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.”
“I’m not saying she doesn’t, I’m just saying there are circumstances, and even though I don’t agree with him, I understand why he’s—”
She barks out a sharp, “Ugh. I can’t believe you’re Team Emory. Even Carlton’s Team Reyn.”
“I’m not choosing teams,” Ben replies.
“Shocker there,” Caroline says. “Football and band. Guys and girls. V and Em. You don’t commit, Shackleford.”
“I commit!” he hisses. “I might commit to everything, but trust me. I fucking follow through.”
Caroline doesn’t seem to have anything to say to this. “Well, all the Playthings are Team V.”
I calmly cut in, “I’m Team ‘shut the fuck up so I can pick this lock and not get busted’. Feel me?” There’s a long, contrite silence. I take advantage of it, getting lost in the repetitive movements. The longer it takes, the more I can hear them shifting impatiently, checking the clocks on their phones, biting their nails.
When the last pin is in, I pause, wrench still in the tumbler.
This is the point I’d ask my girl to choose a direction—left or right.
I could ask Caroline or Ben, but strangely, the thought of choosing doesn’t make my throat all tight and constricted like it used to. It’s stupid, because I should be feeling it now more than ever. It’ll take me for-fucking-ever if these pins get reset.
Without hesitating, I turn it right.
The lock opens.
I stand, popping the knob and waving them inside. I barely pay attention to what they’re doing once they are. I drop into the same desk I’d sat in that day, weeks ago, when Vandy had driven a figurative knife through my gut. I’m thinking of how I haven’t had that chest-clutching anxiety in a long time. I’m thinking of how I probably will let Emory kick my ass. I’m thinking of how love is so fucking stupid, and yet also fully badass.
Whatever they’re doing, it doesn’t take nearly as long as getting through that lock had.
“We’re good,” Caroline says, stuffing cords into her bag.
Ben closes the laptop and nervously darts to the door, checking both ends of the hallways before nodding us out.
Buoyed by the feeling of success, we retrace our steps, going in reverse. Relocking the doors, double checking our blind spots. Caroline giggles nervously behind me, giddy with her own duplicity, and Ben keeps taking his phone out of his pocket, checking and re-checking the time.
Once we get out the door, none of us linger. As planned, we split up, each of us taking different routes back to the gym. Most of my excitement is about getting to Vandy, though. I’m fucking dying to lock eyes on her. I want her to see me in this stupid suit, ridiculous bowtie and all. More than anything, I want to drag her onto the dance floor and show the whole fucking school—Emory included—that for better or for worse, she’s my girl. I know I can’t, but it’s a nice dream.
“Decided to come after all, huh?”
I skid to a stop, turning to see Sydney leaning against the Devil’s Tower. She’s wearing a red, skin-tight dress, and might even look nice if not for the smudged eye