I sigh. Why didn’t I stay home tonight?
Meanwhile, the Spawn unfolds the arms and shows off the arching line and sleek design of the equipment. He installs it in the car’s rear. Then he turns to me with an enormous grin. “Here, let me help you with that.”
He takes my bike and carries it to the car, catching me off-guard. “What the—.”
Julian suppresses a laugh and says, “you’re welcome.”
Mookie opens the door of the passenger side, ushering me inside the Camaro. I slump in the front seat, cross my arms and curl my lip. But he ignores my tantrum and pats the roof before he backs away and returns to Lorena.
Meanwhile, Julian is removing his bomber jacket and tossing it into the backseat. From the corner of my eye, I watch him roll up the sleeves of his navy blue polo shirt. The rest of the outfit reads like a Hollister ad—black slim fit denim jeans and Vans sneakers. Not bad. Then I realize we’ll be alone in this car together. I wipe a clammy hand on my thigh and grip the edge of the seat.
As he lets the engine purr, he addresses me without so much as a glance. “Relax. I won’t dump you in a ditch somewhere.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“Yeah, I can tell by those white knuckles and sweat dripping on my leather.”
I huff and peer out the window while praying for this torture to end. The interior smells wonderful, though—like pine trees and fresh laundry. An odd combination, but it reminds me of Christmases in San Francisco. I sneak another quick sniff.
The speakers vibrate as the radio plays Khalid’s 90s inspired R&B jam, “OTW.” The music soothes and relaxes me. Besides the singing, nothing else reverberates in this cramped space but the steady hum of the Camaro’s healthy engine. Against my better judgement, I lean back and enjoy this pleasant joy ride.
I glance at Julian, his body molding against the leather. His hand rests on the wheel while the other on his thigh. The man-boy is a mixture of calm and dominance — a king sitting on his throne.
“Now that you’re here, we need to address this illegal fighting.” His cutting voice slashes the easy vibe and ruins the moment.
“None of your business. Next.”
He huffs. “What you’re doing is fucking dangerous. Shady people hang around that place. Not to mention you could get seriously hurt. That shit’s unregulated.”
“Damn it, Jules!” I slap a hand on the dashboard. “I’m not your kid. We’re not even friends, so stay in your lane.”
He growls, and I see his knuckles whiten from gripping the steering wheel so hard. “Why are you doing it, Jo?”
I bite my lip and peek out the window. A part of me wants to share and update him with my life. My heart tells me that talking to Julian is a normal thing to do. But that’s an old habit. We’re two different people now. History is all we have.
Suddenly, Julian’s warm fingers wrap around my left wrist, and I turn to him. He places my hand back on my knee. The exposed skin on my right inner forearm has splotches of red from my nails digging into it. I sigh. “You know me too well. Can I keep some things to myself? It’s the only control I have.”
His jaw clenches as he turns the wheel to seventh avenue, but he says nothing else. I cross my arms and stare straight ahead, hoping for this ride to end.
“What the hell?” said Julian.
I turn to him and find him looking at the rear-view mirror with a scowl. I twist towards the backseat, but the high beam of a car blinds me. “What’s going on?”
“I think this asshole’s tailing us.”
I frown. “How d’you get that?”
“Because that car’s been beaming at me since Breckinridge, and when I turned a minute ago, it followed suit.”
“Any chance that’s your dad coming home late?”
“Nope. My dad’s in bed snoring.”
Pointing to an approaching right turn, I tell him to take it. “I want to see if this person will follow us.”
He nods and follows my instruction. My spirit sinks when the other vehicle does the same.
“Shit,” we say in unison.
“But why?” I ask.
“Damned if I know. But I prefer not to lead this fucker all the way home.”
I shiver at the thought. He speeds up above the posted sign to lose the guy. My heart pounds in excitement as Julian’s Camaro shifts again, reaching eighty miles per hour. “Take a left at Bower St. It’ll bring us to the police station.”
“You sure? We can go Fast and the Furious on this asshole.” He chuckles.
“Easy, street racer. I want to make it out alive tonight.”
“Suit yourself.”
He takes a sharp left, and I grab the side panel to brace myself from getting smashed against the door. I twist around, but the vehicle is still hot on our tail. My body swerves again, but this time I’m slammed against Julian as he turns right. “Jesus, Jules!”
“Relax.”
“Uh, wrong choice of word. There’s a lunatic coming after two teenagers. Excuse me if I don’t sit back and sip a margarita.”
He shifts gears and increases speed. He’s now driving at a hundred, but our stalker keeps up with ease. I look at the side mirror. “Geez, this psycho heavily tinted the windows. Even the front. That’s not legal, is it?”
