“Where we gonna get a Christmas tree this time of year?” one of the wrestlers asked.

“My parents always line our front walk with ten-footers. They’re in storage. They’ll never know one’s missing,” Khail offered.

A Christmas tree. The idea was growing on me. After all, there was nothing wrong with style, as Khail put it. We huddled closer and began to hammer out details, mostly how we were going to get everything into the gym without getting caught. But between a bunch of jocks with huge duffel bags who hung out in the gym a lot anyway, and Kimberlee to keep invisible watch, I figured we’d be able to pull it off.

“Okay,” Khail said as we started to break it up, “there are enough bags here for everyone to take fifteen. Fill up your gym bags, backpacks, whatever. Bring ’em Monday.”

“Oh!” I said, remembering. “You’ll need these.” I pulled out my big roll of “Sorry” stickers and ripped off a strip for each guy.

“Why do we have to put these on here?” one of the shorter guys asked.

“Don’t you think whoever did this is sorry?” I asked. Totally lame.

The guy looked dubiously up at the huge pile of bags. “Maybe?” he said, more a question than an answer.

“It’s a logo,” I said, still holding the stickers out to Shortie. “The stuff I’ve already returned had the stickers on them and if we don’t put them on these, too, no one’ll know it’s the same person.”

“So?”

“Dude, it’s cool,” Khail interjected. “We’re going to be totally famous around school.”

“Yeah, but no one will know it’s us.”

“That’s half of the point. We’ll be like a secret society. A league.” He was really getting into this.

Shortie looked dubiously down at the strip of stickers in his hand. “I guess,” he mumbled.

Khail and I both helped hand out the bags. Slowly, Khail’s teammates returned to their cars and drove away. Finally it was just Khail and me and fifteen bags.

“You counted them out exactly,” I said, watching as Khail stuffed the remaining bags into his own duffel.

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” Khail said evasively.

“How did you know everyone would agree?”

“Because I know my team. They’re good guys.”

“I see that,” I said quietly, wondering if I would put myself on the line for someone I didn’t know. I barely agreed to do it under threat of psycho haunting. “I never did say thanks,” I added.

“Well, I don’t exactly have totally selfless motives,” he said, brushing it off.

“Yeah, actually, you do,” I countered. “You’re not getting anything out of it. Even if it’s for Sera, that still doesn’t directly benefit you.”

“Whatever. I have my own reasons,” he said, turning his back on me.

Note to self: Do not get personal with Khail.

Third hour had never felt so long. I sat there listening to Mrs. Wilkinson drone on about economics and didn’t hear a single word. Khail had insisted that, this once, I couldn’t help.

“You gotta be the one with an alibi,” he said seriously. “The rest of us can all claim that we thought we were just helping with the assembly. But if the trail leads back to you, you have to have proof you weren’t involved.”

“But I’m the only one who can talk to Kimberlee,” I argued. Kimberlee had agreed—volunteered, even—to be on watch for teachers, custodians, and especially Principal Hennigan while the wrestlers were pulling off their antiheist.

She seemed more focused since Khail had become involved. I think that she—like me—had almost given up on the idea of ever getting everything returned. There was just too much for one person. But now, with a whole team of wrestlers helping, we could be done in a couple of weeks! I thought she would be happy, but she seemed more serious. Maybe that was good, actually.

“Dude, she can go through walls; she can run right to you if there are any problems—which there won’t be,” he tacked on confidently, “and you can grab the piss-pass and come warn us.”

I still wasn’t convinced. But Khail was sure they could pull it off alone, and he did have a point about the alibi thing.

The bell rang for the assembly and I forced myself to pack my backpack at a normal pace before joining the rest of my classmates, merging into the crowd of students ambling toward the gym. My heart started to race as we approached the double doors, where people were already filing through. Was there more noise than usual? Less? It was my first assembly at Whitestone. I had no idea.

I clenched my fists as I walked through the doors.

My jaw dropped.

Khail had truly outdone himself. A ten-foot Christmas tree stood in the center of the gym, hastily decorated in the school colors. There were streamers and balloons and someone had thrown handfuls of confetti over the whole thing.

And beneath the tree, stacks and stacks of Ziploc bags—also covered in confetti. There were already people sifting through the contents, calling out names, and tossing the bags to one another. Kids were smiling and laughing as the few teachers who were there tried fruitlessly to clear them away from the tree.

“Nice, huh,” Kimberlee said, suddenly right by my ear. I was extremely proud that I didn’t fall down on the floor and go into convulsions.

“They did a pretty good job,” she continued coolly. I stepped away from the doorway so the crush of students wouldn’t trample me, and leaned against the wall with Kimberlee.