Chapter #7A Dopey Trade by: Seuzz   You gallop off in the direction that Steven went, but of course the hallways are empty, and you've no idea where he might have got off to. Cussing under your breath, you bolt for an exit, to look for Marc out on the athletic fields.
But that, as it turns out, is where you find Steven.
He's out there with Marc, on the grassy fields where the football and soccer teams practice. You sprint out to meet them, but slow up as Marc changes—out there in the open—from jeans to shorts, and only after he is jogging out to the far side of the fields do you finally join Steven, who is lightly tossing a soccer ball from one hand to the other.
Steven Buckner is one dopey-looking guy. He has a long face and dark, sleepy eyes under a heavy thatch of dark brown hair. Perched atop that thatch is some kind of pointy cap woven of hemp, probably, given that the front of his sleeveless t-shirt is illustrated with a round face with x's for eyes and a line for a mouth with a doobie wedged in the corner.
"Hey man," he calls to you in heavy voice. His eye falls to your hand. "Still got'cher book, I see."
"You wanna buy it off me?" you pant.
"Huh?"
"I'll sell it to you, my trick book, if you got a—" You mime taking a hit off a joint.
He blinks, then twists to squint at Marc when the latter shouts from the opposite side of the field. "So how's your book work?" he asks when he turns back to you.
"I dunno," you confess. "That'd be for you to figure out."
Steven mutters under his breath, and takes the book from you, flipping through the pages that do turn and squinting at the pages that don't. He ignores another shout from Marc: "What's the fucking hold up?"
"Eh, sure, whatever," Steven says with a shrug. "But if I ask you to, you gotta trade it back."
"You mean give you back your doobie? I'm putting it in a time capsule."
"What? Well, fuck that, then, I—"
"I'll buy you another one," you promise, "if you want to give the book back. I just need a thing now, to give to Mr. Walberg."
"Fuckin' waste of some good weed," he mutters as he drops to his haunches to dig in the backpack at his feet. It seems to take all his concentration to find it, but eventually he extracts a plastic bag with two joints in it, and carefully pulls out one to give you. "Thanks, man," you tell him as his cell phone rings. "You made a bargain."
Steven answers his phone as you turn to go, and as you run off you hear Marc's voice coming both on the wind and from Steven's cell: "God damn it, kick me the ball!"
* * * * *
Mr. Walberg only said one word when you gave him the joint—"Interesting"—and you ran out before he could say anything more. You call Caleb when you get home, to tell him that you slid in just under the wire with your contribution to the time capsule. "Cool," he says. "We can get it back, smoke it in celebration, when we dig the capsule up again."
"Are you still doing that?"
"Sure am. And you are too."
"Who says?"
"I am. Because you'll want that doobie back."
You tell him you're not sure you will want it back. "Then I guess I'll just take it for myself," he says, "along with my thumb drive and anything else in the capsule that looks good."
"You're not serious!"
"Maybe, maybe not. It just occurred to me. There might be some good stuff in there, and as long as I'm retrieving my own shit—"
"That's like grave robbing!"
"No one's going to know, Will." His tone is withering. "So, are you in?"
"Not for stealing anything!"
"Then you should come along if you want to stop me from stealing stuff."
You nearly choke on your own outrage.
* * * * *
Still, for twenty-four hours, approximately, you've got a sense of relative peace about your school assignment. Then, the next day at lunch, which you take out in front of the school with Carson Ioeger and his friends (because Caleb is making himself scarce for some reason), you make the mistake of bragging about what you contributed to the time capsule. "Mr. Walberg called it 'interesting'," you boast.
Carson's lip curls. "You know what's really going to be interesting, Prescott, is what happens after you write the paper he's going to assign."
"What paper?"
"The one about your contribution. What you contributed and why."
"That's a just a rumor!" you retort.
He laughs. "That's what the poor cocksuckers had to do last year! So what are you gonna say on your paper? What are you gonna tell your dad if he asks to see the paper you wrote?" He waggles his eyebrows at you. "Never mind explaining how you got the idea," he continues as you feel the blood drain from your face. "How're you gonna explain where you got the weed to give to Mr. Walberg, and how you knew where to get it?"
