. That’s a lot of fucking pins. “What the hell do they have in here, the crown jewels?” I get to work, trying to be as efficient and methodical as possible.
Ben doesn’t even interrupt my concentration when he asks, “You gonna let him? Kick your ass, I mean.”
I don’t pause. “Haven’t decided yet.” I get the first cylinder cleared and cut my eyes to him, curious. “Think it’d help if I did?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
I press my lips together and continue clicking pins. At this point, a mere ass-kicking seems downright optimistic. The thing about best friends is that they have all the dirt on you, and Emory has truckloads of mine. Things I’ve stolen. Places I’ve broken into. People I’ve taken from. If it were anything else but Vandy, I might think he was bluffing about narc’ing on me. But when it comes to her, I’m not so sure.
“He’s acting like a pig,” Caroline mutters. I guess everyone knows by now. Awesome.
Ben argues, “You don’t know the whole situation.”
“I know Vandy deserves to make her own decisions and have those respected by the people who claim to care about her.”