by Marta Brown
“Yeah, I know, but…” Lane trails off then quietly says to Andrew, “I can’t cover the bet. I don’t have that kinda cash.” His eyes dart to me and when he sees I can hear him, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away embarrassed.
“Dude, I got you. You still have that bill I gave you earlier?”
Earlier? Why would he have given Lane money earlier? And how exactly does Andrew even know Lane in the first place? I shake my head. I’ll have to get the whole story from Andrew later, that’s for sure.
“Yeah…” Lane says, dragging out his response; his brows furrow as Andrew covertly pulls out nine one hundred dollar bills from his wallet and hands them to Lane.
Lane’s eyes go wide. “What are you doing? I can’t take this,” he says under his breath, trying to hand the money back without anyone noticing.
“Yes, you can. Just pay me back when you win.” Andrew clasps Lane’s fist closed over the money then pushes himself off of Lane’s car, grinning at Gregory. Conversation over.
“Make it a thousand and Lane’s in.”
Chapter 5
Lane
What. The. Hell?
Less than an hour ago I was scrounging for five bucks to get a burger and fries for dinner because I didn’t want to break the hundred dollar bill I got as a tip, and now, I’m at the bluffs with a bunch of Stays with a thousand dollars in my hand and apparently I’m about to drag race. Oh, and the girl I haven’t been able to get out of my mind all day is here with her jerk of a boyfriend, and she just happens to be Andrew’s sister. Not exactly the night I bargained for.
I glance around at all the unfamiliar faces cheering me on and stop when I come to Ashley’s. She’s standing with a group of girls a few feet away, whispering back and forth, but she’s not paying them any attention, she’s smiling, at me.
Her long dark hair is blowing in the wind and she looks cold, only wearing a thin sweater and a short dress. I should look away since she’s already taken, but just like this afternoon, I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“I’m all in.” I hear myself say, still staring at Ashley, my adrenaline pumping. I’m not a big gambler, but the chance to make a thousand bucks is just too much to turn down, and if it means she’ll keep looking at me with that smile then I’m in. All in.
Gregory pulls out his wallet again and grabs a few more bills. He waves them in the air like it’s nothing while I have mine gripped tightly in my fist.
“You’re on,” Gregory says smugly, like he really believes he’s going to win, and I have to keep myself from laughing in his face. I have this in the bag.
Some guy standing near Gregory shouts for everyone to be quiet. “Alright, alright. Here’s the deal,” he says. “You two will start up Lighthouse road where it forks. Whoever makes it back to the bluffs first, wins. No other rules. Agree?” He looks between Gregory and me.
“Agreed,” we say at the same time.
I drive to the end of the road, about three miles away from the bluffs, with Gregory close behind me. The road is dark, quiet and fairly straight, a perfect place to race. My heart pounds and the palms of my hands sweat as I pull up to the starting line and wait.
I think about earlier today when I passed him, Mr. M-5, on the beach road, and laugh at the way the day has unfolded. It seems fitting we’re about to race for nearly a month’s worth of pay washing dishes at the club, considering he’s the guy who got me demoted to dishwasher in the first place. Taking his money will be sweet revenge.
I give Gregory a sideways glance when he pulls beside me, but I keep my face emotionless. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles start to turn white from the force, and I’m wound up and ready to snap. “Let’s do this, Stay.”
“Maybe I’ll hire you to spit shine my shoes so you can pay Andrew back when you lose.” Gregory smirks and I wince. I didn’t think anyone saw Andrew give me the money, let alone him. “You didn’t really think anyone believed you had a thousand dollars?” His laugh makes my blood boil. “What a joke.”
That’s it. I jerk my stick shift from first to neutral and then back into first position again, revving my engine loudly.
The guy who set the rules, or lack thereof, pulls up and parks. He walks to the middle of the road, straddles the solid white line, and raises his arms.
My heart starts to hammer so fast with a mixture of adrenaline, fear and excitement that I feel ready to explode.
