Post by RebeccaJ_Allen on Jul 9, 2022 15:06:37 GMT -5
Thanks in advance for any feedback!
CHAPTER 1: 6:01 a.m. - Mason
The nerdy girl is ghosting me.
A gray sedan speeds by, reminding me that I don’t want to be standing with my shoulder propped against the school’s rough brick wall if the next car is a cop’s. Getting to Green Point High before the teachers show up screams “something sketchy’s goin’ on.”
“Where are you, Dalma Santos?” I grumble. My breath fogs the chilly air.
This was her plan. If she’s backed out, no one but me will know. She’ll keep her rep as the quiet girl who can always answer teachers’ questions. But an excellent opportunity for revenge will die a silent death.
I button the top of my denim jacket. Damn, it’s cold. Too early and too cold. But it’s the fear that Dalma’s bailed that sparks an icy chill deep in my gut.
Shrugging my backpack off my shoulder, I pull out a Monster energy drink and pop open the tab. It tastes like the color neon green with a chaser of Cherry Pop Rocks. My eyelids immediately feel lighter.
Dalma has until I finish my drink to get here, then I go looking for her.
But just then I hear a low pssst from farther down the side of the building. My boots crackle on frosted grass as I trudge forward. When I reach the first window, Dalma’s looking out at me from inside. Her lips twitch into a nervous smile.
How did she get inside the building at this hour?
“We were supposed to meet at the doors.” I don’t hide my annoyance.
She presses her lips into a thin line like she’s remembered our days as lab partners are ancient history. This deal is strictly business and she’d better hold up her end of it.
Her hands flutter as she explains. “I figured asking you to meet outside the science hall windows would raise questions.”
I down another gulp of Monster, hoping the sugar and caffeine will spin my brain up to full power. “You’re right. Questions like, ‘How’d you get in there?’ and, more importantly, ‘How do I get in?’”
“You don’t.” Dalma’s long, jet-black hair swings over her shoulder as she pushes open the window. She reaches out, her skin golden in the early morning light, to hand me what looks like a wad of cash wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. It’s thicker than necessary for this transaction.
Opening the bag, I thumb through a bunch of ones and three worn five-dollar bills. I’m usually paid with tens and twenties, but cash is cash. I drop it into my backpack.
“Your bill’s paid. Let’s circle back to how I get in.”
Dalma’s eyes are still on my bag. “You get the confetti cannons; I get them into the building. That was our deal.”
I scowl. “I had the distinct impression that you were getting us into the building.”
“How can I do that? There’s an alarm system on the doors.” Dalma bounces nervously on her toes, anxiety betrayed by her every move.