Page 50 of Reasons We Break

“Promise you’re finished with your tantrum first.”

Rajan rolls his eyes and shoves past him.

Simran stiffens slightly when he reenters, as does everyone else. He grabs a chair from the corner and drags it over to her. She watches warily as he turns it around, sits, and rests his chin on the back to stare at her. “If you’re not gonna listen to me, don’t expect me to listen toyou. Every minute you’re here, I’ll be here, too.”

“That’s defeating the point.”

“I’m glad it feels pointless.”

Her lips thin. She looks down at her book. Hopefully, she’s starting to see for herself how fucked up this is.

The room lapses into silence. For the next few minutes, he watches her write, cross things out, and occasionally stare into space with an expression he associates with her mental calculations. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t even register the brick of cocaine sitting in front of her. Which is unfathomable to him. God, how many highs could he get out of that much coke...?

His fingers start to itch. He puts his hands in his pockets. He could never afford it. More importantly, heisn’t into this shit anymore, right? He’s here to watch Simran. Not daydream about scraping off just alittle—

Simran bends forward suddenly and starts writing furiously. It snaps Rajan out of it. Even though he told himself he wouldn’t care, he’s curious. He can’t help but bend with her over the book.

A faint popcorn smell wafts from the page, which contains complete gibberish—the letters don’t form real words. But Simran scrawls a formula at the top, frowning. It’s entrancing. He may be shit at math himself, but she makes numbers her bitch.

The minutes crawl by. Half an hour. An hour. Everyone drifts into more relaxed positions. Nick’s off having a smoke break; Zohra’s on the floor studying her LSAT prep book. Rajan continues watching Simran work despite himself. She’s decoding, all right. From what he can gather, all the letters have been shifted three letters forward in the alphabet, and when she shifts them back, it starts making sense.Dis actuallyA. EisB.FisC.

“How’d you figure that out?” he asks, quietly, unable to help himself.

Simran glances his way, as if surprised he’s still there. She pushes her glasses up her nose. “It’s called a Caesar cypher. We talked about it once in calculus. The most common letter in this code ish, but the most common letter in the English alphabet ise. Therefore, they’re probably substitutinghfore.” She points to the formula she’s scrawled. “Ifiis a letter from the alphabet,iplus three is the letter it turns into. IfCequals Caesar cypher, andiis the letter, the Caesar cypher ofiisiplus three—”

“Forget I asked,” Rajan says. She grins.

“These pages are just inventory transactions, which is probably why they encrypted them so poorly. Nick must be looking for something else.” She flips to another section. Here, there are symbols instead of letters: Stars. Pitchforks. Crowns. Rings.

Nick walks back in the room. “Simran, you keep getting calls from a Neetu.”

It’s only when Simran tenses up again that Rajan realizes how much she’d relaxed in the last few minutes. “Neetu?” he repeats. That name sounds familiar. “The one from the kitchen?”

“Yes. I was supposed to meet her tonight—Never mind.” Simran rubs her eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

But clearly it does. Rajan glances at the page. He shouldn’t help. He really,reallyshouldn’t encourage this. But...the thought of her being trapped here...

“Listen, I might know some of these.” He picks up her pen, ignoring her blink of surprise. “This upside-downL. That’s probably referring to us—I mean, them. The Lions.” Talk about a Freudian slip.

“Why’s it upside down?” Simran asks.

“Disrespect.” He’s seen it in their graffiti before.

Simran takes the pen and notes it in the margin. He points to another symbol.

“The ace of spades is Aces.”

She writes quicker now. “Tell me everything you know about the Aces. I think this is the kind of code you have to understand your enemy for.”

As it happens, Rajan knows a lot about the Aces. “They’re older and more established than the Lions. They’re exclusive about who they let become full members, but they’ve got tons of wannabes doing their dirty work.” That asshole Zach Singer from school was one of them. “And they’ve got rules. No stealing each other’s shit, no going after family members—don’t be a coward. Don’t use what you sell.”

“Half those assholes smoke crack anyway,” Nick mutters.

“They don’t always follow their own rules,” Rajan agrees. “But they pretend to.”

Simran nods thoughtfully. “Any...symbols? The Lions have tattoos. Do they?”

Snake Tattoo immediately comes to mind. “Snakes. And they have this motto. ‘Reign in hell.’ They write it fucking everywhere.”Alsoseen on graffiti. The lack of imagination is inexcusable.