closed my eyes. The in-class report on the nervous system didn’t go so well last week. I hadn’t gotten a grade sheet for it yet, and I had been riding a 94 up until then.
“Maybe a 90.”
“How many questions are on this test Spencer borrowed?”
“Fifty, I think.”
He punched a bunch of numbers into his calculator.
“You’re going to get eleven of those answers wrong. Make it every third or fourth, then clump a few together in a row. That’ll leave you a 78. Considering it’s a big one at the end of the marking period, I would imagine it might be worth fifteen or twenty percent. You’ll wind up with a ‘B’ for the semester that you’ll have to live with. If Spencer gets caught you never knew anything about it.”
He tousled my hair.
“You’re my tiger.”
It was pure survival in its most practical form, and I needed that kind of logic in the here and now. I needed my Dad to hit his calculator and map me a way out of this.
Kyle wiped off his mouth with the back of his forearm and came over to me.
“Now listen, Jimmy, and please listen good. We have to get rid of her. We have to make her vanish like fucking Houdini. See, yesterday Barry Koumer called you a pussy while we were checking out his dad’s compound bow, and to defend you I told him we were coming up here today to raise all kinds of hell. If someone finds this wreck, Koumer the Rumor is going to point it straight back at you. So there ain’t gonna be any running, Jimmy. Stop standing there with your mouth open and start picking up nails.”
I could hear myself breathing.
Nothing left but me, Kyle, and the street logic.
And we were under the gun to hide a dead body by sundown.
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