Coin Heist (7 page)

Eight

BENNY

My advisor Mrs.
Diamond rushed into homeroom like a white-lady tornado, right in the middle of video announcements. She was usually just there, waiting for all of us to file in, like it was her house or something, and we were her guests. Now she brushed past our desks, her jacket swishing.

“Sorry, everyone. Sorry I'm late.”

Grumbles. It was too early for more than a grumble.

Meanwhile, on the smart board screen, two kids in ties who were way more awake than the rest of us talked about the weather.

Thirty-one degrees today with a chance of snow . . . kinda mediocre. Davis? Back to you
.

It's like that now, Cody, so get used to it.

It
was
like that now. Mediocre all over. The video announcements used to be a full half hour and now it took about five minutes. No more sports announcements, 'cause no teams were playing. No plays. No pep rallies or meetings or events. Not even the nerdy guy talking about Science Club. I hadn't realized how much I liked watching that little dude until now.

Mrs. Diamond set her bags down on her desk and went about taking attendance, mumbling names to herself as she went. When she got to mine, which was the last one, of course (
Y
s represent!), she looked up. “There you are. Benny, I need to talk to you. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure,” I said, a little worried but glad to have a reason to get out of my seat. Now that the announcements were over, the rest of homeroom was usually just sitting around alone listening to everyone else gossip. Talking about their weekends and how much beer they drank and who hooked up with who. Stuff I didn't need to know, because I didn't know any of these people.

Mrs. Diamond was pushing sixty and had dyed blond hair cut real short. I slouched up to her desk and waited to see what kind of trouble I was in, but then she looked up at me with a smile that made me even more nervous. The last time an old lady smiled at me like that was when my grandmom took me shopping at the end of the summer and told the salesperson at Kohls that I needed nice school clothes.

“Benny, I just had a meeting with the bursar's office, and I'm afraid I have some . . . uhh . . . unfortunate news. They said that with everything that's happened, they're having trouble making ends meet for the financial aid program next year.”

“But I'm—I'm on scholarship,” I blurted out. It was meant to be a secret. The teachers knew, but supposedly no one else did.

Now her smile faded some. “The future of the D.M. Jamison athletic scholarship is unclear, actually. We lost that money in the, um, situation.”

Situation? Sounded more like a big hustle to me. “What about the other scholarship I got, from the state?”

“That was only five percent of your funding. You can keep it, but it's not going to be enough.”

Goddamn. Was she for real? They were getting rid of
my
money now? They could do that to me, basically the only poor kid here? “Is there another scholarship I can apply for?”

“You should talk about it with the bursar. It's too late for next year. The state deadlines were in January.”

“What the hell?” I didn't mean to curse in front of a teacher, but I was freaking out. How would I break the news to my grandmom, after everything we did to get me here? She'd start crying, talking about my poor mom, her terrible story. How they came over from Mexico when she was a teenager, how she started working as a mushroom picker to help make ends meet. How she met my dad around the way, and they had me when she was too young. How she got an injury on the job and started popping pills because they wouldn't send her to the doctor. How she OD'ed three months later. How my dad was deported back to the D.R., leaving me with my grandparents. I was four years old then, and I'd lived with them ever since.
Corazoncito, my job is to protect you
, my grandmom would say.
And your job is to make us proud.

No, this would crush her into pieces. I had to graduate from HF, be the first in my family to go to college, actually have a
career
instead of a
job
. They were depending on me. “What am I supposed to do? I've been busting my butt trying to keep up my GPA. I had a great season.”

“I honestly don't know, Benny. I'm trying to get more information. You're not the only one in this situation.”

“I'm the only kid bussed in from North Philly.”

“There are plenty of others, from other neighborhoods, kids who needed a little help to be here. They'll be in the same boat.”

I knew who she was talking about. Secret or no, all you had to do was look closely. A Chinese kid whose parents owned a restaurant in East Falls. A girl with a single mom from Conshohocken. Another guy whose parents lost some money in the stock market. He was from the mean streets of Ardmore.
Ardmore.
They had a Porsche dealership in that town. All of those people were rich compared to me, and they all lived in clean, safe neighborhoods. Besides, even if they weren't, pretty much, we were all screwed.

