Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“We should probably go check to see how Mercedes is doing,” I say, wheeling the bike so close to the picture, the tire creates a ridge around the top of her head.

If I look back, I’m fairly certain King would be staring at me, but I don’t. I push the bike to the tailgate and lean it against my waist as I open the latch.

“Here, muscles, I’ve got it,” Parker says with a teasing grin. He takes the bike and hoists it into the bed of the truck before hopping inside. I don’t watch as he readjusts it, but rather I go in search of another bike.

King meets me by the hood of the truck, guiding a bike with each hand. I step closer, my hands extended to receive one of them. We do a strange dance, him reluctant for me to help, me refusing to stand here and do nothing. The pedal from Mercedes’ bike bites low into my shin as I make a move to take it, ultimately stalling me, and making the entire process even more awkward.

“How’s Mercedes?” I ask once more as Parker cinches a rope around the bikes.

“She’s fine. Just that gash on her jaw. She’ll likely have some bruising tomorrow, but nothing serious.” I blink several times in an attempt to pull my stare from King. When he talks, his lips go slightly higher on one side, just like when he smiles. Most of the time, it’s hardly noticeable, and at others, impossible. I find it entrancing.

“I’m glad. That fall looked painful.”

“It’s the nature of the beast,” King replies, pulling on the knot Parker just secured.

“Is that where you got all of your scars from?”

King shifts his gaze to me, tilting his head. “What scars?” He can hardly keep the smirk off his face.

I should consider my next words, but I’m so concerned his smirk is to disguise offense from my loosely posed question that I don’t. “The ones on your hands and arm.”

“Oh, I thought you were talking about the ones on my chest and back, or the one on my thigh.”

My face heats, and my jaw drops open slightly.

“You walking around the house in your skivvies?” Parker asks, hopping out of the truck.

“Just on the days he runs out of flannel.” My tone is dry, attempting to create a warning.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve seen all of my—”

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t remember what you wore yesterday considering how well-acquainted you and Kash are with the washing machine.”

“Says the twenty-two-year-old that doesn’t know how to cook anything besides boxed dinners,” King says pointedly.

“Seriously. I can’t believe you were able to finish all of that laundry! Where did it all go?” Once again, Parker’s question leaves my mind reeling.

I can tell by the brightness shining in King’s eyes that he’s finding Parker’s addition to be intrusive. He wants to make a dig back at me, but Parker’s already talking about something else, his voice loud but his words inaudible. My thoughts are in a darkened bedroom, tracing over a map of both faint and distinct scars. They aren’t ugly, not in the slightest. In fact, they’re beautiful. A network showcasing dedication, endurance, commitment, and perseverance. “Where do you think it went, shithead?”

Parker barks out a laugh, returning a handful of expletives that don’t reach me as I focus on a tire track from one of our bikes that the truck missed. Moving to the passenger side door, Parker releases another loud laugh that finally focuses my thoughts. By the competitive yet friendly way his eyes are turned up, I can tell King delivered a few more verbal punches. Parker unlatches the back door of the truck, and without instruction, I climb in.

The reason for the familiarly darkened skies begins to descend as the doors are shut. Rain splatters across the windshield and over the roof in a harmonious melody that encourages me to nestle farther into the seat and close my eyes for a nap.

“Good timing,” Parker says as he cranes his neck to the side, attempting to look up into the patches of darkness. King puts the truck into gear without comment. Extending an arm behind him, he grips the passenger headrest, invading my space, followed by his even more invasive gaze. His eyes move from mine to the back window before moving his foot so that we’re reversing.

I hadn’t considered how we’d get out of here, yet backing up the entire way still comes as a surprise. I feel like I should offer to help, or turn and look as well so that I’m not so close to him, but I keep my composure and remain facing forward for the short distance back to the house.

While they unload the bikes, I head inside and immediately move to the bathroom where I lather and rinse my hands three separate times, careful to clean under each of my nails and scrubbing the sections of my skin that never return to their naturally pale tone.

“Let me see.” I avoid Summer’s gaze and move closer to where Mercedes is lying on the couch with a small piece of gauze pressed against her jaw while watching something on TV.

“It’s not so bad.” Her eyes are still rimmed with red, and her voice is shaky. I’m not certain if she’s just recovered from crying or if she’s working to hold it in.

“Let’s go to the bathroom where it’s brighter.”

