Chapter Eleven Keely
Chapter Eleven
Keely
When Keely walked through Mrs. Kershaw’s classroom door that Friday, the teacher visibly relaxed. “I really didn’t think you were coming back.”
Volunteering with children had a steep learning curve, something Keely experienced firsthand last week.
It was a student’s birthday, so her reading time was overshadowed by the opportunity to eat massive amount of sugar and crush juice boxes like red solo cups.
Her throat had been hoarse for the rest of the day, and more than a few children ended up in tears.
The teacher might have also been crying.
Now, Keely laughed, one among many in the bright-colored room. She sat her bag down next to her stool. “What you don’t know is that this is the best part of my week.”
And she wasn’t kidding. Fridays were slowly becoming her new favorite day. Being surrounded with all the childlike wonder really helped to calm her nervous system, despite the constant chaos. The kids asked more questions than she did, which was a surprising change of pace.
She’d spent an hour at the library last night searching for the perfect book, something she couldn’t afford to do every week if she was going to stay on top of the scholarship application.
She’d been about to give up and grab a random one from the shelf when she remembered the kids’ tiny faces.
They expected Keely to read an amazing story, and Keely wasn’t exempt from their expectations, even if they were only three feet tall.
The teacher instructed the kids to sit on the crayon-printed rug. Keely watched as one kid wiped their nose with their palm, then wiped it across the carpet. She gagged, just a little.
Once they were settled, she held up the book for them to see. “Today, we’re going to read one of my favorites from when I was a little girl.”
“You were little?” one of them asked. Keely was still learning names.
“I was little, just like the main characters of this book. This is Frog and Toad Together, by Arnold Lobel.”
· · · · ·
That night, Keely and Zoey went on their own Frog and Toad adventure as they peeked around a corner of the Athletics building.
Keely should have been studying. Or sleeping. Memorizing chemical reactions. Literally anything else.
Instead she was here, getting the upper hand on Max again. He’d be so mortified he’d stop coming to the shelter each week or drop out altogether. The scholarship would be hers for the taking. That’s how it played out in her head, at least.
This was a building so far removed from Keely’s normal sphere, she didn’t even know where it was on campus. Zoey had led the way here and around the corner, pulling open a side door once her student ID card granted her entrance.
“How did you do that?” Keely whispered.
Zoey ducked her head inside, and waved Keely in behind her. “You remember the swimmer I saw casually during sophomore year?”
“How could anyone forget Broughton Stockard III, heir to Stockard NFT Holdings, LLC.” Keely’s voice was flat enough that her joke landed, and Zoey’s snicker set off her own.
“Well,” Zoey said, “he gave me blanket access so we could hook up after his swim practice and forgot to remove it when we stopped. I’ve been using the sauna for two years.”
“Zoey Lamb, you are a genius.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Keely thought for a second. “Lise Meitner was a physicist who helped discover nuclear fission, but her name wasn’t included on the Nobel Prize, so she wasn’t credited for the discovery at the time.”
Zoey blinked at her. “Everyone knows that.”
Keely snorted. Maybe everyone in their circle of friends did, but Keely highly doubted Max Simmons knew fusion from fission, much less the scientists who discovered both.
“Cut me some slack. I’m too nervous to think straight.” Keely eyed the dimly lit corners, then the security cameras blinking down at them from the ceiling. “What if we get caught?”
Zoey wrapped her hand around Keely’s and gave her a tug. “We’ll say we didn’t know, and if they didn’t want us in here, they should monitor who has access.” She stopped halfway down the hall, fingers still glued to Keely’s. “Don’t tell me you’re second-guessing this.”
Keely balanced on the sides of her tennis shoes. They were the same ones she wore to the shelter, an old pair she’d never been able to throw out just because they were dirty and stained. They were her volunteering shoes now. And her sneaking shoes. Her sneakers, if you will.
“This feels different than the email. That was passive. Mostly harmless.”
“And then Max upped the ante. You could have been seriously hurt, Keel. He deserves to pay for that.”
The security lights glinted off Zoey’s dark brown eyes and made them glow. It was a little scary.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re massively vindictive?” Keely asked her.
Zoey preened and said, “Broughton Stockard III, heir to Stockard NFT holdings.” Keely grinned. “Now, for real. Let’s get in, get this done, and get out.”
They still weren’t sure exactly what they were doing; only that Max had a race tomorrow and, to quote Zoey, “needed some messing with.” The plan—flimsy as it was—was to poke around and see what trouble they could stir up.