“I'll let you know what I find out, okay?” She gave me a wink and my head spun with rage.
Don't get cutesy with me.
This is my life we're talking about. My one break.

If there was no money, I'd be back at Jansen. I'd be back with my homies, yeah, but I'd have no future. Might as well shoot me, because my life would be over anyway.

Later, as we filed into art class, Rankin handed back our Mint projects. I'd made a blueprint of the production floor we'd seen on our field trip, with all the machines and everything. I was pretty proud of it—we had only spent an hour there, but I'd been able to recreate the entire place from memory. On my paper was a pink Post-It note—Rankin didn't like writing on our “work”—with a red C. A stinking C? Under it he'd written,
This is a great rendering, Benny, but next time, try to use your imagination.

It was the first C I'd gotten at HF, and it was one more slap in the face.

I didn't need my imagination, I wanted to tell him. I was a mechanic, and I could fix a car in my sleep. Nothing imaginary about that. And by the way? All of this art stuff was bullshit.

But what did it matter now? I was leaving. I'd never see any of these people again. Maybe that was for the best.

Instead of relief, though, I was just worried. I still had no idea how I was going to tell my grandparents. Maybe if I waited long enough, the school would call and do it for me. Even then, they'd still be devastated. This was their dream—they were getting old and they didn't have much else—and it was about to be smashed.

I sank down in the first empty seat I saw and stared into space, thinking. If Rankin thought I was gonna pay attention to his lectures about lines and fonts now, he was crazy. I could barely even enjoy looking at Dakota, I was so low. You know times are desperate when a girl in tight jeans can't fix it.

“I don't think that would work,” whispered this little girl with glasses sitting next to me. She was tiny, looked like she was twelve or something, and she always had some crazy hat on. I'd seen her around the halls, but we didn't have any other classes together. I think her name was Alicia, or Alice, or something. “You'd need at least three people. One to work remotely, and two for the haul. And, to be frank, I don't understand why you're so obsessed with this.”

The guy she was huddled with was the headmaster's kid. Jason. He shrugged. “I just think it's interesting that it could be done. I think there's potential there.”

“Potential for what?” she asked quietly.

“I don't know. To get some money, funds, for whatever we need.”

My ears perked up.

“You're serious,” she said. She was smiling this funny half-smile.

Were they talking about pulling some job? Something illegal? These two? That was hi-
larious
.

“It's a victimless crime,” he said. “No one will lose anything, because that money wouldn't technically exist. It's not really stealing—it's more like adapting it for our needs.”

“But isn't that what fundraising is for?”

“Yeah, well, it's worse than you think,” he said. “What's happening here. I happen to know some stuff, and it doesn't look good.”

Her voice dropped to an even lower whisper, but I could still hear her. “So you're saying you want to try it. For real. The Mint. For HF.”

Time to make myself known. “So what's the scheme?”

They both whipped their heads around guiltily. The headmaster's kid grimaced, his mouth a tight little line. “No scheme. I'm kidding,” he said. “It's a joke. Ha.”

“You sounded pretty real to me,” I said.

He looked surprised, maybe because I was Invisible Man and they hadn't even realized I was there. I probably should have just kept quiet, because now they were both freezing up.

“It's a hypothetical situation,” the girl said. “We're just talking it through. Like role-playing?”

“Okay, well, if it's just hypothetical, then let me role-play, too.” I'll admit I was mostly testing them, to see how far they were gonna take it. I was willing to bet this skinny kid was all talk. But the other chick, Alice, was staring at him with her big eyes. Super-serious.

“Yeah?” Jason said, checking me out. “And what can you do? You'd need to have some skills. Alice's really good at hacking. I'm good at leading and planning.”

I thought about it for a moment. “I can fix cars. Or anything mechanical, really.”

“Huh.” He looked doubtful.

My eyes traveled around the room and locked on Dakota, who was standing nearby, wearing these sexy-ass boots. Was she listening in, too? Nah, she was probably just deep in thought about her project.

“And IDs,” I added. “I can make any kind of ID.” I'd been doing that for years around the neighborhood. You might think it was for buying booze, but it was actually to help kids who already had a record. The police were always coming through and stopping people, and some of these guys just wanted to avoid more trouble. A new identity would do that for you.

