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I wasn’t ready to go back to the van, to run away and admit defeat. I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself.

I crossed the street, purposely avoiding to turn and head back to where we had parked. I continued straight, walking into an alleyway between a barber shop and a produce market.

I turned on my heels, and turned back, pacing up and down the alley. Couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t cool off.

Fuming.

“Wendy.”

Humiliated wouldn’t even begin to describe this feeling. I was toyed with, made a fool, strung along, all as a part of their scheme. I had no idea or hint that I was being set up.

Anger. That was the most direct and apt description. The most present emotion. The one that was closest to the surface and ran the most deep. I was angry. Angry at them, angry at myself.

“Wendy.”

I tried, I tried to think back to the events that had just transpired, trying to find any tell or slip in their words or actions that could have clued me in to what they were doing. I tried. But the more I tried, the more my anger muddled with my recollection of what just happened. The details were fuzzy, the images were swirling, and an intense desire to see and taste red fueled my mind to want-

“Wendy!”

I wheeled around.

“What?” I asked, eyes wide, voice strained.

D was staring at me, her expression was of obvious concern. Eyebrows furrowed, lip curled slightly, hands down in front of her skirt, fingers entwined.

“You’ve got to-”

She stopped, reconsidering.

“I was going to tell you to calm down, but that would only make you more mad.”

I opened my mouth, about to yell or say something, but I reconsidered. In a roundabout way, D was telling me to calm down, but the oblique way she went about doing it gave me an extra second to put more thought into what she was saying, and where my focus should be.

I calmed down.

“I’m not mad,” I said, sounding anything but. My shoulders were still square, my breathing heavy, my eyes darting between D and the recycling bin she was standing next to.

D spoke, her voice flat. “Way to convince me, Wendy.”

I made a guttural sound, somewhere between a grunt and a groan. I forced myself to stand straighter, rolling my shoulders, taking in deeper, more relaxing breaths.

I started pacing again.

“Sorry. It’s just, fuck, I wasn’t expecting that. At all.”

“I understand that, and it surprised me, too, but you can’t let it get to you like this.”

“I’m trying,” I said, knowing that I wasn’t trying hard enough. I failed then, and I was failing now.

“Try harder.”

“I…”

I closed my mouth.

I tried harder.

My glasses, I felt them slipping more down my nose. I took them off, and noticed how heated, how sweaty, I had gotten. I rolled up a sleeve, and rubbed the bridge of my nose with my arm.

I put my glasses back on, fixing them in place. When I could focus on my vision again, I checked for D. I couldn’t find her.

“D?” I asked, calling out. There was a slight echo.

“Still here.”

I turned around.

There she was. She’d hadn’t moved or budged. I must have started pacing without me realizing.

“Better?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Not better, but I’m dealing.”

D raised an eyebrow.

“I will try to deal with it.”

“That’s better,” D said.

I gave myself a second to breathe. Trying, like I promised.

I ran my fingers through my hair, putting both hands into my jacket pocket after I was done. I breathed, using it as an exercise to relax.

D was still staring at me, and I was able to stare back, without my emotions pulling my attention away.

“I’m back,” I said.

“Good to have you,” D responded, nodding. “Now we can properly talk about this, and figure out where we go from here.”

I nodded back. “I just, I feel like an idiot, for not seeing that coming. I walked right into their little game, and I didn’t even make it hard for them. I didn’t trip them up, I didn’t force them to take another approach. I just… walked.”

Another branch in the conversation, another detour. I was ranting.

But, D didn’t respond, verbal or otherwise. She was just letting me talk. Vent.

If she was going to let me continue, I’d continue.

“I hate not being in control. I hate not knowing, being in the dark. I hate being blind. I-”

I was running out of things to say, and I didn’t want to keep repeating myself.

That underlying feeling was still there, though. That anger, directed out and back towards me. That hatred.

I shut my mouth, conceding to D. Getting it all out was one thing, but I wasn’t going to waste her time with a therapy session.

D took a careful step closer, fingers still together. She was smiling, but it wasn’t that knowing, sly sneer that was I so used to. It was apologetic. It was sympathetic.

It was strange.

“I hate it too,” she said. “Knowing means having control, and there’s so many ways you can play with that. And, and I’m speaking for myself, but not having that control means I’m back to being just another kid. And that sucks.”

I chuckled a bit. “It does.”

“It really sucks.”

