The Kid On The Bike - 1. Chapter 1

Elena Petrakis had a tiny problem: one of the security guards from the high school called her to say that someone was selling drugs on campus. “Yeah, I know,” the woman added, almost making fun of herself. “What else is new?”

“What kind of drugs?” Elena asked seriously.

“A whole range – whatever the kids want to buy.”

“Who’s selling?”

The woman hesitated. “We don’t really know that.” She suddenly hid behind – or at least shared the responsibility with – the other security guards and maybe the teachers and members of the administration. “If we did, I’d probably tell you.”

“Probably?”

“Well, you know politics,” the woman hedged, laughing. “And lawyers.”

“Any clues?” Elena questioned.

“Maybe... But, again, I can get myself in trouble even saying them. You know how careful everyone needs to be now. And I don’t want to lose my job.”

Instead of pursuing, Elena simply waited. It took a half minute.

“Well,” the woman finally continued, “He might be Asian – but that’s only a ‘might,’ and there’s no way I’d ever repeat that.” She seemed to consider. “And maybe ‘Asian’ just ‘cause he looks young – which is another sue-able stereotype.”

Elena also laughed, but lightly, and clearly not at the woman.

“I know... I know,” the guard said. “Why do I even want this job? It was easier in the old days.”

Elena knew the guard was close to her age – mid-thirties – so it was never easier in the ‘old days.’ They’d have to be recalling their childhoods. Or times when people were thoughtlessly rude.

“What else do you know?” she asked. “So far, we have a younger looking, possibly Asian man.”

“Boy,” the guard corrected. “Didn’t I say he was a student? – or at least a student’s age. He may not be a student at Waldron.”

“What grade?”

“Young – could be anywhere from ninth to twelfth grades – easily a sophomore or junior. And remember, none of us’ve seen him. Ever. We’ve just heard.”

“From who?”

“Other students – the one who usually complain or have those kinds of parents. And I don’t mean to say they’re whiners. They’re all good kids, and the parents are as successful as this town allows – we’re not Amherst or Northampton. And the parents are within their rights – absolutely. But none of them – not the kids or their parents – are the kinds of people who’re ever gonna abuse drugs – not this kind of drugs. Probably not even prescriptions.”

“God will get them?”

This time, the woman laughed louder. “No way you’re ever gonna make me say that.” And they both laughed. Then Elena went on.

“So you’re imagining a young-looking student, possibly because he’s Asian, but not necessarily from Waldron High, and definitely a boy.”

“That would do it,” the guard carefully agreed.

“How long?” Elena asked. “How long since one of you noticed?”

The guard seemed to think. “It’s only been a couple of weeks, and – as I said – none of us have really noticed. Or seen any drugs being sold. It’s more like everyone’s heard.”

“A ghost dealer?” Elena lightly joked. “A suburban legend?”

“More substantial than that – I mean, you can ignore gossip the first time you hear it... and maybe a couple’ve times after that... But when it keeps coming in...”

“It may’ve turned into rumor,” Elena offered. “With everyone who wants to be cool passing it on.”

“These kids aren’t cool – probably none of the kids in this school are. Again, it’s not that kind of town, and you know it. Anyone who could – even borderline – be described as ‘cool’ is probably from one of the prep schools... Or one of the colleges – though those kids don’t hang out with ours – they’re a couple years older. And, yeah, our kids have definitely done some drugs – the easiest one – pot. But they either bought that in Amherst or Springfield or used a friend’s. Everyone experiments. But safely.”

“These drugs aren’t safe?”

“Again, most of them probably are – and I’ll bet it’s mainly weed. So even if you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t have to be careful. But as I said, what we’re hearing is it’s suddenly a supermarket. You can get anything if you find this kid.”

“Is it cheap?”

“Who knows what that means anymore – and to these kids? Some of their parents have a little money – the artists who have studios in the old mill. Some of them’re really successful – for artists.”

Elena had heard that. She’d read articles online about local artists with national and international reputations. Only they weren’t really locals. They’d come from cities because of the cheap space – studios and, until a few years back, often hundred-year-old homes in need of remodeling. But all that had changed in the past five years.

“So possibly cheaply,” Elena continued. “Maybe even undercutting the legal prices?”

“I don’t know about that, either,” the woman admitted. “And so much of what I do know – I mean what we’re hearing – is probably garbage.” She hesitated. “Still, I needed you to know – we all did – in case it turns not to be rumor. In case it turns into something bigger. So we’re covered.”

“The voyeur never gets sued,” Elena joked.

“Licensed voyeur,” the woman joked right back. “Registered... Trained... Even if I won’t carry a gun.”