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SEVEN

The Coffee Shop is busier than I’d expect for a weekday afternoon, with a line of people waiting to place their order at the counter. I’m surprised to see Nadia already sitting in a table at the back. I remember a lot about her from childhood, but punctuality wasn’t one of her strong points.

After waiting in line for an iced coffee and croissant, a much-needed afternoon pick-me-up, I join her at the table. Her drink is nearly finished by the time I sit down.

“I didn’t think it would take this long,” I say. “Sorry for the wait.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she says. “I’m just happy we were able to meet.”

“So, tell me everything,” I say. “Fifteen years is a long time.”

“Even if it feels like it’s flown by.”

Nadia talks about her time in California, the odd jobs she worked, the numerous men she dated. From the sounds of it, she hasn’t settled on a steady career, but she seems content with her life. Somehow, I always knew Nadia would end up happy.

She asks about me. I provide a brief summary of my life at college, my university scholarship sending me several states away. Then, I tell her about my life in the present, about Connor and the wedding and my job as a coach.

“Why Manning?” she asks. “After you left, I figured you’d never come back.”

“I thought about it,” I say. “All we used to talk about was getting away, but believe it or not, I started to miss home. I never would have succeeded if it weren’t for Coach Phillips and everything he did for me. It felt right moving back.”

Nadia knows, better than anyone, that basketball was my lifeline growing up. Coach Phillips was the person who saved me from the dangerous path I was on. Still, I notice her body stiffen at the mention of his name. Coach Phillips is also the person who drove a wedge between us, and an unspoken resentment clearly remains.

“Are you two still close?”

“He died my junior year of college,” I say, staring at my coffee. “Heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.” She shifts around in her seat. “He was like family to you.”

“He would have wanted me to come back and help the community that helped raise me.”

“I still can’t believe you’re coaching your own team. I mean, I can believe it. It’s what you always wanted. I’m just happy you’re actually doing it. And at Manning Academy, of all places. The girls on your team must have a totally different upbringing than we did,” she says, sipping the last of her iced coffee through a straw. “We sure have come a long way from our dash and go days.”

At the mention of the phrase, I close into myself. Dash and go is the term Nadia once used for stealing. It was a way of life for us back then. Anything we wanted—clothes, makeup, snacks—had to be taken. We’d often keep lookout for one another. Nadia distracted the cashier at the gas station counter as I filled my backpack with chips and candy bars. I’d request assistance from the store manager so she could sneak a sweater under her jacket. Thinking of those actions now make me sad, but also renews the rush I can remember feeling at the time.

It’s the same sensation I felt after taking Melinda Terry’s phone, but maturity and responsibility overwhelm the short-lived thrill I once felt when thinking back on those times, replacing it with shame. I should know better than to act like an impulsive teenager. I’m better than that now.

“We sure have,” I say, clearing my throat. “You’re right. Most of the girls on the team are well off, but not all of them.”

“They must be talented, too. Like you. District champs, you say?”

“That’s right.” I raise my plastic cup like it’s a champagne flute. “Three out of the past four years.”

“That’s great. What are you doing to celebrate?”

I roll my eyes. “Actually, we’re having a lock-in this Friday.”

“A what?”

“You know, a lock-in. Like the local church used to have in the summers.”

“Where everyone piles into the same room with sleeping bags and stays the night?”

“Yes. It’s like a slumber party in the school gymnasium.”

Nadia laughs. “You couldn’t have paid me to stay the night at our high school. It was like a house of horrors.”

I laugh along with her, even though she’s right. Our high school had nothing but problem kids, it seemed. Students were always getting into physical altercations with each other, sometimes even teachers. In the four years I was there, dozens of kids got hauled out during the school day for bringing drugs and alcohol to campus. The girls at Manning Academy are lucky to never know a place like it exists.

“You have to tell me more about this,” Nadia says. “I want to imagine it. What on earth do a bunch of young girls do in a school all night?”

“I don’t know,” I say, lifting my chin, thinking. “I guess we’ll play games. Eat. Another teacher mentioned playing a movie.”

“Sounds like good, wholesome fun,” she says, and I notice the longing in her voice. “And what about the chaperones? What will you be doing?”

“I guess watching the girls.”

I laugh uneasily. We’ve covered a lot of ground during our little reunion, but it’s odd that Nadia is so fascinated with the lock-in of all things.

