by Tara Kelly
Scott sped off with the same grace he had a couple weeks ago. The leather of the back seat gave me goose bumps. I should’ve brought a jacket.
We flew past the silhouettes of boats in Squalicum Harbor. They looked like rows of toothpicks under the full moon. Still and lifeless as if they’d been there forever. Railroad tracks ran parallel to us on the other side, disappearing into nothing but blackness.
At some point we merged onto the freeway, but we only drove a couple exits north before Scott got off and made a right. The streetlights evaporated, as did the stores and the gas stations. Scott floored the Mustang as soon as we hit a dark stretch of road, and the trees blurred into odd shapes and jagged edges.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Naomi asked him.
“Gotta save some energy.” He grinned at her, taking one hand off the wheel and resting it in her lap.
She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, laughing. “Come on, step on it.”
“You really want me to?”
We were already going so fast. Too fast. The white road bumps had become a solid line, curving into nothing ahead. “I think we should slow down,” I said.
But they didn’t hear me. Too much wind from the open windows. Too much drum and bass from Scott’s crappy speakers. I tapped Naomi on the shoulder.
“What?” Her eyes were sunken holes in her face, and the rest of her features were indistinguishable. She’d become nothing more than purple hair and pale skin.
“Make him slow down.”
“No way. Are you kidding?”
The tires skidded around a sharp curve. Trees swallowed the car, blocking out any remaining moonlight.
“Please,” I said. “I can’t see anything.”
“That’s because we’re in Hicksville. Only life around here is Farmer John and his harem of cows!” Naomi laughed again. It was too loud. Too out of control.
Warmth was building behind my eyes, and my chest felt tight with fast breaths. I rocked back and forth, telling myself that it was just another anxiety attack. Naomi and Scott weren’t monsters that were going to dump me in the woods somewhere. But it sure felt like it. The way he kept tugging at her arm. She’d try to bite his hand. And she kept talking so fast—like a tape stuck on fast-forward.
The engine growled, jerking my body left. Then right. Left again. My head slammed against the seat with every downshift, and the tires squealed a little more with every turn. Scott said something about a homestretch and crunched on the gas. The car sounded like a freight train. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact. But Scott hit the brakes, and I opened my eyes to a sea of headlights pointed in every direction.
NAOMI AND I HUDDLED under some trees with a few other people. Most of them were girls taking puffs of cigarettes or giggling about their boyfriends. One guy told another his money was on Scott. I inhaled the smell of cow crap and car exhaust.
Scott’s Mustang sat alongside some blond girl’s red Honda. Both cars faced a flat stretch of road that bled into the darkness. The blond girl peered under Scott’s hood, pointing at various things and laughing. Scott’s gaze dropped every time she bent over to look at something.
“Why doesn’t she just lift up her skirt and flash him already?” Naomi said through her teeth. Her eyes narrowed at the girl, and her fingers twitched against her denim skirt.
“Why would she do that?”
She rolled her eyes at me and took another sharp drag of her cigarette. “You ask really dumb questions sometimes.”
I sank back into the shadows of the trees. Her hands clenched into fists every time a girl talked to him—even if it was just hi. And her eyes were different too. Always darting from one thing to the next. Hungry.
“How long will this take?” I asked.
She shrugged, flicking her cigarette into the gravel. “I’m not a psychic.”
I hugged my body, shivering in the damp air. Autumn definitely hit Washington earlier than California. A police scanner bellowed out of a car nearby. Two guys sat inside—the neon dashboard made their faces look alien.
The racer girl gave Scott a playful punch in the arm, and Naomi edged forward. When he leaned in to whisper in the girl’s ear, Naomi walked up to them, gesturing wildly. Some of the people around me chuckled and talked about a catfight.
I moved forward until I could hear what was going on.
“Maybe you should get your girlfriend a leash,” the racer girl said, shaking her head at Naomi.