She doesn’t argue, confirming it’s the latter. I push the door closed, allowing only a small gap for her privacy. She sits on the closed toilet seat and peels the cover back to reveal her wound. It’s swollen and already bruising. The gash is fairly long but not deep. With any luck, it will only leave a tiny scar if any.

“Did you guys clean it?”

Mercedes nods and a small tear falls down her cheek. “Summer got a wet rag.”

“Okay, that’s good. Let me see if there’s something else. If we can get this really clean and put a little medicine on it, you won’t even know it happened in a couple of weeks.” Her tears increase with my assurance.

My knees hit the tile floor and instantly plea for me to sit back on my heels, but I ignore the protests and lean closer to Mercedes, my hands resting on her thighs. “I promise I’ll be really careful and gentle. You’ll barely feel anything.” There’s still dirt and moss and twig debris on her clothes and in her hair, catching my attention for brief seconds before I focus on her face.

“You aren’t upset because it hurts, are you?” My voice is soft. Although I’ve broken many of Mercedes’ barriers, she still has many more that prevent us from discussing a multitude of things I don’t think either of us knows how to breach.

“They’re going to tease me.” With her words, I realize it’s a multitude of things that will inflict physical pain on me to possibly hear one day.

A chill runs down my arms still resting on her legs, and I blink back tears I want to share with her. “If someone says something to you about this, Mercedes, they’re going to rack up some serious points against karma, and let me tell you, karma returns with interest.”

She doesn’t respond, making me feel like my small bit of advice is neither helpful nor assuring. “People can be really mean. I wish I could tell you that they’ll stop, or that you won’t have to deal with this in a few more years, but unfortunately, you’ll have to deal with bullies forever. You can’t stop them or control what they say or do; you can only control what you do. Don’t give them the satisfaction of letting their words hurt you. If they want to say something rude and mean, let their souls be scarred with that hatred. Let them drown in their own unhappiness. You’re better than that. Don’t even look their way. Don’t allow their words to carry weight or merit. I know it’s hard, I do, but you do it a couple of times, and they’ll stop because without your reaction feeding them, that darkness that they’ve created—it starts to drown them.”

Her green eyes are wide, heavy with tears, making my own itch with the return of moisture. “Did someone tease you?”

The desire to look away and keep my pride intact is my initial reaction. Ugly memories and taunts dance through my head before my eyes return to hers and I nod.

“How could anyone tease you?”

“I wonder that very thought a thousand times a day about you,” I say before pressing my lips together, watching as her fears become sympathy.

“Let’s clean you up and we’ll make a kick-ass bandage for you to cover it with.”

One edge of her lips quirks up, making her look more like King than ever before, and I turn to the medicine cabinet, which is well stocked with multiple sources of disinfectants and bandages.

“What are you making?” Mercedes asks again, this time more insistent, her patience worn.

I look over to where she’s sitting on the couch again, seeing her eyes are vibrant and challenging. Involuntarily, I smile. Her eyes stretch with a growing frustration in return. “Watch your show. I’m almost done.”

The front door opens as I’m capping my marker, but I don’t turn. For several weeks instinct had me turning each and every time it opened when I first started, concerned about who was coming, but now it’s become the norm to hear it open and close throughout the day as people come for food, supplies, to chat, or whatever else. I thought they were checking in on me since they can do most of this in the shop. Recently, I’ve realized that sometimes they leave the shop in order to think. I can turn away from my drawings—flip on the TV, go into the kitchen—but when they’re in the shop, they’re immersed in their world.

“Don’t tell me you got road rash on your beautiful face!”

My eyes snap up.

“Isabelle!” Mercedes cries.

She’s beautiful, and I’m nearly positive she isn’t a fellow rider. She carries herself with a gracefulness that almost makes her appear like she’s dancing. Her jeans are tight, too tight to ride a bike, and her shirt is a designer blouse that would likely tear if she stretched to reach the handlebars. Isabelle walks over to the couch where Mercedes is now standing with a giant grin, and hugs her.

“What are you doing back?” Mercedes asks.

“I’m just up for a long weekend to visit.” She releases Mercedes and drops her hands to her thighs, rubbing the pads of her fingers across the material as though she’s nervous. “Where is everyone?”

“The new shop.”

“It’s finished?”

Mercedes nods proudly, a smile spread across her face.

