Cold Calls Read Online Free PDF Page A

stated a price, take it or leave it. Eric took it.
    Eric picked up a tray from the stack, shook the water off by habit, and started down the line.
    Pizza bagels, chili hots, two types of salad, two types of vegetables—the usuals. It didn’t matter what was on the Today’s Specials menu. He’d been told what to get.
    The lunch lady smiled up at him. She was short and round and spent her days serving processed food to ungrateful teens and condescending adults. And still she smiled. “What would you like, hon?”
    Eric stared into the fogged-up glass as if he was trying to make up his mind.
    â€œDid you see we have pizza bagels? Those are popular. And there’s a few turkey sandwiches left in—”
    â€œThree mac and cheese, please.”
    There, he said it.
    She laughed at him.
“T
hree?
You don’t want
three.
That’s too much, hon, even for you.”
    â€œI guess I’m really hungry,” he said, not bothering to sound convincing.
    â€œWhy don’t you start with one,” she said, digging an ice cream scoop into the pan of neon-yellow macaroni. “If you want more, there’s plenty here.”
    â€œNo, I want all three at once. On the same plate.”
    She gave him a look.
    â€œPlease.”
    She shook her head, and the smile was gone. “You’re just going to end up throwing it away,” she said as she piled it on, slipping an extra paper plate underneath before she set it on the counter. She said something else, something about wasting money and proper nutrition and making sure this kid was charged for three entrees, but he had already moved on, punching his student ID number into the keypad by the register, then heading for an open table without stopping to get a plastic fork.
    There were still thirty minutes left in the period, time to let the mac and cheese cool down a bit. He owed the kid at least that much. He used the time to look around the room, see who’d be coming to the rescue. It’d be a teacher or one of the aides. He didn’t worry about the kid’s friends—they weren’t the type to do a thing, even if it happened to them. It made it easy. And that made it worse.
    The first time, the kid had been alone, walking down a back hallway near the shop classes. A simple shoulder check into the lockers, books and papers everywhere. Eric had hoped that would be enough, but apparently it didn’t count. Three days later he did it again, same move, close to the same spot, same results. Only this time Eric made sure the kid had a couple of friends with him, friends who backed off fast, waiting down the hall for it to be over. Now there was just this last thing to do and it would be over.
    Well, the caller part, anyway.
    He sat there looking around the room, his leg bouncing, the dirty-sock smell rising up from the tray in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ian tightening the strap on his backpack. Ian wouldn’t get busted. He never did, not for anything. That’s why he could charge so much. He’d slip out during the commotion, the teachers running past him to get to Eric.
    The cheese started to harden. Eric stuck his finger in the middle of the yellow mound. It was warm but not hot. He rubbed the goo off on a napkin, took a deep breath, then stood up and headed across the cafeteria.
    The kid was sitting with some other freshman. They were all alike—scrawny necks, big eyes, Old Navy tees, none of them needing to shave, uncoordinated, a bit goofy-looking, like baby birds. Just like he looked back then.
    The instructions were to walk straight at the kid, let him see who was coming, see if that would make him freak or scream or, better yet, cry. But Eric wanted to get it over with, so he came in from the side, and he was standing over the kid before anyone realized what was happening.
    Connor Stark: 127 Facebook friends, 0 in common. Likes Friendly Fires, Two Door Cinema Club,