Contraband

The air inside the Crestview High School gymnasium smelled of pepperoni pizza, floor wax, and the concentrated hormonal anxiety of three hundred teenagers.

It was 6:00 PM on a Friday. The doors were officially locked. The Senior Lock-In had begun.

Penny Lane stood near the bleachers, gripping the strap of her oversized marching band duffel bag so tightly her knuckles were white. She was vibrating. Not with school spirit, and not with the anticipation of the upcoming dodgeball tournament. She was vibrating with terror.

"You okay, Pen?" asked Sarah, a girl from AP English who was currently painting her face with the school colors, maroon and gold. "You look like you’re about to throw up."

"I’m fine," Penny squeaked. She shifted the bag, which was remarkably heavy. "Just... excited. So much bonding. Yay, seniors."

"What’s in the bag?" Sarah poked the canvas. "It’s huge. Did you bring a tent?"

Penny swatted her hand away, perhaps a little too aggressively. "Snacks. Textbooks. Extra socks. You know me. Always prepared."

A muffled gurgle emanated from the bag.

Sarah paused. "Did your bag just... coo?"

"Stomach rumble," Penny said instantly, clutching her midsection. "Bad burrito. I need to go find a bathroom. Or a dark corner. Bye!"

Penny turned and speed-walked out of the gym, dodging a flying foam ball. She didn't stop until she was deep in the B-wing hallway, where the lights were already dimmed. She checked over her shoulder. The coast was clear.

She sprinted toward the library.

Penny Lane had a plan. She always had a plan. It was how she maintained a 4.5 GPA, captained the debate team, and managed the household finances while her mother, Linda, "found herself."

Linda’s latest journey of self-discovery had involved a last-minute flight to Las Vegas with a man named "Rocco" she met at a juice bar. She had left at 4:00 PM. She had left Penny with twenty dollars for pizza and a six-month-old baby named Toby.

Penny couldn't skip the Lock-In. Attendance was mandatory for the Valedictorian speech eligibility. She couldn't leave Toby alone. And she couldn't tell the school, or Child Protective Services would be involved before Linda could even lose her first hand of blackjack.

So, Toby was in the bag.

Penny slipped into the library. It was silent, the rows of books standing like sentinels in the shadows. She navigated to the back, past the Reference section, to the janitorial supply closet she had scouted three days ago.

She keyed in the code she had observed the janitor typing (1-2-3-4, security at this school was a joke) and slipped inside.

The closet was small, smelling of lemon cleaner and dust mops. Penny set the bag on the floor and unzipped it.

A chubby, red-cheeked face looked up at her. Toby blinked his large brown eyes and blew a spit bubble. He was lying on a bed of fluffy towels, surrounded by two packs of diapers and a stuffed elephant.

"You were so good," Penny whispered, lifting him out. "The best contraband ever. Who's a good felon? You are."

Toby kicked his legs and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

"Okay," Penny exhaled, checking her watch. "Twelve hours. We just have to survive twelve hours until the doors unlock at 6:00 AM. We have formula. We have pacifiers. We have a closet. We can do this."

The door handle jiggled.

Penny froze. She clutched Toby to her chest, her eyes darting around the cramped space. There was nowhere to hide. Behind the mop bucket? In the sink?

The door swung open.

Light flooded the closet.

Standing in the doorway, looking annoyed and holding a half-eaten slice of pizza, was Archer West.

Archer West. The varsity quarterback. The guy who had been voted "Most Likely to Break Your Heart" in the yearbook superlatives. He was wearing his letterman jacket, his hair was perfectly messy, and he looked like he had stepped out of a CW drama.

He blinked. He looked at Penny. He looked at the baby in her arms. He looked back at Penny.

"Uh," Archer said, swallowing a bite of pizza. "Is that... a baby?"

Penny stared at him. Her brain, usually a well-oiled machine of logic and rhetoric, flatlined.

"No," Penny said.

Archer raised an eyebrow. "Penny, it’s looking at me. It has feet."

"It's a biology project," Penny lied, desperation making her voice high and thin. "It’s... hyper-realistic. Flour sack technology has really advanced."

Toby let out a loud, wet raspberry sound and sneezed.

Archer took a step inside and closed the door behind him, plunging them into semi-darkness, lit only by the sliver of light from the crack under the door.

"Okay," Archer said, his voice dropping. "Real talk, Lane. Why do you have a human child in the supply closet?"

Penny slumped against the shelving unit, sliding down until she hit the floor. The jig was up. Her life was over.

"He's my brother," she whispered, burying her face in Toby’s onesie. "My mom went to Vegas. I couldn't find a sitter. If I leave, I lose Valedictorian. If I tell, I lose my mom. Please don't tell Mr. Grist."

Mr. Grist was the Vice Principal. He was a man who seemed to derive nutritional sustenance from giving seniors detention.

Archer looked at her. He looked at the baby.

Penny waited for the mockery. She waited for him to pull out his phone and livestream this to the entire school. *Valedictorian Has Secret Baby in Closet.*

Instead, Archer slid down the wall and sat opposite her, his long legs stretching out next to the mop bucket.

"Vegas?" Archer asked.

"With a guy named Rocco," Penny confirmed miserably.

Archer snorted. A genuine laugh. "Rocco. Wow. Okay."

"Are you going to turn me in?"

Archer looked at Toby, who was reaching out a chubby hand toward the shiny buttons on Archer’s jacket. Archer extended a finger, and Toby gripped it tight.

"I'm hiding too," Archer admitted. "Tiffany Miller is hunting me. She wants to 'define the relationship' during the slow dance at midnight. I'd rather drink bleach."

"So?"

"So," Archer looked at Penny. His eyes were surprisingly kind. "I won't tell Grist. On one condition."

Penny narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Calculus," Archer said. "I'm failing. If I don't get a B on the final next week, I'm benched for the playoffs. You're the smartest person in the school. You tutor me, I don't snitch on the baby."

Penny looked at the "player" making a deal over a mop bucket. She looked at Toby, who seemed to like him.

"Deal," Penny said. "But you have to help. He needs a bottle warmed up in two hours, and the only working microwave and fridge are in the Home Ec room across the building."

Archer grinned. It was the smile that had launched a thousand crushes.

"Operation Milk Run," Archer said. "I'm in."

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