Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Probably not,” he says with a less-than-convincing shrug. “Then again, I don’t put anything past this place.”
It’s not just the envelopes being shoved under our door and stuffed in my gym locker. My phone’s been blowing up all day with Venmo and PayPal notifications. Vast sums of anonymous cash funneling its way into my accounts for who knows what sort of illicit activities.
“I’m seriously getting paranoid here,” I tell him.
Silas rolls his eyes. He hasn’t said much since he sat down beside Fenn and started eating his dinner, one hand scrolling his phone.
“I’ve seen Goodfellas,” I say, watching as a former acolyte of Duke’s gives me the eye from across the room. “This is what it looks like right before I get raided by the Feds.”
Fenn sighs. He’s made progress over the last few days, if glumly finishing a meal can be considered progress. But he’s still depressed most of the time. Sulking over losing Casey and whatever inner turmoil has him protecting his secrets like nuclear launch codes. On occasion, though, he manages to hold a conversation about something that isn’t one or both Tresscott sisters.
Duke’s buddy strides toward us. Fenn knows him from soccer, but I’ve never talked to him. Weaving through tables, he reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket. I’ve seen this part of the movie too. Riding high in May. Shot down in June.
“All I did was take a few punches from Duke,” I remind Fenn. “People have killed for less.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Still, part of me flinches when the guy approaches and whips his hand out of his pocket. But he doesn’t brandish a weapon—rather, he pulls out a roll of bills with a rubber band around it and quietly slides it across the table to me.
“Next Friday night,” the guy says with a cagey squirm about him. “I’ve got a little poker game going. With your permission, of course. You’re welcome to come.”
“What the fuck do I care?” I push the money away. “Tell people to stop asking about shit. Do whatever you want.”
Baffled, as if I’m the crazy one, he departs with a furrowed brow and leaves the wad behind.
“You see?” I scowl at the guy’s retreating back. “It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
“They think it’s a test,” Fenn says. “They’re confused.”
“Tell me how the hell I explain a sock drawer full of stacks of hundred-dollar bills when the FBI breaks down our door.” I quickly throw the cash in my messenger bag and zip it shut, kicking it under the table. “For that matter, how do I deprogram them? This shit isn’t funny anymore.”
“Wish I had your problems,” Silas mutters to himself.
That’s not all of mine he wishes for.
Fenn sets down his fork and takes a sip of water. “It was your bright idea to fight Duke. This is the consequence.”
“How many ways do I have to tell them they’re free now? I don’t want their damn kickbacks.”
“You showed up here a couple months ago and thought you’d change the whole world order of things,” Fenn says, sounding frustrated. “But it’s like US intervention in the Middle East, man. This is thousands of years of culture that won’t be undone overnight. Not in our lifetime.”
“Not on my watch.”
I climb up on my chair.
“The fuck are you doing?” he groans. “Sit down, you idiot.”
“Your attention, please,” I announce to the dining hall, which hushes to a startling silence as if God himself had spoken. “It seems there’s some misunderstanding. A few of you haven’t gotten the memo.”
“Seriously, dude,” Fenn insists. “Shut the fuck up.”
“The old regime is dead,” I tell my classmates. “I declare this land a benevolent anarchy. There are no leaders here.”
They stare at me in stillness for a moment. Expressions blank. Then the doors of the dining hall flap open.
“Mr. Shaw.” Mr. Colson, a member of the science faculty, frowns and points one finger at the floor. “Down from there.”
I take my seat, and normalcy immediately resumes as the room fills with conversations.
“You happy now?” Fenn says, shaking his head. “All that did was convince them you’re crazy.”
I’m getting there.
In the far corner, Duke sits with his lackey Carter. They’re both watching me, Carter’s expression murderous while Duke’s is a mixture of annoyance and resignation. I know it drives him crazy he lost top dog status at Sandover, but the fact that I was able to drain his bank account so easily now keeps him resigned to accept that fate.
Me, I almost regret it now. Yes, beating him in the fight and using the threat of robbing him again succeeded in Duke no longer confronting me in the halls with vague threats and beating his chest. But I miss the days when every dude in school wasn’t hassling me on a daily basis, asking for permission to jerk off.
I shift my gaze off Duke and try to focus on what Fenn is saying.