The Shipwreck: An Official Minecraft Novel Page 11

  “I had nothing to do with this!” Emily says, stomping her foot. “I was just here!”

  “Trespassing!” Grant snarls at her. “This whole site is off-limits!” He glares at Mr. Thomas. “I can call the authorities now, sir, and you can press charges.”

  Mr. Thomas is still gaping at Jake.

  “Ahem.” Mrs. Jenkins taps her cane on the ground. “There’s no need to be rash.”

  “Punishment! Consequences!” Grant says, eyes darting wildly between Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Jenkins. “I believe juvenile detention would certainly make these kids think twice about messing with anyone’s personal property ever again.”

  Mrs. Jenkins flicks a switch on a heavy-duty construction light standing behind her. The site is flooded with a bright, stark fluorescent light, casting each of them in harsh shadow. She looks directly at Tank, her gaze locking him in. He freezes, like she’s cast some sort of immobilizing spell and he can’t move.

  “Now, these youths you say were causing trouble,” Mrs. Jenkins says, giving Grant a keen eye.

  “I found this wrench here on the ground,” Grant says quickly.

  “And how do you know it didn’t belong to the construction crew? Mr. Thomas, I cannot believe the blatant disregard for health and safety.” Mrs. Jenkins clucks her tongue.

  “That doesn’t change that the kids were here trespassing,” Grant says.

  “I was just looking for my photos,” Emily says quietly. “I dropped my Polaroids here earlier.”

  “I was helping,” Jake says.

  “Me too,” Tank adds.

  Grant casts a suspicious look at him. “Mr. Thomas, don’t tell me you believe them!”

  Mr. Thomas sighs. “Look, it’s normal for kids to be curious. I know I did my fair share of sneaking around into places I shouldn’t have been when I was your age. Now, I do believe breaking the rules warrants a punishment. Jake, you’re grounded. And I’ll call your friends’ parents as well and let them know the severity of the situation.”

  “I’ll say. You know that wrench doesn’t belong to any of the crew. No one leaves their tools lying around,” Grant mutters.

  “I have a proposal,” Mrs. Jenkins says. “Nigel, you gave me three weeks while you got your supplies delivered to clean out all my personal effects in the community center. And I know I’ve been taking my time—sorting through everything is quite difficult, as you know, with my back, and I requested more time…”

  “What are you suggesting, Ellen?” Mr. Thomas asks, tilting his head.

  “Community service. It’s typical of what a judge would offer for this sort of light mischief.” Mrs. Jenkins folds her arms, looking at the dilapidated building behind them. “Now, we don’t need to do any of those official charges and consequences and stuff. I believe the children deserve a second chance.”

  “What, like picking up trash and stuff?” Tank’s done that before at school. He’s gotten into trouble a lot, and usually during detention they make all the kids walk the campus and pick up trash and scrape gum. He used to be humiliated, having to be seen doing that in front of the whole school, but he learned from Shark to wear it like a badge of honor. That he was one of the tough kids. That his reputation was etched in stone as someone not to be messed with.

  Mrs. Jenkins nods. “A little more focused than that, but I like where your mind is going, Tank. Now, with three pairs of hands helping me, I’m sure I could get the whole place cleaned up and ready for you by the date you specified.” Mrs. Jenkins smiles at Mr. Thomas, and Tank could swear her eyes are twinkling.

  It’s a little weird. He’s never seen Mrs. Jenkins like this; she’s always been stern or sad or some sort of combination of both.

  “Vuong, isn’t it?” She pulls a pad of paper out of her pocket and licks her forefinger before flipping to a new page. “V-U-O-N-G. Vuong, B-three-eleven.” She glances at Emily. “You’re one of the Quesada girls, huh. Carmen?”

  Emily stays silent.

  “No, you’re wearing too much color. You’re the other one. Emily,” Mrs. Jenkins clucks to herself. “Quesada, C-two-fourteen.” She marks it down on her pad and then she turns to Jake. “Thomas. A-two-oh-four.” Her pen’s scratching sounds echo in the construction site as she scribbles quickly, making flourishes as she writes.

