Don't Get Caught (19 page)

“Oh my gosh, that was so fun!”

“It went okay?”

“Perfect.”

“How’s the light in there? Can you see anything?”

“Don’t worry,” Ellie says. “It should be bright enough.”

“And Wheeler?”

“He’s fine. Going a bit stir-crazy, but fine.”

Since rendezvousing with Boyd nine hours ago, before the statue’s delivery, Wheeler’s been hiding in the secret compartment in the newly constructed base of the statue. If Wheeler wasn’t claustrophobic before, he sure as hell is now.

“Sue me,” Wheeler said when defending his wanting a simple job for the caper. “I helped edit the documentary and hacked the sound system. You guys are finished on Friday, but I have summer school starting Monday and that comes with a boatload of assignments due on the first day.”

So yeah, Wheeler’s been folded up in the statue’s base like a contortionist, reading and working by flashlight. Or, more likely, he’s on H8box posting the whole night for millions to follow.

Now with Stranko and Hale gone, the real waiting begins. For the next twenty minutes, Ellie, Kate, and I sit hidden, watching the parking lot and statue for any sign of the Chaos Club.

Nothing.

“Be patient,” Ellie says. “They’ll be here.”

I wish I were as optimistic. The plan’s founded on the assumption that the Chaos Club was here to witness Stranko’s and Hale’s exits, followed by Ellie’s assault on the statue. With the coast clear, we’re hoping they’ll make their move. Now, at 9:45, there’s no one, leaving me feeling like a major dumb ass.

Then my phone vibrates in my hand.

Adleta: Movement on south side.

Ellie’s squints into the darkness.

“There,” she says.

“I can’t see anything.”

“Me either,” Malone says.

Ellie grabs my head and points.

“
There.
”

I strain my eyes and am unable to see anything at first. Then I see them. They’re almost impossible to spot, skulking along the building in the shadows, but there they are, two people with backpacks.

“What do you have? Bionic eyes or something?”

“No, silly. Cats have great night vision.”

We watch the two intruders as they slowly creep to the statue. At this distance, they appear to be roughly the same size as my two kidnappers from the baseball field. The dark makes it impossible to see their faces.

“What if they’re wearing masks again?” I say.

“Shut up,” Malone says.

“Yeah, shut up,” Ellie says. “This is going to work.”

They’re right. I see that now. Everything has worked out exactly as planned, minus Malone’s twisted ankle. Once the Chaos Club enters the security curtain, it’s over for them. And they’re less than a minute away. Even when I drew up the plans, I realistically understood it was a long shot. Something would go wrong. Like Stranko wouldn’t follow the text bait. Or Hale would call for backup instead of going to his car. But no, it’s working. Hell, wrong verb tense. It’s worked. We’ve done it.

Then—

“Oh no,” Malone says.

“What?”

And this time it’s Malone who grabs my head and points me toward the front of the building to the person standing there.

Stranko.

• • •

Shit.

Double shit.

Triple shit.

The three of us remain frozen, like somehow Stranko will spot us through the camouflage of the trees. He surveys the parking lot with his hands on his hips like a pissed-off drill sergeant. The two Chaos Club members hug the ground along the side of the building, no doubt trying not to vomit.

Ellie speaks barely above a whisper, saying, “He must’ve Hulked-out or something.”

“Adleta said the door was messed up,” I say and take out my phone. “We need to get Wheeler out of there before he gets caught. Stranko has to have called the cops. We have to abort.”

“No way,” Malone says. “You know what you have to do.”

Oh man.

Heist Rule #21:
Always have a backup plan.

That’s the one drawback of being the heist team leader. You not only have to memorize everyone’s roles, but you have to be able to perform them as well. And that includes the backup plan roles too, unfortunately.

“I can’t do it,” I say.

“Oh, you can do it, and you will, Maxwell Cobb,” Ellie says. “Now hurry up.”

She helps Kate up, and after a quick wardrobe switch with Malone, I’m ready.

“Here, don’t forget my mask,” Malone says.

“Good luck, Mongoose,” Ellie says. “You’ll be great.”

Or paralyzed for life. One of the two.