So you run to find Caleb the first chance you get. "Dude," you pant when you catch up to him outside his math class, "weren't you saying something about breaking into Mr. Walberg's desk to get your thumb drive out?"
"Sure. Went home at lunch to pick up the other one. Then after it's buried, I'm gonna—"
"I need to get into his desk too! I gotta get that, uh, thing out I gave him."
Caleb stares. "The fuck?"
"I just realized, I can't write a paper on that! What if my dad wants to see it?"
"Walberg already knows what you gave him! You can't steal it back, pretend you gave him something else."
"That's what you're doing!"
"I'm giving him a thumb drive, Will! He doesn't know what's on it. Yet. Which is how come I need to get it out and put the other one in." He gives you a narrow look. "You gonna help me?"
"I will if I can swap out my thing for something else!"
"Will, I told you—"
"Tomorrow! I'll help you tomorrow, after I've got something!" The bell rings. "See you later!" You scamper off, to leave Caleb to glare after you.
* * * * *
Then, to make things worse, that evening your dad asks you about that book and why it's gone from his office. When you tell him that you sold it to a guy at school, he tells you to buy it back—if you can retrieve it for less than sixty dollars.
Fortunately, you think you know how you can get it back for less.
So, the next morning, you've got a little speech rehearsed for when you go into second period. Alas, Steven isn't at his desk when you arrive, and you are sweating hard as the minute hand sweeps ever closer to the start of class without him showing up. When you have thirty seconds left, you decide he must be skipping, and grab up your bag to run out the door to look for him. You're stopped by a deep, rumbling voice from behind the teacher's desk. "Are you going somewhere, Mr. Prescott?"
Mr. Hawks is an elderly man, very sere in his looks, with close-shaved white hair, a strong nose, and the scariest glare of any teacher you've ever had. Instantly you crumple back into your desk. If only he were content with having frightened you into staying in class. But after class starts, he makes a point of calling on you first every time he asks the class a question!
So you spend the rest of the day trying to hunt Steven down through every possible mutual acquaintance, but it's not until you're on your way to the last period of the day that you spot him out by the portables, hunching cross-legged with Spencer Osbourne. Your backpack bangs between your shoulder blades as you sprint out to see him.
"Hey," you pant as you pull up to them. "You still got my book?"
Steven looks alarmed. "What are you talking about?"
"My book! The one I traded you yesterday! The one I traded for—"
"Oh, yeah." He snaps his fingers.
"Well, can we trade back? I need it back, and I can get you your—"
"Wait, what trade is this?" Spencer puts in.
"Will traded me this crazy book for a doobie," Steven says.
"What's so crazy about the book?" Spencer wants to know.
"I 'unno. I didn't even look at it."
"So you'll trade it back?" you ask. "I can get you—"
"Now hold on," Spencer tells Steven. "As your business manager, let me handle this. What was this trade, Prescott?" he demands.
You'd prefer to ignore Spencer, who in your experience has never been anything less than a malicious troublemaker, but you answer him: "I traded him this book for a doobie."
"And now you want to renege on the transaction." Spencer grins smugly at you.
"I'm not reneging! I just want to trade back!"
"Well, either you're reneging, or you are seeking a new trade."
You roll your eyes. "Fine! I'm asking for a new trade, I—!"
"Okay. So what are you offering my client in exchange for—?"
"The doobie I got from him yesterday! Jesus!"
Spencer folds his hands and offers you a plump smile. "And what else?"
Your gut sinks. "What do you mean, what else?"
"I mean, what else, in addition to the doobie, are you offering my client in exchange for this book? Which is now his?"
You stare at him. So does Steven, for a minute, before breaking out in asthmatic laughter.
"I don't have anything else! I don't even have the doobie!"
"Oh dear," says Spencer. "Oh my. Tch tch tch."
"Look, I can get the doobie! And I can get— What do you want?"
Spencer looks at Steven, then returns you a very flat smile. "I will have to consult with my client. If you come find me tomorrow in the cafeteria, before class, we can resume our negotiations."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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