Alice's eyes lit up. “That could help, Jason. We could use IDs.”

So maybe it was a game, like one of those things kids did with the magic cards or some shiz, but it was fun. Rankin left us alone to work on our next project, so we spent the rest of the period talking about it, the ins and outs. Who would do what, and how it would all work.

As we kept going I started to think: Maybe, if we could get enough money to save this school, they'd bring back my scholarship, and I could stay here next year and go to college like my grandparents wanted me to. Then someday I could open my own business and make enough money to pay them back for all they'd done for me. Maybe even buy them some things they needed, like a new fridge, railings on the stairs. And a new AC unit. Send my dad in the D.R. a cut.

It was the best time I ever had in any class at HF. To the point that by the time the bell rang and we grabbed our stuff for the next class, and Jason asked if we wanted to meet at lunch the next day, I actually said I would.

And then I was out in the hallway, head spinning. It
was
a game, wasn't it?

If it wasn't, what the hell had I just agreed to?

Nine

ALICE

Greg and I
were in the cafeteria line, pulling foil- wrapped chicken sandwiches from under the heat lamps.

“I don't think they have the right to call these things tenders,” Greg said as he peered under the bun, his acne glowing red from the light.

“Maybe toughers?” I suggested, poking mine, which had the texture of boiled rubber.

“We should start bringing our own,” he said.

I agreed. With all the cutbacks, the food was getting steadily more budget every day. Where once we had organic tuna pita pockets, we now had peanut butter and jelly. The milks were half the size and the salad bar bins were filled with canned vegetables.

“Well, I better run,” Greg said, gathering up the contents of his meal and heading for the cashier. “I told Mr. Jenkins I'd help him in the lab. After school?”

“Catch you later,” I said, inching down the line.

When I got to the drinks cooler, I noticed Jason was talking to the red-haired lunch lady. He was leaning over the metal rail and shaking his head.

“I'm so sorry,” I heard him saying, and he sounded really upset. “Look, I'll see what I can find out, okay? Don't panic. There's got to be an answer.”

What was he sorry about? Even weirder was that he was talking to her like they were friends. She had to be fifty years old—she'd been working at HF since the beginning of time.

He pulled away from the rail just as I was sliding my tray along, so that we nearly collided. “Hey, Al,” he said.

It always took me aback when he used that nickname. Only my dad had ever called me that.

“Hey,” I said back, and we fell into step. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly we were seeing each other every day. Talking, not just in Design class, but
between
classes. Even in the coffee bar during break—in
full view
of some of his exes. Which, to be fair, included most of the girls in our grade. Social math: In set theory there's an axiom of pairing, which basically means that if
A
and
B
are sets then there's a set out there that contains both
A
and
B
. By virtue of existing, they belong together somewhere. The same could be said of Jason and the list of girls he'd hooked up with.

It was strange. He'd started to appear in my brain even when I wasn't with him. I thought about him as I showered and got dressed. And at night, when I finished my homework, I pictured him in his house, wondering what he might be doing. Which was completely crazy.

And when we talked, it wasn't just about the Mint stuff anymore. He told me all about his band and his plans to dominate iTunes someday, and I couldn't help but get caught up. I knew things about his family—his dad was still in jail, and his mom was making him go visit every week. I told him the latest about my parents, how my dad was even sneaking away on weekends now.

Now he was next to me and I felt my breath quicken. “So what was that about?” I asked, not wanting to be too nosy.

He sighed. “Dianne was just given a pink slip. Technically there's a union of service employees, and technically they shouldn't be able to just do that. But this is an extreme situation. It's so messed up.”

“And you're going to help her?”

He nodded. “I'm going to get some information from my dad's office. See if there's any way I can help.”

I'd never really seen this side of him before. “That's actually pretty thoughtful.”

“You sound surprised,” he said.

Because you act like a bimbo sometimes?
“So get this. My dad called Sheryl on the way to school today. He put her on speakerphone. They were using all of these euphemisms, like ‘low-hanging fruit' and ‘looping each other in', but it was so obvious and disgusting. He acts like I'm five years old.”

“Why don't you just talk to him?” he asked me.