I step out of the trees and hustle across the parking lot, past booths and rides, toward the lawn and statue. I force myself to keep walking so I don’t wuss out. Stranko’s away from the building now and approaching the statue when he spots me.

Stranko stops.

I stop.

Fifty yards separate us.

Does he know who he’s looking at?

I take a single step back.

Stranko leans forward.

I take two more away.

“Stop!” Stranko shouts.

Three more steps back now.

“I said stop!”

He’s coming at me now, moving fast, and I backpedal, but slowly. It’s only when Stranko is within thirty yards that I race off. He breaks into a sprint, and I run for my life to the water tower, leading him away from the statue. I sprint around the back of the security fence and crash through the gate. Thanks to Ellie’s key, the ladder guard is open. There’s no time to think or second-guess myself. There’s only time to climb.

I monkey my way up the ladder. I’m a third of the way up when I feel it shake. I don’t have to look behind me to know Stranko’s following me. I speed up, and my left foot slips off the rung.
This
is exactly why I hate ladders. The only good news is if I fall, I’ll probably crash into Stranko and take him with me.

I hear a loud bang from below and look down. Ellie and Malone stand at the base of the ladder, and Malone’s putting a lock onto the ladder guard that’s just been slammed shut.

Now I’m officially screwed.

I climb onto the metal grating at the top of the tower. The spotlight shining on the tower half blinds me, but I can see I only have about fifteen seconds before Stranko’s here. I inch along the rail and find what I’m looking for.

There it is, the clip Malone prepared earlier.

I’m fumbling with my waist when Stranko’s head appears.

“Get over here,” he says.

I throw one leg over the railing, then the other, until I’m leaning back over the edge. I grip the metal so hard my fingers might break. Even with all the time spent working with Malone this week when she wasn’t at Boyd’s, I still am nowhere ready for this.

“What are you doing?” Stranko says, panicked. “Stop.”

“Do it, Mongoose!” Ellie shouts from below.

And I do, letting go of the rail and free-falling to my death.

• • •

Stranko shouts in horror from the top of the tower.

I want to join him, but Heist Rule #2:
Be cool
sort of prohibits screaming.

Instead, I squeeze the handbrake on the rope that has me tethered to the water tower. My falling slows just enough that I don’t feel out of control. I use the rappelling tricks Malone has taught me and descend quickly. I even open my eyes once or twice.

Ellie and Malone are waiting for me when I reach the ground. Both of them hug me simultaneously, and I have a terribly dirty thought I’ll no doubt revisit tonight when I have some privacy.

“That was amazing!” Ellie says.

“Yeah, you were great,” Malone says. “Terrible form, but you didn’t die. That’s all that matters.”

At the top of the water tower, Stranko grips the railing, glaring at us. I don’t know if he can see us, but at the moment, I don’t care.

“You stay there,” Stranko yells back.

The three of us hurry through the security gate and around the corner, out of Stranko’s line of sight, just in case he really can see this far down. Malone’s moving the fastest of all of us.

“Wait, I thought you hurt your ankle,” I say.

She and Ellie start laughing.

“I lied,” Malone says. “We just wanted to see you go up and down the tower if it came to that.”

“I could’ve been killed!”

“But you weren’t, so shut up.”

This has to be why most heist crews don’t have many girls on them.

Stranko continues yelling from the top of the tower, his voice echoing across the parking lot. Minus Ellie’s quick kiss back in the trees minutes ago, it’s the highlight of my entire school year.

“What should we do now?” Malone asks.

I look toward the statue, wondering if the Chaos Club made their move and if we missed it.

“I guess we need to find out from Wheeler if—”

The next two things happen simultaneously.

1. My phone vibrates with a message from Adleta:
They
split.

2. And in the distance, an approaching police siren wails.

The three of us exchange panicked looks, and this time, I don’t text. I call Wheeler directly.

He answers on the first ring.

“The Chaos Club hasn’t showed up yet.”

“Get out of there,” I say. “The cops are coming.”

“But—”

“I said get out. It’s over. We failed.”

Life sucks.