“Okay,” I said. I pulled a hand it out my pocket, fixing my glasses one more time. “Now I’m back. Let’s talk about this, properly.”

D smiled. “Let’s.”

“The Thunders and the Royals. Whatever beef they had, it’s gone now, it’s settled. And they have a pact to stick together against any potential threat.”

“Like us.”

“Potentially. You picked those two since you thought you could twist that against them.”

“That’s the knowing I was talking about, and that’s how I wanted to play them. This new bit, however, is just that. It’s news to me.”

This was review, but I needed it. To get another look at the details to better understand a situation, it would help in getting my mind in the proper place.

And now that I had a better understanding, I knew what had to be done.

“I still want to do this,” I said.

D looked surprised to hear that.

“You do?”

I gave her a singular, slow, measured nod.

“EZ and Krown. I still want to take them down. I think it can be done, I won’t turn this into a complete loss.”

“I’m not saying it’s impossible, or this is a lost cause, but it has gotten more difficult. More… complicated.”

“This was never going to be easy,” I said.

D’s smile changed to one I was more familiar with. “Easy would be boring.”

I removed my hands from my pockets, and I folded my arms.

D spoke as I got my thoughts together. “If this revelation is as new and as sudden as I think it is, then I don’t believe for a second that they’re all buddy-buddy. You just don’t forget the past, people aren’t wired like that. Whatever happened between them still happened. And if we can find out what drove those two brothers apart, we can drill at that, needle that bond to a breaking point.”

“And the fallout from that…” I said.

I tried to imagine it.

“It might be even bigger than if they hadn’t made up at all,” D said. “Have you ever torn off a bandage or splint before a wound healed up completely?”

“No.”

“Well, it sucks.”

“I can’t exactly relate to that, not anymore, but I see what you mean. It’ll be harder, but driving them apart now sends a much bigger message to even more people.”

“A bigger splash,” D said. “And we can ride that wave out much farther.”

The idea of EZ and Krown, in all of their assuredness, to kick them while they thought they had all of the cards…

It satiated a different thirst that I had.

“I really, really like that idea. Okay, let’s do it. Let’s tear that bandage off.”

D’s grin grew wider, exaggerated. “Heck yes.”

Between those two gangs, those two brothers, there was a wound. Time healed all, but it was a stretch to assume that everything was smoothed over. If this beef ran as deep as D suggested, then some resentment had to be there. Even if it was residual, even if it was just below the surface.

We would expose that wound to the open air, throw some acid into it, if we had to. This wasn’t just about their debt with the Ghosts, anymore. I wanted to see that wound burn.

“So,” I said, meeting D’s eyes again, “We’re not going anywhere just yet. We’ve got some more scouting to do.”

D threw her hands up, bouncing on her feet. She was cheering.

“Yeah! Operation Storm the Castle is back on!”

Might as well keep her entertained, I thought.

As D jumped in glee, shouting for joy, I barely heard the sound of metal scraping on concrete. I turned back to locate the source of the noise.

A door, from the produce market’s side of the alley. A man had stepped outside, a trash bag in hand.

He took notice of us, and we took notice of him.

A black man, tall, well past fifty, judging from the grey in his beard and the creases in his features. He wore a flat brim hat, with a buttoned long sleeve and sweater vest on top. Black jeans with boots to match.

I couldn’t parse his expression. He looked too stoic.

He had stopped to notice us, but he continued on his way, walking to a nearby garbage bin to dispose of his trash.

“Storefront’s over there, ladies,” he said as he approached the bin. His voice was deep, but smooth, as if he was announcing something on the radio.

“We were just chatting,” I said, “We’ll be out of here soon.”

“You better, I don’t like young kids hanging around places like this.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mean’s trouble. Kids like you should be in school, not in these streets and alleys.”

I looked at D, her hands still in the air. I gestured, and she brought them down.

“You don’t have to worry about us,” I told him. “We’re not up to any trouble, sir.”

The man tossed the trash bag into the bin, landing with an audible thud.

“I’ve heard that a thousand times,” he said. “I’d die of shock if you meant it.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” I asked.

He brushed his hands against his jeans, walking over to us. Approaching.

“I believe what I’ve seen and heard, being out in this motherfucker for damn near forty years. It’s always been the same, ain’t nothing changed. It’s a cycle. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t up to no good. So don’t act like you’re anything special, and don’t think I’m some fool. I’m no fool.”

“Your choice in fashion says otherwise,” D said.

