I’d checked off establish popularity on my to-do list. Now it was time to move to stage two: active destruction.
I had done as much research as possible on Justin, Lauren’s boyfriend. I studied his Facebook page as if it held the secret to immortality. I had a piece of paper where I scribbled down every number I thought could be important to him and different combinations of those numbers: Lauren’s birthday, their anniversary, his football jersey number, the number of his favorite player on the Detroit Lions, his best track time, and his top score on Grand Theft Auto. I waited until math class was under way with a riveting lecture on the importance of polynomial algebraic functions, and then I raised my hand to request the hall pass.
The halls were empty. I stood outside Justin’s locker and wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans. Lincoln High lets you reset your locker combination to anything you like as long as you give the number to the janitor. I was counting on the idea that Justin would pick something he could easily remember. He struck me as the kind of guy who doesn’t have a lot of spare storage space in his brain. I tried Lauren’s birthday first, nothing. Then their anniversary, nothing. I tapped my foot, thinking what my best chance would be. I’d only known the guy a couple of days. There were zillions of combinations of numbers he could’ve picked. I worried it would take all year to try them all, and my math teacher would have someone come looking for me long before then. I dialed in his birthday, hoping Justin was a keep-it-simple kind of guy. I spun the lock around, then said a small prayer, and pulled down. Nothing. Shit. In frustration, I yanked harder and then it clicked, popping open. It sounded really loud in the empty hallway and I flinched, waiting for classroom doors on either side to fly open with people pouring out to ask me what the hell I was doing, but nothing happened.
I pulled open the door and took a step back. Ick. At the bottom of Justin’s locker was a pile of gym clothing and football gear that smelled like he last washed them sometime around sophomore year. The odor waves were nearly visible to the naked eye. It was possible that there were a few lunch leftovers buried in there too. Something had a vague banana-past-its-prime smell to it. I held my breath and started rummaging around in his jacket pockets. Nothing.
Lincoln High forbids students from having cell phones in class. I was certain Justin would keep his in his locker like everyone else. I gave another quick look around. I didn’t have time to do an archeological dig in the compost pile at the bottom of the locker. How did he manage to get so much stuff in here already? I reached my hand up and tried to feel around on the shelf, hoping that I wouldn’t grab a hold of anything too nasty since I couldn’t see what he had up there. I felt his keys, a tennis ball, and what I desperately hoped was not a jockstrap even though that’s what it felt like, and then—BINGO—his phone. I snatched it off the shelf and fought the urge to do a celebration dance. I snapped it open and dialed my own cell number, waited for the call to connect, and then hung up. I slid it back onto the shelf and shut the door.
I made it one step before I snapped back, nearly falling to the floor. It felt like someone had grabbed me around the neck. Shit. My scarf was shut in the locker.
I gave my scarf a tug, but it was caught. I could hear someone walking down the other hall. They were going to round the corner any second. I turned around the best that I could, given that the locker had me in a choke hold, and gave the scarf a yank. It didn’t budge an inch. I tried to figure out if I could lean against the door and look casual. Nope. My fingers flew over the lock, spinning in Justin’s birth date. It clicked open and I yanked my scarf out, shutting the door an instant before the janitor came around the corner. He looked at me with my hand on the lock and sweat pouring down my face.
“Wrong locker,” I said with a nervous laugh. “They all look alike from the outside. How’s a person supposed to tell which one is theirs?”
I looked at the lockers like I had never seen them before. “Well, look at that, they are numbered. That’s handy.”
The janitor gave me a look and kept going, pushing the AV trolley. I went back to Justin’s locker during biology, English, and study hall, and did the same thing, minus the whole getting-my-scarf-caught part. Karma was clearly on my side, because not once did anyone ever see me in his locker and the timing was perfect. When I went back to my locker at the end of the day there was a text message from Lauren letting me know they were meeting up at Bean There Done That after school. I also had a long list of calls from Justin’s phone. Perfect.