Which, in Keely’s opinion, was not really a plan at all.
Finding the right locker room was the easy part, given each room was labeled with a plaque beside the door.
Zoey whistled low under her breath. “I know where the money is.”
“These lockers are bigger than our fridge,” Keely agreed. They were maybe three feet wide and tall enough to stand in. She peeked inside one and spotted built-in shelves and hooks, plus a mirror. “And we have to share Bunsen burners,” she grumbled.
None of the lockers were padlocked, probably because support staff had to place freshly laundered and starched gear before tomorrow’s meet, but they weren’t labeled either.
They started on opposite ends of the room, quietly checking uniforms and locker decorations.
Keely adjusted the claw clip sliding down her hair, then opened the sixth locker in the row.
This was his. This was Max’s locker.
It smelled like him—and she hated that she’d noticed his smell during the handful of times they’d interacted.
But it was the picture taped to the back that gave it away for sure, a dated family portrait, and she didn’t need her phone’s flashlight to confirm she knew the second face from right.
Sure enough, when she unfolded the uniform on the top shelf, SIMMONS stared back at her in goldenrod-yellow block letters.
“Over here,” she said, and her voice echoed in the empty room. She spoke louder than intended, jarred by what she held.
Held between blue hands. Almost an entire week, and the dye had only just started fading.
Zoey was right. Max deserved to pay.
The laundry room was so state of the art, it took Keely and Zoey, two esteemed burgeoning scientists, a full ten minutes to figure out how to do a simple dryer cycle.
“Extra hot,” Zoey said, spinning the knob. Her brows furrowed at the machine. “At least I think that’s hot.”
Keely threw in the uniform, and Zoey shut the door.
The machine started.
Keely looked over. “Now what?”
“Now,” Zoey said, “we wait.”
Thirty minutes later, after they’d passed the time by brainstorming for the Women in Science spring auction, Keely pulled Max’s freshly laundered unitard from the dryer. It was very small.
She swallowed, holding it up between them. “Will this fit him, do you think?”
“Uh, babe.” Zoey snorted, then covered her mouth. “That’s sort of the point.”
“Okay, but I still wanted it to cover his penis,” she hissed. “This won’t even cover a testicle.”
A smirk overtook her friend’s mouth. “Interesting how that’s where your mind went just now. And the scrotum is the sack. You can’t physically see the testes.”
Keely made a noise of protest. “Shut up.” Her cheeks flamed. “Now is not the time for an anatomy lesson.”
Zoey pouted. “But the male anatomy is my favorite.”
Back in the locker room, Keely couldn’t remember which locker exactly was Max’s. They opened a few. Too loudly, apparently.
“Hello? Is someone in here?” Zoey said, except—her mouth wasn’t moving.
Panic spiked in Keely’s bloodstream, and color leached from Zoey’s face. They passed the uniform back and forth a few times as the steps grew louder.
A tall, lanky Black guy with a towel around his waist rounded the corner from the showers. Keely slid the unitard behind her back.
He stopped short. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi,” Keely squeaked. If her face didn’t give it away, her voice definitely would. They did not belong here. They were going to get caught, thrown out, and then she’d be the one who wouldn’t need the scholarship.
The guy crossed his arms over his bare chest. “I don’t think you’re allowed to be here.” He didn’t sound certain, or maybe he didn’t have the authority to kick them out.
Zoey and Keely shared a look. They could work with this. There might still be a way to survive with their dignity intact.
But first they had to get the uniform back in the locker without this guy seeing.
“Is this not the gym?” Zoey asked, and Keely wasn’t sure exactly what was about to happen, but she was along for the ride.
“Uh, no.” He shifted, adjusting the knot of his towel. “Well, it is, I guess, but just for athletes. The campus gym is near South.”
“Whoops. Silly us. It’s our first time here, obviously. We’ll get going.” Zoey turned away, then spun back. “Didn’t you say you needed to pee?”
Keely blinked. “I—yeah.” It was a lie, but she was still buzzing with nervous energy and bouncing on her feet, which added to the ruse that her bladder was about to burst. The uniform burned in her hands. “Really badly.”
“Around the corner,” the guy said, jerking a thumb.
Keely did a side-step toward where he indicated. At the last second, she spun, hopefully keeping the uniform hidden until she was out of sight.
As the stall clicked closed, Zoey said, “So, I heard a rumor that they keep the mascot costume here.”
“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s back by Coach’s office.”