The front door opens again, and almost as if called, the three traipse back into the house with Summer in the lead. She smiles, but it isn’t sincere. However, it still seems far more welcoming than the ones she greets me with.

“Hey, guys!” Isabelle calls.

King’s gaze moves up from where he’s following Parker into the house. A myriad of emotions passes over his face, ones that I focus on with the selfish hope of finding confusion, uncertainty, or disgust. There’s definitely a shade of confusion, but joy is brighter.

They each greet one another with friendly hugs, further proof that they’re all close.

“How is Seattle treating you?” Summer asks, standing taller as she faces Isabelle, making me wonder if Isabelle is an ex of Kash.

“It’s good. Lots of cool bands, food, rain—it feels quite a bit like home,” Isabelle says, raking a hand through her light brown hair streaked with blonde.

“Like home?” Parker scoffs. “You’re forgetting to consider the awesome people here. No one is friendlier than an Oregonian.”

“Or stranger.” Isabelle’s comment is met with laughter. Even my own lips are pulled into a smile before I press them into a firm line and scoot my chair back, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” Isabelle says, her blue eyes focusing on me.

“This is Lo. She’s a friend of Kash and King’s, and watches Mercedes.” Summer’s introduction has me turning slightly to regard her. She rarely even acknowledges me. “Lo, this is Isabelle. She’s been a long-time family friend.”

“That’s great.” Isabelle’s tone is friendly and sincere.

“It’s nice to meet you.” I still don’t feel relaxed. Whether it’s from fearing for Summer or myself, I’m not sure, but I try my best to make my tone sound welcoming, and for my legs to move closer to the assembled group.

“I have to get going, but let’s get this on real quick.” Mercedes doesn’t hesitate. Her eyes are down, trying to see my drawing before her feet propel her forward.

“How did you do that?” Her eyes slowly drag away from the image and up to me. They’re wide with shock and a happiness that makes the embarrassment from the attention she’s drawing toward me quickly diminish.

“We’ll do a new one tomorrow after we change the bandage. You can pick the design. My professors will love you.”

“Why will they love me?” she asks, tilting her chin to expose the wound already covered with medicine and gauze.

“Because I draw people.” I tear off the strip of tape and carefully apply it to hold the dressing in place. “Plus this is only an inch wide and textured. You’re making me work for it.”

“Show me.” King takes a step forward, craning his neck around to see the bandage. He stares at it for several seconds without blinking. Then Parker moves up beside him, slapping a hand on his shoulder before he stops. Their reactions are what encourage me to believe I can do this. I can survive in this world doing something that I love so deeply.

Parker’s head shakes ever so slightly. “You have a gift.” He swallows and then looks over to me. His lips are set in a serious expression, his eyes bright with a validation that has more value than a paycheck. The girls step closer as well to inspect the hawk with wings spread wide.

“She needed something nearly as beautiful as her while she recovers.” I brush my thumb along the edge to make sure it’s secure and then slides my hand across her back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sorry for the sucky ending,” Mercedes says quietly, her eyes falling.

I shake my head, waiting until she looks at me. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She gives me a sheepish grin that tells me she’s considering my words, and I turn to the others before announcing a final goodbye.

“Hey, Lo, do you have anything going on tomorrow?”

I look to Summer with curiosity churning in my stomach.

“I’d like to meet up with you about the logo. You mentioned that Mexican restaurant downtown. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, what time?”

“How about seven?”

“I’ll see you then.”

“YOU LOOK nervous.”

I turn to face Mia and smile. “I was going to come back and see you!”

“Yeah, well, it’s been over a week since you’ve been by to work on the mural, so I was worried you were here to dine and dash.”

“I know. Don’t worry though; I’ll be here all morning Thursday.”

“I’ll make you chimichangas.”

“With extra guacamole?”

“Don’t get greedy on me, Crosby.”

I laugh, leaning into my seat. “I’ll be around to the back in a few. I’m just meeting someone about a possible work thing.”

“I’ll send up a prayer.” Mia turns and heads to the kitchen, her long red skirt flowing behind her.

I work to settle the comparison of meeting Summer to feeling like I’m about to meet an enemy. We aren’t rivals. I need to find a way to ensure her of that so she understands I’m not going to be an issue, without revealing that I spend more time and attention on Kash simply because he isn’t King.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Summer’s words startle me. Having the person I’m thinking about appear, even when expected, always catches me a little off guard. Her attention is focused to my side, nullifying the sincerity of her apology. She lays a large file on the table and then carefully removes her jacket and purse, and gingerly sets them inside the booth before scooting in beside them.

