Bo whistled lightly; two short hoots akin to an owl's. His heart was thudding, his palms were sweaty and his stomach was turning somersaults.
But that did not matter to him. The job had been done. Not caring whether anyone, much less Signor Valarosa, had heard the signal, he walked off. The money would be given to him tomorrow. He didn't have to worry about much else right now- except for the slight twinges of guilt he felt.
"They were beautiful roses..." he whispered, looking back at the garden which contained said roses.
The rose would have been sparkling with dew had he not-
But he had no time for guilty thoughts. No time for a conscience. He knew and accepted that he wouldn't be able to sleep that night. He could never sleep after these little jobs.
His stomach was still churning. Was it past his curfew yet? He increased his pace considerably, almost running now.
And then a sudden, disquieting realization struck him with an alarming certainty.
There was a pair of eyes watching him from behind.
They bored into his back, burning holes, making him feel like he would freeze on the spot, but he kept walking.
Walk, Bo. Boniface, walk. C'mon. C'mon. Put one foot in front of the other. Here, like this. Just one turn and you'll be out of this street. Just this turn. Okay now. You're safe.
Had anyone recognized him? How long had they been watching? Maybe they had recorded something. Who was it? Plenty of kids from school got on the same bus as Signor Valarosa, it could be any one of them. He started making a list inside his head, only to give up after he couldn't come up with anything. Where was his memory when he needed it?
It could be a teacher...
They'd arrest him for being a vandal, for being a destructive little maggot, for murder, espionage, treason!
Calm down, Bo.
Calm down what the hell are you thinking calm down!
Just get to Prosper. Get to Prop and confess this time. Confess to everything. Or Scip. Tell someone. Speak, Bo. You can't keep doing this. You'll just hurt yourself and Prop and Hornet and everyone in the wake.
He kept repeating this inside his head until it became a mantra, a meaningless drabble, a string of nonsense.
Anyway, what was the point? He knew he'd just pass another day like every other, taking 'jobs' from fellow students and teachers and then not having the guts to spend the money on what he truly wanted.
Weed.
Bo wanted weed. Ever since he had gotten high at a classmate's birthday party, he had had a craving for weed. It made him frustrated. It made him angry. It consumed him.
Bo didn't need or really want it, though. The party had been a year ago. He had started doing this a week after it, and going through the same cycle each time, earning it and keeping it stashed under his bed, occasionally spending some on a new video game or to repair his skateboard.
The truth was, he loved it. The thrill. The kick. The feeling of doing something wrong and not getting caught.
The weed was just the excuse he gave himself.
He lay in bed later, trying to come up with names, his breath hitching the second he thought he'd figured it out, and then realizing something which ruled them out. He fell asleep around one.
He didn't wake up till twelve the next morning, and when he did, he was sweating bullets.
Some kinds of guilt never leave you. The aftertaste of badness was one of them.