Chapter 21: The Plan
Rico’s truck lingered in the school lot all morning—black, still, a predator waiting. I felt his eyes through chem, history, every tick of the clock, Jake’s confession—“I worked it off, months”—and last night’s gunshots looping in my head. By lunch, I was done hiding. We met under the bleachers—me, Jake, Tyler—huddled tight, the May sun hot but the air cold with dread. “He’s here,” I said, voice low, nodding at the lot. “Watched me bike in. We’re out of time.” Jake tensed, fists clenching, eyes flicking to the truck. “I’ll talk to him—end this.” “No,” I snapped, grabbing his arm. “No fighting, no begging. He shot at us—he’s past talking.” “She’s right,” Tyler said, tossing his football, bruise dark on his cheek. “Rico’s crew’s pissed—cousin’s out, but he’s got muscle. We need a play, n
- Writer
