Page 3 of Her Dirty Rival
Chapter2
Riley
“Areyou sure this is a good idea,Riley?”
I pretend it doesn’t bother me that it’s the fifth time Scott has asked the same question in less than fiveminutes.
“I told you. You’re free to back out if you have secondthoughts.”
What I want to tell him is that I’d rather he does back out. There’s no room for wimps on the team. If he’s just going to chicken out at the last minute, he’ll make us look like weak, lame losers. We need to put on a strong front if Alexander Industries will ever listentous.
Scott has a thing for me, though, and he may be here because he doesn’t want to look like a wimp. “No, no, I’m in,” he insists. “You know I’m as committed to this asyouare.”
No one is as committed to the cause as I am, but it isn’t the time to argue semantics. I smile and nod reassuringly, then I return to our review oftoday’splan.
“We’ll get to the building entrance at three o’clock. Jeannie, you’ll have the spray paint. Scott has the chains. I have the bullhorn. Everybody else hasasign.”
I look each member of the group in the eye. There are twelve of us in all—not a huge number by any means, but a larger number of random passersby will attract too much attention. It’s clear to me now that I’m not dealing with a group of people who are highly skilled in subterfuge. We’ll be lucky if we get into the front courtyard without being spotted and physically ejected from theproperty.
“Are there any questions?” I look around the group, huddled in the living room of my tiny off-campus apartment. “Are we all clearonthis?”
Trevor raises his hand. I have to smile to hide my irritation. Nothing about this plan is exactly D-Day level stuff, so why am I locking eyes with so many confused, anxiousexpressions?
“What if they tear gas us?” Trevor asks, and a few worried murmurs rise up among the rest of thegroup.
“Guys, is that what you’re worried about? No one is going to hurt us. We aren’t a large enough crowd and we won’t be causing a large enough disruption for tear gas. We don’t pose a physical threat to anyone inside or outside the building. And we’ll be chained together, so the building security won’t be able to immediately force us to disperse. That’s the only reason they would escalate to that level. Besides, we’ll be too close to the building entrance. They would never release something that can injure the building tenants, or anyone who happens to be using the main floor bank or just standing in the lobby taking pictures under their world-renownedChristmastree.”
I’m making it all up as I go, and my reasoning sounds pretty good to me. There’s no point for the authorities to go all out for a handful of peaceful protestors. Alexander Industries is a pretty cutthroat bunch of rich jerks, but they aren’t stupid. Ordering the cops to manhandle a few protesters is overkill. It would make for some seriously negative PR at this timeofyear.
I look around. It brings me some comfort to see slightly more excitement on the faces of my crew. I can only hope the police don’t prove mewrong.
“All right,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Let’s head out. Backpacks at theready?”
Eleven bags raise skyward. I did my best to make sure they were all different styles and patterns. The sight of a dozen identical backpacks approaching the New York headquarters of one of the world’s biggest oil companies would set off alarm bells from miles away. Especially as we’re taking publictransit.
I ask Steve to go over the plan from top to bottom. Just to be sure that I’m not the only one who has the bird’s eye view of how today willplayout.
“Well,” he starts, scratching the side of his blond cropped head of hair. “You, Jeannie and I go first. We sit in the courtyard with our smoothies. Trevor comes in next with his book. Miko, Nadia, Brad, you’re next. Then the rest. Only around ten minutes should stretch between the arrival of the first three of us and everyone else.” He turns back to me. “Did I getitall?”
I nod, and I have to admit, I’m feeling like a proud mom. “That was perfect,” I tell him. “We’ll spread out our arrival to avoid drawing any unwantedattention.”
They all nod their agreement, but I don’t see the courage or passion that I saw two weeks ago when this plan was formed. As I take in their less than enthusiastic faces, I’m hoping they are better at following through than putting on a brave face. What is wrong with people? When I first broached the idea of organizing this protest against Alexander Industries, everyone was on board. Ideas flew. There was passion and excitement in the air. I even slept with Steve that night. That’s how carried away weallwere.
The day is finally here. Yes, now that it’s time to carry out the plan, passion is replaced with anxiety. I realize I’m dealing with a bunch of silver spoon kids with spotless records. Today, they look afraid of what Mommy and Daddy would say when they find out their little snowflake got arrested for staging a protest—even though the company we’re about to demonstrate against is one of the vilest blights on the environmental wellbeing of the entireplanet.
It’s one thing to say you care about something, and quite another to promise to do something about it and followthrough.
I followthrough.
Like I did last night with MalcolmAlexander.
No one else knows about what I did. As much as it bothers me to use my body that way, the idea of some good old fashioned psychological warfare is right up my alley. The only problem is that I didn’t expect to enjoy my role that much. Now that my mind is on it, I have to stop myself from biting down on my bottom lip every time I picture myself going down on him, or the way he took me hard against that wall. My core clenches just from the image, and I have to press my legs together to focusagain.
Following through can have some unexpected payoffs anddrawbacks.
Still, my commitment to the task at hand had not wavered even a little bit. I want our voices heard. I need the world to know what Alexander Industries has been doing under our noses. They can’t keep getting away with bulldozing through the forests, farms, and lives of the littlepeople.
We wrap up our meeting and split up to independently make our way downtown using various subway and bus routes. As the leader, I take the direct route—south from Columbia U on the number one South Ferry Loop train. I’m so pumped up and angry that my fists clench as I sit on the train. It’s carrying me like a bullet through the tunnels beneath New York’s streets, taking me to fulfill another piece of my destiny. I’m about to set the record straight today, and whether they listen or not, at least I’ll get to say my piece on behalf of my entire family, and perhaps for my hometowntoo.
