by Carian Cole
Actually, that’s not why. But I nod in agreement anyway.
“I’ve been calling him RingPop ever since. He moved to a different town last year, but we still hang out once in a while.”
“I have a good choking story too,” he says, pulling onto the highway.
“Let’s hear it.”
“When I was in high school, I was kissing this chick I was with, and I had a piece of gum in my mouth and she thought she was being sexy and sucked it out of my mouth. It went straight down her throat and she started gagging on it. Total mood killer.”
“Ew! That’s disgusting,” I say, repulsed. I could’ve lived forever without hearing that. “I guess she must’ve liked you a lot if she wanted to chew your gum.”
I can’t imagine liking a guy enough to want anything from his mouth in my own.
“Eh, she had the personality of a light switch.”
He shifts to a higher gear and moves to the fast lane, gunning the gas pedal. “This baby is fast,” he says.
“The fastest I’ve gone with it is 105.”
He throws me a surprised glance. “Look at you, little speed demon. Be careful. You don’t want to wrap your pretty face around a tree.”
“I only went that fast once.” Maybe twice.
Okay, like, five times.
“So, what’s a girl like you doing with a car like this?” His tone is playful, but my answer is not. I still get emotional talking about my grandfather, and today is no different. Especially when I’m in the car he gifted me, telling someone the story of how he wanted me to have something beautiful, cool, and created with love. Something symbolic of hope, of shiny new beginnings.
“Your grandfather sounds like he was a good guy,” Jude says after I tell him how my grandfather meant to give the car to me when I graduated.
“He was.” I wipe the tear from my eye before it trickles down my cheek. “I miss him a lot. And my grandma.”
“She’s passed, too?”
I nod. “Yeah. Two years before him. She was diabetic.”
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to bum you out.”
“You didn’t. I always get melancholy when I think about them.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
I lose track of time and direction as he drives. Almost everything fades away—except the wind rushing through the open windows and my favorite playlist keeping us company. And Jude’s voice, singing along with the songs he has no idea are the closest to my heart.
“You’ve got a great voice.” I don’t try to mask my surprise.
“I only sound good in the shower and the car.” He turns down a bumpy side road. “Put me on a stage and I suck.”
“I doubt that.”
He slows down and pulls into a gravelly parking lot, near a small playground.
“I just want to have a quick smoke,” he says, reaching for the door handle. I laugh as he tries to hoist his tall body out of the low car. “Holy shit that thing’s hard to get out of.”
“I got used to it. Thankfully, I don’t wear skirts.” I peer around at the empty park. “I’m going to walk around for a few minutes.”
I head straight to the swings. There used to be a swing in our backyard, hanging from a tree. When I was little, I’d swing for hours every day, believing I could soar straight into the sky and live in the clouds. One day, the rope snapped on one side, and I slammed to the ground. For at least half an hour I was sprawled out crying, thinking I was dying. When my parents didn’t come to help me, I stood up and quietly limped inside, my butt and legs aching with every step. Looking back, I’m pretty sure I fractured my tailbone.
The swing is still there, hanging from the broken, frayed rope. An icon of the day I realized I was on my own.
Jude has sauntered across the park to sit on the end of the metal slide. He watches me with an amused smile that’s incredibly hot.
“Come swing with me!”
He shakes his head and blows a cloud of smoke up into the air.
“C’mon, Lucky. No one will see you.”
“I don’t care who sees me.”
“Then get over here. Don’t be a poop.”
Laughing, he puts out his cigarette and tosses it in a trashcan on his way to the swings.
“You’re a pain in the ass, ya know,” he says, squeezing his muscular body onto the one next to me.
I pump my legs harder, my hair flying like a flag behind me. “I know. Don’t care.”
When I look over, he’s gliding through the air next to me, smiling just as much as he was when he got behind the wheel of my ’vette.
I’m glad to see the bad boy has an inner child.
“Whoever can land the farthest away gets to drive home,” he says mischievously.
“You’re on!”
He goes first, vaulting himself off the swing and landing in the beach sand fifteen feet away, rolling into a dramatic somersault.
“I’m too old for this shit, Sparkles,” he says, kneeling in the sand. “You and your car are killing my back.”
“Prepare to lose!”
I hit the sand three feet farther than him with a thud, and fall, not in any way gracefully, onto my butt.
“I won!”
“Yeah but it really wasn’t fair. You’re much lighter.”
“True. I’ll let you drive back. Because I’m nice and I like you.”
He stands, brushes sand off his jeans, and holds his hand out to me. When I grasp it, he effortlessly pulls me up, and I stumble into his chest.
“I like you, too.”
His voice, the sudden closeness… I’m a little breathless. I’ve never been this close to a man before. A boy, yes. But not a muscular, inked-up, sandalwood-scented-aftershave-wearing grown man with hands the size of my head.
I should’ve let go of his hand as soon as I was on my feet, but I don’t. I hold on to it for a few seconds, liking the warmth and the feel of his callused palm against mine.