  “Here’s a proposal. Is that sufficient for you? And I can call these two’s parents right now.”

  Mr. Thomas takes the handwritten sheet, blinking at it owlishly. “This sounds agreeable. Thank you for your time, Ellen, and for the suggestion.”

  Tank watches as Mrs. Jenkins pulls out her phone. She jerks her head at Grant, who fumbles for his keys and unlocks the giant lock on the chain wrapped around the fence gate and pushes it open.

  Emily follows him, her head held down, and Jake and Mr. Thomas step through as well. Mrs. Jenkins is calling someone, jabbing at her phone keypad with a tense ferocity. She huffs, hanging up, and then dials another number. The response is immediate, and Mrs. Jenkins speaks in urgent, quick Spanish. Tank doesn’t understand, but he watches Emily’s eyes widening as the woman on the other end of the call responds, the tone rapid-fire and angry.

  Mrs. Jenkins gives Emily a satisfied smile. “Your parents are on their way down.”

  Tank bristles when Ellen turns to face him.

  “And no one answered at your house.”

  Tank clenches and unclenches his fists. Ma’s at work. Auntie Phuong is probably asleep. Viv would have her headphones in, playing Minecraft. He hopes the phone call to the landline just rang and rang and no one heard it, no one knows that he’s gotten in trouble.

  Doors open and shut from the direction of the West Tower. That must be Emily’s parents on their way over.

  Emily’s lip wobbles. “I’m already grounded, though!”

  Jake and his dad are having some sort of silent conversation that’s making Tank incredibly uncomfortable. His dad isn’t yelling or even saying anything, just looking at Jake with this weird, sad face.

  Tank follows everyone out into the courtyard and watches Grant lock the gate back up, unsure of what to do.

  Emily’s parents are now here, a couple who look exhausted and disappointed. Emily looks like her parents, with her mom’s brown curls and her dad’s wide forehead and expressive eyebrows. She hangs her head as they speak to her in hushed disappointment. Her mom takes Emily by the elbow and leads her away after speaking with Mrs. Jenkins.

  She’s now talking to Mr. Thomas, and Tank can pick out “nine o’clock” and “about four or five hours a day should be sufficient” but he can’t focus right now. Can he leave? Does Mrs. Jenkins expect his parents to show up? What happens when she realizes no one is going to pick up the phone?

  Jake looks at Tank as his dad takes him by the shoulder. He offers up his hand—it’s not quite a wave.

  Tank shakes his head. He doesn’t want anything to do with this kid; he just wanted to find Viv’s notebook and because he heard a noise and stopped to talk to Jake, it’s landed them all in trouble.

  The Thomases disappear into the foyer of the North Tower, the brand-new one. He guesses it makes sense, if Mr. Thomas’s company is the one doing the renovation. Tank doesn’t know many people aside from the Mishras who live in that tower—most of them are new tenants. Most of the old ones couldn’t afford to stay.

  “Your parents work late, right?” Mrs. Jenkins turns her sharp eye on Tank.

  He nods.

  “I’ll see you bright and early here tomorrow at nine, then,” Mrs. Jenkins says. It’s not a question. She looks up at Tank, her eyes glinting as hard as steel, and even though she’s a tiny old woman, Tank is more than a little daunted.

  “Okay,” he offers, nodding at her.

  Mrs. Jenkins gives him one last look before striding across the courtyard to return to her tower, her bathrobe flowing behind her regall
y.

  Tank is now alone with Grant. The security guard has already settled, standing in front of the fence, looking at his phone, scrolling with the same boredom Tank’s come to recognize as his daily routine. He wonders how much Grant makes to watch this place, if it’s more than Tank makes helping Mr. Mishra with his boxes.

  Tank can feel Grant’s eyes on him as he tries to walk back to his own tower, and he hunches his shoulders instinctively, trying to make himself smaller, less threatening. He pauses, wondering, wanting to say something, but he doesn’t know where to start.

  “What, you want to laugh at me some more? You don’t get enough of it with your friends?”

