Page 23 of The Wrong Side of Kai
I lead Kai down the hallway and out the main entrance, passing the school offices where we met for the second time yesterday morning. It feels like days ago now. Would Kai have gone out of his way to find me after that party if I hadn’t conveniently been placed in front of him again? Or was I simply an opportunity that presented itself to him? I don’t know, but I’m glad I’m not doing this alone.
We step outside into the student parking lot where only a few cars remain, most likely owned by students who are stuck in detention or staying late to cram in some extra study. Chyna’s car is gone. I told her not to wait around for me, that I had some extracurricular activities that needed to be done, and she didn’t bother to ask anything more. I’m not sure if she agrees with what Kai and I are doing, so I don’t think she wants to know what we’re up to.
“Where’s the Hulk?” Kai teases as he follows me around the building.
“I told you. My vehicle’s name is the Green McRusty,” I say defensively, furrowing my brow at him. “And I rode your bike here.”
Kai abruptly comes to a halt. “Excuseme,” he says, aghast, “you didwhat?”
“Rode your bike here,” I repeat, but I keep on walking until he jogs after me. There’s another low sun today, the air crisp. My favorite weather. Cold, sunny days where you can wear sunglasses while still hugging a jacket around you.
“And what gave you the right to ridemybike to school?” Kai asks, indignant. As we move across campus in fast strides, he walks close by my side, his elbow brushing against mine. I try not to focus on it too much, because I doubt he is doing it intentionally.
“You did,” I remind him.
“I gave you my bike to use on secret missions only.”
“And aren’t we on a mission right now?” I look sideways at him. “A mission that you still haven’t told me about.”
Kai sighs, defeated. “The Warriors – who suck, for the record – have practice right now. I overheard some guys from the team talking about it in the Chemistry lab this morning. So, we know exactly where Harrison is right now, and we know that his stuff will hopefully be in an unattended locker room,” he explains.
“So, we’re going to steal his phone, and. . .?”
“Hack it,” he finishes. “Somehow.”
I like the idea of having access to Harrison’s phone, even if it only means deleting that wretched video from its source. It won’t stop the video spreading – I know everyone has the video already – but it might make me feel thatslightbit better. Maybe I could read all of Harrison’s messages and pray to find some incredibly embarrassing information about him, something I could use to humiliate him as much as he’s humiliated me. His entire life will be on that phone, every detail, from the good to the bad – and there’s so much I could do with access to it.
I take Kai around the back of the school toward the football field. I can hear the grunting and the yelling before we even see the field, and as we round the corner, I reach for Kai’s arm and gently pull him behind a car. We peer over the hood, analyzing our surroundings and our options. The Westerville North High varsity football team is out on the field, running drills and hurling footballs around. The players are distant figures, tiny from this far away.
“Sorry, I don’t know which locker rooms they use,” I say, my shrug apologetic. I’ve only ever gone to a couple of games, and only because I was begged to by the guy I was hooking up with at the time. Like Noah last fall, and Harrison this year.
“I do,” Kai says, and he points out across the field to a small building by the bleachers. “Those are the visiting team lockers. I’ve used them before. So—” he points to another building a few hundred feet directly in front of us “—that’s where we need to be heading.”
“Easy,” I say, and just like last night, I scour the area to check for any witnesses before I dash out from behind the car and sprint across the asphalt toward the locker room. Kai is close on my heels, both of us running while slightly hunched over as though it’ll make us look smaller, and therefore, less noticeable. If anyone saw us now, they’d seriously laugh.
“I think you’re starting to enjoy this,” Kai says as we slam ourselves against the wall of the locker house building, shielding ourselves behind it.
“I’m enjoying the thought of putting Harrison through hell,” I correct, but Kai is right: thisiskind of exciting. We’re in a game – us versus Harrison Boyd. The prize? The last laugh. “Please, please don’t be locked. . .” I mumble under my breath as I reach for the door, and I exhale a breath of relief when it swings open.
“Man, it would have been more badass if we had to break a window,” Kai says, slapping his thigh in disappointment. “But it’s probably better that wedon’tvandalize anything else.”
The locker house is silent and polluted with so much man-strength deodorant that I nearly choke. There’s bags and clothes scattered all over wooden benches, and shoes kicked carelessly across the floor. There’s also a lot of lockers. . . and a lot of locked combinations. Damn.
“His phone’s probably in a locker,” I state in dismay, scrutinizing the lockers for some sort of clue as to which locker belongs to who. No names, only numbers, which I assume correspond with each player’s jersey. If only I’d paid attention at the games, maybe I would know what Harrison’s jersey number is. “Well, we tried.”
“Not so fast,” Kai says. I watch him closely as he slinks around the locker room, rubbing his chin while he thinks. “What was Harrison wearing today? Did you see him?”
“Yep, he cornered me in the hallway.” I don’t mention that Harrison accused me of slashing his truck tires last night, because it’s no big deal. Harrison will most likely know that I’m behind everything that’s about to go wrong in his life over the next few days, but what can he really do about it? Nothing. That’s why it’s so satisfying. “Black jeans,” I say after a minute of consideration.
Kai grabs the nearest pair of black jeans and rummages through the pockets, pulling out a wallet. He checks the student ID inside – it’s not Harrison’s. Sighing, he tosses those jeans back onto the bench and moves on to the next pair. I join in the search, grabbing a pair from the floor and sticking my hands into the pockets. I pull out a phone and a wallet, but I don’t need to check any ID to verify that this stuff is Harrison’s – I know it’s his phone by the screensaver. A picture of his fucking truck. Weirdo.
“I found it!” I tell Kai excitedly, presenting him with the phone. It’s locked with a passcode,duh, but still. We at least have the phone in our possession, which is one step closer to cracking open Harrison Boyd’s life.
Kai dumps the jeans he’s searching through and rushes over, taking the wallet from my other hand. He pulls out a driver’s license and holds it up, grinning as we confirm that yes, we do have Harrison’s phone now. Kai slips the driving license back inside the wallet, then swipes thirty bucks, to which I raise a questioning eyebrow. “No one would steal his phone without stealing his cash too. Besides, I think we deserve some monetary compensation from him,” Kai says.
We shove the wallet back into the pocket of Harrison’s jeans and then return them to where I found them. I carry Harrison’s phone like a trophy – he stole my dignity, so I stole his phone. We’re leaving the locker room, amazed by how easy this all is, when I hear footsteps behind us.
“What are you two doing in here?” a gruff voice questions, and Kai and I freeze on the spot.
