Page 102 of Crew
"What happened?" Cross stepped between us, grabbing my hand. "Roy said you might need help."
"We had a situation. It looks bad on the security tapes."
Cross let go. "Got it. Go." He nodded after Jordan, who was already down the hall.
"What are you going to do?"
"You tell him," Jordan said to me. "I'm going to start."
"We gotta get that tape before they see it," I explained. Cross settled next to me and moved to catch Jordan.
"What are you saying?" I could hear the secretary, Mrs. Cooke, asking as we opened the door to the office.
The security cameras were kept in a locked cupboard near her desk. No one was paid to watch them while they were rolling, so chances were good that no one would see the incident until they were notified of it. If it came down to us versus the teacher, the school would ask the other students in the classroom what had happened. They'd likely side with us. Most did. Narcs were pieces of shit. It was a universal rule.
Race sat in one seat in the office. Two other students sat across from him, a few seats down.
"I'm telling you, Marjorie," Jordan said, nodding seriously. "Call the security staff. There was a fight in one of the PE classes. I heard it myself."
"What?" She reached for her keys, fumbling through them and wheeling her chair over to the security cameras.
"You don't have time! Get the security staff." Jordan pointed down the hallway. "You know they're back there, taking their morning break. Go get them, Miss Marjorie. Get them! They need help."
Cross and I shared a look, holding back grins.
Marjorie Cooke was Mrs. Marjorie Cooke, but since his first day freshman year, Jordan had always called her Miss Marjorie. She melted every time.
Well," she said under her breath, patting her hair. She cleared her throat. "I don't know." She bit her lip, palming the keys.
"Fine." Jordan leaned back, stepping away from the desk, and shrugged. "But it's on you. Who knows who the Ryerson crew is beating up."
"Ryerson crew?!" She shot to her feet. "This is crew-related?"
"Of course it is. I wouldn't be here otherwise."
She went past me, and I stepped into her. My fingers grazed hers.
She started to snap at me, but when she saw who I was, she gave me a distracted smile. "Oh, Bren, honey. You don't look so good." Then she straightened her shirt, smoothing her collar.
"Go, Miss Marjorie!"
She gave Jordan a look before hurrying down the hallway. "You should've said this was crew-related from the beginning."
And as she hurried to the break room, I scurried behind her desk, holding her keys.
Jordan smirked down at me, folding his arms.
I found the right key and unlocked the cabinet as Jordan and Cross moved so they were blocking the view of Mrs. Cooke's desk, yet still standing casually, as if they were waiting for her to come back.
"Hurry," Jordan said.
I rewound the tape, effectively deleting our altercation. It would start recording again where I let it go, but we wouldn't be in it. After I was done, I stood up, satisfied.
"It's not totally erased."
Jordan and I looked over at Race. He had leaned forward, a set look on his face.
"You're helping again?" I asked.
