Alex stood on the ledge, fifty feet above the pavement, on the roof of Turner High. Downtown glimmered in the distance. The wind whipped past and chilled him, a sign of the winter he would never see. Legend had it that this was where David Meyer, founder of the Friends of the Crypt, had stood some thirty years ago, when his club was shattered and he was awaiting trial, his full ride to Princeton revoked and gone.
Alex was ready to follow suit, all the way down.
But unlike poor Dave, this wasn’t a rash act of despair.
It was an elegant solution.
For once, he would be the hero, not the victim. Let’s see how Charlie liked it, being saved. The shame of it.
Alex had summoned Charlie.
Come to the Roof of the school.—a.d.
Charlie would have to watch, to witness what Alex had done for him, so he could carry it with him forever. This was his idea, not the Game’s, yet it would be a legacy better than any bomb. He felt proud for the first time he could remember.
Charlie arrived, his arm wrapped tight in a torn shirt, soaked with blood. He looked at Alex in shock, as if for a moment he’d forgotten everything about the Game and jumped straight from normal life to the roof of the school, wondering, How did we end up here?