The Promise of Amazing

by Robin Constantine

  “Wren.”

  I startled. “Are you part ninja?”

  Luke was in his varsity jacket and dark jeans, mane of hair loose around his face. He seemed pleased with my reaction.

  “No, thought I should meet the parents and all that, so I parked.”

  This was already not going the way I imagined.

  “Kidding,” he said, holding out his hand. I hesitated, then put my hand in his. His fingers wrapped around mine, warming me up. Could I really do this?

  “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said, leading me up the block to his car. “For now.”

  I ignored his comment, but it put me even more on edge. He opened the passenger door, and I slid in, trying to work up the nerve to introduce step two of my plan. He got in and put the key in the ignition.

  “So . . . where to?”

  I took out the key to the cottage from my pocket and dangled it in front of him.

  “You got us a room? Eager.”

  “Ha . . . It’s for the cottage . . . at the Camelot . . . one of the perks of being the owner’s daughter . . . so we can be . . . alone.”

  “There’s no one home at my house,” Luke said, the corner of his mouth curling into a slow smile that made me momentarily forget that being alone was not the goal of this conversation.

  I held my breath, grasping for an argument.

  “Well, the cottage is the first place Grayson and I . . . you know . . . hooked up, so I was thinking it would mean more if we went there. Kind of . . . poetic, I guess.”

  “Hmm . . . poetic,” he said, charging the engine. “The cottage it is then.”

  The Camelot was only a ten-minute drive from my house but that night it felt like an hour. We caught every red light. I stared out the window, trying to think of some casual conversation to fill up the time. Just when I was about to ask him about school, he spoke.

  “Heard about your catfight with Ava the other day.”

  “Really? I’m sure she exaggerated.”

  “She told me what you said. About me. Didn’t realize what a dirty mouth you had. Have to say I kinda like it. The blue streaks too. Very, um, Katy Perry.”

  I did Luke Dobson.

  “Oh, huh, that.” My skin became molten. “I said that to piss her off.”

  “Well, it worked,” he said, signaling to turn up a side street. “We’re not speaking.”

  “Sorry about that . . . I guess,” I said.

  “Ha. Right. Don’t be. I’m a bit player on Planet Ava. When she needs me for something, she’ll be back.” He gunned through a yellow light, then slowed down a bit after we passed the intersection. “It’s Grayson she’s really after, even if she thinks I don’t know it.”

  I sat with that information for about half a block. Did he just say that to mess with me?

  “Didn’t she do all that . . . set me up . . . for you?”

  He tapped the steering wheel with his index finger. “You don’t get it, do you? She’s, like, bat-shit-crazy jealous of you. She wasn’t helping me; she was helping herself.”

  “No . . .” I said, trailing off as I mentally walked through my moments with Ava in the past month. She kind of stalked me last year, Gray had said. Her dis in the hallway; the way she’d looked at me at Andy’s party, being so smug when she’d thought we’d broken up. I thought she was just being mean but . . . jealous?

  “But,” I said, “she was with you.”

  “With me? Nah. It’s not like that.”

  His posture softened as he shifted in his seat. There was something unguarded about his words. Maybe he was good at manipulating people, but Ava wanting Grayson bothered him, I could hear it. He didn’t appreciate being . . . what? Second-rate? Luke, who could probably have any girl licking buttercream frosting off his cleats, couldn’t have Ava, not the way he really wanted.

  “Don’t judge me with those baby blues, Wren.”

  “Not judging. It’s just . . . you don’t seem like the kind of person who would put up with that.”

  “How is it any worse than putting up with a guy who boffed half of New Jersey and gave you a stolen necklace? We’re all willing to overlook a few things when we get what we need, right? Ava filled a need, and we had a few laughs. What’s your payoff?”

  “I don’t really look at it that way.”

  “Sure you do. I bet Grayson makes you feel . . . special. He was always good at that.”

  His observation jabbed me in a raw place. I’d come to terms with Grayson’s past . . . sort of . . . but I didn’t like to be reminded.

