The Fourth Stall - Chris Rylander [66]
After a few minutes I buried my face in my hands and tried not to think too much about Vince. My stomach and chest hurt like I’d just drunk a huge bottle of acid.
• • •
The bike ride to Vince’s house after school was hard. And it took forever even though it was just under a few miles or so. Most likely it was because I really didn’t want to have to face Vince. Not after everything that had happened.
It seemed like I was never going to make it, but eventually I rounded the corner onto his block. I parked my bike and walked down the leaf-littered path up to Vince’s trailer. My stomach churned in anticipation as I knocked on his door. I still had no idea what even to say to him. There was so much going on inside my head that I didn’t even notice that Vince’s mom had answered.
“Christian, dear, are you okay?” she said loudly.
“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking.”
“I thought you had heat stroke. Get in here,” she demanded, and stepped aside for me. I noticed that she was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt and looked as if she hadn’t showered in days.
Vince’s mom was such a riot. She usually made me laugh. Not today, though; nothing could make me laugh today. Betrayal can do that to a person.
“Vince is in his room. He’s not feeling well today,” she said with a smile.
“Thanks,” I said, and went down the hall toward his room.
Not feeling well because stabbing his best friend in the back made him feel horrible? Probably not. He probably just ate too much during his celebration lunch with Staples.
My forced smile quickly faded as I approached Vince’s door. It was closed and his “If I don’t know why you’re here, then why are you here?” sign was hanging on the outside. I remembered giving him that sign for his ninth birthday. I walked up to the door, took a breath, tried to clear my mind, and knocked.
“Come in,” came Vince’s voice.
I opened the door and stepped inside. He smiled like nothing was wrong.
“What’s up, Mac?” he said.
“Vince, we need to talk.” I closed the door behind me.
He sat on his bed wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. His hair was sticking up everywhere as if he hadn’t left the trailer at all today, but I knew better.
“Anything you want to tell me?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes, and then smiled. “Uh, yeah, I guess about not making it to school today . . . I’d meant to call you but it was—”
“It was what?” I interrupted. “Too hard to face your best friend after stabbing him in the back?”
“Huh?” Vince said. “What are you talking about?”
“Staples. I saw pictures, Vince. You can’t deny it; you met with Staples this morning.”
“Staples? Mac, I don’t know what you’re . . .” Vince started but then stopped. His eyes glazed over with the sudden realization that he’d been caught. When he spoke again, his voice was weaker, as if he could barely get the words out. “Staples. I should have known.”
“Yeah, you should have known I’d find out! How could I not? We’re supposed to be partners,” I said. “Best friends.”
“We are partners, Mac. Business partners and friends who spy on each other, apparently. So I guess this means you had Tyrell follow me, then? Me?” Vince jabbed his finger against his chest.
He had no right to be the angry one. A fact that was only pissing me off more than I already was.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t such a bad move after all, was it?” I said. “Now where is my money?” I walked over to his closet and started to open it.
Vince pushed me out of the way, and I stumbled, catching myself on his dresser and almost knocking it over. “I told you, I gave it to my mom,” he said. “Why do you have to be so greedy all the time? You already have everything! Sometimes things are more important than your Funds. We didn’t start this business to get rich, remember—it was to help kids.”
“Me, greedy? Me? You’re the one who took it all! You stole six thousand dollars and you’re calling me greedy? ‘Gave it to your mom,