“I saw your new work today. That fish was pretty cool.” I smile, thinking of the salmon I drew with colored Sharpies for Mercedes’ new bandage shortly before I came here. “I heard you’re also pretty good at drawing in the dirt.”

“I’m better with paper.”

Her focus moves to mine and I see that I’ve caught her off guard. Obviously my lack of confidence and discomfort was as clear to her as it was to me when Kash originally proposed this venture. “Can we clear the air really quick? You know that I don’t like Kash, right? We’re just friends.”

Summer’s eyes narrow with apprehension, and her shoulders square, her spine straightening. It serves to make her appear even more intimidating as I’m sure she intends for it to. “I mean Kash is great and all. I just don’t have feelings for him like that, and I sometimes get the impression that you think I do.” I stare at her for a moment as she listens intently. “He’s just easy to talk to. We get along well.”

“But King isn’t?”

My eyes shift over the same table that I’ve cleared hundreds of times while being on the opposite end of this dining experience. “King’s … I don’t know. He’s just…”

“Hey, Lo!” Relief fills me as I turn to Estella and see her smiling face. She stops in front of our table and her eyebrows furrow as she turns her attention to Summer. “Did you guys want anything?”

“Yeah, um…” I look over at Summer to see her menu is still closed and her eyes are wide, staring at me. “Can we have a few minutes?”

She smiles warmly, nodding her head ever so slightly before turning to another table.

“Oh my God. You’re Lo.” Summer’s voice is a strained whisper.

My eyes tighten, attempting to understand why hers are wide. “What do you mean?”

“You’re Lo,” she repeats quietly, her eyebrows arched.

My heart lurches. There’s no conceivable way … Is there? “I don’t understand.”

“Sorry.” She clears her throat and diverts her attention to the menu. “So what’s good here?”

“What just happened?”

Summer shakes her head as her attention remains focused on reading over the same meals I memorized three years ago. “Nothing. Sorry, I was just … It’s nothing.”

“Who do you think I am?” I insist.

Summer slowly lifts her gaze to mine, searching my face with patience, not slow like an artist does to catch unseen details, more like she’s looking at me for the first time. She clears her throat again and moves a hand to her forehead for support. Her throat moves with a swallow, feeling my stare. “King told me about that party in September, when he met Lo. You’re her. You’re Lo.”

Everything seems to come to a halt as I focus on what she’s just told me. About the fact that she knows about me. That King told someone.

“You don’t … I mean, we don’t have to talk about it. I just didn’t realize … I didn’t know you were her.” Summer’s eyes have gone back to being sharp like her tone, which catches me off guard. If anything, it seems this secret should bring her some relief.

My mouth feels too dry as I swallow and turn my attention to the mural I’ve been working on near the back of the restaurant. A distracted part of my mind that doesn’t ever know how to rest starts questioning the colors I’ve been considering, while the rest of my thoughts go around in a tailspin. “I’m not like that.”

Summer raises her eyebrows, imploring me to continue. “I don’t sleep around, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why would I think that?”

“I don’t know. Why do you?”

She releases a sigh through her nose, her eyes moving down to the table, avoiding me. “Look. You seem like you genuinely care about Mercedes. I’ve never seen her connect with anyone the same way she has with you. And the fact that you have somehow managed to get the Knight house clean, and stay clean, is a miracle in and of itself. But King is like my brother. The fact that you screwed with him is not something I will be able to easily forgive.”

“Screwed with him?” I lean forward as the words fly from my mouth. “He screwed with me.”

“You didn’t call him.”

“He told me his name was Bentley,” I cry. “I looked like a fool asking way too many times to way too many people if they knew a Bentley because when I woke up the next day, his number was rubbed off. He had my number. This wasn’t me playing games and disappearing.”

I watch each of my admissions run through a silent mental checklist. What have I just confessed?

“So you like King?” Her voice is quiet, trying to restrain what I believe to be hope, which confuses me even further.

I shake my head swiftly. “King and I…”

Summer leans forward, her neck stretching. “Yes…”

“We’re, I don’t know … friends … I guess. Part of the time I think he hates me. Others I think he likes having me around to torment. Occasionally he seems to just be cool with things.”

“Friends?” Summer spits the word.