“Speaking of wholesome fun, do you remember the summer we decided to work as lifeguards at the community pool?”

“I’m not done talking about the lock-in,” she says, pointedly. Her intense focus on the topic is unsettling. “What adults will be there?”

“Why do you care?”

“I want to know what adults will be there,” she repeats. “You’ve got, what, ten girls on the team? Fifteen? You can’t watch them all by yourself.”

“My assistant coach will be with me,” I say, so stunned by her line of questioning I don’t know what else to do but to answer. “Maybe someone else.”

“Will it be easy for you to sneak away unnoticed?”

“Nadia, what are you getting at?”

“This is perfect timing, really. Almost like it’s meant to be.” She leans back, crossing one leg over the other, and stares at me with those narrow, fox-like eyes. “There’s a door at the back of the building that leads to the computer lab. I need you to prop it open.”

“What?”

“Any time after midnight, just make sure it’s unlocked so a member of my team can get in.”

“Your team?”

My thoughts scramble, trying to make sense of what Nadia is saying. A minute ago, we were talking about what activities might entertain the girls. Now she’s talking about leaving a door unlocked.

Then it comes to me. The string of recent burglaries. Someone has been breaking into schools and stealing their equipment. Nadia must be involved.

“Nadia, what are you caught up in?”

“Same things as always,” she says.

“But why? We’re adults. You can’t tell me you’re still stealing?”

“I am, and I bring in a lot more money now than I did during our dash and go days,” she says. “Not all of us had the luxury of a college scholarship. Some of us have to fall back on what we’ve always known.”

The animosity in her voice wounds me. There’s a bitterness there I never knew existed, or at least, I didn’t want to admit existed.

“Why are you getting me involved?”

“Because we need access to Manning Academy, and that’s hard to get. Your fancy school has the most expensive equipment of all. We could make a killing.”

“But why get me involved?” I ask again.

“I’m just leaning on an old friend. I didn’t even know you worked there, until I saw that article in the paper.”

The image drifts through my mind. The girls circled around me, celebrating. Our front-page photo.

“Did you set all this up? Did you run into me at the liquor store on purpose?”

“It was almost too good to be true. For weeks, we’ve been trying to think of a way to break into Manning Academy, and now I have the perfect connection. And thanks to the lock-in, the perfect time to make it happen.”

My hands ball into fists. “I hate to foil your plan, Nadia, but I’m not doing it. My stealing days are over.”

“I’m not asking you to steal anything. All you have to do is leave a door open,” she says. “We can handle the rest.”

“Nadia, I’m not doing that. I’ll report you before I help you.”

“And risk all those wealthy parents learning about your own criminal history?” Her eyebrow arches, a smirk spreading across her lips. She’s threatening me.

So much time has passed, I sometimes forget. Nadia and I had the dash and go down to a science, but we weren’t perfect. I have a handful of arrests on my juvenile record. The records are sealed, so they’ve never impacted me in my adult life, but Nadia knows, as well as I do, that a tarnished past wouldn’t fly with the parents at Manning Academy.

“I mean, your team is filled with future doctors and lawyers and judges. At least that’s what their parents think,” she says, leaning back in her seat. “If those same people hear about your past, you know they’ll throw you to the wolves.”

And she’s right. Even if some of them were understanding, even if people like Mr. Lake acknowledged those were my teenage years, a lifetime ago, some parents, like Melinda Terry and Lynette Nichols, would demand my resignation. And there would be people like Coach Reynolds waiting in the wings, ready to take my spot.

“I can’t believe you’re putting me in this position,” I say to her, my throat raw with emotion.

“I’m only asking you to help me in the same way I helped you,” she says, her expression darkening. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

I clench my eyes shut. Unforgiving memories flash through my mind. I’ve tried to forget what Nadia and I did all those years ago, but I can’t. I never asked her to help me back then, but she did anyway, changing the entire course of my life in the process. What she’s asking me to do now is retribution.

“I don’t want to threaten you,” she says, plainly. “Everything would be easier if you’d agree to play along.”

“I don’t want to help you steal.”

“They’re computers, Cass. A heap of metal and buttons. It’s nothing to you, and a wad of cash to me.”

“I don’t want to be involved.”

“You won’t be,” she says, not even trying to mask the annoyance in her tone. “All you have to do is open a door.”