At noon the next day, I’m still in bed with the shades drawn. Since sneaking back in last night, I’ve barely moved or spoken, and if I have it my way, I won’t until I’m thirty. Unfortunately, Mom won’t shut up about me going with them to the Asheville Celebration.

“Are you sure?” she says. “From what I saw driving by this morning, it looks like a great time.”

And return to the scene of my greatest failure? Why would I do that? Did the guy who captained the
Titanic
ever sail another ship? Of course not. Okay, so yeah, he was among the fifteen hundred plus who drowned that night, but if he’d lived he wouldn’t have stepped foot on another boat. Shit, I doubt he’d even want ice in his drink ever again. Failing sucks that much.

“I’ll be okay,” I say to Mom. “You guys go. I just want to sleep.”

That’s me—Max Cobb, sore loser.

Of course, Ellie, who pulls up out front ten minutes later, proves to be more of a motivator than Mom.

“Oh, you’re going,” she says on the phone. “Get out here.”

“I don’t want to. Why should I?”

“Two reasons. Number one, I look supercute today. And number two, if you don’t go, Wheeler said he’ll help me ruin your life on H8box.”

“How will you do that?”

“Let’s just say whatever I do will guarantee you never get any action with the opposite sex ever again.”

“Ever again? I haven’t had
any
action.”

“And you won’t for your entire life unless you get out here. So stop being a sourpuss and let’s go.”

The transformation the school property has undergone since last night is amazing. The once-empty booths are now filled with local food vendors, stuffed animals likely made in Thai sweatshops, and students from clubs like National Honor Society who will paint your face for a dollar. The rides are up and running, the two most popular being a Ferris wheel–like contraption with flipping cages that’s pretty much guaranteed to make you puke (no ipecac required) and the Scrambler, which looks like it was designed by chiropractors hoping to induce whiplash.

Ellie and I stand near the front of the stage with the growing crowd. My parents are around here somewhere, which doesn’t matter anymore now that we have zero chance of exposing the Chaos Club in public. We spot a few teachers around, and like always, it’s weird seeing them out of the classroom. Seeing them in shorts is even weirder—even wrong in Watson’s case, with his aqua-blue shorts, sandals, and pasty legs. I love the guy, but, man, there ought to be a law.

“I can’t believe how many people are here,” I tell Ellie. “There have to be a couple thousand.”

“The goal’s five thousand over the course of the day,” Ellie says.

“Yeah, and just imagine the show we could’ve given them.”

“Oh, cheer up. What’s done is done. Besides, in a few minutes, I’ll be on stage and you can ogle me with the rest of the men in Asheville.”

At least there’s that.

From where we stand, we have a clear sightline to Malone at the LGBT booth, where they have a long line of people waiting to get rainbow braids in their hair. Malone’s with some of her friends from the art department wearing orange “Some People Are Gay, Get Over It” T-shirts. She waves to us, not looking at all like someone who was part of a failed operation last night.

“So is Malone gay?” I say to Ellie.

“I don’t think so. She’s just very pro-people. Why? Would it matter?”

“Of course not.”

“Right answer,” Ellie says.

Nearby, two cameramen shoot footage of the crowd while another has her camera trained on the statue or, more accurately, the curtained tower hiding the statue.

Oh, what might have been.

Or still could be.

Because here’s the thing, my prank is still set up and ready to go. I don’t see the point though, especially since the Chaos Club didn’t vandalize the statue as expected. Finishing my prank now would not only get the five of us in übertrouble but would also leave Boyd with a lot of explaining to do.

At two o’clock, the town dignitaries make their way through the crowd and take the stage. Most of them I don’t recognize, but Mrs. B’s up there, wearing a bright-blue dress and looking like she’s had her hair done for the occasion. Stranko is in an Asheville button-up but is probably dying to get into the yellow-and-black Asheville lacrosse shirt he always wears while coaching. Tonight’s the state semifinal, and he has to view this public relations event as a massive inconvenience. Not as inconvenient as being trapped on the water tower, but I doubt much trumps that. I wonder how long he was trapped on the tower. Hours, I hope.

Once everyone is in place, Mayor Hite comes to the front of the stage and taps the microphone.