I gave D a hard look, willing her to shut up. She shrugged, but she seemed to get the message.

To the man, I raised a hand at him, placating. “She didn’t mean that.”

The man shot me a hard look in return. “Don’t you dare speak for another person without their explicit consent. Who do you think you are?”

I didn’t provide an answer. I wasn’t sure what answer would be appropriate.

The man seemed to accept the lack of an answer, and looked past me to D, instead.

“Little lady, is that what you really think?”

The man asked D directly.

D hardly flinched or hesitated. “I do.”

The man turned his attention back to me, and paused, as if to establish that a point had been made.

He spread his arms.

“My apologies, then,” I said.

“Good,” he said, and then he turned to go. “Now run along. Whatever trouble it is you find yourself in, I better not hear about it on the news.”

Then, he was gone, having went through the door that led into the produce market.

An odd encounter, but I was used to those. Nothing new.

Again, I turned to face D, and she looked like she had something on her mind.

I voiced my thoughts out loud. “What’s up?”

She shook her head once. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing’s ever nothing with you. What is it?”

“It is nothing,” she said, stern, offset by her childish tone. “Now come on, no point in sticking around here.”

“Right,” I said, and we started moving to get out of the alley. I was feeling better as we left than when I stormed in here. “Do you know of any good places to start scouting?”

“Maybe,” D said. “But first, I want to go into the market.”

I looked, and I saw the entrance to the building we were standing next to. Fill Market, it was called. The glass storefront was protected by metal bars, making it hard to get a look inside Labels advertising alcohol and lottery tickets were slapped onto the windows. There was another sign, a warning about something, but the metal bars made it hard to read.

The automatic doors shuddered as they made way for us, and we stepped inside.

“What, you want to do some shopping?” I asked. “Do you even have a refrigerator to fill?”

“I have your refrigerator to fill, but no, I also want to get a look around.”

“Why, what do they have here?”

D answered. “Information. This way.”

She picked up a basket by the door, and we went deeper into the store. The place mostly had produce, vegetables and fruits, but D passed by all of it to get to the more processed stuff. We entered one aisle, filled with cans. Canned meat, canned vegetables, canned soup.

“What kind of info could you possibly get here?” I asked.

D explained as she took cans out from the shelves. “For communities like this, markets, barber shops, basketball courts, they’re deep in the heart of things. If you want to be in the know, here is where you want to take a look around.”

I glanced around as we left the aisle. Cans behind us, yogurt and milk and juice ahead of us, bags of chips and cereal and oatmeal in other aisles as we passed them. It looked like any other store. Maybe it wasn’t the tidiest of places, I saw one too many wet floor signs, and mismatched stock belonging to shelves two or three aisles down, but it was a market. Nothing too special or notable.

The few employees – and even shoppers – we passed seemed to be more interested in us than we were in them. Watching as we walked, glances lasting longer than what was normally acceptable. Passing so many people in public, the occasional bit of eye contact was unavoidable. It happened, sometimes, and that was that. Here, though? The gazes were held.

I noticed what some of the shoppers were wearing, the colors. Mostly blues and whites. It crossed my mind, to be nervous, but it wasn’t as if word had already spread about us in the area. We were given a warning, but there a give to that, and we would capitalize on it, while we still could.

It didn’t bother me, the stares. I’d prefer to blend in, but there was nothing, or no one, to be afraid of. It was simply a reminder, that D and I were in the minority, here. We weren’t from around these parts.

D led us into another aisle, a snack aisle. D started picking through the ones she wanted.

“You can’t eat any of these, right?” she asked. Gummy worms, chocolate bars, cookies, powdered donuts. D wasn’t being particularly fussy with her snacks.

“Nope. Literally impossible.”

“Dang. That makes me so so sad.” She grabbed for a bag of marshmallows, and continued-

D paused, and leaned over to grab another bag, putting in the basket.

“I should get double the snacks, so I can eat on your behalf.”

“I’ll appreciate it.”

We stalked further down, D taking more and more snacks. At this rate, she would clear out the entire aisle.

“So, how does that even work?” D asked, dropping in a box of brownies. And then another. “You have your little, um… thing, you get your powers, hurray, but how do you even come to that kind of conclusion. That, hey, I’m done eating burgers and fries, I’m on a strictly liquid diet now, and what I’m drinking is pretty, um, raw.”