  “He doesn’t make me feel much of anything now.”

  “Where should we park?”

  I’d been so caught up in what he’d been saying that I hadn’t noticed we reached the Camelot. A car parked in the empty lot would be like sending up a flare, so I directed him to a spot on the block next to it. He turned off the car and leaned back. I reached for the door handle, felt his hand on my knee.

  “How ’bout a little warm-up?”

  “What?” I asked, slouching back into my seat.

  “Or are you having second thoughts?”

  You’re supposed to want to be here.

  “No, no second thoughts.”

  “C’mere,” he whispered, reaching for me.

  This was not real. Luke’s fingertips on the nape of my neck, pulling me toward him, the gentle way he spoke. This was a show, a play. My mind fed me all sorts of ways to detach—Maddie’s notion that this was what being sixteen was all about; Grayson’s warning about the Dobson mindfuck—but my body told me a different story.

  Luke swept his lips across mine, soft, surprising, his tongue tracing the curve of my mouth, seducing me to open up. I closed my eyes and let him in, the spearmint taste of his mouth making my lips tingle. Me. Melting into a hormonal puddle of hotness.

  This kiss made me want to kiss him back.

  And I felt sick. For me. For all the girls who had fallen for him, for this.

  Did he feel nothing?

  I broke away before my body betrayed me even more.

  “Luke, why don’t we take this inside?”

  “Why don’t we forget this and go to a movie or get a steak . . . or drive somewhere till we run out of gas?”

  I ran my finger down the front of his jacket, tugging on one of his pockets. “Don’t you want to um . . . hook up?”

  “I like you, Wren. Not everyone gets in your head, do they? They have to earn it,” he said, snaking his hand into my hair. He kissed the tip of my nose, my cheek, my lips again. “I’d like that payoff.”

  He couldn’t possibly be sincere . . . and even if he was . . . this was Luke. This was . . . wait . . .

  “You’re doing the Brinker thing, aren’t you? Wow . . . you’re good.”

  He backed off, chuckled to himself, and took the keys out of the ignition.

  “Grayson told you everything.”

  “He told me enough.”

  His eyes held mine, steady, sure. “If I was doing the Brinker thing, you’d be undressed already.”

  I swallowed. “Well, then, let’s go.”

  I was out of the car before he could say anything else. He grabbed my hand as we walked toward the cottage. We were almost to the front door when he stopped short. The momentum made me jerk back and face him. He walked toward me, forcing me to walk backward a bit.

  “How far are we going to take this game of chicken?”

  Five seconds away from Grayson. Ugh.

  “What?”

  He put his hands on my waist, pulled me to him again.

  “Wren, c’mon. You’re not the casual-hookup type. Grayson and Andy are right behind that door, waiting to what? Kick my ass?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Without warning he brought his face close to mine, as if he were going in for a kiss. I could feel the heat of his mouth, inches away.

  “What’s so fucking great about Grayson Barrett?” he whispered.

  “Luke!”
Grayson shouted behind us. Urgent. Angry.

  Luke smirked and stepped away, “He’s so predictable.”

  My hand went up to my mouth. He’d known. He’d known the whole time.

  Grayson pushed Luke away from me. “Are you okay?”

  “Dude, we were holding hands.”

  “Shut up,” he snapped, then looked at me.

  “Let’s just get inside,” I said.

  “After you,” Luke said.

  “No, after you,” Grayson said, draping his arm over my shoulder. Luke sauntered through the front door. We followed.

  My stomach sank; I just wanted this to be over. Gray closed the door behind us. A small table lamp cast shadowy light across the room. I thought about Eben’s warning about keeping the lights out, but I knew it wouldn’t fly. Besides, who would see us? No one was over at the Camelot, so as far as I could tell, we were good.

  Luke stood in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets. Grayson stood in front of him, arms crossed. Andy and I leaned against the wall near the kitchen, as if we were waiting for a show.

  “Okay, Barrett, I’m here. Now what?”

