Friday Afternoon, Continued
My teammates were still scrimmaging when I left. I waved. Part of me wanted a shower, as the rain had drenched my hair and soaked my long-sleeved shirt and short-sleeved jersey down to my sports bra. My feet squished inside my cleats. I pulled my shin guards out and tossed them onto the floor of the passenger-side seat along with my cleats before pulling on a pair of flip-flops.
After I parked in front of the high school, I pulled a wool cap over my drowned-rat hair and slid a dry sweatshirt over my soccer clothes. It would get wet from the inside out, almost as if I was sweating up a storm, but hopefully I wouldn’t be inside long enough for it to matter.
It was four forty-five, just fifteen minutes before the academy was locked up for the day, according to Alex. The front door opened when I pulled on it.
So far so good. Although I kept waiting for someone to stop me and ask what I was doing at school so long after classes ended. Shouldn’t it be obvious I wasn’t supposed to be here?
I nodded at a couple of seniors I knew. They were dressed in shorts and t-shirts and carrying baseball gloves, so they must have had practice indoors. Lucky bastards. Baseball players never have to practice in rainstorms.
My shoes squeaked slightly on the ground when I turned the corner to enter the juniors’ hallway. I told myself to walk with confidence as I strode toward my locker. I just stopped one past my usual spot. Locker 454 instead of my usual 453.
I had slipped my black leather gloves on while I was still in the car. Hopefully people would assume I was just cold. That would explain the slight shake in my hands. I told the butterflies in my stomach that no one would think I was nervous.
I spun the dial of Marisa’s locker. 55-13-44. It opened easily, showing me the photos Marisa had printed of the actors she said were hot. Ugh, she had terrible taste. I laughed to myself when I realized I’d scrunched up my nose at the photos. The top shelf of her locker was almost empty. Just a small bag she kept tampons in, and an empty neon orange water bottle. Then my fingers hit a piece of plastic attached to a piece of metal toward the back of the locker. Success. Her spare house key on plastic key ring shaped like a cow.
I shut Marisa’s locker, trying to keep my cheek muscles from pulling my mouth up into a grin. One just doesn’t go around with an idiotic smile splashed across her face for no reason. Especially after committing a crime.
The keychain slid easily into my sweatshirt pocket. My fingers itched to text Alex to let him know I’d been successful. Sarah was going to flip tomorrow night when she heard about the plan.
Really, how do criminals mess up? This was so freaking easy.
“Ms. Jacobs?”
I paused when I heard my name, spoken in a low voice. I turned to see Principal Jeffries at the corner where the north and east hallways met. I’m pretty sure he uses a ruler to trim his black mustache every day.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just had to get something from my locker. Homework for English.” I motioned to the Adidas bag over my right shoulder. I’d tucked The Bell Jar, the novel we’d just started in English, inside just in case.
“If you’re not practicing with a sports team, or at a club meeting, you need to be off of school grounds.” He glanced back down the hall behind me.
“Just going now.” I forced a bright smile to cover my lips. “I’ll remember that in the future.”
“Be sure you do.” I could feel him watch me as I walked down the corridor. Another layer of cold seemed to settle over me, like the dampness of my clothes was slipping into my skin. My heart thumped in my ears as my whole body started to shiver.
I really needed to get home to change. I slipped my fingers back into my pocket and pulled out the cow keychain.
Really? A cow? Although come to think of it, Marisa’s brown eyes are flat. The same brown as Gin’s, but not nearly as lively or soulful.
A piece of Scotch tape on the back rubbed against my finger, so I turned it over. Black lettering on the back read, “Home 2873.”
I laughed, and felt a little warmer.
Marissa had written her alarm code on her house key.
Could this get any easier?