Part 17 (1/2)

Theresa's mouth drops open. ”You're lying. That's a big fib, Jimmy Mattaman.”

I grab the bar spreader. It's in my hand now. We all stare at it.

”What's it doing in Nat's suitcase?” Theresa asks.

”Nat, how did you get this?” I ask.

Nat doesn't answer.

”That's what set the snitch box off. My father should have found it,” Jimmy whispers.

”He thought it was the metal b.u.t.tons,” I say.

”But she's taken her b.u.t.ton box through before, it never set the snitch box off. He should have kept looking-” Jimmy again.

”Trixle's not going to like this,” I say.

”My dad's already on probation,” Jimmy says.

”They're both on probation,” I say.

”He'll be fired,” Jimmy says in such a low voice I can barely hear him.

”They'll both be fired or . . . or killed, killed,” Theresa says.

”Not killed, Theresa,” I tell her.

”But definitely fired,” Jimmy says. ”They already think Nat's a security risk.”

”We don't have to tell anyone. We can just throw it away, right now,” I say.

”Bottom drawer,” Natalie mutters, taking the bar spreader, her head twitching left, then left again.

”Why's she keep saying that?” Theresa asks.

”How'd you get this, Natalie?”

Nat's shoulders creep up to her face. ”He told me to.”

”Who did? Who is he?”

”105. 105. 105.”

”You don't mean Alcatraz 105?” Jimmy whispers.

”105 didn't give you this . . . did he?” My voice cracks high.

Nat's green eyes pa.s.s by my face. She c.o.c.ks her ear to her shoulder and freezes.

”When did you see 105?”

Natalie dives back in her b.u.t.ton box. Stacking and restacking.

”Natalie!”

”Don't yell at her,” Theresa barks at me.

”Okay.” I blow air out of my mouth and try again as gently as I can. ”Nat, when did you see 105?”

Nat is silent.

”We got to get rid of this,” Jimmy tells me. ”But we can't throw it away. The cons pick up the trash.”

”We'll throw it in the bay,” I say.

”We can't just take it outside like that,” Jimmy says.

”We need a bag.” I look around Nat's room for something to wrap around it.

Natalie's grip is tight on the bar spreader. ”Bottom drawer. Bottom drawer, bottom.” She begins to spin in her spot.

”Natalie.” I put my hand out to steady her, but she's spinning even faster now.

”He said to put it in the bottom drawer.” She struggles to say the sentence correctly, struggles to be understood, as if that is the only problem here.

I try to make my voice as calm as possible. ”That's good, Natalie. That's just right. But I need it, okay? Will you let me borrow it?”

”No,” she says, each time she comes around, ”no, no, no.” She spins faster and faster.

The door bangs. My parents are back. I hear them in the living room. ”How much do you think it put her back?” my dad asks my mom.

Natalie has her hand on the bar spreader. She won't let go.

”We should tell,” Theresa says.

”My dad will tell the warden. And he'll be fired,” I say.

”They won't be fired if we tell the truth.” Theresa is firm about this.

”Sure they will, Theresa. They messed up,” Jimmy explains.

”Natalie,” I say. She's still spinning but not so fast. ”Look, I'll give you five b.u.t.tons for this, okay?”

She stops. Her eyes get suddenly bright. ”Five gold b.u.t.tons?”

I know the ones she means. They're on my suit jacket-the one I wear for special occasions. She loves those s.h.i.+ny gold b.u.t.tons. My mom will kill me if I cut them off, but what else am I going to do?