  “I want out, Luke.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “And we’re talking about this in front of her, why?”

  “You’re the one who brought Wren into this, thanks to the shit you pulled the other day.”

  Luke looked at me, then at Andy. “Get her out of here.”

  Andy pulled back my arms until it felt like they’d come out of their sockets. I lurched forward, trying to break away, but he had me in an impossible hold.

  “Foley, what are you doing?” Gray asked.

  “You didn’t think he’d tell me what was going on?” Luke asked, moving closer to Andy and me.

  “Gray, dude, I’m neutral. Kiss and make up already. I’ve got a house party to hit by ten,” Andy said.

  “Let me go.” I tried to wrench free from Andy. He tugged me back. Grayson took a step toward us, and Luke blocked his way.

  “I’ll give you the necklace. Why don’t we just call it even?”

  “Class act giving it to Wren, by the way. No. I want something bigger. What about those Marshall amps back there? Are they shit or vintage? What do you think we can get for them, Andy?”

  “No!” I said.

  “Not sure, can’t tell, maybe a couple hundred,” Andy said, behind me.

  “You can’t have them,” I insisted.

  “Or,” Luke said, “maybe Wren should join us. Might shake things up, having a chick on the team. She was quite convincing. I think we may have shared a genuine moment.”

  Grayson was on him in an instant. They tumbled into the end table, knocking over the lamp, which landed with a crack and went out. I screamed. Andy pulled me away from the commotion. I fought him the whole time, grunting, leaning forward, thrashing back, trying to kick my legs up or gain leverage on the wall as he pulled me into the kitchen and away from the door frame.

  “Let . . . me . . . go,” I said, struggling. “They’re wrecking the place.”

  “And what are you going to do about it? Just let them hash it out. It’ll be over soon.”

  I huffed while a blur of Grayson and Luke passed before the doorway, followed by another loud rumble against the wall. Over soon was not something I was willing to wait for; they had to be stopped.

  “Sorry, Andy,” I said, stomping down on his toe as hard as I could.

  Andy dropped an F-bomb as he let go. I scurried out of the kitchen just as a loud crash erupted in the sitting room. Grayson stood in the center of the room, doubled over and gasping. Luke popped up from behind the love seat, brushing glass off his sleeve from the front window. I tried not to think about how I was going to deal with that and instead crouched down next to Grayson.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. There was a dark, glistening trickle coming from his nose.

  “I’m fine. Wren . . . get out of here . . . now.”

  “You’re bleeding,” I said, moving the hair away from his face.

  He stood up and grabbed my shoulders. “Please, just go.”

  “Yes, Wren, get out of here,” Luke said, behind me.

  I spun around and stood firm in front of Grayson.

  “Stop, already,” I said.

  “Move away,” Luke growled, coming closer.

  “Dudes, really, enough,” Andy said, finally emerging from the kitchen. He stepped toward Luke but was greeted with a punch. He staggered back, holding his nose.

  “Just take the amps, go!” I yelled.

  Luke bared his teeth. Grayson gripped my shoulders from behind, shoving me out of the way.

  Beams of light swirled across the floor, onto the ceiling, on Luke’s bloodied face, in my eyes.

  I put up my hands and tried to squint the pain away, but the light got brighter. I felt Grayson’s hands around my waist, pulling me to him, and heard a loud, deep voice yell:

  “Break it up!”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  GRAYSON

  NO FEAR, AND SILENCE.

  That was always our contingency plan—because when you’re swiping goods, taking the profit, and planning a monthlong party in Europe, you needed to know how to deal if the cops ever got involved. Sounds simple, until reality hits and you realize that fear part? You’ve got no control over it.

  I stood about a foot away from Wren, hands over my head, willing my jackhammer heart to slow down. I wanted to hold her hand, tell her this was all going to be okay, but really? Another siren blared outside, short and loud. I didn’t know how many police cars were outside, but from the glow of the red and blue lights flashing strobic across our faces, my guess would’ve been a very unscientific shitload.

