Page 58 of Stranger Danger

Worse, what if I lose Beckett?

“Fuck’s sake, say something!”

“We can't come back from killing a cop—you understand that, right?” he asks, squeezing my thigh. I cover his one hand with both of mine and hold on to stop the trembling.

I nod.

Beckett yanks the cap off his head and tosses it into the backseat. “Okay. We'll plan it out.”

Thank.

God.

Chapter 15

Ira

I click the Next button on my school account, wincing for the billionth time in four seconds.

17%.

Yikes.

81%.

Okay. Props to me. I can still come back from—

Incomplete.

Maybe I’m a little scatterbrained, but I really don’t think I forgot an entire assignment. It’s not like I’m a National Honor Society student with a 4.4 GPA like Beckett, but I love my classes. Mostly. I’m kind-of-sort-of responsible.

Leaning forward, I shove my pillow to the side and scroll down the laptop to see the professor’s notes.

The heating map inefficiencies in the dorm are well written, Ira, but this is for a different project. Please carefully reread the prompt, guidelines, and rubric and submit the correct assignment by May 2 to receive partial credit.

I slam my head on my keyboard, groaning loudly through my teeth.

Beckett’s bed creaks as he adjusts, and I listen to the quiet sound of his fingers fly across his own keyboard. It helps to unclench my jaw and relax my spine.

The last time I peeked my head over his shoulder to see what he was doing, all I saw were blueprints. Six tabs of blueprints. Police stuff. Neighborhood stuff. He’s so in the zone that I have to drag him down to the cafeteria most nights. His six-pack of water bottles has become a six-pack of energy drinks the last two weeks.

He even forgot Horror Club yesterday.

I’m a little worried, but what am I supposed to say? You’re doing the weird thing again? Maybe we don’t kill Dave?

No.

Nope, nope, nope.

We have to kill Dave.

“Do you want to do something fun tonight?” I ask. “Like, regular fun? I can sneak into a bar with you.”

“You can’t pass for twenty-one even if you wear a trench coat.”

“What are you? Fifty? That was some old person joke.”

“Thanks,” he says dryly, laughing. “First you tell me I’m a psychopath, now you tell me I’m a grandpa.”