  “I—” Tank stares at his feet. His shoes are scuffed and worn, and his socks are poking out of the sneakers’ top. Grant’s shoes are equally as shabby-looking, old boots that have seen better days. The I’m sorry sticks in his throat but he tries to say it anyway, and it comes out like a small mumble instead. Tank tries again. “Your keys. I’m—I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah? You’re sorry for making my job harder? You know if I lose that set of keys the replacement cost will come out of my paycheck?”

  Tank doesn’t say anything. He thinks of how Shark laughed at Grant.

  “Whatever, kid. Go home. You’re lucky you got this deal.”

  Tank exhales. He doesn’t feel lucky. Lucky would have meant avoiding this whole situation in the first place. But Viv had wanted her notebook with the coordinates, and they were in that computer lab somewhere, and he definitely can’t get them now with Grant watching him with a careful eye.

  Tank sticks his hands into his pockets and looks carefully away. He walks back to his tower alone. He glances up at the sky; the moon is a sliver, hiding behind the clouds. The courtyard is shrouded in shadow now that Mrs. Jenkins turned off the bright construction light, and it’s back to the eerie strangeness of the middle of the night.

  The door to the stairwell echoes with a loud metallic clang; Tank has always been used to it, the abandoned staircase that no one uses in the far west section of the tower. He walks up to the third floor, dreading every step that takes him closer to home.

  He approaches his apartment door and pauses. His hand trembles as he tries to fit the key into the lock. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the door. The metal is cold against his skin, growing clammy with sweat. The longer he stays out here, the more time he has before anybody inside could know that he’s failed everyone. He could stay out here forever.

  The door opens without warning. Tank slips forward but catches himself before losing his balance.

  Viv blinks up at him owlishly behind her round frames, cast in shadow. The streetlight from the courtyard barely enters the dim apartment, lighting only the knees of Viv’s dinosaur pajamas.

  “What are you doing, dummy?” Viv rolls her eyes at him. “Just standing outside forever?”

  “Yeah. That’s me. I’m a dummy. I just like leaning against the door and you ruined all that.” Tank rolls his eyes and pretends to be annoyed, but he can’t help but smile. She must have noticed he wasn’t home and waited for him. It’s nice, knowing that she cares about where he is.

  “I heard shouting from the courtyard. Was that Old Woman Jenkins?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What were you doing? Hanging out with Shark again? You know he’s mean, right?”

  Tank shrugs as he steps inside, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He shuts the door behind him and makes his way through the dark of the living room. The kitchen is softly lit, a programming book flipped open and the single fluorescent lamp lighting it. Viv must have been hanging out here, waiting for him.

  Tank sighs, making his way through the living room, his pathway memorized as he avoids the furniture on his way to the bathroom.

  Footsteps pad behind him, and the hallway light flickers on. “I saw you. Being yelled at. There were a bunch of people downstairs by the community center.”

  Tank turns around and sighs. “I was trying to get your coordinates,” he mutters. “Got caught up in some other kid’s prank.”

  Viv’s frown deepens, her forehead wrinkling with concern. “I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” She offers the sandwich to him. It’s made the way she likes it, cut diagonally across the middle, with a generous heaping of jelly oozing onto the plate. “Are you in trouble?”

  “Yeah. Did you hear the phone ring earlier?”

  Viv nods and points to the receiver where a blinking red 01 indicates a new voicemail.

  Tank deletes the message. “I’ll deal with it. No one has to know. We don’t need to worry Ma.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Tank doesn’t know. The only thing he does know is that he’s going to show up at the community center tomorrow and do exactly what he needs to do to fix this.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EMILY

  Emily wasn’t sure what kind of work they’d be doing, which sucked because she couldn’t plan an outfit appropriately. Would they be doing stuff in the garden? Would she need long pants? It’s too hot for jeans, but she wears her oldest pair anyway, with a cute T-shirt she’d stopped wearing because she spilled soy sauce on it once. The stain was impossible to get out, but she couldn’t give up on the shirt and the cute butterfly print and lacy cap sleeves.