“Hello, everyone!” she says. “I’d like to welcome all of you to the first annual Celebrate Asheville Festival!”

People applaud, and I roll my eyes. What are they applauding? The festival itself? The mayor? Themselves for showing up? And before you say it, yes, I’m bitter. Sue me.

Mayor Hite drones on about how wonderful Asheville is, what a wonderful history it has, blah, blah, blah. It might as well be a campaign speech. Get to the statue already and put me out of my misery. She welcomes a kids’ choir from the elementary school to the stage, and they sing a couple songs that has the crowd aww-ing their heads off. Stranko is smiling behind them, but like all his smiles, it’s forced. Off to the side of the stage, Officer Hale is in full security-guard gear. I was hoping Hale had to gnaw off some fingers to survive in the back of his cruiser, but all ten are there. Life’s just one disappointment after another.

Once the kids finish singing, Mayor Hite calls Mrs. B to come stand beside her. The mayor puts an arm around Mrs. B and says, “The humble person she is, Mrs. Barber has asked I keep this short. As most of you may have heard, Mrs. Barber just completed her fortieth year in the Asheville school district. That’s twenty-two years in the classroom and eighteen as an administrator. Any celebration of Asheville wouldn’t be complete without a few words from one of its most dedicated and beloved servants.”

More applause—aren’t people’s palms getting numb?—and Mrs. B smiles and waves, waiting for the noise to die down. Then she starts thanking people for coming, and that’s when I stop paying attention and instead scan the crowd, wondering if the Chaos Club is nearby. It’s frustrating, thinking they’re possibly within spitting distance, probably laughing at me at this very minute. One of these days, I’ll learn to be strong in defeat, but today is not that day.

Mrs. B tells a quick anecdote about her first day as a teacher at AHS and talks about all the fantastic people she’s had the pleasure of teaching and working with. It’s a nice, short speech that she ends by saying, “And with all of you here, I’d like to announce that next year will be my last as principal.”

Even my mouth drops at that.

“Forty years is a long time, and I’d like to retire while I still have the energy and health to do some traveling. It’s time someone else takes over and leads this school and these wonderful students.”

I immediately look to Stranko, who’s as stunned as the rest of us. I’d have thought he’d be doing backflips at Mrs. B announced retirement. Instead, he’s slack jawed. When the applause begins, it takes him a few seconds to join in, and even then it’s halfhearted.

“Now enough about me,” Mrs. B says. “Before we unveil the renovated statue, we’d like to show you a fantastic short documentary about our beloved Zippy made by one of our students, Ellie Wick.”

Mrs. B motions to Ellie, who squeezes my arm before stepping onto the stage and waving. She looks great up there, and as instructed, I ogle appropriately. Ellie then motions to a table off to the side, and unexpectedly, there’s Wheeler, sitting with one of his stage crew friends at the soundboard. I guess with everything going to shit last night, he still wants a good seat in the house for the unveiling.

Ellie’s documentary is shown on the screen behind the stage, and the speakers on both sides boom the sound. Ellie and Wheeler did a private screening for all of us when it was completed. Coming in at just over seven minutes, the film interviews the widow of the eagle’s creator, Gregor Hitchens, about the statue’s production and gives a detailed travelogue of the various display sites the eagle had before the school was chosen as its permanent location. The video ends with a montage of different Asheville citizens, from the mayor to a local sportscaster to Mrs. B herself, all saying, “We love Zippy!”

We’re nearing the start of this montage when I sense movement behind me. Someone’s so close I can hear breathing, and I turn, expecting to see some dope crowding me for a better view of the movie. But no, it’s not just any random dope.

It’s Jeff Benz and Becca Yancey.

And unlike everyone else, they’re not looking at the movie.

They’re looking at me.

My body goes cold.

“Hi, Max,” Becca says. “Can we ask you a question?”

“Um, sure.”

Benz leans in with a professional-grade shit-eating grin.

“What’s it like to fail?”

• • •

My brain tries to wrap itself around the revelation, looking for clues in the school year that I should’ve picked up on or some forgotten history with either of these two that would have led to the water tower setup, but there’s nothing.

