Authors: Charles Benoit
Fall from Grace
Fall from Grace
To Rose, my partner in crime.
“I NEED YOU to steal something for me.”
AS SOON AS he opened his locker, Sawyer knew someoneâ¦
TWO WEEKS LATER, there she was again.
“I'LL GIVE YOU the same advice my father gave me.”â¦
THE LAST TIME Sawyer was in this library he hadâ¦
“THERE,” ZOà SAID, brushing the hair out of her faceâ¦
IT TOOK HIM longer to find the apartment than heâ¦
THIS IS THE joke Sawyer's precalculus teacher told the firstâ¦
“ONE GUY, EIGHT hot girls. It's like the plot ofâ¦
SUNDAYS WERE THE busiest days at Mike's Ice Cream. Inâ¦
“ON MY EIGHTEENTH birthday, my dad bought me my firstâ¦
SHE NARROWED HER eyes and tried to look tough. “Thatâ¦
SAWYER HAD NEVER been inside the William C. Wood Memorialâ¦
“KNOCK, KNOCK,” SAWYER'S father said, rapping a knuckle on theâ¦
GOD, HE HATED these stupid quizzes.
IT WAS THE Xbox that got him thinking.
ZOÃ SLAMMED HER locker shut.
THE DOOR WAS shut, so when his father knocked, Sawyerâ¦
“OKAY, YOU KNOW the drill. Everything off your desks butâ¦
“WHO WAS THAT girl you were with at Starbucks?”
HE SHOULD HAVE called her as soon as the testâ¦
FRIDAY WAS A good day.
EVERYBODY KNEW SINGH'S Diner. It was downtown, across from theâ¦
THE SECOND TIME the cop car drove by, Sawyer wasâ¦
IT WAS COLD and windy and miserable and it wasâ¦
TEN MINUTES AFTER his shift was supposed to be over,â¦
THEY MET SUNDAY afternoon at a Dunkin' Donuts on theâ¦
SAWYER TOSSED THE half-eaten slice on his plate.
“WHAT DO YOU think the artist was trying to say?”â¦
THE SCHOOL WAS empty.
“GO AHEAD,” GRACE said, “slide it in.”
TUESDAY NIGHT WAS a blur, a marathon of online gamesâ¦
SOMEHOW 4:20 A.M. came earlier than normal.
SHE POINTED A knife at Sawyer.
HE TYPED Happy Thanksgiving, then hit Send.
SAWYER FOUND A parking space on a residential street, fiveâ¦
“I JUST WANT to know one thing,” the assistant districtâ¦
SAWYER WAITED AT the door to be buzzed in.
Â
“I NEED YOU
to steal something for me.”
She was small, with dark hair and blue eyes that looked lit from behind, and the kind of face, the kind of tight body that kept him listening.
“Get me a copy of the treaty you're working on. The one with Iran.”
He shrugged. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't play dumb. I saw you sitting with the delegation at the opening ceremony. North Korea, right?”
“Yeah.” A pause, another shrug. “I think so.”
“You
think
so? You don't know what country you're with?”
“I just joined Thursday.”
“Is that your school's team?” She pointed across the gym to the folding table where a kid in a suit and two girls in dresses huddled around one of the laptops. The table was centered under a
MODEL UNITED NATIONS
banner taped to the backboard above the basketball hoop.
“It's the team I'm with, yeah.”
“Then you're North Korea. So you can get it for me.”
He smiled. He had to. There was something about her that made him do it. “Who are you?”
“Grace.” She pulled on the name tag clipped to an empty belt loop of her red jeans.
“I meant the country you're with.”
“Belgium.” She tapped the black, yellow, and red flag printed on the school team ID as if the answer was obvious. West High School. A Westie. The other side of the proverbial tracks. The wrong side. “Where's
your
ID, comrade?”
He patted his chest, then checked his pockets. “I must have lost it.”
“Tsk-tsk. Now you won't get to enjoy a delicious cafeteria-style box lunch.” She looked at him, her head tilted to the side a bit, her hair bouncing short of her shoulder. “So maybe you're smarter than you look.”
“It's the tie. I had to wear one.”
She reached up and gave it a tug. “At least it's not a clip-on.” It wasn't, but it might as well have been. His father had tied it for him months ago and each time he wore it, he slipped it off over his head, hanging it on the hook on the back of his bedroom door, the misshapen knot pulled too tight to untangle. “So, you gonna get me that treaty?”
“What do you need it for?”
“Do you really care?”
“I might.”
“You don't. It's a make-believe treaty written by a bunch of high school students pretending to be the ambassadors of real countries they couldn't find on a map. Picking a theme for the senior prom has more global impact.”
That wasn't the way Mr. Jansen had explained Model United Nations, but so far it was the most accurate description he'd heard. He had joined late in the quarter, too late to know what he was supposed to be doing, but, as his mother had pointed out, not too late to add it to his college application. She said he needed an extracurricular activity, something academic, that he could list along with
all the volunteer work his parents had arranged for him to do. His father would have preferred that he join Public Speaking, but that would have meant speaking in public, and as determined as they were on getting him into a good school, even his parents couldn't get around that. That's why they settled on MUN. He was just glad they didn't know there was a chess club.