Answering that properly meant sorting through memories and events that I’d rather not touch upon. For various reasons. It had taken so much effort just to store them away in the back of my mind, recalling them now would be like tearing off a bandage on a wound that wasn’t quite gone yet. And I wasn’t about to do that to myself.

“It… it’s a hard thing to process, harder still to quench that thirst. It takes over your life, consuming you as much as you try to consume anything else.”

Not much of an answer, but that was all I was willing to give up.

“I can’t believe you tried to balance that out with being a hero,” D said, taking my non-answer in stride. “Sounds a little misguided. Uh, in my opinion.”

I took that in stride. “I’m not offended, it was misguided. It was stupid, trying to fit into a shape that wouldn’t hold. At least, now, I don’t have to worry about being a hero anymore. I don’t need that balance, and what I’m after is actually in conjunction with my powers. There’s no more of that seemingly cosmic pushback, and that means a lot less stress on my mind.”

D dropped three boxes of granola bars, and a cereal box. There was no sign of stopping.

“Then, it’s good that you found yourself,” D said. “And I’m like, amazed that you managed to keep your liquid diet thing under wraps from the rest of the world.”

“I’m amazed, too,” I said. “And let’s keep it that way. Who knows if that’s a card we’ll need to keep up our sleeves.”

“Yup, I’m all about not showing my hand. Here.”

D finally, finally, left the snack aisle, and walked us over to the other end of the store. It got chillier as we approached.

Ice cream, and lots of it. Different flavors, different colors. I saw D’s eyes light up as she perused her choices.

“Now hold it,” I said, “I thought we were here for info, not to fulfill your surprisingly sweet sweet tooth.”

“And we will get info, but this is important, too. I don’t want to come over to your apartment and not find any snacks there. We’re getting multiple things done, here.”

“I guess, if that’s how you want to go about it. But, lay off the sugar, you’re going to rot the rest of your teeth off.”

“Wouldn’t that be cool?” D asked, reaching for what was already her third pint of gelato.

“Do not over do it,” I said, serious.

D gave me a scowl, but she relented, putting the gelato back. Instead of letting the door close on its own, she gave it a push, slamming it with more strength than needed, and walked off at a faster pace.

I had to put forth effort to catch up, as she rounded a corner, heading to the front of the market. We passed by more shoppers and employees, D’s rushing getting their attention even more.

“D,” I said. “Slow down.”

“I thought you wanted to get info, right? Faster I pay for these, faster we can get to that.”

“Yeah, but-”

“What?” she asked, her voice sharp.

“Wow,” I said, but I mouthed the word to myself, and D didn’t catch me, either, her eyes still forward.

Was she mad?

I supposed, on some level, I could understand if she was. Kids craved freedom to do whatever, whenever. And, on most occasions, kids were restricted by rules laid down by parents or other institutions, and were only allowed certain opportunities throughout the day to express that freedom, like recess or playing outside, after school hours. And for D’s part, she had gotten rid of those restrictions a long time ago.

Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Every waking moment was like recess for her.

For the brief time that I had known D, she was running around freely, with no one to tell her what to do, or otherwise discipline her. Even a bit of that discipline, she wasn’t accustomed to, and now she was ticked off.

Tough shit.

We were leading a gang, now, and as leaders, it was our responsibility to bring our people up to a higher position. And that required structure, rules and discipline. D agreed to work with me on this, to bring the Ghosts where I wanted to take them, so she’d have to suck it up and accept that as part of the job.

I need to have the upper hand, and D needs to have her freedom. Take that away, and we flip out. We all have our sour spots.

It was something to keep in mind.

D walked, and I was right behind her, both of us staying silent. I’d let her fume, be mad, and she needed to learn how to work with that, too. I knew that I still had to, as well.

We arrived at the checkout line. Even with the store being busy, there were only two lanes active out of the ten that were potentially available. There were lines at both.

We got into closest lane, lane seven.

“Here,” D said, passing me the basket. I took it without protest, she was still in her mood.

The handle fell into my grip, and I felt my muscles harden.

It was heavy, even for someone with my strength. How many snacks did she stuff in here?

I adjusted my hold, and got used to the weight. The line started moving, and we moved in accordance.

“So, did you manage to catch anything?” I asked. I figured we were done here, but other than the various different gang members, there wasn’t much I could piece together. D, however, might have seen something different.

“Yeah, I caught some delicious snacks.”

We moved up some more.

She was still in her feelings? Alright, fine. I left her alone.