After a few seconds, he gently squeezes my hand, then pulls his from mine. It’s a tiny, affectionate gesture, that squeeze. But us girls know what it is. A hand hug.
Chapter 7
Jude
The distinct sound of her car engine, and Elton John’s Tiny Dancer on full blast, announces Skylar’s arrival before I even see her pull into the school lot.
She glances casually at the house I’m working on as she gets out of her car, but she doesn’t see me way up on the roof. I wonder if the car gave her trouble this morning, because school started over an hour ago.
The weather has changed overnight, and a cool breeze has chased away the humidity. That might explain the funky, aged-brown-leather aviator cap and goggles sitting on her head. Two long braids flow from beneath the weird adornment, which, somehow, actually looks cool on her.
“Hey, Lucky!” Kyle yells from below. “Come check out the flooring.”
“Be right there.”
On my way down the ladder, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. It takes me a few seconds to realize that what looks like a pile of clothes thrown on the sidewalk, is Skylar.
“What the—”
Tossing my hammer onto the ground, I sprint across the lawn and kneel down next to her on the sidewalk.
“Skylar?”
My blood goes cold when she doesn’t stir. She’s totally out.
Breathing, but out like a light.
“Hey…” I touch her cheek as my heart kicks up its rhythm. Her cute little hat has fallen off, and seeing it lying on the walkway next to her brings a lump to my throat. I nudge her arm. “Wake up, Sparkles.”
Her head turns. Her booted feet twitch. Slowly, her eyes open. She stares through me for a few seconds with boggled eyes until her focus finally returns.
“Wh-what happened?” she slurs, blinking.
“I think you passed out.”
I help her sit up, but she immediately sways and grabs on to my arm. “I don’t feel too good.”
“Did you take anything?” I ask.
“Take what?”
“I don’t know. Pills?”
Scowling, she rubs the side of her head. “I don’t do drugs, Jude.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“Maybe. I feel really dizzy.”
Her eyes close and her fingers grip my arm tighter, as if she’s about to pass out again.
“I’m going to take you to the emergency room.”
She shakes her head. “No… I can’t go to the hospital.”
“Yes, you can. And you are.”
Kyle approaches with a hammer in his hand and looks from me to Skylar, still sitting on the sidewalk. “I’ve been looking for you. What the hell’s going on?”
“I think she passed out.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Not sure. I’m going to take her over to the ER. Can you take care of things while I’m gone?”
“Sure. Maybe you should call an ambulance?”
“No,” Skylar mumbles.
“Screw that,” I say. “It’ll take forever to get here. I can get her there faster if I take her myself.”
He nods. “Okay. Maybe you should call her parents, though.”
“Good idea.” I lean into Skylar’s line of vision. “Let’s call your mom and I’ll drive you to the ER. She can meet us there.”
Eyes closed, she shakes her head. “I’m eighteen. I don’t need or want her there.”
“But—”
“Please,” she whispers. “She won’t come anyway. Trust me.”
Kyle and I exchange a look. One that says we shouldn’t get involved. But I can’t just leave her here or let her drive herself. She can’t even stand up, let alone drive.
“Okay. Do you think you can walk to my truck?”
“I think so.”
I help her stand, but her legs wobble like noodles.
“I’m going to carry you,” I say, swooping her up into my arms before she can protest. “Dude, pick up her stuff for me,” I say to Kyle.
He picks up the hat, goggles, and book bag and hands them to her. “Thank you,” she says, leaning her head against my shoulder.
Ignoring Kyle’s skeptical look, I say, “I’ll be back soon. Just keep things moving here.”
“Will do. Send me a text and lemme know what’s going on.”
I carry her to my truck, wondering what the hell I’m doing with every step, and carefully settle her in the passenger seat. Awkwardly, I strap the seatbelt around her.
“You don’t have to treat me like a baby,” she says when I start up the truck.
“I’m not.”
“Maybe I should go home…” she says, pressing her fingers into her temples. “Maybe I’m just tired. And I’ve had a bad sore throat. It could be the flu… or mono.”
Shit.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in a loooong time, though.” She leans her head back against the seat and closes her eyes. “In case you were wondering, yes, I’m a social loser.”
“I wasn’t. And you’re not. But I think it’s best to get you checked out. You passed out on the freakin’ sidewalk. You might’ve hit your head. You could have a concussion.” Suddenly, I’m channeling my mother. “Should we call the school and tell them you’re not going to be there?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “They won’t even notice I’m not there. They never do.”
The Monday-morning traffic sucks, forcing us to sit through every red light twice. Skylar becomes more alert during the drive, but she still looks eerily pale to me, especially with the sun glaring through the windows.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “Did you eat this morning?”
“I never eat breakfast.”
I catch myself before I completely turn into my mother and tell her that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
I’m supposed to be cool. Badass. Her words, not mine.
By the time we get to the hospital, she tells me she’s feeling a bit better and can get out of the truck and walk without stumbling. That doesn’t stop me from walking her inside and waiting while she checks in.
