Don't Get Caught by Kurt Dinan
For Eric, who made me a reader, and Jen, who made me a writer.
Chapter 1
Rule #1 in any quality heist film is Don’t get caught.
So I’m quiet as I slip out my bedroom window, cross the roof in the cool darkness, and drop from the garage onto the wet grass. Overhead, my parents’ lights may be off for the night, but this is a terrible idea any way you look at it. It’s stupid, irresponsible, and borderline suicidal. But I’m going anyway.
Blame every movie hero I idolize, blame Tami Cantor, blame Mr. Watson’s stupid classroom banner. Blame whomever and whatever you want. This is poor decision making at its finest. But I’m still going.
I stay to the sidewalks because lurking in shadows would only make me look suspicious. In the shadows, I’m a potential burglar, but on the sidewalk, I’m just another sixteen-year-old kid out for a walk—“on my way to a friend’s house, Officer” if I get stopped by the cops.
It’s Heist Rule #2: Be cool.
Like, bank vault combination changed at the last minute? Be cool.
Someone on your crew double-crosses you? Be cool.
Security guards show up unexpectedly? Be cool.
It works for Vin Diesel stealing cars in The Fast and the Furious. It works for George Clooney robbing casinos in Ocean’s Eleven. It works for Timothy Hutton on Leverage. Even John Travolta, back before he got all bloated, played it cool when the Russian mob wanted him dead in a movie called—wait for it—Be Cool.
So if it works for them, it has to work for me, right? You might as well just go ahead and add me to the list—Vin Diesel, George Clooney, Timothy Hutton, prebloat John Travolta, and Max Cobb: cool personified.
The only problem is “cool” and “Max Cobb” go together about as well as sharp knives and dull minds.
It’s more like, three-day weekend coming up? Sit at home watching movies with my parents.
Score in the forty-ninth percentile on the ACT three times running? Scream into my pillow until I’m hoarse.
Be best known for passing out in front of the class in ninth grade? Contemplate fashioning the bedsheet into a Snoopy-themed noose.
Screw those people who say, “Be yourself.” Being myself has only gotten me a stupid, boring life. So for once, I’m doing the opposite. Tonight, there’s no Max Cobb or, as Tami Cantor called me, Just Max. As in “Oh, don’t worry about him, that’s just Max.”
No, tonight I’m Not Max, which means keeping cool. I refuse to play it safe and turn back like Just Max begs me to. Instead, Not Max keeps a steady pace, forcing himself not to flinch at every passing car, his heart quickening when the lights of Asheville High School appear in the distance.
AHS is an ancient building that was constructed about the time Pangaea split to form the continents. If it weren’t for the soccer, baseball, and football fields nearby, you’d think you were looking at a decaying mental institution, which I suppose all schools are in a way. My destination’s the water tower sitting on the edge of school property. With its massive rusting legs stretching into the night sky, the tower’s Asheville High—Home of the Golden Eagles can be seen by the entire town. I’m halfway across the soccer field, walking in the weird gray light of the full moon, when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
“Max?”
My heart almost explodes through my chest. It’s a girl’s voice, but I can’t see whose.
“Max? Is that you?”
She’s coming toward me now.
Screw Be cool.
I sprint away, running with no clear destination. I need gone, away from this stupid decision before something bad happens.
Not Max…what the hell was I thinking?
After only twenty feet, I’m panting like a two-pack-a-day smoker. I might as well be running in thick mud. So of course, slow ass that I am, whoever she is catches me. And not just catches me, but tackles me from behind, driving me to the soccer turf. Then I’m flipped over, flat on my back, and looking up into the face of Ellie Wick from my Introduction to Philosophy class. She’s straddling my chest with her black spandex yoga pants and grinning as big as the moon.
“Hey, Max! You got an invitation too?” she says. “Isn’t this awesome?”
Heist Rule #3: If questioned, be evasive.
“Invitation?”
Ellie’s face pinches. “Maxwell Cobb, you know darn well why you’re out here. It’s the same reason I am.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was just out for a walk.”
Ellie pins my arms to the ground. She’s freakishly strong for someone so small. “Here, I’ll help you,” she says. “Repeat after me. Say, ‘I’m here because of the Chaos Club, Ellie.’ I’m not letting you up until you admit it.”