“Well, I doubt these are your dad’s. He has a bedroom to lock things in.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “What I’m saying is, I don’t think Tank’s using these. He’s just selling them. He would never cheat at wrestling.” She looks at me as if seeking confirmation.

But all I can do is give her a doubtful look.

“Put it back,” she says. “I knew we shouldn’t have come down here. Put it back exactly where you found it. This was a stupid idea.”

“Sarah, I want you to know what I know.” I nod toward the box. “And this is what I know.”

“You need to leave.”

“Fine,” I say. “Whatever, but as his sister I thought you might want to know.”

I scoop the box up and move as fast as I can toward the back of the crawlspace, frustrated with her refusal to accept the truth. I mean, yeah, I suppose she might be right. I guess there is a slight chance Tank is selling rather than using, but would that make the situation any better?

Doubt it.

Besides, Victor said only the best Blaine jocks (like Justin) get juice from Horton. Well, Tank’s the best wrestler in Blaine history, so it only makes sense that Horton, probably working with Tank’s coaches, is trying to make Tank even better.

After returning the tackle box to its original position and double-checking that nothing appears out of place, I waddle back toward the door, figuring Sarah probably just needs a little time for reality to set in.

“You need to leave,” she says again.

“I know.” I turn off the light and quickly exit the crawlspace. Dusting myself off, I give her a look. “You already told me that.”

“No, I mean right now.” She’s looking up the stairway, wide-eyed. “They’re home. I hear his truck.”

“What? Shit.”

Panicked, I slam the wooden door closed and race past Sarah and up the stairs, hearing her thumping feet close behind me. My throat goes dry and my heart wants to explode through my chest. Sprinting through the living room and sliding open the glass door to the backyard, I hear two thumps from outside—the truck doors closing.

“We’ll talk later,” I say, surprised to find Sarah right behind me.

“Okay,” she says. “Go, Zach. Now!”

I sprint into the backyard, veering to the right to stay out of view of the truck. Looking over my shoulder, I spot the chrome grill of Big Dale’s pickup in front of the open gate. From my angle I can’t see the windshield, so I’m fairly certain they can’t see me. Regardless, panic and worry race through me.

I head straight for the neighbor’s fence.

Hopping over it, I hear Sarah in the distance. She’s outside, talking to Big Dale and Tank, trying to play it cool. Nice move, a sound strategy.