In the tumultuous landscape of early 2000s high school, Kit Dodger, more commonly known as Dodger, navigates the corridors as a junior on the fringes of social acceptance. Behind her nondescript facade lies a clandestine operation: she runs a covert...
"Finally someone let me out of my cage / Now time for me is nothin', 'cause I'm countin' no age / Now I couldn't be there, now you shouldn't be scared /I'm good at repairs, and I'm under each snare." — Clint Eastwood, Gorillaz
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It's 4:30 on Friday afternoon. I managed to go four full days without running into Cole. Granted, I've been late to nearly every class. I have to avoid running into him in the hall, and I've eaten my lunch either in the girls' bathroom or the library mezzanine to avoid seeing him as he gets swallowed up by the Benjamin machine.
Poor Calvin. He's a social creature, and though I've repeatedly told him he doesn't need to eat lunch with me, some strange sense of displaced loyalty has kept him hiding away with me all week—including the past two days I've eaten lunch in the bathroom.
Now I sit at the large wooden desk in my bedroom, my MacBook open, a Word document titled Amber Soto Dad Script beside me, and my clear corded phone beside me.
Keith set me up with my own private landline when we moved in; something about not wanting to fight a teen girl for phone rights. He made it seem like a hassle at the time, but now I think he was trying to do something nice for me. When I had friends, it was great, though once I got a cell, it didn't matter quite as much. I used to fall asleep overnight with it up to my ear, Riley's voice on the other end.
Last year, it went virtually unused.
Today, though, I'll finally be able to put it to good use.
After ditching my afternoon classes on Monday, I spent time trying to finish the recording Amber Soto requested. She wants something to emulate a dad's voice so that when Principle Caruthers calls to speak about her dodgy attendance, her real dad won't be none the wiser. But the thing is—I can't account for every possible conversation. I don't know what Caruthers will say or ask, and I'm not an engineer.
I've wracked my brain about how to pull this deed off. I've never failed to follow through once I've agreed to a task.
Strangely enough, I have my Lily and Jax to thank for helping me find an answer.
"You ever going to explain why we've been eating lunch in the girl's bathroom?" Calvin asks as I tee up Aidan's ancient Deluxe Talkboy. The grey voice recorder sits on my desk, poised for my use. I've checked and rechecked it, putting in brand-new batteries and everything. Yet, I feel nervous. This is the most tenuous plan I've ever had.
I ignore his question and inspect the machine again, my eyes checking the clock as I anticipate Principle Caruthers' call.
"You can ignore me all you want, Dodge, but you know me—I'm like a dog with a bone. A very cute, happy, spirited dog."
He's halfway through a second strawberry Pop Tart, his Sony Ericson P900 in his hands. When I don't respond, he huffs out a sigh and dramatically flips onto his stomach. The move sends a mini shockwave across my bed, causing several pillows and my special stuffed animal to tumble to the floor.