Naomi lurched forward, bringing her face within inches of the other girl’s. “Maybe you should wear a skirt that covers your fat ass.”
Racer girl swung at Naomi, but Scott and a guy in a baseball cap pulled the two girls apart. Scott pressed Naomi against his car and took off his hoodie. “I told you not to do so much. Go for a walk or something, okay?” He handed his jacket to her.
Naomi’s entire body shuddered like she was cold. “You promised,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything.” He gave her a stiff hug and patted her on the back. Kind of like the hugs I gave Grandma.
“You were flirting with her.”
Scott laughed at this. “We were just talkin’.”
“I’m ready when you decide to lose the ball and chain,” the racer girl said, getting into her car and slamming the door.
Naomi spun around to say something, but Scott squeezed her face with one hand and lowered his voice. “I’m not gonna deal with this psycho-bitch shit.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, nuzzling her face into his hoodie.
He dropped his hand. “Get off the car.”
Naomi moved away and looked at me for the first time. Her eyes were like oil slick in the headlights.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my legs shaking.
She wrapped her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. “No.”
A guy with a walkie-talkie strolled past us and stood between the two cars. Both engines revved like dueling bass lines.
Naomi’s heart pounded against my chest, and her breaths were shallow. “I’m so jacked up, Drea,” she said. “I can’t even breathe.”
The guy stuffed the radio in his belt and held his hands up like a conductor. I stroked her hair, hoping it would calm her as it did me. “What did you take?” I asked. “Do you need a doctor?”
She sniffled into my ear. “No, I…” The growl of the cars drowned her voice out.
The conductor guy dropped his hands, and both cars skidded off, leaving us to choke on the stench of burnt rubber. The crowd shoved past us, shouting and hooting like a bunch of baboons in a cage.
Naomi’s breaths quickened, and I pulled her away from the street. She squatted in the darkness, chewing on her ring fingernail. “My heart won’t stop pounding, Drea. It won’t stop.”
I sat on the grassy roadside and winced as a cold wetness seeped into my ivory skirt. “Just sit down.”
“I can’t—I can’t sit. I can’t do anything.”
I reached for her hand and pulled her toward me. “Lay your head in my lap and close your eyes.” It was the only thing I could think of. Whenever a noise would bother me as a kid, Mom would tell me to lie in her lap. She’d sing to me or stroke my hair and talk about something that made us both laugh. Usually all the practical jokes she played on Grandma when she was little.
Naomi put the hoodie in my lap and rested on top of it. I ran my fingers through her damp hair, and she clenched her jaw.
The crowd’s cheers were off in the distance now. Someone had won, but I didn’t really care who. “You know what my mom did to my grandma once?”
“What?” she asked weakly.
“Grandma would always go on these cleaning rampages. Tear the whole house apart and put it back together again. And the whole time she’d be complaining about everything. Anyway, Mom decided to record her one time. Then she put this happy organ music to it—like the kind on a merry-go-round.”
“Oh my God—I can totally hear that.”
“She made a serie
s of these things. Even gave them titles and stuff. “Mom and the Plunger,” “Mom’s Thoughts on Hairballs.” I could feel Naomi’s chest shake with laughter. Her breathing slowed some. “Then she wrapped them up and gave them to Grandma for a birthday present, telling her it was this old blues singer she loved. Well, they had some dinner guests over—neighbors mostly. Grandma puts it on, and the first thing everyone hears is her yelling about dirty sheets.”
“Your mom is awesome. Seriously, you’re really lucky.”
“Sometimes I don’t feel that way.” I let her hair sift between my fingertips.
“Everyone wishes they had different parents, I think. But at least you know she cares about you—like when she told you to keep the windows open tonight. That was cute.” She exhaled slowly. “I can’t even remember the last time my dad bothered to ask where I was going.”
“Do you guys ever eat together or watch TV?”
“I got him to watch the first five minutes of CSI a couple months ago. Then he fell asleep. It was easier when my brother was around—I had someone to share my misery with.”
“Where’s your brother now?”
“Who knows? Probably somewhere a lot more exciting than this place.” Naomi reached up and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”
“It’s—” I was interrupted by what sounded like a herd of horses. People were running to their cars and slamming doors.
Naomi grabbed the hoodie and jumped up, her eyes darting around the street. “Shit, they must’ve heard something on the scanner. We gotta find Scott.”
Cars sped off in every direction as we jogged along the side of the road. I was sure at least one would end up hitting us. Naomi ran into the street just as a black Mustang approached us. It skidded to a stop, and she yanked the front door open.
“Hurry up!” Scott said.
I dove into the back seat, and Naomi barely had enough time to slam the door before Scott floored the gas.
Scott insisted on taking us back to his apartment. He claimed that he was beat, and our houses were too far. Even though they weren’t more than ten minutes away. Naomi didn’t put up much of a protest.
“Don’t worry—he’s got a comfy couch,” Naomi said as I got out of the car.
Scott headed upstairs to his apartment without speaking to either of us. Most of the ride here consisted of him bragging about winning the race, and Naomi nodding and staring out the window.
“I want to go home.” I checked the time on my cell. One thirty a.m. My mind was racing, but my body felt achy and weak. I needed sleep. “Maybe we can call Justin.”
She put her hands on my shoulders, grinding her teeth. “He’s probably asleep. Look, I need to talk to Scott for a few minutes, and then I’ll see if I can get us a ride. Roger is probably still up.”
I followed her up the cracked steps to Scott’s apartment. Naomi pushed the door open and let me in first. A gigantic flat-screen TV with massive speakers sat opposite a black leather couch. The kitchen bar was lined with bottles of wine and hard liquor. He even had art hanging on the walls—which struck me as odd. The apartment complex itself was pretty ghetto. The kind Mom and I could only stay in for so long.
“Nice digs, right?” Naomi smirked.
“How does he afford all this?”
She raised her eyebrows. “How do you think?”
I shrugged. For all I knew, he robbed banks.
Scott paced around the kitchen, talking on the phone. Tattoos covered his shirtless back. Most of them were black and red with sharp edges and wavy lines. “What am I—Domino’s? Fuck that. Come over and I’ll show you,” he said.
Naomi walked over to a shelf of CDs and pulled a few out, scanning the track lists.
“Hey.” Scott walked into the living room, covering the mouthpiece. “Put those back where you found ’em.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved a couple back into their slots.
“So walk,” Scott said into the phone. “Your transportation issues aren’t my problem.” His eyes met mine and a small smile crept across his face. “Yeah, it’s worth it.”
I looked down at the dark brown carpet, staying near the front door. Scott mumbled a word that sounded like later and hung up.
“You gonna sit down?” he asked me.
I shrugged, keeping my elbows close to my body.
“We’re going to take off,” Naomi said, standing up. “But I want to talk to you first.”
“Yeah?” He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She pulled away. Her hands were still shaking. “Not like that—I mean it.”
“Thought you were staying over.” Scott raked a hand through his shaggy blond hair and motioned in my direction. “Your friend can take the couch. Or she can join us.” He poked at her ribs and laughed.
Naomi flipped him off. “Why do you have to be such a pig?” She pushed past him and settled into the leather couch.
I backed into the cold wall, wishing I could disappear.
Scott folded his bulky arms across his chest. His grin faded into a thin line. “I don’t have time for your drama, Naomi. You wanna go home, go. Take your weird friend with you.”
I sucked in my breath. “I’m not weird.”
He cupped his hand behind his ear. “What was that?”
My heart thudded in my chest. “You don’t deserve Naomi,” I said. “You’re a jerk.”
Scott shook his head and walked over to me. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“You wanna look me in the eye and say that?”
“Leave her alone,” Naomi said. Her voice was behind him now.
“No. I want to hear what this stuck-up little bitch has to say.” His breath smelled sour and bitter—like old cigarettes.
My throat felt like it was closing up on me. “I want to go home, Naomi. Now.”
“I want to go home, Naomi,” Scott said in a high voice. “Word of advice—don’t run your mouth off about something you know nothin’ about.”
“Scott,” Naomi whispered, “let’s go in your room and talk, okay?”
His hot breath fell on my forehead. I bit down on my tongue until it ached—anything to hold in the scream building inside me.
A few more seconds passed before their footsteps moved toward the bedroom.
“That chick is a fuckin’ freak,” Scott said, shutting the door behind them.
My knees gave out and I slid against the wall until my tailbone hit the floor. I nuzzled my face into my knees and exhaled a breathy scream. The tightness in my throat unraveled some, but there was so much left. So much I wanted to say and couldn’t.
Their voices rose behind the door, and my fingers went cold. Naomi cussed. And Scott cussed back. She kept asking him why. And he wouldn’t give her a real answer. I fished out my phone and stared at Justin’s name. He’d told me to call him, but did that mean in the middle of the night? I shut my brain off and pressed dial.
He answered after the first ring. “Hey, Drea.”
“Did I wake you up?”
“Nah, I was writing in that journal for English.”
“They’re fighting in Scott’s room. I want to go home, but I don’t want to leave her alone with him.”
“What’s the address?”
“Crap, I don’t know.” I got up and parted the blinds hanging over Scott’s window. “It’s too dark to see the sign.”
“Does he have mail lying around somewhere?”
My knees wobbled as I wandered into the kitchen. A mess of papers covered the table. I fished an envelope out. It was sticky with something.
“Found a telephone bill,” I said. “It’s 1401 Madison Street—apartment 239.”
“Got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Someone banged on the door about four minutes later. I was sitting at the kitchen table, still clutching my cell phone. Too early to be Justin—unless he lived on this side of town. Every nerve in my body turned to ice.
Scott barreled out of
the bedroom and glared at the phone in my hand. “You call the cops?” He made a move toward me, but the banging continued. He snuck up to the door and looked into the peephole. His shoulders relaxed at whoever was standing outside.
“Don’t pound on the door like that, jackass,” Scott said, opening the door.
This was followed by male laughter. Two guys walked in. One had long, frizzy hair and the other wore a beanie and about a billion facial piercings. Frizz Head made himself at home on the couch, and Beanie Guy followed Scott into the kitchen.
“What’s up?” Beanie Guy nodded at me.
I looked down and hightailed it to the front door. Their eyes burned into me.
“I think she’s retarded or something,” Scott said.
“Dude, that was cold.” Beanie whispered something else I couldn’t hear, and they both laughed.
“Hey,” Frizz said from the couch, “you gonna let him talk about you like that?”
“Naomi?” I called, keeping my eyes focused on a hole in the wall. “Where are you?”
“I’m coming,” she said, tearing out of the room. “Sorry.” Her eyes darted from the couch to the kitchen.
“Justin’s coming to pick us up,” I said.
“Hey, Naomi!” Beanie called. “What’s wrong with your friend?”
She rolled her eyes. “She’s got standards.”
Scott leaned toward him. “That’s all she does, man. Stands in corners all hunched over. You say hi to her and she does this twitchy thing like—”
“We can hear you!” Naomi said.
“She’s kinda hot, though,” Beanie said back. Like I wasn’t even in the room. Like I didn’t matter.
Naomi wrapped her arms around me. “Ignore them.”
Frizz switched the TV on, cranking up the volume. Some cartoon roared through the apartment.
Scott walked over and clicked it off. “I got neighbors that bitch if I fart too loud, okay?” Another knock echoed around the apartment. “Who’s that?”
“Maybe you should consider a new line of work,” Naomi said. “You’re paranoid as hell.”
I hoped it was Justin.
Scott looked into the peephole again and yanked the door open. “Yeah?”
