Variant

“I don’t expect you people to trust me, because I don’t think that I’ve earned your trust. I’ve acted stupid and stubborn.” I looked over at Hector, and then to Curtis. “And I know that you guys think I’m still doing it.”

Carrie finally interrupted. “Will you just tell us why already?”

I turned to her. Her hair was uncombed and there were dark circles under her eyes. I expected anger but saw only fear.

“No,” I said, and the group immediately began grumbling. “But,” I shouted over the noise, “all I want is an hour. Just help me until the outside doors unlock. I promise that I’m not going to run. If, after I’m done, you don’t agree with me, then I will leave the V’s. The other gangs can have their war with me, not you.”

“They’ll kill you,” Gabby said. “Everyone needs a gang.”

I shook my head. “If I fail at this, then I’ll be going to detention anyway.” I looked at Curtis. “But I promise-I promise-that two hours from now the V’s will not be the target of anybody.”

He stared at me, his face still tight and serious. He was almost like the father of the group, and he had to be feeling a tangle of emotions: fear for the others, anger at me, maybe even a yearning to be free himself.

“We’ll put it to a vote,” he said. “I’m not going to decide this for anybody.” He looked at the group and then checked his watch. “Do we give him two hours, or do we turn him over now? All in favor of giving him time?”

I held my breath. I felt nauseated and dizzy. And, for a moment, no one moved. Finally, Carrie raised her hand. She still didn’t look at me, but she spoke. “What’s wrong with you people? You know what’ll happen to him.”

Hector raised his voice. “But what about us?”

It was Curtis who answered next, his words slow. “We can stall for two hours, I think. We can talk that long.”

The room was quiet, and breathing felt a little easier, though my muscles were still tense.

Carrie spoke. “You said that in two hours we’ll either turn you over or agree with you. What happens if we agree with you?”

I paused. “I don’t know. We’ll see. But if you can agree with me, then hopefully everyone else will, too.”

There was a knock on the door-a pounding fist-and everyone flinched.

Curtis pointed at the wall of tools. “Grab something, guys. But don’t start anything. Let’s see if we can keep it calm.” He moved to the large toolbox and shoved it over to the door, almost blocking it completely.

He touched the doorknob and then looked at me. “You need to get outside, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He motioned for the V’s to move to the other side of the room, away from the door. Most of them were armed now, some with hammers, others with wrenches. I’d taken a crowbar from the wall.

Curtis turned the knob just enough that it unlatched, and the door immediately slammed into the toolbox. The box was holding, but three of the guys put their weight against it, just in case. The door was only open about three inches.

“What the hell are you doing?”

It was Oakland.

I looked at my watch. 5:40 a.m.

Curtis was helping hold the box, and standing out of the way of the door so no one could hit him through the opening. “Oakland? It’s Curtis.”

“We had a truce,” Oakland said. Behind him, the rest of Havoc screamed and swore.

“I know we had a truce,” Curtis said. “Give us a minute to figure out what happened.”

“Is he in there with you?”

“Who?”

I looked at Curtis and shook my head. “I’m here.”

Oakland let out a string of profanity and pounded on the door. “That’s our contract, Fisher. You stole it.”

“We’re going to sort this out,” Curtis said. “But you have to give us some time.”

“There’s nothing to sort out,” Oakland yelled. “You broke the truce. You’re going to pay.”

“Give us an hour.”

“What’s going to change in an hour? The V’s are the smallest gang. You’ve pissed off the Society, too.”

“Let’s meet,” Curtis said. “You, me, Isaiah.”

There was a sudden surge against the door, and the toolbox slipped an inch. Five more V’s jumped to brace it. The others stood poised, nervously holding their weapons and hoping Havoc didn’t break through.

“Hold on,” Curtis shouted. “Is Isaiah out there? Get him over here.”

A chunk of something flew through the crack in the door, smacking into the peg board with a crack. A handsaw and T square crashed to the floor.

“Curtis,” another voice said.

“Isaiah.” Curtis’s voice was still even, but he had a look of desperation in his eyes. “Let’s meet. You, me, and Oakland.”

“And me,” said a girl angrily. Mouse.

“Yes, of course. Let’s talk and figure this out.”

Isaiah’s face was close to the crack, probably so he could speak without shouting. “What is there to talk about? You broke the truce.”

“So that’s it, Isaiah? What about the no-fighting rules? Don’t you care about those, or do you only care about the truce?”

“The truce is what keeps order around here. Do you want to go back to the way things used to be?”