He shakes his head. “What’s the color of the body?”
“Black.”
He nods. Then he turns again, the tires screeching as he goes. I see the police station looming ahead. As we near it, he decelerates and seeing an empty spot, Julian takes it and parks. I lurch forward, but my seatbelt kept me from smashing through the window. The belt burns across my chest—an insignificant price to pay for surviving a car chase. I shift to the right to capture the license plate of the automobile as it speeds past us. “M… something. Shit!” He was too fast and I couldn’t catch the rest. I slam my head against the headrest. “Damn!”
“It’s okay.”
I turn to him, my heart beating against my chest. “What the hell was that?”
He runs his fingers through his hair, then leans back. “I dunno, but I hope it has nothing to do with me asking questions about Lexie.”
“Have you been doing that?”
“Yeah.”
I wince. “You don’t think that was Alexa’s ki—abductor, do you?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Were there anyone else around the area besides Mookie and Lorena?”
I shake my head.
He sighs and bites his lip after expelling his last breath. His furrowed brows signal that he’s deep in thought, but his face relaxes after a second. He turns to me. “Hey, uh, sorry for endangering you. I was driving a little crazy.”
“Are you kidding me? That driver would have followed us all the way home had you not gone Dominic Toretto on his ass.”
He laughs. His crinkled eyes appear, reminding me of my good-natured friend who didn’t have an ounce of cynicism and meanness in his bones. Then I glance away, ending the nostalgia.
I look at the darkness outside my window and hide my shaking fingers underneath my thighs. An unsettling feeling takes over as a thought enters my head. What if the crazy driver only wanted to give us a warning? It pains me to think that someone’s on to us. I cringe. This shit just got real.
“Jo.” I hear Julian call me, and I turn to him. He leans towards me while his eyes roam my face. I want to ask him what he sees when he gazes upon me, but I restrain myself.
His chest rises and falls as he lowers his glance to my lips, and I get nervous. But the air shifts and releases the tension between us, changing his demeanor to his usual nonchalance.
He reaches for the glove compartment and takes out a white box. Taking out an alcohol prep, he gnashes the wrapper with his teeth. Then he dabs the small piece of gauze on the cut on my lower lip. Had I not winced from the antiseptic searing my skin, I would’ve gasped from his sudden touch and compassion. Even more shocking is the boldness in which he positions his mouth inches from mine and b
lows on the wound. I quell the soft heartbeat brewing inside me.
“I have no idea what’s going on with you,” he said. “But despite our falling out, if you need me, I’ll come running. No questions asked.”
I close my eyes as my heart tugs. “I know.”
When he removes his finger off me and disposes the gauze, he starts the engine. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 27
Julian
Dee and Jordan’s party, a birthday celebration for Alexa, is in full swing. The formal hall, a sizeable space to host a prom, packed the entire senior class. Dee’s humility is unparalleled, judging from her decision to work in the concession stand. But everyone knows their dad is a successful TV producer and their mom, a former model, owns a modeling agency. She and Jordan live in the baddest mansion in Wakefield.
Dee finished a somber speech an hour ago about maintaining hope for our missing friend. After the guests shed tears, the crowd rallied and is now enjoying the music and the unlimited supply of alcohol. The make-out sessions and the pot smoking are in full effect. Jordan is grinding on a classmate on the dance floor, and everything is copacetic.
Meanwhile, Bianca and her friends shimmy and twerk to Drake’s “In My Feelings.” But I know that Bianca’s sexy moves are not for me. The girl hasn’t made eye contact since we arrived, but I’m not bothered. Someone else preoccupies my mind, and she has wild hair and a gap between her teeth.
I turn to Brandon. He resembles a guest at a funeral than at a party with his empty eyes and hunched shoulders. We haven’t spoken to each other since that morning in the music room. But now, with hip hop beats blaring and him brooding six feet away from me, any plans of salvaging our friendship are out the window.
A pat on the shoulder makes me turn, and I see Zander, red cup in hand, standing between me and Brandon. After giving me a nod, he twists to our friend and offers him a drink. “What’s up, man? You good?”
He takes the cup, peeks inside, and after a shrug, sips Zander’s beer. He returns it to him and places his hands in his pockets. “Not feeling this shit tonight, bro.”
I get it. We’re settled in the periphery—two wallflowers instead of popular jocks. Brandon’s misery comes from the guests reducing this celebration to another stereotypical high school party when the celebrant, herself, remains missing.
“I’m gonna need some air,” he said. “Be right back.”