  Luke and Andy were on the other side of me. Luke didn’t look particularly concerned—with the exception of the blood on his face and his hands in the air, he could have been waiting to get a haircut. Andy, on the other hand, looked as fragile as a preschooler about to hurl. He winced as he was patted down.

  A cop pulled something out of Andy’s front pocket.

  “What’s this?” he asked, bringing up a Baggie to his nose.

  Andy made a series of spluttering noises and looked over at us. The cop shook his head and reached for his cuffs.

  Luke and I shared what was probably the first and last look of friendly agreement in a long time. I imagined the collective thought bubble over our heads would read:

  Fucking. Bonehead. Stoner.

  I wanted to pummel Andy. Shake some sense into him. It was stupid enough for him to rat to Luke about what we were doing, but carrying a freakin’ dime bag around like a pack of gum? Luke muttered and looked up toward the ceiling. Andy was cuffed. We were screwed.

  There were more voices and footsteps coming toward the cottage. Someone whistled long and low. Mrs. Caswell’s face appeared behind the shattered window, her eyebrows jagged lines of anger as she took in the empty space. She said something to one of the officers outside and put her phone to her ear.

  Then Mr. Caswell walked in, followed by two more officers.

  The officer closest to the door saw him and smiled. “Jimmy? Why’d they send someone from the prosecutor’s office?”

  “Not here officially, Mike. Just here. Family business,” he said, patting the officer’s shoulder before taking a look around.

  “Your father’s with the prosecutor’s office?” Luke whispered, peering over at Wren. She wrinkled her nose at him.

  “Unless one of you wants to explain why you’re here, I’d keep silent,” said the younger cop who’d cuffed Andy and was standing beside him.

  “Sorry, sir,” Luke said.

  Mr. Caswell took in the damage, looking from the window to the lamp to the fallout on the floor. He crunched some broken glass with his foot and kicked it aside. Then he folded his arms and stood in front of us, eyes on fire like the fucking Chernabog.

  That should have been my cue to tell him this was my fault. That I’d pay for the glass. That I’d steam clean the carpet
. That Wren was the most innocent party in all of this.

  Except my nuts pretty much slithered down my leg and crawled out of the building when his eyes landed on me. Your father was defensive tackle. No one could get by him. All I could think of was Pop’s description of Mr. Caswell. Fitting. Safe to assume my marginal cater-waiter skills would no longer be needed at the Camelot.

  “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Dad—please . . . we were just hanging out . . . things got out of hand,” Wren said.

  “Hanging out?” He motioned for one of the officers and took him aside to speak to him. The officer looked at Wren and nodded. Wren’s mom came into the cottage, her face grim as she took in the scene. Our eyes met. I had to look away. Mr. Caswell called Wren over.

  “Wren. Go with your mother to the office. Now.”

  I stole a glance at Wren. Her eyes were wide, sad.

  Sorry, I mouthed.

  “Don’t look at her,” Mr. Caswell said to me.

  “Dad, it’s not Grayson’s—”

  “Wren. Go.”

  Mrs. Caswell put her arm around Wren, but she wrestled away and got closer to her father. “No. It’s my fault too. Don’t send me away.”

  He gave her a look so forceful, I half expected Wren to crash into the wall behind her. “Take. Her. Out. Of. Here,” he said to Mrs. Caswell.

  Wren relented, looking over her shoulder at me as her mother led her out.

  Her father turned back to us. A half dozen cops were behind him . . . waiting.

  “Seeing as my daughter was the only one without blood on her face, it’s safe to say she had nothing to do with this damage?”

  “Yes, sir,” we all mumbled together.

  “You’re Blake’s son,” he said, stepping closer. “Can’t imagine he’d approve.”

  “No, sir.”

  He crossed his arms again, staring me down. His eyes were the same shade of blue as Wren’s but without the openness. This look told me exactly what he thought of me. Not much. Again this was a moment to defend myself, us. My mind went blank.