Michael raised his eyebrows, still smiling that superior grin.
The rest of the gang lingered outside. T-Man thumped on the rear window. A few impatient whistles echoed around us.
“If you keep dicking around, I will not only quit, I’ll tell your whole gang about our deal.”
He stopped smiling.
“And then I’ll beat the crap out of you. I’m not your dog, I’m not your friend, I’m not one of your little sycophants, either. So stop messing with me and stop trying to manipulate your ‘crew’ into doing it for you.”
You had to hand it to him. He kept cool. He just smiled that smile and nodded. Like there was a secret ace he held. Like he still had all the control.
“Fine,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be mad at us, or me, Iceman. But fine. Noted. In the future, avoid all body references. Anything else going to make you fly off the handle?”
I shrugged. “Wait and see. Don’t act like you couldn’t tell you were pushing it.”
“Oh no, I’d never act like that. It might piss you off.” His voice was cool with mockery.
I shook my head and stared out the window. Thought about getting out and walking to the nearest bus stop, wherever that was. Quitting like I had told myself I would.
My thumb brushed the bills in my pocket.
“Here’s what I know,” I told him. “The only reason you’d hire me for some vague ‘impression’ I can give is because you’re scared about something. And after today, I know that it sure as hell isn’t anyone at school.”
Michael’s eyes jumped to my face, like I’d surprised him.
“And if someone’s got you that scared, maybe you should tell me what exactly is going on.”
It wasn’t quite a resignation.
Michael changed before my eyes. The assured king-of-the-school front dropped. His eyebrows drew into a tense line.
“You’re right.” He scrubbed his palms on his thighs. “Hell.”
Dwight thumped the trunk. Monique sidled beside my window. Leaned back against it, sliding slowly from side to side.
“I can’t tell you. I can’t. You’re right. I . . . am scared,” Michael said. “It’s not good. But Saturday night, there’s a party. I need you to come. Maybe after that, we can be done. Maybe after that, it won’t be so bad.”
I wasn’t the one he was trying to convince.
“Sorry about the shirt.” His eyebrows quirked up in self-conscious apology. Like he was new to all this, too. “It won’t happen again. Truth.” His head bobbed once on the promise. His eyes met mine. Held.
“Fine. For now.” The keys chinked as I handed them over.
We got out of the car. Michael walked over to Cyndra and mumbled something in her ear. She nodded and corralled Monique and Samantha.
I guessed he had told them to lay off.
We walked inside.
A security guard eyed my stained shirt and crappy army jacket. He let me go on, probably because I was with the right people.
I’d never been in this mall, for obvious reasons. It was crazy—all sparkling glass and tile, chrome and high-end product ranging in every window. There were designer label shops and not a Sears or JCPenney to be found. Not a fingerprint, not a smear, not a scratch, or a speck of dirt anywhere. It took me a while to notice it, but there were no kiosks, either—you know, little stalls selling those silver skull rings and crosses, or phone covers and designer sunglasses.
When we got to the food court, I tried not to gape. There was a two-story glass water wall with water flowing down and trickling into a trough. Like even the waterfall had to be hushed in the presence of so much money. Fat clear tubes arched overhead and connected two giant aquariums. Fish lazily swam through the tubes and into the aquariums.
Like I said, I tried not to gape. I stood in front of the larger aquarium and watched the fish chase each other. You could tell they were tropical because of how bright they were.
There was an orange-and-white fish like the one in that kids’ movie and a fat, big-lipped fish with neon speckles across its entire body. Fish darted through rocks and plants, over sand and behind a bubble jet.
“So you do smile.” Cyndra leaned against the table next to me. Behind us, the rest of the group had taken over several tables in the middle of the court.
“I smile all the time.”
“No, you don’t. Not like that.” She twirled hair around a finger and took a little step closer.
“How do I smile, then?”
Cyndra glanced over her shoulder at Michael. “Like him.”
“Mr. Movie Star? Bullshit.”
Cyndra laughed and bumped against me like I’d just said something bad. Her breast brushed against my arm. “No, not like his smile looks—just like his in that it’s not sincere usually. His smiles aren’t real smiles, and neither are yours.”
“Okay.”
“It’s true. His smiles are fake—they look great, but you watch his eyes. Usually there’s something else going on.”
“Like what?”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” She frowned up at me. “Your smiles aren’t that mysterious.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. They’re really not smiles at all.”
“What are they, then?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Anger.”
I snorted. “Angry smiles? Listen to yourself.”
Cyndra shook her head. “And there one is.”
The line of my mouth went flat. I went back to watching the fish.
After a moment, Cyndra murmured, “Sorry I said anything.”
I shrugged, thinking she was going to walk away. She pulled out a chair instead. I sat down next to her and propped my elbows on the table. We stared at the tank.
“You like the fish, huh?” she asked.
“I’ve never—” I stopped myself from saying that I’d never seen anything like it. Thought of how that might sound to someone like her.
“I’ve never really looked at them,” I said instead.