Page 37 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

“Bart—according to the automatic email response you got from him—is out of office for the next week on vacation and will not be checking his email.”

“How is that good news?”

“It’s good, because it gives me time to help you break into Bart’s laptop and delete the email, assuming he didn’t take it with him on vacation.”

Emily is frozen. “Jack…are you the drunk one?”

“I don’t drink alcohol,” I say, and when she gives me a look like she’s about to unleash a million questions, I keep going. “But I am offering to help you.”

She stares at me a minute and then sniffs, wiping her face with her sleeve and says the most Emily thing I’ve ever heard. “I don’t need your help breaking into his laptop.”

“Ah—there she is.” I don’t bother to hide my smile. “And yes you do. Because in order to get to Bart’s office, we’re going to have to get past…”

She flinches. “Don’t say it.”

“Marissa.” Our school’s crotchety vice principal. She makes Scrooge look like Winnie-the-Pooh.

“And Marissa hates everyone…besides you.”

I nod. She really does love me for some reason. She’s approaching her sixties and has zero tolerance for anyone and everything. But when she sees me,instant smile.“I have full confidence that I can distract her long enough for you to get into Bart’s office and delete the email.”

“Why?” Emily’s green eyes narrow. “Why would you help me?”

“Because…”I know it would feel terrible to have my writing exposed before I was ready. Because I think we’re friends. Because I’d like to spend time with you.But I don’t say any of this because, like me, Emily does not like to accept free help. It makes her uncomfortable. I need a solid reason that will withstand her pride.

“Because I need your help too.” Her eyebrow lifts. “I am going to break and enter with you, and in return I need you to call your ole friend Darrell and get him to renovate my damn house.”

“I thought you said you were doing a great job?”

“I’ve been lying through my teeth. I’ve done ashitjob on that house. Can’t believe it hasn’t caved in on me yet. I’m scared to sleep in it.”

She barks a laugh, and then like a superhero rising from the rubble after an excruciating fight scene, Emily sits up. I watch her confidence refill her body starting in her wiggling toes and moving upward. She stands, grabs the ties of her robe, and cinches them tight. Her tears are a thing of the past. “Okay. I’ll do it. But I have a few conditions.”

“Conditions?” I say to her retreating back. “You can’t throw conditions on a favor I’m offering you.”

Emily does an excellent impression of a sober woman as she walks to the kitchen—her only tell is the way her body sways a little too much to the right as she goes. Her little cat stirs from the back of the couch as Emily passes, stretches, and follows on the heels of that billowing robe. I go too and watch as Emily pulls a saucepan out of a cabinet. “I don’t just give out favors willy-nilly without a cost, Jackson Bennett.”

“That’s not how this works. I’m the one giving out the favor. In case you forgot, you’re in distress. Therefore I’m offering to help you—ifyou go through with your end of the deal.”

She leans her silk-clad hip against the counter as she fills the pot with water. “I only asked for technological aid while I’m impaired. What you’re proposing”—she really struggled over that word—“is a whole different scope of project. And that requires greater payment.” The water sloshes over the edge of the pan, reminding Tipsy Emily that she was in the middle of filling it with water. I lean over and turn the faucet off as she dumps out some of the excess liquid.

“What are you even doing right now?”

“Making buttered noodles. It’s my drunk food. Well—our drunk food. Normally I don’t drink alone, and Madison is always the one to whip up the noodles. But…” Her eyes go distant and sad again. And now I know thatthisis the root of all the drinking and crying tonight. Madison canceled on her, and it was killing her.

She shakes off her thoughts and carries the pot of water to thestove. Her cat jumps up on the counter just before she sets the pot down. Emily scoops her up in one arm, sets the pot on an electric burner with the other. She turns to me and hands the cat off. Emily turns the heat to high.

I go behind her and cut it down to medium. “You shouldn’t use the stove while drunk.”

She splits the difference and turns the knob to medium-high. “I do what I want.”

I look down helplessly at the kitten for backup and then set her at my feet. “Fine. Name your terms for the favor.”

“I want all rights to the corner table on Saturday mornings, plus the good parking spot at school for a month when we go back.”

“Fifty-fifty on both.”

“Seventy-thirty.”

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