Benz says, “I mean, you, or whoever, makes that announcement at the assembly, promising to expose us, and now here we are at the celebration, and you can’t deliver. That either makes you a failure or a liar. Which is it?”

Becca gives Benz a little shove.

“Knock it off,” she says. “Max is a good guy.”

“A good guy you got suspended,” I say.

“We gave you a choice,” Benz says. “Remember that.”

The anger I feel is a different, deeper kind of anger—an
I would blow up the world if I could
anger. I’ve waited nine months to discover who was in the Chaos Club, focused an unhealthy amount of time and thought on the question, and now that I know the answer, I really just want to see the world burn—with Benz as kindling and Becca as the match.

“Why are you revealing yourself to me now?” I say.

“Because it’s over,” Becca says. “You can’t pin anything we’ve done on us.”

“You don’t mess with the Chaos Club, Max,” Benz adds. “We’re too smart to get caught. Why do you think we’ve lasted this long?”

“Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Jeff graduates tomorrow, and I’m moving next month,” Becca says. “He didn’t want to tell you, just have it be a mystery you go your entire life without solving, but I thought we should put you out of your misery.”

“Wow, thanks. That’s really kind of you.”

“No, it’s us who should be thanking you for getting Stranko and Hale out of our way,” Benz says. “If you hadn’t, we couldn’t have pulled our final prank. But I have to say, I’m a little disappointed in you. You went to those lengths to clear them out, and the best you could do, or whoever that was who cut the curtain, is to drape a ‘Chaos Club Sucks’ sign over Zippy? That’s pretty embarrassing, man. But don’t worry, we took yours down and did a prank a bit more memorable for the day.”

“But you didn’t pull your prank,” I say.

“Exactly what world do you live in, Max?” Becca says.

Loud applause erupts from the crowd as
The End
appears on the video screen. Mrs. B pushes Ellie to the front of the stage for a bow, then returns to the microphone.

“No one except our local resident artist and former Asheville High graduate Boyd Phillips has seen the Zippy statue in four months—”

“Not true,” Benz whispers, laughing.

“—so without further delay, let’s welcome back Zippy, the Asheville Eagle!”

All eyes turn toward the curtains. The media moves in, their cameras ready for the unveiling. Mrs. B pulls a ceremonial rope on stage, and all four curtains hiding the statue simultaneously drop.

It’s pretty much one giant, collective gasp from the crowd after that.

Me included.

Parents cover their children’s faces and cameras start snapping pictures. Heads turn from the statue to Stranko and back again, laughing harder and harder by the second.

Why?

Because straddling Zippy’s back is a naked and anatomically correct mannequin with Stranko’s face superimposed on its head. Fake-Stranko’s wearing a red-lettered Chaos Club cape and grips Zippy’s soaring wings like something out of a dumb kids movie. If I weren’t so busy wondering how Becca and Benz pulled it off, I’d probably be impressed.

“Just in case you didn’t know,” Benz says, “that’s what’s called writing your name in the wet cement of the universe.”

“And to think you could’ve been a part of this, Max,” Becca says. “It would’ve saved a lot of hassle.”

I have regrets, yeah, but not joining the Chaos Club isn’t one of them. What I do regret is that this fell apart, because right now, at this very moment, is when we were going to reveal who they were. And now that’s not going to happen. I regret not getting to see the looks on their faces the moment they realized they’d been tricked, when all eyes in the crowd fell on them once people discovered the Chaos Club members were right here—and best of all, when Stranko came to take them away. Missing all of that is what I regret. So much potential unrealized. It’s enough to make a sixteen-year-old boy tear up like a little girl.

Then a voice thunders from the speakers.

“Citizens of Asheville, this is Captain Calamity!”

• • •

Stranko and the others on stage look to Wheeler and his friend at the soundboard, but both are pantomiming confusion, frantically twisting knobs and flicking switches like they have no control over what’s happening.

“For too long, this school has been the victim of the evil Chaos Club. Today, their reign of terror comes to an end. Please direct your attention to the movie screen.”

Without anyone at the soundboard doing anything, the documentary picks up where it left off, with
The End
on the screen. Those words then fade.

Last Night.

“What’s this shit, Max?”