Chase sniffed the air. “You sure you’re not wearing anything? It smells like jasmine.”
“Must be the bushes,” I said.
Chase shifted. “I don’t think there are any jasmine bushes around here. Don’t they have flowers?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, little white ones, right? There are definitely no little white flowers on these bushes.”
“Shhh!” I said. “Someone’s coming.”
Which, thankfully, was true.
Through the shadows, I saw a guy walking toward the mascot room, head down, hands in pockets, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, obscuring his face. Nothing about his clothes stood out as distinguishable from any of the other hundreds of students at the game tonight.
“He’s early,” Chase whispered. “It’s not halftime yet.”
“Maybe he needs the cash now. Maybe he wants nachos,” I guessed, feeling my own stomach growl.
Chase and I watched as the figure paused outside the mascot room. He looked over both shoulders, then quickly leaned down in front of the rock by the palm tree.
“He’s picking up the cash!” I whispered. “Let’s go!”
Chase popped up from the ground, crashing through the bushes toward the figure. I followed a step behind, feeling my heels sink into the dirt as I tried not to step on anything too squishy or gross. Mud spattered up onto my legs as I emerged from the brush, tripping over a root on the ground.
Just in time to see the guy straighten up, turn away, and shove his hands back in his pockets.
“Hey!” Chase yelled. “Don’t move!”
Which, of course, the guy totally ignored. Instead, he spun around, took one look at Chase barreling down on him, and bolted, taking off in the direction of the choir portable at a dead run.
Chase didn’t miss a beat, running after the guy as he rounded the corner of the classroom.
I tottered after them as fast as I could, but actual running in three-inch heels and a tube dress was a total joke.
I came to the edge of the classroom and saw Chase still running after the guy. The other guy had a head start, but Chase was taller and easily gained on him. By the time they made it to the end of the line of portables, Chase was almost on top of him. I watched as he leaped forward, tackling the other guy from behind and bringing him crashing to the ground with a grunt.
I clacked forward on the blacktop with my heels, closing in on the pair as Chase flipped the guy over onto his back. It was dark back here, but the ambient glow from the stadium provided just enough light to make out his features as I got my first good look at the guy’s face. And realized it was one I knew well.
Chris Fret, the HHH Homepage’s sportswriter.
Chapter Six
“NO FLUFFIN’ WAY!” I yelled, disbelief hitting me as I finally caught up to the pair.
I’d known Chris since fifth grade, lived just two blocks away from him, and had spent every other afternoon with him at the paper for the last two months. While he was on the skinny side to actually play football, he knew the sport inside and out, and attended every single game for the paper. His commentary was smart, funny, and thorough, making it entertaining reading even for those of us who weren’t obsessed with stats and scores. Chris was a decent student, a nice guy, and an asset to the paper.
And the last person I would have expected to be selling cheats to the student body.
Chris blinked, his gaze going from Chase to me. “Guys?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice. “Dude, what’s goin’ on?”
“I should ask you the same thing,” Chase growled.
“Chris, how could you?” I asked, realizing I sounded frighteningly like my mom when she’d clucked her disappointed tongue at my less than stellar report card last semester.
“What?” he said, his eyes still bouncing back and forth. “How could I what?”
“Drop the act, Chris,” Chase told him. “We caught you selling them red-handed.”
“Dude, ‘selling’? What are you talking about?”
“You were picking up the payment,” I said.
Chris blinked. “I swear I wasn’t picking up anything.”
Chase gave him a hard stare then hauled him to his feet by his armpits. “You’d better start telling the truth or else…” he said, letting the rest of that threat hang in the air.
Chris made a small yipping sound in Chase’s grip. “Wait, you’ve got this all wrong. I’m innocent, I promise.”
“Then what the hell were you just doing?” Chase asked, his right hand still fisted in Chris’s shirt.
Chris licked his lips. “Okay, fine. Look, I was leaving payment under the rock.”
“Leaving payment?”
Chris nodded. “For the answers to Mrs. Perry’s chem quiz on Monday.”
Mental face palm. Chris wasn’t selling the cheats; he was buying them.
“The money was supposed to be under the rock before the game started, and the text said the answers would be there by halftime.”
“But the game’s already started,” I pointed out.
Chris shrugged sheepishly. “I’m a little late. I had to convince my dad to let me borrow the car first.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and Chase leaned in with a growl. Chris yipped again.
“I’m telling the truth!”
“What are you doing buying answers, Chris?” Chase asked. “You want to get suspended, too?”
Chris’s cheeks tinged pink with guilt. “Look, you can’t tell anyone, okay? My dad threatened to take away my driving privileges if I didn’t keep my grades up. I’m totally failing chem, and if I don’t pass this quiz, I can say adios to my dad’s station wagon.”
“Ever heard of studying?” Chase asked.
Chris blinked at him. “Between being at all the games, and the paper, and my after-school job, I don’t have time to study!”
I rolled my eyes.
“Okay, then tell us this,” I asked. “Who are you buying the cheats from?”
Again he licked his lips. “I dunno. I never got the guy’s name.”
“How did you contact him?” Chase asked.
“Texts,” Chris said. “I asked around, and this senior gave me a phone number. I just texted the guy with what test answers I wanted, and he told me to drop the money here. He said he’d put the answers on a flash drive and swap it for the cash.”
In the distance, we could hear the sound of the crowd roaring. From the cheers, it sounded like HHH had made a touchdown. Chris looked from Chase to me.
“You have to believe me. I’m just an innocent consumer in all this.”
I shot him a look. Innocent was a relative word.
“There’s one way to prove that,” Chase said. “Empty your pockets.”
Chris nodded, then proceeded to turn the pockets of his jeans inside out for inspection. They were empty, as promised. The only things remaining in his sweatshirt pocket were his wallet (containing a student ID, a driver’s license, and three dollars in cash) and a set of keys attached to a chain with the eBay logo on it.
“See, I told you. I put the cash under the rock. I’m just the payer, not the payee.”
Chase didn’t answer. Instead, he kept one hand on Chris’s shirt as he led him back to the rock.
Whatever cash Chris had deposited was gone. In its place was a small black flash drive.
“He must have come and gone while we…” I looked at Chris.
“While we chased you down,” Chase finished, his teeth still gritted together.
“Sorry?” Chris said.
I felt my spirits sink as fast as my muddy heels when I realized I’d squatted in the bushes for nothing.
Chase picked up the drive, turning it over in his hands.
“These must be the test answers,” he said.
Chris reached out a hand to take the drive, but Chase quickly slipped it into his pocket.
“Oh, come on!” Chris protested.
But Chase got right up in his face, his voice low and menacing. “If you get caught cheating, not only are you going to be suspended, but I’m losing a staff member from my paper, which I cannot afford to have happen.”