“Let’s not talk about it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s up with that she can sit with me shit? Chance’s going to be pissed.”
He is. He turned his back to me in the hall after class and marched off.
“She isn’t with him.”
His eyes flare, and he laughs. “Well, well, well, is a girl finally going to ruin the best bromance at Camden?”
“I don’t have a thing for Ava.”
“Because you’re a loyal sonofabitch.”
“I don’t want to be near Ava, and it has nothing to do with my best friend.”
A sigh of relief comes from him. “Good. She’s trouble. About that night…I woke up the next day at Liam’s. I drank my ass off, but I would never…” He exhales. “There’s no way I’d ever hurt a girl.”
It’s the same story he’s had since day one.
He looks down. “You gonna give me a ride home after practice?”
His matching Mercedes is in the shop from a fender bender last week, driving too fast around a curve and hitting a guardrail, scratching the side. Liam was with him, and part of me wonders if he was high even then.
“You gonna go see Coach and tell him you’re sorry you missed today?”
He looks at me over his shoulder, resignation on his face. “Yes. Happy? Right now I need to clean up and get to World History.” He looks down at his watch. “I’m late already.”
He disappears into the locker room, and I jog over to his backpack, unzipping it and riffling through the contents. There are no drugs, although I’m sure he knows how to hide them.
The question is, is he keeping other secrets from me too?
7
I’m giddy when the text comes in from Trask that there’s a place for Tyler at the elementary campus and he’s arranged for me to meet with the headmaster there this afternoon. Apparently one of their scholarship students transferred at the last minute when his parents moved. Do I believe it or did Trask buy my threats? I don’t know, and shit, I don’t care how it happened, but it did! As I walk down the hall, several students give me wary looks, and I just smile. Yes, yes, yes! My baby brother will be one block away from me during the day, and I can maybe even jog over there during lunch and—
No, I can’t just walk into the school and watch him. They have rules. He’ll be okay, he will, and he’ll be getting the best services in the state. I giggle. I can even go to his parent-teacher meetings and soccer games.
I let out a deep breath as I step outside the entrance of Camden.
DAY ONE IS DONE!
LIFE DOES NOT SUCK!
All those good feelings deflate when I see Louise is sitting cock-eyed in the parking lot. Most of the cars have left since I stayed in the library for an hour studying until the crowds had dispersed. Dammit.
I walk up to the Jeep, and the left back tire is decidedly flat. I lean down and inspect it.
Well crap.
I eyeball the spare on the back and let out a sigh as I whip off my blazer and toss it inside along with my backpack.
Five minutes later, I’ve found the jack and have placed it in the right spot on the axle—according to the dusty manual from my glove box I briefly perused.
An idea hits, the memory of that letter left in my locker. I tug it out of my backpack and reread it again.
If you need anything, I want to be there for you. Ha! From a Shark. Let me tell you about a bridge I have for sale. Brooklyn Bridge? It will only cost you a little. Right, right.
I have to admit, it makes me curious. Oh, trust me, I don’t buy for a second that a Shark might actually be my secret admirer—utter bullshit—but color me intrigued.
Showtime.
I type the digits into my phone and send a text.
Shark, got your letter. Who are you? How did you know my locker number?
The reply is immediate, and my hands clutch the phone.
Ava. I can’t believe you texted me.
Wonders never cease. You left me your number, dumbass. WHO ARE YOU?
I saw you today and you took my breath away.
I blink rapidly.
LIAR. This is all a joke. A stupid one. Fuck off.
I believe you. About the party.
Not going there.
I fire off another text.
Well, Mr. Shark, I have a flat. I wonder who’s responsible? I got new tires this summer. You think this is just a coincidence?
No reply.
I stuff my phone back in my blazer and run my eyes over Louise. Anger makes my fists curl as I inspect the tire. I expected the name-calling, the sneering glances, even Jolena getting in my face, but to damage my property—oh, good grief, Ava, this cannot be unexpected. You knew when you agreed to this that the people you’re dealing with believe they are above the law with their money and status—one of them got away with rape.
A few minutes later, I’m turning the jack’s rotatable clasp counterclockwise and lifting the deflated tire off the ground. It’s hot as hell and sweat drips down my face.
“Trouble again, Tulip? It seems to follow you wherever you go,” says the deep voice behind me, and I imagine what I must look like to him: butt high in the air, my body straining to turn the jack.
I keep working, never pausing. “Keep moving, QB1. Nothing to see here but a girl who knows how to change a tire. Quite fascinating for you, I’m sure.” I blow at a piece of hair that’s gotten in my eyes. “In fact, I’m quite unusual in your world, am I right? I’m nothing like those girls under the bleachers.” I twist on the jack, still refusing to look at him. “I don’t fuck guys under bleachers. I only sleep with guys who care about me, who want me in spite of where I come from.”
I close my eyes in exasperation, glad he can’t see my face.
What is it about him that pushes me to make these remarks?
Please leave. Just go away.
But he doesn’t.
“How do you know about the bleachers?”
I heave out a curse word. Me and my big mouth.
He bends down next to me, looking at me, but I refuse to return the favor. I stare at my tire.
“Tulip? Have you…seen me? Or just heard rumors? Girls like to talk, but you don’t really socialize with our crowd.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in his words; I expected gloating.
Curiosity makes me finally set the jack handle down and face him. His hair is damp from football practice and sticking up in all directions as if he left quickly without showering. He’s standing with his legs apart, his muscled arms crossed, wearing a white vented jersey with the number one on it and tight red football pants.
“Please. Word gets around, Knox. We all know how you like it, but yes, I saw you—twice after a game, and once in the freaking middle of the school day when I went to the field to pick up my poms I’d left.”
He frowns. “Three times? Shit.” His body tenses. “I think the odds of you catching me three times are quite low.”
Uh…
He studies my face, and I feel it getting warm. His eyes widen. “Did you look for me?”
“No! Stop it. That’s just gross.”
And it’s also the truth.
After I saw him the first time, I slipped under the bleachers after a game on purpose just to see if he’d be there, and oh boy, was he. He was hot, his head thrown back, still in his uniform, sweat dripping down his face, his lips twisted as he plowed some girl from behind with the grace of a powerful animal, barely leashed and close to veering out of control. Wild. Intense.