49

Chapter 49: Forty-nine, Can You Be My Girlfriend?

Locke wasn't keen on dealing with this.

For someone in his line of work, being marked by law enforcement was the worst-case scenario.

Fortunately, Locke wasn't your average target; he played it cool.

Just two nights ago, while having dinner at Gwen's, George got a call. News of another body tagged with a "guilty notice" in a Brooklyn dump had him rushing out.

In George's words: "Even if I'm not sheriff anymore, I won't let any smudge on my record. Even as a senior cop, I'll nail this crime hunter."

Fair enough.

Locke's only response: good luck.

He had no intention of serving himself up to George to appease his conscience. Time had a way of smoothing things over.

And besides, NYPD wasn't close to setting a trap for him. Finding info on him was near impossible.

In time, even the most passionate pursuits wear thin.

George was no exception.

And...

Locke was considering retiring from the assassination gigs soon. Zhongcheng University was ramping up with exams that promised to boost his achievement points.

After a month's worth of hits, Locke's stash had nearly two million in scripts.

Time for a breather.

Besides, in a week, he and the crew were off to Maine for an early December chemistry competition. That meant evening drills awaited.

Next day.

Locke pulled up outside Gwen's place and soon she was in the passenger seat.

Her used car had conked out again.

So it was Locke on morning school pick-up duty for a bit.

"Thanks, Locke," Gwen said. "Dad said the car's fixable tomorrow. If not, he's dragging that damn dealer to the cop shop."

Commonwealth used cars—cheap deals.

By sixteen, most folks got their wheels used.

Not everyone was like Locke.

Clearly an orphan, but dressed and living like a millionaire.

That was the unsolved riddle of Midtown High's student body. They knew he was an orphan, but had no clue about his annual trust fund.

Only Gwen had the inside scoop.

"Right."

Locke pondered briefly, then turned to Gwen in the passenger seat. "Will you be my partner for the dance this week?"

Gwen paused. "..."

Prom.

Rumors of a student union dance floated a fortnight ago. Needed school green light.

Agreement came yesterday morning. Afternoon saw student union kids swarm the gym for setup.

School only supervised. It was their dance, after all.

With prom confirmed for real, everyone moved on to step two.

Find a dance date.

For the school's gods and goddesses, no sweat. For the regular crowd? Nightmare.

But participation was key.

Locke didn't quite fit the mold.

In looks? Humble. 99.9% of Zhongcheng High was that. Locke made it 99.8%.

Temperament? Stood out.

Confirmed yesterday. Locker rummage saw no invites from the girls.

...impossible.

The entire school bought into the Locke-Gwen duo.

They carpooled daily, whatever the schedule.

It was obvious—yes!

But...

Truth was, Locke and Gwen weren't a thing.

Locke figured no explanation was needed. Those who knew, knew. His character was clear. He didn't do things based on others' say-so.

"I'm Destiny," Locke shrugged off others' opinions.

But Gwen's silence puzzled him.

He'd been buried in tasks this past month, lost in the grind.

Now?

Gwen listened to Locke's invite, sunlight casting a glow on her face. A beautiful smile touched her lips. "You're asking me, Locke Broughton?"

Locke met Gwen's gaze. "Yes, Gwen Stacy. I'd like you to be my dance partner."

Truth was, Locke couldn't picture inviting anyone else.

Again.

Locke felt if he dared invite another girl, Inspector George Stacy might shoot him—metaphorically.

After all, George had dragged Locke to the shooting range these past weeks.

And...

Three cardinal sins for high schoolers.

One: Break up over the phone.

Two: Break up on her birthday.

Three: Dump her a week before prom.

George might put a bullet in Locke for any of those.

And... there were no other girls to ask.

Kem?

Bold enough to ask her crush.

Blonde Betty?

Radio queen, with a basketball captain boyfriend.

Mary Jane?

Forget it.

So here they were.

Top school gods and goddesses already had their squads lined up.

School was a game.

For the average Joes, it was a wild scramble.

That's how it went.

Some wouldn't get a ride. Some would get kicked out soon as they jumped in.

...