Free INFORMANT by Ava Archer Payne

now on the government dole. An official DEA Confidential Informant. Despite Beckett’s warning not to get personally involved, Ricco and I have become good friends. (And yes, if I’m being totally honest here, I know Ricco wants to be more than friends. But he’s not pushing it. He’s too considerate for that. So he’s just dropping hints, giving me time to come around to his way of thinking.)
    “I want you to have it,” I tell Jess.
    This is one hundred percent true. I don’t want a penny. I am laundering the money in the most fundamental emotional sense. If my sister takes it and uses it to help buy the garage, thereby protecting both her financial future and Dally’s, I figure that I am absolved of guilt. The money is being used for the greatest good. It’s not like I’m running around buying shoes, for God’s sake. I am helping the people I love.
    That’s what I tell myself, anyway. I hate what I am doing—getting close to Ricco only to report every word he says to me—but I keep playing the game. I’m not sure how to stop. I’m also worried that nothing I’ve uncovered seems remotely important enough to justify five thousand a month. This is how psychotic I’ve become.
    Then there’s the Beckett factor. We meet at various coffee shops throughout the city so I can impart whatever trivial bit of news Ricco has said to me. Invariably these are brief conversations held in busy public places. No chance for us to be tempted into doing something we shouldn’t.
    Also, I see Beckett every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in chem lab. We both do an awesome job pretending not to know the other one exists. Pretending nothing ever happened between us. But here’s the actual truth: from the moment he enters the room, I am deeply attuned to Beckett’s presence. I can tell you if he coughs, shifts in his chair, taps his pencil, scratches his jaw. If he is called on to answer a question, the sound of his voice sends shivers racing down my spine. He has become as essential to my existence as the air I breathe.
    It is terrifying, and unsettling, and unquestionably exciting—all at once.
    “Listen,” I say to Jess, “don’t make a decision about the money right now. Why don’t you talk it over with Ronnie and see what he says?”
    Jess frowns, and then reluctantly nods. She tucks the check into her purse and I am beyond relieved to see it go. I don’t want it.
    The weather is still mild, so we’re sitting outside at a café table in the SFSU quad. I’m bouncing Dally up and down in my lap. My chubby little nephew is wearing a brand new suit. (At least it’s new to him—Jess shops a lot of kiddy consignment. The stores in the pricier neighborhoods practically give the stuff away.) Anyway, he’s decked out in this little train engineer get-up that looks adorable. Two pearly white teeth poke out of his lower gums and glisten when he grins.
    “You sure you don’t mind watching Dally tonight?” Jess asks.
    “Positive,” I say.
    She and Ronnie are going out. It’s Ronnie’s brother’s birthday. The rest of the Hoyt family lives in Dale City, not far from the Walmart where our mom works, actually.
    “You know, you’re welcome to come,” she says.
    “Nah. I’d rather spend time with Dally.”
    I’ve been to Hoyt family birthday celebrations before. Cheap beer. A cake with an image painted in frosting of a naked woman with enormous breasts. Lots of jokes about ‘getting a slice’. Before the night is over, at least one pseudo-friendly fistfight will break out among the guests.
    “God, Kylie. You don’t have to be so judgmental about it,” Jess snaps.
    I was just about to plant a kiss on Dally’s cheek. Instead, my head jerks up. “What?”
    “You could at least try to get along with Ronnie. I mean, you know how much he means to me, right? Why do you always have to make it so hard?”
    What? I am floored. Shocked. I can feel my jaw go slack as I look at her. Where the hell did this come from?