“On your mark. Get ready. Go!” he shouts over the roar of our engines, dropping his arms to his sides.
I slam my foot on the gas pedal and let off the clutch with my other foot. My tires squeal against the pavement, sending up a puff of white smoke caused by the friction of rubber burning against the asphalt road. The smell is strong and familiar.
In my peripheral vision, I can see Gregory’s car fly off the line, but it takes only a fraction of a second before I’m ahead of him. I shoot a look in his direction and see he’s surprised. He shouldn’t be. My car is a classic roadster, built to race, and can easily do one sixty if I have the road to do it, no problem.
This is a short drag, and I won’t need to get anywhere close to those speeds to win. I glance at my speedometer as it hits the eighty mile an hour mark before I look up and see headlights in the distance approaching me.
“Shit.”
I send a panicked look at Gregory, and it’s clear by the wicked smile on his face he sees them too.
I increase my speed to cut in front of him, but he pushes forward matching my pace, keeping me from changing lanes. Is he insane? Is winning really worth putting someone’s life in danger for this guy?
I have no choice but to slow down. I’m not gonna risk killing myself or whoever’s in that oncoming car for a thousand bucks, and I can’t believe Richie-rich would either. Clearly I don’t know the lengths this guy would go to win.
I take my foot off the gas, but right as I’m about to cut over and get behind Gregory, he suddenly slows down, keeping me trapped.
“What the hell?” I shout even though I’m sure he can’t hear me over the noise of our engines and the frantic honking of the oncoming car. I quickly, but carefully, put my foot on the brake to slow down without causing my car to fish tail and lose control, when I see the blaring red glow of Gregory’s brake lights slowing down as well.
“This isn’t a joke!” I scream, but he continues to brake, causing me to play an involuntary and dangerous game of chicken. I look back at the oncoming car that’s no more than a hundred and fifty feet away now and see they’ve pulled off on the side of the road as far as possible, but there’s still no way all three cars are going to make it without a huge accident. I make a split second decision. If he’s not going to let me slow down, then I’m going to have to speed up. Again. But this time it’s about more than a stupid bet. My car is faster than his and I’m going to have to prove it. It’s life or death.
I tap my brakes to get him to do the same then without a moment of hesitation I down shift into third gear, shove my gas pedal to the floor and send my rmp’s into critical mass, catapulting my car forward. Gregory’s car is nothing but a blur as I pass it. With less than a car length between me and the oncoming car, I cut my wheel sharply to the right getting out in front of Gregory at the very last second.
My vision starts to get grey and fuzzy around the edges. I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I take a long deep pull of air that fills my lungs, clearing my sight, and I don’t let up on the accelerator. At all.
I’m done with his guy and this race. I’m pushing just over a hundred and fifteen miles per hour when I fly around a small bend in the road right before it opens up to the cliffs. I glance in my rear-view mirror and see Gregory’s at least four car lengths behind me when I cross the designated finish line. I slam on my brakes and skid across the red dirt, stopping less than hundred feet from the edge of the cliffs.
I want to jump out of my car and rip Gregory apart for the stunt he just pulled, but my car’s surroun
ded before I can even get out, and I can’t see where Gregory is over the crowd.
“Dude, you killed it,” Andrew says, clapping me on the shoulder.
“You have no idea,” I say under my breath, my heart still slamming against my ribcage.
When I finally get a glimpse of Gregory, he’s on his cell phone acting nonchalant, like he didn’t just try to kill me and I’m ready to blow. He saunters over, cash in hand, and tosses it carelessly in my lap. “You obviously need this more than I do.”
I throw the money to the side and push open my door, ready to wipe that smug look off his face.
“Congratulations.” Ashley’s voice stops me dead in my tracks from jumping her boyfriend as he walks away.
“Thanks,” I say, wondering why she’s here with me and not off consoling him as I flex and unflex my fists, trying to stuff down my fury. I take a few deep breaths to calm down and decide I’m not gonna fight him; he’s not even worth it. None of this is.
