School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,77
could do less damage that way.”
Jackson frowned. “What are his qualifications?”
Nate stared at him blankly. “Do I look like the principal or superintendent? I start college next week, remember? The only reason I’m here now is because we get the stadium to practice, when it’s not two zillion degrees outside!”
“Well, you know, kid, you’ve been a fountain of information until now. I was sort of hoping it could continue.”
“I dunno, mister. Come back when I’m all grown up or something.” The kid rolled his eyes, and Jackson let out a snort.
“My ass. You’re pretty grown up now. College is window dressing.”
He got a grin in return, and then Nate Klein grew sober. “You’re gonna get Ty off, right? I….” His voice stuttered. “He’s worked so hard. I mean, you look at No Neck, and I guess there’s worse things than not going to college but, you know. All that work.” A flutter of a smile then, like a scared moth. “He was supposed to go to a big school and be a football hero and come back and brag to me. We had a deal, you know?”
Jackson nodded. “I hear you. We’ll do our best.”
He got an earnest nod in response. “That’s all you can do, you know.”
Augh! This kid’s sweetness was killing him slowly. Nate Klein, Tage Dobrevk—even Ty Townsend, although Jackson hadn’t even met the kid yet—they had no place in the same area populated by the Ziggy Ivanovs or the Baldwin Schroeders of this world.
“We’ll try to make it count,” Jackson told him. He took a step toward the door, plastic bag hanging from his hand, and then turned back. “So you may not know why Ziggy doesn’t belong, but I understand that the teachers hated him. Can you give the name of a teacher you saw who wanted him gone?”
“Mrs. Eccleston,” Nate said promptly. “I had her for American Government and Econ. Her classroom is right by the gate, so when Ziggy was just outside the gate, talking people up and shit, she could see him from her desk. Boy, did that woman kick up a fuss.”
“Hardass?” Jackson asked approvingly.
“Marshmallow,” Nate countered. “But she took care of us. And she thought Ziggy was dangerous.”
“Interesting.” Jackson pondered, thinking about the date. “Are the teachers there now, you think?”
“Oh yeah. School starts on Thursday of this week, if you can believe that shit!”
Jackson grimaced. “Yeah, no. My summer was a complete loss—I’m not even kidding. So if it starts Thursday, they should be back fixing up their rooms and stuff, right?”
“I hope so.” Nate grinned, and then it died. “I was going to go with Ty on Wednesday. We made a plan the night of the party, you know? To go say hi to our old teachers.”
It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but it was a sharp reminder that somebody was trying hard to dick with Ellery’s client. “Well, Ty needs to stay away until we get Ziggy into custody. Maybe give him a call and have him give you messages to take.”
“Yeah. God. Okay. This sucks. We were going to do a sleepover before he left for school. I just….” He flailed a little.
“Miss your friend.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can do,” Jackson reassured him. “I’d like to wrap this up in time to call his school and tell them all charges have been dropped, but there’s what I want to do and what I can prove.” He took another step toward the door. “And to that end….”
“Yeah. Bye, Mr. Rivers.”
“Bye, Nate. Don’t forget to call me if you need anything or remember anything. Any help to fix this, okay?”
“Will do. Thanks!”
And with that, Jackson sauntered into the heat of the day, grateful for the sodas and the sandwiches as he took off for the school.
JACKSON HAD to pass the football practice field as he made his way to the administration building, and he looked across the grass to see Henry showing something on his phone to a stocky man in his late twenties, brown-haired, blue eyed, and as pretty as a field of daisies.
Henry’s eyes flickered to Jackson as he sauntered by, giving him a brief nod but keeping his concentration on the man Jackson assumed was Baldwin Schroeder. Something about the way Henry carried himself—the stiffness of his posture, the way he crossed his arms, the neutrality of his expression—told Jackson that he was trying hard to hide his dislike of the person he was talking to.