Page 56 of Paging Dr. Hart
“Well, that was overdramatic, wasn’t it?” Shelly asks, watching him leave. Her voice is steady, but the hand she raises to her forehead trembles.
•••
A week later, Shelly passes me a crumpled newspaper article as we take our seats in history class. I smooth it with my palm and read the headline. “Three men arrested for parole violations.”
A picture goes along with it. My heart bottoms out when I see the all-too-familiar faces of Skull Man and his companions. It’s a mug shot, from two days ago. The men look the same with one startling difference. They’ve all been beaten. Skull Man has gotten the worst of it, sporting a split lip and two black eyes. He’s battered, but he’ll live. I can’t decide how to feel about that.
Students shuffle into the room, finding their seats and chatting with each other. Another normal day for them, but not for us. I hold the article up to Shelly and whisper one word, “Rafe?”
She nods, understanding what I’m asking. The nod turns into a shrug. “Who knows for sure, though?” Class starts. I hand the article over, and Shelly buries it deep in her backpack.
46
Past, Las Vegas, Nevada, Age 18
Rafe keeps his promise. He appears at midnight every time we leave the Strip and walks us to Shelly’s car. Sometimes he strolls quietly alongside us and other times he lurks, hanging back at a distance or magically appearing a block ahead.
His presence reassures me since I doubt anyone would approach us with Rafe as our guard, but he also puts me on edge. I haven’t forgotten the sensation of his rough lips on mine. Bubbles of nervous anticipation fizz through me whenever he’s near. Rafe’s intentions toward me remain a mystery, though. He treats me no differently than anyone else, grumpily ignoring me unless I directly address him.
When Rafe breaks his usual pattern by showing up at 10:00 p.m. instead of midnight, I know something is up. My suspicion grows even stronger when Shelly suggests the three of us get dinner at the nearby Caesars Palace food court.
Partly because it means a chance to spend more time with Rafe, I agree. Once I have my slice of greasy pizza in hand, I join Rafe and Shelly. They’ve selected a booth in the corner of the food court, isolated from the other diners.
Sliding onto the stiff, red pleather seat, I search their impassive faces. “What’s up?”
Rafe and Shelly exchange a quick glance, and I get the impression they’ve carefully planned this out. The fact that they’re talking behind my back sends a bitter pang of jealousy through me.
“Look,” starts Shelly, “it’s no secret that we all need money.”
Rafe nods, remaining silent.
My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, trying to figure out exactly where this is going. “Yeah…so?”
“So,” Shelly says, with a glance at Rafe, “we found a way to get that money. Enough that all three of us won’t have to worry again for averylong time.”
“I’m not interested.” I shove back, sitting deeper in the booth and crossing my arms over my chest.
“What?! We haven’t even told you the plan yet.” Shelly’s lips purse.
I hug myself tighter and stare at the table. “You don’t have to. I can already tell it involves breaking the law. I know you guys don’t care about school, but I do. If I get in trouble, I can kiss my chances of getting into a good college good-bye. No one is going to accept a student with a criminal record.”
Shelly reaches over to put her hand gently on my arm. She gives it a little shake. “Hey, I get it. I know what you want for your future, and I want that for you too. That’s the beauty of this plan. You won’t be doing anything illegal. Rafe and I will do the heavy lifting as far as that goes. We just need you to get us access. We’ll take care of the rest. You won’t get in trouble. Promise.”
“I don’t wantyouto get in trouble, either.” I stare at my best friend. Most of the time, Shelly doesn’t seem like she cares about her future. But I care. I picture her life five, ten years from now, and it doesn’t look good.
I’m scared for her.
“We won’t. This is going to be easy. Like taking candy from a baby.” Now Shelly pleads, “Please, Tiffany. We really need this. I know you have all those medical bills. How’re you going to pay them? How are you going to pay for college? Even if you get a scholarship, you’ll need to buy other things.”
I picture all the bills sitting on Mr. Chen’s kitchen counter. I’ve organized them into three piles. A pile that needs to be paid right away, a pile that can wait for a few months, and a pile I’ll never be able to afford unless I win the lottery. I think about those piles all the time, mentally shuffling them around. Trying to make them fit the amount of money in my bank account is like trying to balance a tower of Jenga blocks. If I pull out one piece, the rest of the tower will fall.
“Please,” Shelly says again, with her hands clasped in front of her like she’s praying. I remember this pose. It’s the one she would use to get an extrapopsicle for us in the summer. Thinking about our childhood brings a wave of nostalgia over me. How I long for those days, when my mom was healthy and being with Shelly had felt like home.
We used to have this locket. It said Best Friends on it and was shaped like a heart broken down the middle. I had one half of the necklace, and Shelly had the other half. We wore those necklaces until the cheap metal turned green from the chlorine in the pool and the chains broke. I still have my half. It’s in the bottom of my bathroom drawer. I’ll never get rid of it. I wonder if Shelly has her half, or did she throw it away once it lost its shine?
Against my better judgment, I ask, “Who’s the baby you’re planning to steal from?”
Another shared glance between Rafe and Shelly. “Johnny Stralla.”
