Then I tore open the padded envelope, hoping it was a present from Dad. But no, it was three books he had ordered for himself.
Rich Dad, Richer Dad.
Parenting Out Defiance.
And It’s Not Too Late to Raise a Winner.
Happy birthday, Kate.
Chapter Four
Nate
TGIF! Finally.
It had been a whole week, and I still hadn’t found a way to explain to Kate that my five-year-old sister had found the hidden wig and gave it some “style” by taking liberties, adding blunt layers with her Crayola safety scissors.
Not only that, but when I tried to tug-of-war it from her little hands, Lucy screeched, “No! I fix it!” and glued the cut hair back to the wig with pink, glittery Elmer’s. Honestly, aside from the sparkles and random hair chunks that kept falling out, the mangier, matted mess looked much worse, but in a good way. I just hoped Kate wouldn’t be mad that the wig had left my chain of custody and fallen into the hands of Baby Vidal Sassoon.
I took the wig with me to my mom’s car so that Lucy couldn’t do any more damage while I was at school. Mom worked from home on Fridays, which meant it was my day to drive the carpool. I absentmindedly threw the wig in the back seat of the Honda.
Zach was my first pickup. He was standing by his mailbox, on time as usual. Clyde Hill Academy had a dress code, but Zach always bucked the system and wore the exact same thing every day: black Starcraft T-shirt, faded brown cords, and ’70s-style metal glasses that he’d had since seventh grade, which were uncool then but somehow had gone retro and come back in style. He practically cannonballed into the seat behind me.
“What the hell?” Zach shouted, pulling the hairy, glittery mass from beneath his ass. As he tried to throw the wig on the floor, not-quite-dried strands of glitter hair clung to his fingers.
I glanced at him in the rearview. “Hey, it’s not mine. It belongs to a friend. Pick it up.”
“Gross,” Zach muttered as he picked the wig back up and flung it at me. I tried to stuff it in the glove compartment, but it was jammed, so I dropped it into the center console drink holders.
Next stop, Jaxon, my best friend since middle school. He stood by his mailbox texting someone, his brown floppy hair nearly covering his eyes. He didn’t bother to look up as he plopped down in the front passenger seat and shoved his backpack down on the floorboard. Must be a new game. Or a girl.
“You playing Noob vs. Universe?” I asked.
“Huh? Yeah,” Jaxon mumbled. “Sorry, actually, no. Not right now. Annie’s saying she can’t ride with us today. She’s getting a ride with her new boyfriend.” He looked up with a pitying grin. “Sorry to break that to you, Natey. You missed your chance. Again.”
Oh.
Annie.
A long time ago, she used to hang out with us a lot more. But then she grew boobs and mostly only hung out with girls after that. We still had classes with her, but that was the extent of our social interaction. She asked us to carpool this year out of the blue. She was a little out of the way, but we still did it.
Annie dated a lot. Even back in sixth grade, she liked to be taken on real dates with guys, like ones where you had seafood pasta plus dessert and watched a newly released movie at the neighborhood dine-in theater with unlimited popcorn and seats that reclined.
I shrugged. “So it’s just the three of us then, until she dumps him. Whatever.”
Zach grunted, “Us three, plus that thing.” He leaned forward between our seats, pointing at the hairy mass sitting next to Jaxon and me.
With a full-body recoil, Jaxon nearly elbowed Zach’s face. “What IS that?”
“Belongs to a friend,” Zach answered, adjusting his glasses, parroting my previous explanation.
“But what IS it?”
I sighed. “It’s hair. A wig, actually. And as Zach said, it belongs to a friend.”
Jaxon’s eyes bulged. “What kind of friend? Like, a girlfriend?”
“I didn’t say that.” My face and neck burned so hot that I had to unbutton the top of my shirt. Luckily, neither of them noticed.
Jaxon leaned toward the wig. “But you have some girl’s hair in your car,” he accused.
Zach chimed in. “Maybe it belongs to a prostitute.”
“Thanks, Zach.”
Jaxon clapped his hands. “So, girlfriend or prostitute, which is it?”
I needed new friends. And an eject button for my passenger seats.
“It’s neither.” I sighed. “It’s just an escape room prop, okay? I need to bring it to work tonight.” I tried my best to make it sound like not a big deal. Not even a small deal. It was nothing. Nothing at all. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand.
Jaxon snorted. “For a minute there I thought you temporarily put aside your Tony Stark tycoon dreams and really had made time for a girlfriend. Honestly, I’d hoped it was true. Then you’d finally stop lusting after Annie.”
Behind us, a car revved its engine, and in my rearview, a black Dodge Challenger tailgated so close it was like I was towing the damn thing.
Jaxon turned around. “Is that guy serious?” I hit the blinker to pull over, and Jaxon leaned over and swatted my arm. “Bro, you are not pulling over to let him pass. You’re going the speed limit, and yeah, you’re driving a little grandma-like in a grandma-like car, but you’re not pulling over. He can reroute.” Jaxon’s nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge.
To our left, the revving grew louder, like those Harley-Davidson guys who drive around together with those high handlebars, engines fart-blasting for no good reason.
Zach muttered, “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” and sank down into his seat.
The Challenger whipped around on my left, driving on the wrong side of the double yellow line, and passed me. With the windows down, the aviator-wearing passenger yelled, “Nice antique!” I couldn’t initiate a stare-off because I had the bad habit of steering in the direction I looked.
But Jaxon got a good look. He rolled down his window and scooped a handful of change from Mom’s parking meter fund in the glove compartment, which he’d yanked loose.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I squawked.
Jaxon didn’t answer. He was too busy chucking the coins out the window with his trusty pitcher arm.
PING! PING! PING-PING! His aim was impeccable, showering the black Dodge with currency. My heart raced as I peeled around the first street I could take on my right. In the distance I heard the Dodge screech to a halt, but I’d already created some distance. If I weren’t the one driving, my eyes would have been squeezed shut. My shoulder muscles clenched to my ears from the trauma.