“Um. Why don't you talk to your dad?” I asked back.

“Because it won't change anything.”

“Bingo,” I said.

When we talked like this, all the other stuff, all of his usual whatever-dude stuff fell away.

We sat down at the table and waited for Benny, for our official Mint job meeting to begin.

What started as a fantasy game, like D&D, had begun to seem more plausible. We were planning the smallest details, right down to our alibis and how we'd get rid of our prints. I didn't know what Benny thought, but the way Jason talked about it, it didn't seem like we were playing around anymore. It was like he needed to do this—to get back at his dad, or maybe to fix his dad's mistakes.

And me? Well, for starters, the idea that I could make something this big happen was intoxicating. I was in it for the thrill, for the idea that I could actually pull off a hack this size and prove that I wasn't some stupid kid. I'd show my dad and anyone else who doubted me.

There was only one problem: I still couldn't figure out how the heck we were going to manufacture as many coins as we needed without anyone noticing all the missing raw material after the job was done. I'd been poking at the holes in our plan for a few days now, but only in my head. It was time to bring all my doubts out into the open.

I pulled my iPad out of my bag and laid it down on the table between us.

“So what have you got?” Jason asked.

I opened up a document I'd been keeping with notes from our meetings and some of my own research. It was encrypted, of course, for safekeeping. “I think we have a good handle on how we'll get in, at least virtually.”

“Cracking into the production system?”

“Right. I've done some research and they use ManufactSure. It's an off-the-shelf product they've customized for their own needs. I ran some demos of it at home, to see how it's organized—inventory, orders, accounting, that kind of thing. Should be easy to navigate. Once we get the plug into the building, it's just a matter of monitoring, really. But . . . that's not the problem,” I said.

Benny emerged from the lunch line then, his tray filled with two chicken sandwiches, fries, three cookies, a yogurt, a banana, and four milks. Football players. The guy's calories in a single meal could support my whole household for a week.

“S'up,” he said, fitting his broad frame into the seat across from us.

“Al was just saying that there's a problem with the plan,” Jason said. Then he turned to me, his gaze intent. Those eyes. I felt something inside me flutter. “Go on.”

“Well, I've been running the calculations, and I just can't see how we could get enough money out of it. Even if we punch out quarters, it will take twenty million of them to rebuild the endowment.”

“So? The floor produces sixteen million coins a day,” Benny said. “You're worried about time?”

I nodded. “I just don't see how we can reasonably take over production for that long without someone noticing. We need to do something in an hour or so, tops. In and out. Let alone the sheer amount of metal we'd need to use up to produce that many coins.”

“Huh,” Jason said, leaning back in his seat and chewing on a straw. “Well, that
is
a problem. And kind of a big one.”

Blech. Like I said, I'd been reluctant to mention this, even though it had been days since I figured it out. “Anyone have any suggestions?”

Jason pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes as if he was reading something internally. “What if we just went for the materials? Maybe we could get enough money if we sold the metal.”

“Even if we could, you saw how huge those coils were. No way we could get them out of the building without heavy machinery.” I sighed. “Benny?”

He shook his head. “I've got nothing.”

Ordinarily, I could see all the angles around a problem and walk the solution through in my mind, but this time I could only
see the problem.

“Let's keep thinking on it,” I suggested. “There's no rush, right? That building's not going anywhere.” I'd be damned if I was going to let a little logistical issue interfere with my newfound whateveritwas with Jason.

Jason tapped his straw against the bottom of his cup. “Well, we only have until the end of the semester before the school defaults on its credit.”

A semester. In the meantime, I had a physics quiz, an AP French test, three term papers, and a calculus exam.

Jason grabbed his tray and stood up. “I guess our meeting's over. Let me know if anyone comes up with anything.”

Over? Don't say the word “over.”
“You're giving up?” I asked, my heart sinking. Maybe this had all been a fantasy after all. Maybe he never really intended to go through with it.

“No, but what's the point of sitting here if we can't figure it out? It's kind of a big problem.”

“Um, because we're friends?” The words came out before I'd really thought them through. They sounded lame. Lame and desperate.

