Keshawn was impressed that Neecy figured it out. Or figured out some of it. When he heard her say he was her hero, he felt both good and bad. Sure, he fixed it, but she didn’t realize that he had also created the mess in the first place. He hoped she never learned the whole story.
He would have given anything to know what had happened in Mrs. Hess’s office. All he knew was that Neecy was called to the office, came back a while later, and rumors started flying about Luther and Chance being off the basket-ball team.
After school, Keshawn tried to go to the library, but there was a sign on the door saying it was closed for maintenance. He looked in and saw Mr. Fisher and a few other men in suits at the computers. Hopefully, they were uninstalling the keystroke-tracking program.
He started to walk toward the doors by the trophy case. The cheerleaders were practicing. Neecy was dressed for practice, but she had come out of the gym and was talking to Mr. Sullivan.
Keshawn pretended to be interested in the trophies while he strained to hear their conversation. The cheerleaders were so loud that he could only hear parts of it.
“Talked to the D.C. Stars … explained what happened and what you did … every teacher in this school … Whatever it takes to help you get your grades up to … asked me to tell you … Additional scholarship for good citizenship …”
So it seemed like Neecy might be all right after all. Keshawn left the building and began walking home. As soon as he got to the end of the parking lot where Bladensburg Road met Maryland Avenue, he saw Luther and Chance. They were waiting, and he knew they were waiting for him. He was in big trouble.
He stopped dead as they walked toward him. Luther pushed him in the chest so hard he fell. He stayed down. No sense getting pushed again.
“Think you’re smart, moron?” Luther said. “You think this is gonna go away?”
“I don’t think anything,” Keshawn said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Keshawn had been burned one other time for talking when he didn’t know he was being recorded. He wasn’t going to get burned again.
“Oh, now you’re playing dumb too?” Luther said. “Well, guess what? That recording on my phone? I saved a copy of it on my computer at home. If you think this is over, you’re even dumber than you look. It’s not over till Luther Ransome says it’s over.”
Keshawn got up and dusted off the seat of his pants. “Actually, it’s over when Keshawn Connor says it’s over,” he said. “That picture you gave me on the flash drive? The one you told me to bury in Mr. Sullivan’s account? I didn’t. I buried it in your account instead. It’s on every computer you’ve touched since you gave it to me. You try anything, you touch me, you spread lies about me, then I tell the school and the cops where to look for it.”
He was lying. Totally. But he hoped Luther didn’t know that. Keshawn also hoped that the picture Luther had given him was inappropriate enough that the thought of it being on his computer accounts would keep Luther from ever messing with him again.
“You can’t do that,” Luther scoffed. “You can’t access someone else’s computer.”
“Really?” Keshawn asked. “Well, NFL2B, you better hope you’re right.”
The look on Luther’s face turned from anger to stunned horror. Keshawn knew Luther was realizing that access to Luther’s password meant Keshawn had access to his accounts. Apparently it never dawned on Luther that if Keshawn could find a way into teachers’ accounts, he could just as easily find a way into his.
The church ladies were right again, what goes around comes around.
“So this is it,” Keshawn said. “It’s over. We’re even. I know what you did, and you know what I did. We’re through. You ever try messing with me again, and I destroy you.”
“You’ll pay for this, Connor,” Luther said as he turned to walk away.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Keshawn called out.
The two thugs turned back to face him.
“I’ve left files everywhere that outline exactly what happened. Every threat. Every move. You ever touch me? There are people around town who know what to do. Anything ever happens to me? They open those files and take them straight to the cops. When I say we’re done, we’re done.”
The look in Luther’s eyes was murderous. He and Chance turned to walk away.
Keshawn reached into his pocket and turned off his cell phone so it wouldn’t record any longer. Then he headed home.
As the church ladies would say, all’s well that ends well.
Though that was actually Shakespeare.