As the line moved along, the registers beeping and the employees working, D on occasion kept peeking out ahead. Enough times that I knew she was trying to look for something specific.

“Oh darn!” she then said, startling me and the people around us.

“What?” I asked as she turned my way. She looked panicked.

She brought her voice low as she said, “I forgot my wallet.”

“You forgot it? Where is it?”

“I promise I had it with me when we walked in here, I felt it in my pocket as we left the apartment!”

“Where’d you last feel it?”

“In my pocket!”

She showed me her pockets, lifting the sides of her jacket. A pocket on each side, with zippers, and both were zipped open.

I had to ask her. “Were your pockets zipped like that when we left?”

“No, I had them zipped closed, like how they should be. I think, I’m sure.”

I lifted up the basket, carrying it in my arms. All the different boxes and bags of snacks were there. So many that the outline curved outward.

D sifted through the basket, picking between the boxes and bags and cartons, as though she had dropped her wallet in there, somehow.

We were getting close to the register.

“I have some cash,” I said, “But it might not be enough to cover all of this. You’ll have to put some of it-”

“D!”

D took a step away from the basket, her back bumping into the woman ahead of us. She slightly turned to see who it was.

“I’ll find it, it’s around somewhere, let me go retrace my steps!”

‘Let,’ as in requesting permission, but D ran off before I could say anything about it.

“Wait!” I called out, but D was already too far ahead, disappearing in the line of people and baskets and carts. I was about to chase after her, but I remembered that I still had the basket.

Or did she leave me with it?

Oh darn was right.

The line moved along, and it was my turn to start unloading stuff onto the checkout counter. D’s snacks began to overtake the rest of the counter, as the conveyor belt rolled out other people’s groceries. Then, as the counter started spilling out snacks to the other side, the counter was still full of snacks, and there was still more to go.

Crap.

A lot of snacks, a lot of money, and D hadn’t come back yet. The van was a few blocks away, and If she was retracing her steps…

Was she going to go back to the basketball court? To EZ and Krown? Was she reckless enough to show her face around there again, and so soon?

I knew what the answer was, and my stomach churned.

A boy, a teen looking a year or two older, worked the cash register, scanning the boxes and bags, his expression changing from flat to surprised to concerned at all the food coming his way.

“That’s a lot of snacks,” he commented, glancing at me.

“Girl’s gotta eat,” I said.

“You having a party or something?”

“Uh, it’s something,” I answered.

“Oh, if it was a party, I would have asked what’s up.”

I tilted my head one way. “What’s up?”

“You know, have me and some pals roll up to your crib, maybe we can do a little something.”

I tilted my head the other way. “A little something what?”

The boy set his jaw straight, but he didn’t respond, focusing on scanning all the food.

He was almost done, and D wasn’t back yet, and I didn’t have enough cash to pay for all of this.

D better not have left me here to-

“Hey, hey, where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Fuck, yo, let go of me!”

The yelling got my attention, and from the looks of the boy, and everyone else in line, I wasn’t the only one.

It was one of Royals and one of the Thunders I had seen before, while walking around the store. They were by the automatic doors, the doors clacking as they shifted from open to trying to close, as the two were standing in the way of the sensors.

A paper bag was at their feet, torn and spilling out its contents of cans and vegetables. The Royal held the Thunder’s wrist, fighting to keep the Thunder in place. Pushing and pulling.

“You took my cereal, man!” the Royal yelled.

“I didn’t take shit!” the Thunder yelled back.

“Then what’s in your bag? Why do I see that in your bag?”

“I didn’t put that shit in there! Look, you already have a fucking- That’s my box!”

“It ain’t mine, you swapped them!”

“Why the fuck would I-”

The Royal tugged, bringing the Thunder more inside, away from the doors. The door were finally able to close.

“Get in here bitch!”

“Man, fuck you, I don’t give a shit about you, I don’t give a shit about your crew, and I don’t give a shit about your fucking cereal!”

“Just admit that you ain’t got no money, and you have to steal from a real man to get what you want.”

It was as if the very air had changed. The atmosphere.

“Say that again?” the Thunder questioned.

“Use your ears, bitch, and if you got a brain, use that too.”

The Thunder reached under his shirt, and I saw the light catch his hand when he drew it out again.

Again in one day, I felt my heart skip a beat.

“Want to take this to the streets?”

“If you want to bleed out there, then absolutely.”

I moved a foot, prepared to step in and do… something, but I saw others move in ahead of me.

D, and another man.