“I've been to this school before,” Grace said, looking past the open gym doors and down the long corridor. “There's a photocopier in the teachers' lounge. I'll have it back in five minutes, tops.”
“If you think this whole thing is stupidâ”
“And I do, but go on.”
“âwhy do you want the treaty?”
“
I
don't want it, the US team wants it. I'm cutting a little deal on the side. I get them the details of the treaty, they give me North Dakota.”
“Why would you want North Dakota?”
“It would complete the set. Look, you going to get it for me or not?”
“If I don't, what happens then?”
“Then we both have to think of something to do to fill up the four hours before this ridiculous event is over.”
He could think of plenty of things they could do for four hours, and if he were that kind of guy, the put-it-out-there kind who was smooth with the words and fast with the ladies, they'd be off in some empty classroom, getting busy. He wasn't, not even close, but that didn't stop him from thinking about it. Besides, Zoë would find out for sure and she'd be pissed and she'd tell his mother because they were tight like that and then he'd hear about it from his parents, plus he'd have to see Zoëâand all of Zoë's friendsâevery day in school, and he could guess what that would be like. Nope, even if he was that kind of guy it wasn't worth it. Still, for an uncontrolled, hormone-driven second, he thought about it.
“Four hours at a MUN event is a long, long time,” she said. “If you don't help get the treaty I'll be so bored I'll probably declare war on Luxembourg and then you'll have that on your conscience.”
He weighed the pretend global consequences before nodding. “Anything for world peace. Wait here, I'll go get it.”
“Hold it.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, stronger than she looked. Her hand was cool and dry against his skin. “You just can't walk up and take it.”
“Yes I can. There're copies on the table, I'll get one andâ”
“We have to have a plan first. And signals and code words and a Plan B and an escape routeâ¦.”
“How about this for a plan? I go get it and give it to you.”
“Oh, come on. You're taking all the fun out of it.”
“You
are
bored. Okay, what's the plan?”
The metal bleachers were pushed closed against the wall, but someone had pulled out a couple rows at the bottom where delegates from around the make-believe world had tossed their book bags and winter coats. She led him to an open section and took a seat, flipping to a blank page in a notebook that wasn't hers.
“We'll call it Operation Trick-or-Treat.”
“Because you like Halloween?”
“No, because I like taking candy from babies.” She wrote the words at the top of the paper in blocky capital letters. She drew a quick map of the gym and the hallway. “Next, we need code names. I'll be Al'ea and you can be Bix.”
“Bix? What kind of name is Bix?”
She looked at him, stunned by his ignorance. “Al'ea
and Bix? From
Reality Frat House
?”
Blank stare.
“You're kidding, right? They're
famous
.”
“Famous for what?”
“For being famous, geez, what do you think? They're on TV, that's all they have to do.” She shook her head and mumbled as she continued to map out the room. “I can't believe you don't know who Bix is.”
“How about calling me Sawyer?”
“Which Sawyer? The one from
Random Roommates
or the one from
Spring Break Survival
?”
“The one from East High School.”
“That's your name? Sawyer?” She gave him the quick up and down. “No, it doesn't fit. Let's go with Bix. But just for this job.”
“Good. It would be a pain to have to get my driver's license changed.”
She focused on the paper, drawing arrows one way, erasing them and going another, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her lips as she made the simple complex. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and waited. Nothing else to do. The North Korean teamâhis teamâwere bent over their laptops, finalizing the
resolutions he wasn't allowed to help with. Well, he
could
if he
really
wanted to, but it's just that it's so
late
in the process and the team had already
done
all the background work and he'd have
so far
to go to catch up and he could still play an important role, sure, but not with the writing or the presenting or the debates, definitely not the debates, but sorta like a goodwill ambassador, that way he could get to know how the event works so next time he can play a bigger roleâwell not
next
time, since that's the regionals, but after that, maybe. They were sure he understood.
“All right, we're here,” Grace said, tapping two small Xs with the point of her pencil. “Here's North Korea, and right next to it is Denmark. I'll go to the Denmark table, and I'll make something up about how they should join Belgium in blocking imports from countries with dictatorships. That'll get your team all hot and bothered. Meanwhile, you come around like this, between Kuwait and Kyrgyzstan. Wait by Trinidad. When you hear me say âWhy do you think they call them
dic
tators,' you grab the paper, then make your way over to Singapore and leave the paper behind those blue mats. I'll head to Mexico. Give me the sign when you've
planted the paper and I'll go pick it up.”
“What sign is that?”
“Ever see
The Sting
?” She held up a finger and tapped it along the side of her nose.
“Another reality show?”
“You don't know
The Sting
? What do they teach you over at East?” She shook her head some more. “I'll pick up the paper, take it down to the teachers' lounge, and burn a copy. It would be easier to just take a picture of it, but the US team has crappy phones so they need a hard copy. I'll put the original back by the mats, then you put it back in the folder. Easy.” She folded the paper and stuck it in her jeans, dropping the pencil in the pocket of his shirt. “Now, you ready for this?”