“Dude, Greg’s probably on the phone right now trying to get a nitrous tank put in his car, you totally smoked him.” Andrew laughs watching Gregory sit in his car alone.
I wipe my hands on my jeans then pull out the cash he loaned me from my hoodie and hand it to him. “Here, man, thanks.”
Andrew pushes my hand away. “No way, dude. You earned that.”
“Are you serious?” I look at the thousand dollars in my hand and then at the other thousand sitting in my passenger seat that Gregory just threw at me. “I can’t take this.”
“It’s yours.” Andrew grins. “I insist.”
I stare at the money in shock. “I…I…thanks, man,” I stammer. “This is going straight into my Yale fund.”
“Wait. You go to Yale?” Ashley says, her eyes wide, but before I can answer I hear a siren pierce the quiet night air.
The sound drowns out the laughter and chatter of the partygoers and the crashing ocean waves below. In an instant the entire party scatters, taking off in all directions, a chaotic flurry of cars and people, red solo cups littering the ground.
Andrew and Ashley take off in his car a moment before I throw mine into reverse since I’m too close to the edge of the bluffs to pull forward, but I have to slam on my brakes unexpectedly. Gregory’s pulled his car behind mine and is blocking me from moving.
“Move, asshole,” I yell but he ignores me until the lights of the cop car come around the bend, flashing blue and red into the night sky. He gives me a sadistic wink then peels out, whipping gravel up in his wake. I swing my car around and punch my gas pedal to the floor, right on his tail.
“MVPD. Pull over. Now. ” I hear Officer Evans shout over the patrol car’s megaphone.
Crap. I slam on my brakes and skid to a stop. There’s no way I would ever try to out run the police. I don’t have some rich father who could lawyer up and get me off with a warning, and frankly everyone on the force knows me and my family. Not to mention my car’s one of a kind on the island.
I watch Gregory ignore the command as he tears out of the parking lot onto State Road and disappears into the dark.
…
“You have the right to remain silent,” Sam says, placing my hands behind my back and securing the handcuffs tight around my wrists with a click. “Anything you say or do, can and will be held against you in a court of law.”
“Sam, are you serious?” I look at him over my shoulder, making him wince.
“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”
“Sam, please?” I beg, hanging my head while he walks me to his parole car.
“Do you understand these rights I have just read to you?” His tone is clipped and official.
“Yeah, I understand,” I answer before he puts his hand on the top of my head and guides me into the backseat carefully. Embarrassment and anger pulsing through my veins.
Sam stands with the door ajar, one hand resting along the doors frame as he rubs the back of his neck with the other. He stares at me silently with what appears to be sympathy on his face.
“Lane, what were you thinking?” he asks. “Someone called in a description of your car for reckless driving out on Lighthouse Road. You know I have no choice, I gotta take you in,” he says in his normal non cop voice. The same voice he uses when he’s at my house for birthday parties, or Wednesday night dinners and the voice he uses to cheer me on at my lacrosse games, which he’s never missed a single one.
“It was just a stupid race with some rich kid who apparently has a bone to pick with me. I swear it wasn’t even my idea.” I explain like that’s gonna get me out of this predicament. “You saw him, right? The BMW? ”
“Yeah I saw him, but we only got a call about your car. There’s nothing I can do about him.”
I drop my head. Of course the car called me in. I could have killed them. And a cherry red convertible isn’t inconspicuous.
“I’m really sorry,” I say in a quiet voice. I lean my head forward and rest it against the metal grate that separates the backseat from the front and try not to throw up from the smell of vomit and urine.
“I know you are. Me too,” he says, and then gently shuts the patrol car door.
Sam’s a by-the-books kinda guy, so I understand he has no choice. Even if I wished he’d bend the rules considering he’s like family.
“Hey, Lane?” Sam says from the front seat.
I look at him through the rear view mirror. “Yeah?”
“I know you’re eighteen so legally I don’t have to call your mom. But…listen, I also don’t feel comfortable keeping this from her.”
