Free How to Lead a Life of Crime by Kirsten Miller

will be inserted beneath the skin of your forearm. It will allow the academy to monitor your location. As soon as you graduate, the chip will be removed.”
    “What?” This is a problem. “There’s no f—ing way I’m going to let you put a chip in my arm.”
    Mandel makes a show of sympathy. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid the chip is non-negotiable. But I do understand your reluctance. It’s a terribly old-fashioned method of keeping our less disciplined students in line. A pharmaceutical option would be more state-of-the-art. We’re looking at ways to update the system, but for now, the chips remain a necessity. However, I can assure you that your father will not be able to access the data. And I don’t waste time tracking students who don’t cause trouble. I’d let you in without a chip, but I don’t think you’d want to stand out from your schoolmates.” He sees I’m still not convinced. “Tell you what. Why don’t you take a little while to think about it? Have a hot shower in your private bathroom. Change into some clean clothes. You’ll find everything you need is here in this room. I even took the liberty of adding a few items to your wardrobe. I’ll drop by in an hour to hear your final answer. If it turns out to be yes, there are a few people downstairs who would love to give you a proper welcome. Believe it or not, Flick, you already have fans.”
    He leaves me sitting on the bed. Once he’s gone, I take it all in. The mattress is firm. The room’s furniture is simple and elegant. My mother would have called the pale shade of gray on the walls something like Nimbus or Dove. It’s all so incredibly tasteful. There won’t be much suffering in a room like this.
    I don’t trust Mandel. I don’t buy a bit of his flattery. And the tracking chip is disturbing as hell. But at the end of the day, none of that matters. Mandel knows that my father killed Jude—and he says he has proof. And there’s nothing—nothing—I won’t do to get it.

CHAPTER SEVEN
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    THE WAKE
    I ’m getting drunk enough to enjoy my own going-away party. The people I pass either gawk or get out of the way. It’s not every day that a rich-looking kid is spotted staggering through the projects with no coat and a bottle of his father’s favorite Scotch in his hand.
    “Thirty-thousand dollars a pop,” I inform a young lady. She steps off the sidewalk, into a patch of mud. You know you’re a mess when girls ruin their shoes to avoid you. “And you just piss it out the same evening!” I shout at her back.
    A seven-foot hulk in a black North Face coat and knit hat emerges from the lobby of one of the buildings. In the darkness, he looks like a bear standing on its hind legs. And I’m trespassing on its territory. Suddenly the bear takes off toward the west, moving more quickly than you’d think possible for a beast of his size. I have a feeling he’ll be back with friends.
    “Go get ’em!” I call out. “I’ll wait right here for you!”
    I drop to the ground with a thump and sit with my back against a tree. I take a swig from the bottle and gag. You’d think Scotch this expensive would taste like something other than whiskey. I wonder if stealing a thirty-thousand-dollar bottle of liquor is grounds for expulsion from the Mandel Academy. Seems highly unlikely. I guess I’ll find out in the morning.
    Scotch or no Scotch, Mandel can’t be too happy that I slipped out of his little cocktail party. Six of his favorite alums had shown up to check out the horse he’d backed. And these weren’t your average gamblers. A lady senator. A CEO. Two big-shots from Goldman Sachs. A businesswoman who’d flown in from China. And some dude with a scraggly beard and camouflage pants. Everyone else chuckled when he told me he “works from home.” I knew they were all there to place their own bets. So Mandel made sure I’d been cleaned up and decked out in the finest duds. As soon as we stepped into the alumni lounge on the