stuff,â he said. âI borrowed it from their snack cart. Youknow, the one with the cookies and big Kool-Aid jugs that shows up for the kids.â
âYeah,â I said.
âI guess you canât really say weâre borrowing this Kool-Aid,â Riley said. âI mean, they probably wouldnât want it back when weâre through with it. Or when it gets through us.â
âYeah,â I said, finally drinking some Kool-Aid from my own water bottle.
âWhatâs the matter?â Riley asked. âI just made a joke.â
I drank in silence.
âDid Samantha turn you down?â he continued. There was a high school dance coming up. Iâd made the mistake yesterday of mentioning to Riley that Iâd like to take Sam to it.
âDidnât ask her,â I said. At least I hadnât asked her about the dance. After tracking her down, Iâd told her about the window. Then I had worked up enough courage to ask her why her brother was in danger. Sheâd gotten angry and told me to mind my own business.
âYouâve got to go for it,â Riley said. âOnly two weeks until the dance.â
I turned a corner and headed past the Chinatown gate toward the Burnside Bridge.
âShe might say no,â I said. My mind, though, was on Earl Chadley, director of Youth Works. Riley and I had met him only briefly. He had introduced himself to us on our second visit and thanked us for our help with a big smile that didnât seem real.
Earl Chadley was a skinny man with long hair that he flipped back while he was speaking. He wore sandals and blue jeans and a ratty old shirt, which might have been cool if he were twenty instead of closer to fifty.
Why was he threatening Samantha Blair with something as serious as killing her brother? What secret did she know that she was supposed to keep hidden? What were the questions she wasnât supposed to ask?
âHey, Watson, snap out of it,â Riley said, âI was telling you something.â
âSure,â I said. âWhat?â
âItâs advice,â Riley said. âThe only way you get anywhere in life is by taking chances.â
âSure,â I said.
He snapped his fingers. âItâs the window, right? Youâre bummed out about that. I already told you, Iâll pay for half the damage.â
âDonât worry about it,â I said. My mind was still on Samantha and the weird conversation I had overheard. âThere are a lot worse things in life than broken windows.â
chapter nine
I found myself yawning as we skated our warm-up patterns to begin the practice.
I moved past a bunch of guys leaning and stretching from side to side to loosen up. I put on a burst of speed and caught up to Riley.
âI think it was a dumb idea to play street hockey before practice,â I said, cruising beside him. âMy legs feel like wooden stilts.â
Riley didnât answer.
âHey, Goofball! Didnât you hear me?â
He turned his face toward me. A strangefrown crunched his face into a look of worry.
âYou all right?â I asked.
He stumbled; then he caught his balance. âI donât know.â
He stumbled again.
Now panic crossed his face.
âTyler!â I heard fear in his voice.
Someone fired a pass in our direction. The puck bounced off his skates.
âTyler!â
âIâm right beside you,â I said. The fear in his voice scared me too.
âSkate closer,â he said. âLet me grab your arm.â
I moved tight beside him. With his hockey glove still on, he pulled at my sweater.
âGet me to the playersâ bench,â he said. âMove slow, so it looks like weâre talking about stuff.â
âI donât get it,â I said.
âJust do it, all right?â
Guys skated past us. Some were moving at full speed, getting ready for the regular skating drills that Coach Estleman used to keep
Learning to Kill: Stories