He looked at Benny and then at me. “Yeah. Sure.” But in the weakness of his tone, I heard exactly what he was thinking—
yeah, right
—and my heart crumpled in five places. Just a few moments ago we were bonding, and now we were back to our old pre-Mint selves.
God.
I was so deluded to even let myself be attracted to him in any way. “I have stuff to do, though.”

Benny sat up straight. “Wait. I got it. Maybe a fifty cent piece?”

For the first time I wondered if Benny was thinking it was real, too. Maybe he needed our quandary to be solved as much as I did.

“They're too rare,” Jason said, still hovering over us. “We'd never be able to use them without getting caught. Unless we found a magician we could sell them to. And then he could make them disappear.”

“Isn't rare a good thing in coins?” Benny said.

“Yeah, but no one uses half-dollars,” I pointed out. “Except great-grandpas, and then they have caramels stuck to them.”

“Shoot,” Benny said. “Why doesn't the Mint print bills? We could get this thing done in a minute.”

“If only we lived in D.C. or Texas . . .” Jason said wistfully. “I mean, D.C.'s not too far.”

Benny shook his head. “No way, man. We're not gonna pull a job in the nation's capital.”

“Shop local, steal local,” I said. “Either way, we're breaking into a federal building. It's no joke.”

“Good point. Good point,” Jason agreed. “Oh well, like I said. I gotta go meet up with my band.”

“So that's it, I guess,” I said, feeling everything sink.

“I knew you guys weren't for real,” Benny muttered.

Jason looked almost pissed then. “I'm completely for real,” he said. “I always have been. I want this more than anyone. Otherwise I wouldn't have started this thing. I just don't see how it can work right now. Face it. We've hit a wall. And I'd rather give up before we have too much riding on it, you know?”

Maybe. We'd put in so much time and energy, though. It was like he had no confidence. This time his back was almost entirely toward us when Dakota Cunningham appeared in front of us.

“Hey guys,” she said. Talk about hitting a wall. When Dakota wanted something, there was no getting around her.

“What's up?” Jason said. “Did you get lost on the way to the salad bar?”

“No. I'm here to see you.” Here she looked down at me and Benny behind him. “All of you.”

“What about?” Jason asked.

“You know. This thing you're doing.”

“What thing?” Jason feigned surprised innocence, but he wasn't much of an actor. He still looked pretty damn guilty.

“Your meetings. Your plan. I want in.”

Benny gave me a look, like, is she serious?

“What is it that you think we're planning?” I asked her, testing. There was no way she could know. Unless she'd been straight-up eavesdropping.

“The Mint, okay?” she said quietly. “Stop playing dumb. I heard you talking.”

I think all of our jaws dropped simultaneously.

Silence.

“It's nothing,” I said, breaking the spell. “We're not planning anything.” Because now that was the honest-to-goodness truth.

“Then how come you're all huddled together? I
know
you're not studying. Look, don't try to fool me.”

Jason laughed, raising his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay. You got us, Cunningham. That's what we were doing. Robbing the Mint to save HF, ha ha ha.”

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't buying his blowoff. “I can find out one way or another—you know I can, Jason. So you might as well tell me about it.”

Now she had me worried. Was she going to get us into trouble? Was she going to blackmail us? I had to be careful. “If that's what we were doing, and I'm not saying it is, it would be implicating you to tell you about it,” I pointed out. “You wouldn't want to risk your precious reputation, would you? And why do you even care?”

“I have my reasons,” she said, biting a corner of her pink-glossed lower lip.

“It's impossible, anyway,” I said. “So don't worry about it.”

“What's impossible? Look, you guys, I'm pretty sure I can help out.”

“Sorry, but I don't think you could,” I said. “Even if we were planning something, I mean. We have enough people on our team. No available openings.”

For the first time in history, I was mean-girling Dakota. It was a rare opportunity. But still she stood there, clasping her bottle of water in front of her like it was some kind of offering. “I'm serious!”

“Okay, fine. The only way you could help us,” I said, knowing full well that she couldn't, “is if you can figure out how we can print enough coins in an hour to add up to fifty million dollars and use them without raising any suspicions.”

“Easy. We don't make new coins,” Dakota said, not skipping a beat. “Or at least not the ones in circulation now. We make an old coin.”