“Thanks for driving me here,” she says, as we take seats in the waiting area far away from the other four people. “You can go. I’ll be fine now. I don’t want to mess up your whole day.”
“How are you going to get home?”
Her mouth quirks to the side. “I’ll text Megan later. I’m sure she’ll give me a ride back to my car.”
Rocking on my heels with my hands shoved in my front pockets, I stare around the room. Then at her, sitting in the faded-yellow plastic chair with her blue eyes wide with anxiety, rubbing her hand over the center of her chest. The printed ID bracelet seems huge circling her wrist. I never noticed how thin her wrists are.
“Skylar Timmons?” a nurse bellows from the double doors.
That was fast.
Skylar stands, smiling weakly. “Thanks, Jude.”
How can I leave her here when she’s looking all sickly, scared, and alone?
“I’ll wait here for you, okay? It shouldn’t take long.” They’ll probably just send her home with some antibiotics and tell her to rest for a few days.
Clearly, I underestimated what goes on beyond the doors of the emergency room.
Three hours later, I’m still in the waiting room, vacillating between annoyed as shit and worried as hell.
And why? I don’t even know this girl. She’s not friend or family to me. The universe just keeps trying to turn me into her personal driver.
I send Kyle a text telling him I’m still waiting. He replies that I should leave. I get a soda and potato chips out of the vending machine. I stare out the window. I eavesdrop on a young couple sitting a few seats over from me. She thinks she’s pregnant and they don’t want to tell anyone. Her family hates him. She was drunk last week and now she’s worried she hurt the baby. He wonders (loudly) if she’s drunk now. A woman across from me is coughing nonstop and is wearing two different socks.
Yeesh. I want to get out of here, but now I’m invested in the wait. Wouldn’t she be out by now if she was okay?
“Jude Lucketti?”
I snap out of my daze. “That’s me.”
“You can come in and see your niece. She’s asking for you.”
My niece?
I follow the nurse through the metal doors and down the hall to a small, private exam room. Skylar is sitting up in the bed with a flimsy gray gown on that dwarfs her, hanging off her shoulder. I try not to look at the thin, black lace bra strap showing. An IV is dripping into a needle taped to the top of her hand.
It feels too intimate—me being in a hospital room with her. Vulnerable, pale, and barely dressed. Someone else should be standing here. A parent, friend, or boyfriend.
Not some guy she barely knows.
“The doctor will be back soon,” the nurse informs us as she leaves.
“You’re still here,” Skylar says.
“I was worried about you. It’s been over three hours.”
“I’m so sorry. You should go back to work.”
“I’ve been sitting out there for hours. I’m not gonna leave now. Did they figure out what’s wrong with you? And don’t start calling me Uncle Lucky, niece.”
She laughs. “I was afraid they wouldn’t let you in unless you were family.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I sit in another impossibly uncomfortable chair in the corner of the tight room. “You sure you’re eighteen?”
“Yes, Jude. I’m pretty sure I know how old I am. I’m a senior and I turned eighteen four months ago. I was held back in school when I was younger because I was absent a lot.”
“Okay. Just checking. So what’s going on?” I scan the room. Her clothes are folded on a chair on the other side of the bed. “Are y
ou getting discharged?”
Her gaze drops and she leans her chin on her hand. “Maybe tomorrow. They’re admitting me.”
“Why?”
“They want to run some more tests. An endoscopy, I think, and some other things. The doctor talks really fast, I didn’t catch all of it.”
“What do they think is wrong?”
“Just some stuff…”
“Just some stuff?” I repeat. “Sooo… stuff is your diagnosis?”
She tilts her head and gives me a look. “No, but do you really want to hear all this?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” I push my hair out of my face. “You don’t have to tell me, though. It’s cool.”
She takes a deep breath and pulls the thin, white blanket up. Her fingers fidget over the hem.
“I have an eating disorder. And some other problems. With my stomach, esophagus, and overall health.” She lifts her gaze from the blanket to meet my eyes. “And mentally.”
“Oh,” I say softly, letting that sink in. Now the eating of the burgerless hamburger makes sense.
“I’ve known for a while,” she adds. “I was diagnosed a few years ago. I’ve just been in denial, I guess. I’ve been afraid to go back to the doctor, and I couldn’t afford to. It’s been getting worse lately, though.”
“Then it’s good you’re getting help now.”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
I struggle to say something to make her feel better, but I’ve got nothing that doesn’t sound cheesy or preachy.
“Do you want me to call anyone for you? Or bring you anything?”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. You should probably go, though. I know you have to work and they’re going to move me to a room soon.”
Nodding, I stand and step toward her bed. “If you want, me and Kyle can drive your car to your house so it’s not sitting in the school lot overnight. I’m sure you don’t want it getting towed.”
“You’d really do that for me?”
“Sure. We’ll do it tonight.”
“Thank you. You’re a really good guy, Jude.”
I touch her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Feel better, okay, Sparkles? Send me a text and let me know how you’re doing. I’m guessing you’re gonna need a ride home?” I tease.
