Read at Your Own Risk

Lethal Injection

Her last name was Valentine, a tart poison people couldn't get enough of but resented. Mine was Wood, easy to break, even easier to burn. Combined we were a lethal combination of destruction and poisoned roses, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I sat in my usual place on the other side of Principal Nixon's office. He'd pulled my enormous file from the cupboard, front and center where he could snatch it at a moment's notice. I'd managed to thin out a few pages on my frequent break-ins, but I couldn't risk him noticing.

He slapped the book onto the desk and groaned. "Wood...why aren't you in class?"

"'Cause you called me to your office, sir."

"Why weren't you in class before that?"

"Bathroom break."

"You haven't shown up since homeroom!"

"Long bathroom break. Is that all? Cause I've gotta..."

He grabbed my chair and pulled it closer to his desk. He flipped the monstrous file to the middle and scanned the notes.

"The principal of Wildwood called," he said. "Said something about their conference trophies going missing. Some kid they spotted who didn't go there. You're the number one culprit."

"Flattered. But it wasn't me."

He frowned. "You weren't in class. Trophies go missing. You want me to believe that's coincidence?"

I told her we should've pulled the fire alarm. But no, she wanted to be stealthy. Well, it was one thing to be sneaky at home or in the hallways we'd walked a thousand times. Neither of us had been to Wildwood with the exception of a couple of away games.

Still, I'd been a good lookout. Got her in and out no problem. We weren't stopped or stared at. They must've spotted me tailing her at the end?

My part had been so minimal. A mere accomplice. A simple sophomore lookout. Warn of incoming teachers and angry students on steroids. Create the small diversions that created open doorways. I looked young enough to pass off as a lost freshman.

He flipped through more pages of my file, shaking his head. He fidgeted with his cellphone on the desk.

"I know you didn't pull this off alone. I assume you and Miss Valentine—"

I laughed. "Of course I worked alone. She had nothing to do with it."

"She wasn't in class either."

"Crazy coincidence."

Of course they'd figured out it was her. Dixie and I had a reputation amongst the faculty and student body since our days at Delcoph Elementary.

It started the first day of kindergarten. When I punched Tiny Timmy Jace because he'd stolen my pencil, she chopped off Joy Jace's pigtails to distract Mr. Peewickle. In sixth grade, she buried Principle Ra's microwave on the same day I blew up his favorite World's Best Educator coffee mug. We cut the same classes. We insulted the same teachers. We spiked the punch bowl not once, but twice, at the eight grade Spring Fling. Freshman year though, when we both were involved in the Great Water War? We sealed our fate as partners in crime. They separated our classes, did everything to make sure we didn't cross paths during the school day.

That didn't stop a thing, of course. I was the planner. She was the action. If I wanted to pull the fire alarm? Dixie would set the fires. A year later, we were still trying to top ourselves.

Principal Nixon cleaned a smudge on his glasses with a balled up tissue. "You know we have to call your parents."

I slumped in my chair. Call Bill and Stephanie, sure, why not? They'd ground me, I'd sneak out if I needed something, and we'd do this little dance again.