“I’m not getting involved in anything with King. We got along well when we met that night. Now we’re starting to finally find some even ground, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to hang out with him when he’s spending time with someone that has feelings for him.” I shake my head with more conviction. “No way.”

Her whole face squishes with confusion. “What are you talking about? Isabelle?”

“Yes, Isabelle.”

“They aren’t dating. They’ve never dated.”

“She obviously has feelings for him.” Her words are slowly absorbing through my defenses, relieving me far more than I wish to admit.

“Yes, yes she does. Isabelle has known King forever. They grew up together. I told you this when I introduced you guys.” Summer’s neck retracts and her shoulders fall ever so slightly. “That was intentional. You shouldn’t feel obligated to be a bench warmer because she likes him. King doesn’t have feelings for her—not like that, anyway. And she knows it. They’re friends and have only ever been friends.”

I break her stare and look down at the table. Her encouragement is unsettling. This was the last thing I was expecting to hear, especially from her.

“Lo, King has feelings for you. But if you’re going to date other guys and keep dangling that in his face…” I glance up and her lips are pursed, her chin tilted. “Sometimes I really like you, and then other times…”

“You hate me,” I finish.

This time her eyes hold mine. “Sometimes, but not for the reasons you probably think I do. Kash never lets anyone get very close to him, yet he seems to really like you. I thought you guys were … Well, you already know what I thought. And now that I know you’re her”—Summer’s eyes travel downward again, but I can tell by the stretched skin by her temples that they’re widened—“my mind is a crazy mess of thoughts. Did you take this job because of him?”

“No! I didn’t even know King lived there!” My objection is so loud a couple across the restaurant looks our way, making me duck my head.

“Are things with your boyfriend serious?”

“Boyfriend?”

“Charlie.”

A laugh escapes my lips, followed by a giggle that makes me close my eyes and look out the window in time to see a full-sized SUV rear-end Summer’s truck.

“Shit!” Summer shoots up from her seat, her jaw dropped and attention diverted outside. “Son of a bitch.” Summer exhales the words. She swings her purse over her shoulder and then looks to me. “Write down his plates,” she demands, and then she’s gone.

I find a piece of charcoal in my bag and quickly pull my things out of the booth, following her out into the rain. I fish my arm back through my bag, searching for a pen, knowing the charcoal won’t last long on my skin with this weather. I rip the cap off with my teeth and write the series of numbers and letters on the inside of my wrist before walking over to where Summer is talking with a raised voice to a wiry man with red hair who has his arms spread wide in disbelief or irritation. As I get closer I realize it’s both.

I start to text Mia to ask her to call the police when my phone rings, Kash’s name filling the screen. I consider ignoring it before accepting the call and pressing the phone to my ear. “Hey, Kash. Sorry, do you mind if I call you right back? There’s kind of a situation.”

“A situation? What, with you and Summer?”

“Someone just rear-ended her.” At my words, the man flips around, his arms rising higher.

“She’s parked over the line! This was her fault!” he bellows.

“Yeah, a situation,” I repeat before turning my phone off and stepping up closer to the man, tilting my chin with disbelief.

“Did you guys exchange insurance information?” I ask the question, already knowing the answer is no.

“This is bullshit! I’m going to explain to them that you parked like a fucking idiot with half of your truck sticking out in traffic!”

I glance in the direction of her truck, noticing she is in fact slightly over the line, but not enough to impede another vehicle.

“Good thing they hire people to research accidents and facts,” Summer says.

His face turns a startling shade of red, his eyes bulging with anger. “I want your name, your address, I’m going to destroy you!”

“It’s just a car,” I say, forcing his attention to return to me. “If this is how you handle all of your mistakes, let me give you a quick life lesson: you need to dial the asshole meter down.” My words are spoken firmly, my eye contact never wavering from his.

His eyes grow rounder with shock. “Who in the hell do you think you are? I’m not talking to you! Unless it was both of you morons that parked!” His voice is alarmingly loud, and his comments make my blood heat and heart race, but I calmly blink to feign how unaffected I am.

Summer’s head rears back with a retort, forcing my response to come faster than I wish. I want him to have to wait for my words. “Nice to meet you, asshole. I’m Lauren, the witness that is happy to complete my civic duty by reporting to anyone that wants to hear how you hit her truck. Now, I think you need to grab your license and insurance information because this moron already called the cops.” I force my jaw to relax and my lips to loosen so I can continue the façade of being calm and unaltered by his behavior.

