Kids These Days

Chapter 46: Ronan

"Let's say I hypothetically mailed you a floppy disk that might contain some sensitive information. Would you be able to leak it anonymously to the press?"

"Hypothetically," Jasper says, sounding much more awake now, "I don't do illegal stuff anymore. But, for the sake of argument, what sort of sensitive information are you talking about?"

"It's a family matter."

"Are people going to get hurt if this information gets out?"

"Not anybody who doesn't deserve it."

Jasper lets out a weary sigh. And yawns again. "Your life is so complicated."

If only he knew the half of it. "Can I trust you with this or not?"

"Of course you can trust me," he says, a touch offended. "But if I get expelled because of your family drama, you're paying for my student loans."

"Don't worry. I promise I'll take the fall for anything that happens."

"I'll see what I can do," Jasper says. Then, before I can thank him, he hangs up.

One down, two more to go. Grimacing, I dig through my pockets for another quarter and dial the last number in the world I want to be calling.

It goes straight to voicemail. That's fine. I didn't expect Jesse to get back to New York so soon, and I'd rather eat sand than talk to him again. I leave a detailed message on his landline, giving him Jasper's address, instructions on how to find and mail the floppy disk I hid in a Mad magazine in my room, and these final words: "You owe me."

I know it's a gamble trusting Jesse with something this important, but he really does owe me, and after our last conversation, I think he's a little wary of me, too.

Which leaves me with my third and final phone call.

With shaky fingers, I take a slip of folded paper out of my pocket and hold it up to the glow of the streetlight. Finn never asked me what I did with Rachel's business card after our first meeting at Dolores' trailer. I guess he assumed I threw it away, but I knew it would come in handy one day.

Before I can lose my nerve, I punch in the numbers inscribed in gold print.

My call is answered on the third ring. I wait for a voice to ask me why I'm calling, but there's only an expectant silence.

Too late to turn back now.

"Meet me at the Joshua tree at dawn," I say. "I want to make a deal."

The silence stretches on for what feels like forever. Then Rachel says, in her twangy Texan drawl, "It's a date."

I hang up the phone as quickly as I can.

My hand is still trembling as I check my watch, my whole body tense with adrenaline and exhaustion. It's around two in the morning. The sun will rise in about four hours, which means I have time to kill. Lucky me.

I doubt anything is open at this time on a Sunday, so I wheel my bike to the front of the coffee shop and lean against the window, letting the chill of the glass bleed through my t-shirt. I think of the future Rachel showed me and how narrowly I escaped it.

The night air is brisk and quiet. After a few minutes of standing and breathing in the silence, I unclip Finn's Walkman from my belt, put on the foam headphones, and press play. I feel a little guilty about stealing it from him, but his mixtape is going towards a worthy cause. The first song is "Tonight" by Iggy Pop, and I crank up the volume until it drowns out the distant hum of the highway.

Finally, I crack open the stolen bible and shine my flashlight on the inside cover. Written in spidery, time-worn cursive are a list of names, birth dates, and marriage anniversaries, including the following: