by Dan Rix
Aaron never took his eyes off Amber. She was the only thing real. Her orange and yellow tiger stripes. She returned his stare, speechless, just as shocked as he was.
Clive stood behind her, smirking, and with his long, pale fingers, he caressed Amber’s neck, her collarbone, then reached lower—
Aaron averted his eyes, disgusted, as every last inch of his skin caught fire and burned with jealousy.
***
Aaron stumbled onto the balcony and gulped fresh air, still seething—and pissed at himself for overreacting. No shit Amber got touchy feely with Clive on the dance floor, she was his damn girlfriend; Aaron just hadn’t really believed it until tonight. A moment later, she came out behind him.
“So that’s why you called me?” she said. “You’re an asshole.”
Aaron rolled his jaw, and the pain from Clive’s blow gnawed inside his skull. His teeth still didn’t align. “Go back inside and finish what you started,” he said. “Clive brought you here for a reason.”
“No duh,” she said, brushing her damp hair from her eyes. “They don’t check IDs.”
“You think that’s why he brought you here? Come on, Amber, you’re smarter than that.”
“Apparently not the whiz you are,” she said.
“Fine, I’ll spell it out for,” he said. “It’s called date rape. You’re nothing but a trophy to him, he’s not going to wait until you’re eighteen.”
Amber stepped in front of him, and her eyes were stunningly bright. “He’s not like that, Aaron. You’re just jealous.”
“Oh, please,” he said, “I’m stopping you from throwing your life away . . . because you don’t seem to give a damn. Jealousy’s got nothing to do with this.”
“And what exactly is this?” she said, motioning between them.
Aaron leaned against the railing, as the techno beat numbed his thoughts. “What makes you think he’s your half?” he said.
“Does it matter? It’s not like I get a choice.”
“Yes you do,” he said. “You still have a choice for one more week, and this is when people screw it up. It might not be him next Saturday, so don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“Who are you, my parents?” she said. “I have enough people fussing over my safety without you preaching to me.”
“Fine, but believe me you’re with the wrong guy,” he said.
“Why don’t you just say it already and stop wasting my time, Aaron—you think I’m your half.”
“Well, since you brought it up,” he said, “maybe you shouldn’t be dating Clive eight days before our birthday.”
Amber stepped closer to him, and the ocean breeze lifted her hair across her forehead. “I’ll date whomever I please.”
Aaron could smell her lip-gloss—cherry flavored—and feel the heat emanating from her skin. “At least until Clive kills them, right?” he said.
“He only does that when I get bored and tell him to,” she said, her eyes challenging him.
“Really?” said Aaron. “Then why has he known about every time you’ve seen me? Bored already?”
“Slightly.”
“Then let’s make things interesting. Dance with me.”
“No,” she said, staring him straight in the eye, “didn’t you just lecture me about not doing things I would regret?”
Before he could answer, yells from inside the club interrupted their conversation. Aaron and Amber spun as Buff staggered out onto the balcony, two bouncers right behind him, their torsos bulging inside black T-shirts.
Buff planted his palms on their chests, one on each, and halted them. “No more bullshit—I swear!”
They rolled up their sleeves and hustled him backward, shoved him against the railing. Buff’s eyes froze on the dark, sloshing ocean behind him. They were going to pitch him over.
“I said no more bullshit!”
Aaron and Amber jumped to the rescue.
“There you are bud—”Aaron threw his arm around Buff’s shoulder and dragged him away from the bouncers. “Been looking all over for you! See that sailboat over there . . . marvelous, isn’t she?”
Amber intercepted the bouncers. “Oh my God, thank you guys so much for your help!” She smiled and batted her eyelashes at them. “He’s my half.”
Aaron stole a look at her and had to turn away to suppress a snicker.
The bouncers grunted and retreated into the thumping, flashing darkness.
“Buddy, I got him!” said Buff, smacking his palm. “Broke Breezie’s nose, just like that.” He grinned, and blood dribbled down his chin from a split lip. His eyes were bruised too.
Amber came up next to them and rubbed her arms. “It’s cold,” she said to Aaron, shivering. “I changed my mind. Let’s go dance now.”
“Forget it,” said Aaron. “It was a bad idea.”
“Fine,” she said, and her gaze darted to Buff. “I’ll dance with your best friend then—”
But before Buff had a chance to accept, Aaron snatched her hand away from him. “Alright, one song,” he said. “You still think you’re going to regret this?”
“Actually,” she said, catching his eyes with a sizzling glance as she pulled him into the club’s sweaty heat, “I’m counting on it.”
***
A scan around the club revealed that Clive and Dominic were absent, and it made Aaron nervous; they were up to something.
The song was in transition as he and Amber headed for the corner, just the synthesizer. The lasers made slow sweeps across the ceiling.
When they reached a good spot, the strobe lights flashed and the bass kicked in, obscuring Aaron’s thoughts. Amber faced him, blushing, and glanced down. He watched the lights flashing across her face, and his heart fluttered, weightless. He pressed his eyelids shut. His birthday was too soon; dancing with Amber was a mistake. He needed to get out of here.
But then she draped her arms around his neck, and already, he felt himself giving in. He held her waist, unable to pull away. Blood surfaced under his skin. The thrill was almost palpable.
The music pressed them together, the club dissolved. They were alone. Together.
He felt her hair on his cheek, silky. She smelled like sweat and flowers. Holding her was easier than it should have been. Excruciating, yes, but easier. Intoxicating, in fact.
Very intoxicating.
Aaron felt her mouth near his ear. “None of this is going to matter when we’re eighteen. Why are you so tense?”
But she was tense too. Her body felt taut, as if she was holding her breath.
She moved closer, and he felt her cheek against his neck. He could feel her heart racing—or was it his? His nerves felt tingly wherever their skin touched.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered.
“Take a guess.”
“I can’t read you,” she said. “Tell me.”
“Oh, you know . . . ,” he said, “just my Anthro essay.”
“Butthead.”
It felt like only a moment passed, and then the song was over. It hardly seemed fair. But they still didn’t let go of each other.
“I think the song’s over,” he said.
“Then why are we still dancing?” she said.
Just then, Buff burst out of the crowd and grabbed Aaron’s arm.
“Buddy, your car—” he gasped, out of breath, “Breezie and Selavio are pushing it into the water!”
FOUR
7 Days, 11 hours, 29 minutes
Outside, the cold, salty breeze stung his eyes, blurred his vision. Dominic and Clive were leaned over on either side of his Mazda, their arms flexed on the inside of the frame. They had turned the car around, and now they were picking up speed, jogging toward the end of the pier where white foam frothed up onto the planks.
Aaron unclasped his fingers from Amber’s hand and started after them—and slipped, slamming his face into wet, slimy wood. He jumped back to his feet.
“Turn it right,” Dominic yelled, nearly running
now. “Turn the wheel right!”
The car veered left. “I said right!”
They jumped away from the car, just as Aaron shot past them. He sprinted for the driver’s side, where the door swung open. Salt clogged his nostrils, his thighs burned.
It was rolling twenty miles per hour into the wind, and there was forty feet of pier left. He couldn’t gain on it.
But he loved this car.
Aaron took one more step and lunged, grabbed the frame. The door slammed on his fingers, but he held on. The car bounced, and he got his other hand on the door and swung himself into the driver’s seat.
Now he was inside a car barreling toward the edge of a pier with twenty feet left before blackness.
Now what?
He yanked the emergency brake and jammed his foot down on the brake pedal. It was stiff; they were hydraulic brakes which hardly worked when the engine was off. He pushed harder, strained against the ceiling for leverage. The car slowed, barely.
“Buddy, get out of the car!” he heard Buff yell from somewhere far behind him.
To Aaron, it seemed to take a whole minute with his leg flexed, foot crushing the pedal, before his bumper crashed through the railing. Splinters scraped the windshield, the car pitched forward. The sea rose before him, white caps churning in the darkness, and he felt the undercarriage grind off the edge of the pier. Then everything stopped.
Balanced on the edge of the pier, the car had stopped. Aaron let out his breath.
Buff ran up and yanked the door open. “No bullshit,” he yelled, dragging Aaron out of his seat.
After the two of them heaved the car back onto the pier, Aaron noticed the driver’s side door hung looser than before. He pried the panel off the underside of the steering column and started twisting wires together. Since he lost the keys last summer, he had to hotwire the thing every time he wanted to start it.
The engine sputtered, and all the warning lights flashed. Aaron sighed and let the engine die.
He didn’t have to check under the hood; the oil pooling under the car gave it away: a cracked oil pan. Behind him, Amber was demanding that Clive and Dominic give them a lift home.
“Are you crazy?” said Dominic, pointing to the bloody wads of toilet paper stuffed up his nose. “Look!”
“Wow,” she said, “you’re comparing a nosebleed to almost killing him.”
“Why don’t you drive him if you’re so concerned?”
Her eyes flashed in Aaron’s direction, suddenly fearful. “Because I don’t want to,” she said.
“Make him walk,” said Clive.
“How about I just tell your father?” she said
Clive went pale.
And that settled it.
***
Aaron knew it was a bad idea, but they were fresh out of options. The buses didn’t run past ten, and after paying twenty each to get inside the Pelican, he and Buff couldn’t pool enough for a cab. Nor did Aaron have any intention of waking his parents, as that would lead to too many questions.
Aaron didn’t bother saying goodbye to Amber. There was something in that last look she had given him that seemed to erase everything that had happened on the dance floor.
“Anything happens, we got each other’s backs,” Aaron murmured, as he and Buff slid into the backseat of Dominic’s beamer, behind the guys who had just tried to sink Aaron’s Mazda in the Pacific Ocean.
“Always, Buddy.”
“Let’s take these fuckfaces home,” said Dominic, once they were all in the car.
“I bet you know where I live,” said Buff, “since you egged my house fifty times.”
Dominic spun around. “Make one more sound, Normandy, and you will not make it home alive.”
“What are you going to do, Breezie, call another bullshit play like you did back in the Junior League rugby championships?”
“I was right with you,” said Dominic. “We could have scored and you know it.”
“Yeah, if you listened to me.”
“There were scouts that day,” said Dominic. “I’d be playing for the Eagles right now.”
“A prissyboy like you?” said Buff. “Go play football if you want to be a hero.”
“Both of you shut it!” said Aaron, feeling things were escalating.
Buff was talking about an old offshoot of rugby that died off in the thirties, during the exchange of international culture that followed the discovery of halves. The tougher, more dynamic rugby had won out.
They dropped Buff off first. Dominic rolled down the window, sniffed, and spat bloody snot at him—and then Aaron was alone.
“Now you have to fix my oil pan too,” he said to Clive, sounding braver than he felt.
“You knew how it was,” said Clive. “You knew what I had with Amber.”
“Actually, I’m still confused.”
“Didn’t she tell you the truth?”
“That’s not why she ran after me.”
Clive’s lips whitened. “She’s my half,” he said. “And if you touch her again—”
“You’re seventeen,” said Aaron. “You don’t know who your half is.”
“I thought we’d be past this by now, Harper.”
Aaron leaned forward. “How about when you kiss her?” he said. “Does she kiss back like a real half?”
It struck a nerve, and once again, Aaron wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut. Clive swiveled his body and clamped his hands around Aaron’s throat, digging his fingers into his jugular.
Dominic slammed on the brakes. “Clive!”
Aaron clawed his face, but the guy held on.
“Clive, let him go!” Dominic yelled.
Aaron’s felt dizzy, and he was only half-aware of Dominic trying to drag Clive off of him. He was more focused on Clive’s hand as it reached around his head, his thin fingers probing the back of his scalp—until he touched the farthest point back.
As if he’d pressed a button, the strength deflated from every muscle in Aaron’s body, and the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the pain, like molten lead dripping into his brain through the back of his head—that and wishing he’d had more time to live.
Because he really wanted to see Amber again.
***
After Amber dropped off Tina Marcello, she drove home, relieved she wouldn’t have to deal with Clive after what happened with Aaron—and convinced Aaron had been put into her life just to tempt her.
The drive home was miserable. The smell of Aaron’s sweat was all over her body, in her hair, and she couldn’t breathe without tasting him. She needed boiling water, shampoo, a loofah, maybe even scented bath salts to get rid of it—but then she had a crazy and exhilarating thought.
If she didn’t shower, if she went to bed just like this, she could fall asleep to his smell. She could sleep the entire night with a constant reminder of him, and nobody would ever know her secret. The notion gave her such an intense, nervous rush that she immediately felt herself blushing—and was furious with herself.
As if she would ever fall asleep like that.
As it was, she would have enough trouble forgetting the feel of his torso through a thin cotton T-shirt.
Amber sighed and closed her eyes. She couldn’t allow herself to see him again, not after tonight. And that was how it should be. She loved Clive.
Her cell phone rang . . . Dominic’s ringtone. Feeling faint, Amber answered her phone,
“What now?” she said.
“Your lucky number eleven is unconscious,” he said.
It took Amber a moment. “What?”
“Selavio pulled the same exact shit he did with Gorski,” he said. “Remember at school?”
“Where is he?” said Amber, swerving briefly into oncoming traffic.
“Selavio? I left him by the side of the road, he’s still walking back—”
“No, where’s Aaron?”
“Never gave me his address. I brought him back to my house.”
“I’m c
oming over,” said Amber, and she squealed to a stop before he could tell her no. There were honks behind her. As she turned around, her insides felt prickly and cold. This was her fault.
At every high school she attended, Clive did things to boys if they so much as glanced at her in the hallway. Yeah, it was frustrating enough that every boy she dated was too scared to acknowledge her existence in public, but she should have known Aaron would be much worse. He tried to piss off Clive.
After she parked up his driveway, Dominic stopped her at the door. Amber was breathless for a second, thinking it was Aaron.
“You probably shouldn’t be here,” he said, “at least not until Clive gets back. I don’t want him thinking anything.”
“Where is he?”
“I left him down by the freeway.”
“I mean Aaron.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed at her. “Amber, why do you do this to Clive?”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because his father is an incredibly talented doctor, whom I’m honored to have as a guest in my house—and he’s asked me to look after his son,” he said.
“Well,” she said, “you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you?”
“Just give Clive what he wants.”
“And what does he want, Dominic?”
“He wants you.”
“Doesn’t he already have me?” she said.
“You could be better about it,” he said.
She pushed past him. “Just let me see him.”
He chased her and grabbed her arm. “You can’t right now,” he said
“Is he alright?” she said, sounding more concerned than she would have liked.
“He’s being examined,” said Dominic stiffly.
Her eyes widened. “By—by Clive’s father?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” said Dominic. “He wouldn’t wake up.”
***
Aaron opened his eyes on a bed in a room he didn’t recognize. The air tasted sour, prickly. Like static electricity and stale glue.
He felt the back of his head, but there was no more pain. Had Clive pulled some kind of Ju-Jitsu move on him?
Aaron glanced around the bedroom. The only furniture was a dresser, topped with a wrought iron sculpture depicting two cupids. The floor was layered with slivers of cut up photographs and empty cans of Red Bull. Someone had made a collage with the photos that spanned the entire opposite wall, and though he couldn’t say why, something about it didn’t look right.
