Chapter 4 Eli Knows

MIA

Caleb's apartment was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like new paint and money.

Derek had texted the address at nine. Rehearsal. 11 a.m. Be on time. No please. No name. Just a pin on a map, like I was a delivery.

I stood outside 4C for a full minute. The hallway carpet was thicker than my mattress.

The door opened before I knocked.

It wasn't Caleb.

The guy was lean and dark-haired, with a Wolves hoodie and a half-eaten bagel in one hand. I knew him. Eli, number eleven, left wing. He had once taped a sign to the bus that said NO GIRLS ALLOWED and then signed it with a heart.

"Mia Lin."

"Eli."

"Come in. Don't touch the couch. It's a rental, and Caleb's dad will bill us for lint."

I stepped inside. White walls. Black leather. A kitchen with nothing on the counters except a protein shaker and a single banana. It looked like a hotel room someone had been told to live in.

"Where's Caleb?"

"Shower. He'll be ten minutes. He takes eight and lies about it."

Eli dropped onto the arm of the couch, then caught himself and stood back up. He chewed. He studied me the way I studied a stick before taping it, looking for the weak spot.

"Dunn's Diner," he said. "Five to eleven, Monday through Friday."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Fresh Mart stockroom. Midnight to four, Tuesday through Saturday. Tutoring at the library on Sundays. Your Honda is a 2009 and the passenger door doesn't open from the outside."

I didn't move. "Who told you that?"

"Derek made a file." He held up one hand. "I wasn't supposed to read it. I read it. I'm sorry."

"A file."

"Forty-one pages."

"On me."

"Mostly your schedule. Some of your mom's. A paragraph on your brother's team." He swallowed the last of the bagel. "I'm not proud of it. I just want you to know I know what you're walking into."

The room felt colder. I looked at the kitchen. At the white walls. At a framed hockey print by the window that suddenly looked like it had eyes.

"Is this place wired?"

"No. I checked." Eli's mouth twitched. "Caleb checked twice. Then I checked again to be safe."

"That's not funny."

"I know. I'm nervous. It comes out wrong."

He wiped his hands on his jeans. The smile slid off his face, and he looked younger. Eighteen, like the rest of us, in a hoodie too big for him.

"I'm the only one on the team who knows the contract is fake. I want you to understand that. Not Noah. Not the guys. Just me. Caleb told me the night he decided to do it."

"And you didn't stop him."

"I tried." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I tried for about four hours. Then he showed me the numbers, and the draft projections, and what happens to him if his dad pulls the plug. It wasn't a choice. It was a hostage situation with a nice haircut."

I almost laughed. I didn't.

"You don't have to defend him."

"I'm not." Eli's voice dropped. "I'm warning you."

"About what?"

"You think you know him."

"I know exactly who he is. I have receipts."

"Yeah. Caleb told me about the notebook." He shook his head. "You're going to read what you wrote one day and feel sick."

My jaw tightened. "He told you about my notebook?"

"He told me about everything."

The shower shut off down the hall. Water ticked in the pipes. A cabinet door banged.

Eli glanced toward the sound, then back at me. When he spoke again, it was quick and low.

"Listen. Derek watches everything. The contract says Richard Kessler gets reports, so there are reports. Be careful what you say in this apartment, in that rink, on your phone. Be careful in your own car."

"My car."

"I'm not saying it's bugged. I'm saying don't be surprised."

I thought of the text that morning. Ask him about September. My phone sat in my pocket like a stone.

"What happened in September?"

Eli went still.

It was small, but I saw it. His eyes flicked to the hallway. His hand tightened around the empty bagel wrapper until it crinkled.

"Who told you about September?"

"A number I don't know."

"Don't text it back."

"I already did. It didn't answer."

"Good." He exhaled. "Don't text it again."

"Eli. What happened?"

The bathroom door opened. Steam rolled down the hall. Caleb appeared in jeans and a damp white T-shirt, rubbing a towel over his hair, still half asleep.

He saw us, and his smile switched on like a light.

"You're here. Good. Derek wants us to practice the walk."

"The walk."

"For the cameras. We have to look like we hold hands all the time."

"We don't."

"That's why we practice."

Eli straightened and shoved the wrapper in his pocket. His face was blank now. Easy. Like someone had pulled a curtain.

"I'll leave you two to it."

"You live here," Caleb said.

"I'm going to go be somewhere else." Eli grabbed his keys from the counter. At the door, he stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back at me.

It wasn't a warning this time. It was something softer. Almost sad.

"He's been asking about you for three years."

Caleb's towel stopped moving. "Eli."

"Just thought she should know."

The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

Caleb stood there with the towel in his fist and his face turned toward the wood. Water dripped frm his hair onto the white tile. He didn't look at me.

I waited for him to laugh it off. To call it a joke. To say Eli was an idiot.

He didn't.