  Jake is already there, sitting morosely on a bench in the courtyard and staring at the community center. The caution tape wafts in the morning’s scant winds, and Emily wonders if she should have brought a light sweater. Well, it’s going to be sweltering later, so she should just stick it out, especially if they’re outside.

  “Hey,” Jake says, smiling and waving at her.

  Emily ignores him. If she hadn’t stopped to see who was there, she wouldn’t have gotten caught. Sure, she’d still be grounded, but at least she’d be grounded by herself. Being bored with no Internet is way better than being stuck with these guys.

  Emily leans against one of the planters with faded silk flowers, ignoring Jake’s offer of the seat next to him. She wishes she could check her Instagram feed, something, anything to keep her occupied for the next few moments of waiting so she doesn’t have to talk to the boy who ruined her summer. Her parents gave her phone back but made sure that she didn’t have access to any of her social media accounts, which is even more annoying.

  “Look, I’m sorry you got caught up in this, but it’s not my fault you’re here.”

  “Sure it is. You were the one messing with the construction stuff. I was just retrieving my lost property.”

  “You were sneaking through an area that was clearly marked NO ENTRY!”

  “Yeah, but if you two hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been caught.” Emily snorts.

  “I wasn’t messing with anything! I just—I needed to do something in the computer lab.”

  “Like what?”

  Jake looks at his feet. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He looks so sad and forlorn for a moment that Emily feels guilty for the way she snubbed him the first time they met. It’s too late now to indulge the idea of inviting him to play Minecraft with her—it was just a fleeting thought, anyway.

  “Try me,” Emily says, defaulting to her usual sarcastic bite. Ouch. That sounded kind of harsh, though. Maybe she should say it again…more softly? How do people do this?

  No, she’s already said it, it’s already done. Just wait. Relax. It’s okay.

  Jake takes a deep breath and looks her in the eye, like he’s debating whether it’s worth it, to have this conversation with her. It makes Emily prickle, the way she does want him to decide she’s worth his time. Does he think she’s an empty airhead? Would he dismiss her like so many of the other people at school?

  It’s one thing to play a part and another thing to have done it so well that no one ever tru
ly knows you and they can only see the mask you put on.

  “Hi. Have we started yet? What are we doing?” A new voice joins them—Tank. He’s wearing ill-fitting jeans and a T-shirt three sizes too big, the same sort of tough-guy outfit she’s always seen him in at school.

  “Hey, Tank,” Jake says, too brightly for someone who doesn’t quite understand that talking to someone like Tank at school is like a death sentence. Then again, he just straight up introduced himself to Emily. Maybe he just has no fear.

  Tank just rolls his eyes and leans against the planter opposite Emily. “So we just wait around? For what? It’s past nine already.”

  Jake looks at his phone. “Hm. You think she forgot? It looks like the site is still locked up.”

  Tank shrugs.

  Emily pushes herself off the planter and dusts herself off. “Well, I’m not going to sit around here for nothing. Come on, Mrs. Jenkins lives right over there.” She strides off, not bothering to see if the boys are following her.

  She skirts around the fence along the apartment unit attached to the community center and raps quickly on the door with the faded brass plate reading MANAGER.

  “Mrs. Jenkins? Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Guess that means community service isn’t happening,” Emily says sweetly. Great. Now she can go home and take photos all day.

  “Are you sure?” Jake frowns.

  Emily shrugs. No one can say she didn’t show up. She twirls around and walks right back through the courtyard toward the West Tower, Jake and Tank on her heels. Don’t they live in different buildings? What are they following her for?

  “There you are!” Mrs. Jenkins’s hoarse voice echoes from the right. “Thought you could skip out, did you?”

  “No, no, we were just looking for you,” Jake says immediately. Suck up.

  He gives Emily a look before breaking into a jog—wow. He’s really running up to her, panting like he’s scared he’s going to be late.

  Mrs. Jenkins doesn’t look impressed as she unlocks the gate and beckons to Emily and Tank.