“It’s okay. I’m gonna tell her.” I’m disappointed in myself and ashamed to put one more thing on her plate. I tip my head back on the seat, close my eyes tight and fight the growing lump in my throat. “Like she needs anymore stress,” I say so quite it’s barely audible to my own ears.
“What was that, son?” Sam asks, turning into the police station.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “It was nothing.”
Chapter 6
Ashley
“Ashley, dear?”
I push my sunglasses onto my head and squint up at my mom standing on the deck above me. She’s dressed in her tennis whites with a full face of makeup and her hair perfectly done. That’s my mother. Even during exercise, she makes sure she is presentable. Although, tennis at the club is hardly exercising for her, unless hobnobbing is considered an aerobic sport these days, in which my mother would certainly excel.
“Yes?”
“Your father and I are going to the club for the day. We’ll meet you at six sharp for dinner at the Grille and remember the Howards will be joining us so please make sure you and your brother are on time.”
“Of course, Mother. Six sharp,” I reply obediently.
“Oh and, Ashley, dear, I laid out a dress for you to wear tonight. Have a wonderful day.” Without waiting for my reply, I hear the French patio doors shut with a click.
I pull my sunglasses back down to shield my eyes from the late morning sun and let out a sigh. I’m nearly eighteen years old; one would think I could dress myself. Apparently not. Then again, I never push back. My father’s Senate career causes us to constantly be in the public eye, so my mother always strives to make us look like the perfect family, ready for a photo op at a moment’s notice. It’s exhausting sometimes. Always trying to be perfect.
“Hey, little sister,” Andrew says, a towel draped over his shoulder and a glass of lemonade in his hand. He plops down in the lounge chair beside me and takes a long sip of his drink. I wonder if it’s spiked. “Crazy night, huh?”
“You can say that again,” I reply, thinking about how quickly we had to leave last night and how I wasn’t able to say goodbye to Lane. I take a sip of my own lemonade before picking up my bottle of sunscreen. “So hey, how do you know that Lane guy anyway? I ask nonchalantly applying the SPF like it will somehow block Andrew from seeing how interested I am i
n his answer. “I’ve never seen him around before?”
“Oh yeah, that guy is way cool. He detailed my car yesterday at the club. Did an awesome job.”
Detailed his car? “Wait, I thought he went to Yale?”
“He will be. He actually grew up on the island. Can you imagine? Living here year-round? I bet it’s super boring in the winter.” Andrew takes my sun block and squeezes out enough to cover his entire body, twice. “Anyway, we started talking, and I found out he’s going to Yale in the fall. I wanted to introduce him to some of the guys last night, but the race with Gregory took over.”
Well that explains why I’ve never seen him around before. A local.
I walk to the edge of the pool and dip my foot in to test the temperature. “Gregory was so mad when he lost. Did you see his face?” I smirk. “Sometimes he needs to be put in his place, and by sometimes, I mean often and always.”
“Right.” Andrew laughs. “Lane’s car is so nice I knew it would beat Gregory’s no problem. Although, I’m not sure if Greg was more pissed about losing the race, or because of the way Lane was looking at you all night.”
“Really?” I sit on the edge of the pool, emerging my legs in the cool clear water, and try to hide the blush I feel spread across my cheeks. Was he really looking at me? Like that? I think back to his steely blue eyes right after he won the race, and I shiver despite the hot sun.
“Oh come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t notice?” Andrew takes another sip of his drink then props his hands behind his head and shuts his eyes. “I saw you looking too, you know.” A small smirk crosses over his face.
I didn’t think anyone noticed. I push off the side of the pool and let the water cool my flushed cheeks.
When I break through the surface of the water, I’m unpleasantly surprised to see Gregory standing on the edge of the pool looking down at me.
“Hey, beautiful,” Gregory says as casual and breezy as he’s dressed in a pair of linen white pants and a pastel blue polo shirt. I climb out and feel his eyes roam my body before I wrap my towel around me and sit back down on my lounge chair. His eyes linger on my legs and I shiver again, but this time, not in a good way.
