Don't Get Caught by Kurt Dinan

Author:Kurt Dinan [Dinan, Kurt]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2016-04-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Ellie names it Operation Sex, Drugs, and Suicide.

My code name is Weegee, “after the famous crime scene photographer, duh,” Ellie says.

Her code name is Meryl, after actress Meryl Streep.

“I’m not sure she ever played a role like this,” I say.

“Because she couldn’t handle a role like this.”

Ellie and I stand on the high school football field on the eighth and final night of our photo shoot. I haven’t seen any of the other Water Tower Fivers since winter break started a week ago. That’s not by design but simply the result of busy lives. Schoolwork, sports, jobs, family responsibilities, and whatnot get in the way of what we’d all really like to do, which is work on destroying the Chaos Club. But no, Wheeler’s at the local tutoring center full time now, Malone’s busy anchoring people at the rock wall, and Adleta is in Orlando for a lacrosse tournament. That leaves Ellie and me to pull her prank, to which I say—excellent.

“Make sure you have the scoreboard in the background,” Ellie says, lying down on the fifty-yard line.

“The scene of the notorious Hitler-moustache prank,” I say.

“Exactly.”

I stand over Ellie and dump out a garbage bag. Condom wrappers, Bud Light cans, and an empty Maker’s Mark bottle spill onto the frozen field. I arrange them artfully around Ellie, the evidence of a wild night I’m certain neither of us has ever really had.

“Where did you get the alcohol?” I ask, shooting another picture.

“Out of my neighbor’s recycling bin. He has a real problem.”

“Like we’re ones to judge.”

“Exactly,” Ellie says. “Guilty of trespassing and possession of stolen goods. We’re headed for eternal damnation.”

I move to another angle and get low to the ground. Each camera flash is like a lightning strike.

“That should do it,” I say. “Unless you have any others we need to take.”

“No, we’re good. That’s the last one. No point in pushing our luck.”

Back in Ellie’s car, she changes her outfit in the backseat, threatening to decapitate me if I sneak a look. I take my chances anyway. Even with the heater going full blast, it takes a couple minutes for the car to warm up.

Ellie says, “So what about your prank?”

“What about it?”

“Have you thought of one yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

“You don’t seem at all interested in the guaranteed yes. I would’ve thought you’d jump all over that.”

“I’m going to do something. I promise.”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll run out of time.”

“Schools not out until May.”

“It’ll come faster than you expect.”

“Like my balls. Unfortunately.”

Ellie’s laugh is a sunshine-y sound I’ve come to depend on in the last week. It’s one of the few things giving me a break from my perpetual pissy-ness from the dough-in-the-locker prank. (Yeast, water, and dough in a bucket overnight, in case you were wondering.) Worse was that Stranko had the nerve to imply we’d played the prank on ourselves. Ellie’s crying at the suggestion put an end to that line of thought quickly, but it made me even madder than I already was.

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