As Brandon heads to the French doors, I don’t stop him. He needs space, but Zander has other plans when he nudges me. “I got something to make him better.” He gives me a fist bump as he prepares to follow our disconsolate friend.
I grab his arm. “Yo, man. Relax on the hard stuff. He doesn’t need to get fucked up tonight.”
He smiles. “No worries, bro. I’ll just offer him a joint. I’m not sharing my good shit.” With a wink, he walks off and heads to the backyard.
“Oh, God, seriously?” Bianca’s voice cuts through the noise, and I watch her scowl. “I guess they let everyone in these days.”
I angle my head towards the object of her scrutiny. My breath hitches when Dee enters arm-in-arm with none other than my favorite awkward childhood friend. Jo’s eyes dart to the door, no doubt plotting to bolt. As the hostess parades her around, they eye her, which doesn’t help with her unease. But despite her discomfort, she’s the hottest girl here.
I lean against the wall to gaze at her sleeveless jumpsuit and the plunging neckline showcasing her amazing cleavage. With her curls trailing along her delicious curves, Jo is a priceless art piece at the Met. I’m convinced Dee forced her to wear that outfit as historically, she owns nothing so revealing and so… well… sexy.
Bianca and her friends continue to ostracize her, but they’re jealous. I ignore them and step towards Jo’s direction until a grip on my elbow stops me.
“Where are you going?”
I sigh. “Oh, so you’re ready for me now?”
She giggles as she’s had one beer too many. “Babe, c’mon, let’s dance. I love this song.”
I curse at her timing, but I let her pull me to the center. I search for Jo over the crowd, and I seethe. Jordan reached her before me and is leading her to the dance floor.
The DJ is playing Tinashe’s, Me So Bad, and my girlfriend is slithering her body on mine. But my focus is on Jo, who’s dancing to the synth-heavy island beats of the song. Her movements aren’t excessive, but she moves with a swagger and confidence of a natural dancer. She closes her eyes, getting lost in the rhythm while swinging her hips.
I want to be next to her, but Bianca has her hand on my neck with her ass rubbing my front. I snort. This action is the most I’ve gotten from her in a year, and I’m not naïve. This attention is not for me. She’s facing the group as if making sure the crowd sees us, telling them that the new girl can eat shit before the queen considers relinquishing the crown.
Jordan has the same idea, putting himself behind Jo and wrapping his arms around her waist. He perches his head on her shoulder, and she doesn’t pull away. In fact, she leans on him as they sway to the beat. They look picture perfect and comfortable, as if they’ve been dating for years.
Fuckers.
But I can’t stop staring. She turns to my direction, and our gazes lock while we dance with our partners. When the music ends, she wakes up from her trance, excuses herself from Jordan and leaves the floor.
I leave Bianca, who is now grinding her tush on her friends to the next hip hop song. I follow Jo as she weaves in and out of the crowded room, exits the side door and disappears beyond the vast garden. But my teammates see me and crowd me. I don’t want to lose her and by now, she’s no longer in my line of vision. When I finally escape and find myself outside, Jo is gone.
I slow my heart rate and continue to wander through the well-manicured lawn. The air cools me, and it feels better here than inside that ballroom. I walk further towards the infinity pool where Kevin and Sierra, in board shorts and bikini, are engaged in heavy petting. I cringe and remind myself not to jump in that water.
When I turn the corner, I find myself in the quieter part of the garden. It’s empty, until I hear light coughing, accompanied by a familiar herbaceous smell. Someone’s enjoying ganja within the shadowy exterior of the pool house. I curse, resigning myself to return to the party because Jo isn’t here.
Then something metallic drops to the ground. “Shit!” someone says.
I spin around because there’s no mistaking that husky voice. I beam my phone’s flashlight and sure enough, Jo is standing there with her arm shielding her eyes from the light.
“Will you turn that off?” she said. “Damn.”
I switch it off, and by now my vision has adjusted to the darkness. Under the moonlight, she leans against the wall with a joint in between her fingers. I peer at her with shock and chuckle with amusement at the notion that Jo is a pothead. “Tell me something. Between your overprotective parents and your house arrest, when do you find time to roll a fatty?”
“We inmates have our ways.” She takes a puff, then exhales a plume of smoke from the side of her lips.
I laugh. I haven’t seen this version of her, and seeing her in Dee’s outfit, smoking a doobie, is another level of hotness I hadn’t realized existed.
“Are you judging?” she asks. “Because I don’t care.”
“This is high school, Jo,” I said. “Who doesn’t smoke?”
The Night Orchid Page 15