“Hold it cowboy!”

D ran through the open doors and around the two men, and grabbed the Thunder by the collar, kicking him behind the knee. He fell, and she found his arm and twisted it, forcing him to let go of the gun. It hit the floor, landing among the other groceries, and the cereal box.

The man rushed the Royal, grabbing him by the shoulders. The Royal wasn’t reaching for a gun, but there was no way he could, now.

“Jay!” the man shouted, “Get your shit together!”

The deep, but still smooth voice. I recognized him as the man from earlier, in the alley.

“Phil, I-”

“Quit it, Jay, quit it. You want to be a real man? Grab your shit and walk away. Settle this peacefully, please. We don’t want another one of your feuds rocking this town again. Not another one, so soon.”

The man took his hands off the Royal, Jay, and waited for a second. Jay didn’t make a drastic move.

The man then turned, and saw D.

“You can let go of him now, little lady.”

D listened, taking her hands off the Thunder. He was on the floor, searching around him, checking his things. He saw his gun, and went to grab it.

A foot stepped on the gun, stopping him.

“No, Ricky,” the man said. “You’re done here, too.”

The Thunder, Ricky, glared up at D and the man, but he too didn’t try anything crazy. He got up, scooping everything up into his paper bag, everything except the cereal box.

The man continued to order them. “Ricky, you give Jay his cereal-”

“But he started-”

“I don’t fuckin’ care who started it, I’m ending it!”

His shout was felt through the rest of the store, especially Ricky. He was shut down.

The man – Phil, according to Jay – didn’t have to say it a second time. Ricky bent down to pick up the cereal box, giving it to Jay. The exchange was made in silence.

“Now, Ricky, walk down that way,” Phil said, pointing to the left of the automatic doors. “And then you, Jay, walk down that way.” He pointed to the right of the doors. “I don’t care if you have to take the long way home, but you are not crossing paths again until you can learn to grow up and stop playing in these streets.”

Jay and Ricky left without a word. Ricky went first, going out the doors, taking a left, and Jay followed, going right. The silence they left behind was palpable.

Phil gave D a small glance, but he put his actual attention on the shoppers who happened to catch the incident. On me.

A look, and it was enough to get everyone moving again.

I moved, too, but I moved away from the checkout counter, leaving the snacks behind. I went to D.

“D, hey,” I said. “Good timing, showing up when you did.”

“Good timing for sure,” she said, with a sly look.

“I’m not sure if I should like that look or not.”

“You should,” D said, “I got what we came here for.”

D looked elsewhere, and I followed her gaze.

“And we’re about to get more.”

Phil was approaching, having stepped out to make sure Jay and Ricky left without any more issues. He didn’t look very pleased to see us again.

“And will you look at that, y’all are up to no good.”

D replied, “I’d make a remark, but it won’t go over well with you, will it?”

“It won’t.”

“Then let me come clean right now. Ricky didn’t steal anything. I swapped a cereal box I picked out with his.”

Phil went from not looking pleased to looking pissed.

I turned to look back at the line. The boy was still there, confused at what to do. I didn’t see the cereal box that D had grabbed earlier.

This fucking girl, I thought, She slipped right from under me to pull that stunt.

Before, she had to be checking out the people in the line, planning accordingly. Watching who had what in their baskets, and how particularly attached to what they had. I thought she was just taking half the store’s inventory of snacks, but apparently, she had something else in mind.

Phil spoke softly, but his tone was intense. “And why did you swap the boxes?”

D answered, “I wanted to test a theory, but honestly, I probably could have swapped anything for the same results. Looks like I was just lucky.”

She was being cheeky, and he was stark serious.

“Get out of my-”

“Wait,” D said, lifting her hand. She was holding up a wallet. Did she have that the whole time, too?

“We haven’t paid yet,” D said.

“I don’t think I care. I want you out.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. My test confirmed my suspicions, but I want the finer details. And I think you’re just the man to ask, Phil.”

There was a pause as Phil stared, having us wait on his response.

D added, “It might prove to be a benefit to your community, here, if you end up hearing us out.”

Over the past few weeks, I had been getting acquainted with D and how she operated, how she loved to throw herself into risky situations to try and get out ahead of everyone else.

This was another one of those times.

We were already on thin ice after what happened at the basketball court, and D was throwing herself, and me, out into the open for another risk.

I waited, wondering if we would remain standing, or if our plan would slip through the cracks and fall apart.

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