I notice Summer take a step away, and I want to see where she’s going but refuse to break eye contact with this guy. It’s a small gesture, but I will not be the one to back down.

“Good! I hope you did call the police!” His voice has turned vile, belligerent. His face has reddened even more, blanketing his freckles and kicking my heart rate up a few more notches. I steel myself, relaxing my mouth again to ensure I’m not expressing any emotion. His eyes narrow, noting my impartialness, and he takes a long step, bringing him close enough that I can smell his cologne. “You’re such a—”

“Finish that sentence,” King’s voice demands in an explosion. He appears beside me, his shoulder moving in front of mine, nearly pressing his chest against the man. “Finish your sentence!”

Kash and Parker seem to materialize as I’m jostled back a few steps, both of them moving just as close as King.

“If you want to act like a Neanderthal—” Kash looks to King and Parker before shrugging “—we’re game. But you don’t act like that to either of them, or any other woman.”

The guys’ eyes narrow, but I catch him slink back slightly. “I’m not dealing with a bunch of street thugs,” he quips.

“You want to raise your voice and get in someone’s face like that, you should expect to deal with something a whole hell of a lot scarier than a street thug. I can guarantee if you do it to them again, that will be me.” King’s not much taller than the driver, but his head is tilted to look down at him.

Summer’s shoulder brushes against mine, making me realize how stiff my muscles are, and I’m fairly certain they’re also shaking slightly, vibrating with anger and adrenaline.

“Get your shit out of your car,” Kash orders.

The stranger turns with a huff and retreats to his car, where Kash shadows him. King’s eyes follow them, and Parker takes a couple of steps closer to the cars as if anticipating the opportunity to throw a punch.

“I should get my stuff too,” Summer says, retreating to her car. King moves a few steps forward so that he’s closer to her.

“What’s going on?” Julio—one of the masterminds to the delicious food of Sonar—is breathless, his eyes alert as he scans the sidewalk.

“Nothing. That guy was just being a dick.”

“Who are the other guys?”

“My boss and his brother, and their friend,” I reply, wiping a wet piece of hair out of my face.

“Mia said he was yelling at you!”

“He doesn’t like being wrong.”

Julio laughs. It’s loud and a refreshing contrast to the anger that just transpired. It makes my lips lift and my lungs expand with a deeper, fuller breath of air. “We’ve got it covered. You can go inside.”

He reaches over and messes my hair up before retreating.

I release my ponytail and notice the guy turn and shoot an angry glare in my direction. My hands stop from securing my hair, falling to my sides. I raise my chin and eyebrows with a silent challenge, then Kash steps in front of him, muttering threats that don’t reach my ears.

It takes only a few brief moments for the correct information to be shared, and then the guy is back in his car, mumbling something as he backs up and waits for a window in the heavy commute traffic to leave.

King’s shoulders sink slightly as he watches the car disappear. Then he turns, his hand digging around in his pocket, and he sorts through a handful of its contents and flips three pennies to the sidewalk.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my brows drawing down as I watch one roll into a shallow puddle, because in Oregon, puddles are everywhere, including on the sidewalks.

King’s face is still mostly tilted downward from watching the pennies when his eyes meet mine. “Call me the Genie.”

“What?”

His shoulders roll casually in a shrug. “Sometimes people need a reason to think their luck is changing.”

I hate that I find that so entrancing. He’s right; people view lost pennies as a sign of good fortune, a chance to right a wrong, karma’s nod of approval.

“Let’s get something to eat. You guys need to warm up,” Kash says.

“That’s alright. I think I’m just going to head home,” I object.

“No way. We’re going to go get a drink after that,” Summer says. I turn to her, another excuse already lined up, and she shakes her head, pursing her lips. “Don’t even try it. Get in the car.”

“I’m going to drive your ride,” Kash says.

“What? It’s not like he broke it! He just fucked up my bumper.”

“Yeah, but if something happened—”

“Don’t feed me that line of bullshit! You just like my truck better than yours.”

There’s a collective laugh as though this has been discussed previously.

“I’ve got my bike in the back. Since it’s raining and I don’t have my top on, we need to get out of here. Where’d you park, Lo?” she asks.

“I rode the bus.”

All of them turn to look at me with a similar look of confusion that dissipates as the rain picks up. “Come on, Lo. You can ride with us,” Parker says.