Free Cold Calls by Charles Benoit Page A

points, stubby black fingernails. Then up the black sleeve of her hoodie, past the black-on-black band patches to that mass of purple-black hair. Then at her dark eyes, made darker by her makeup and the way she was glaring at him.
    â€œI
said
hello.”
    It wasn’t a friendly look. He was ready to say hello, and then goodbye and walk off, when she said, “We need to talk.”
    â€œI’m pretty much talked out today,” Eric said, easing his sweatshirt from her grip and starting down the stairs. But she stayed with him.
    â€œ
Listen
to me. We know someone in common,” she said.
    He turned and looked at her again and got the same icy stare. He shook his head. “I seriously doubt it.”
    â€œWell, you’re wrong. We do. And that’s why we need to talk.
Right now.
” She grabbed for his sleeve, he stopped short, and she bumped into him. He matched her expression.
    â€œLook, I don’t know you—”
    â€œI’m Shelly Meyer, you’re Eric Hamilton. We’ve been sitting in the same room together for two days.”
    â€œGreat. And now it’s over. Goodbye.”
    He jumped the last steps and headed toward the parking lot. She watched from the top of the stairs, waiting until he had crossed the bus lane, then she drew in a deep breath and cupped her hands around her mouth to target her shout.
    â€œIt’s about your secret.”
    Eric stopped midstride, stumbling forward, then spun around, his body reacting to the words his mind was still processing.
    â€œThe caller knows,” Shelly said, still way too loud, Eric sprinting back at her, “and if we don’t do something, so will—”
    He leaped up the stairs, teeth clenched. “What the hell are you doing?”
    She dropped her hands and lowered her voice. “Getting your attention.”
    He looked around—no one watching them—then stepped in close. “All right, let’s talk.”
    She gave a flat smile. “I thought you were all talked out.” He narrowed his eyes at that, so she continued. “I saw your reaction back in the room. Somebody called you, said they knew your secret and made you punk that kid.”
    â€œHow’d you—”
    â€œDuh. Obviously I’m getting the same calls. That’s why I’m here too.” She watched his expression, waiting for the doubt to disappear. “The voice is altered, right? And the caller tells you
exactly
what to do and when to do it?”
    He raised an eyebrow.
    Shelly leaned forward. “Including the mac and cheese.”
    â€œHow do you know that?”
    â€œYou are not listening,”
she said, her voice rising as she tapped the side of his head. “I got the same calls.”
    He ignored the tapping and looked into her eyes. “You got a call telling you to—”
    â€œTo pick on a
specific
girl on
specific
days, and that I was supposed to dump a plate of macaroni and cheese on her head at noon next Thursday and post it on YouTube, yes.”
    â€œSo you have some sort of secret.”
    â€œWe all do. But the caller knows mine. And apparently yours, too.”
    Eric looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Shelly laughed. “A little late for that, don’t you think? Listen, I don’t want to know your secret, and I’m certainly not going to tell you mine. But if we work together, we can figure out who’s behind this and stop it before it gets worse.”
    â€œWhy don’t you figure it out yourself?”
    â€œI could,” she said, the sarcasm close to the surface. “But I’m running out of time. And so are you. That’s why you have to help.”
    He looked down at his sneakers, scuffing them against the concrete step, thinking, then looked back up at her dark, determined eyes.
    â€œNo, thanks,” he said, and started back toward the parking lot.
    Shelly stood motionless, not