Divine Vices

by Parkin, Melissa

  “Like what?” he smirked.

  “Gee, I don’t know. Sticking a paperclip into an electrical outlet. Playing in traffic. Laying out on the railroad tracks, perhaps. All would be better choices than you.”

  “Well, aren’t we a little hostile?” he cracked, leaning forward and stroking a hand down my shoulder.

  I swiftly slapped it away. “Touch me again, I’ll touch you in return. But I damn well guarantee you aren’t going to find it to be in anyway pleasurable.”

  “You tell him, girl,” cracked Trish as she passed by.

  “I’m not entirely sure where you think this belligerence is going to get you, because as far as I can see, you’re still stuck with me. So let me stop you before you break out into some nauseating, feminist battle cry, and allow me to be the bigger person here by saying that despite your surly demeanor, I would still like for you to be my tutor,” said Jack.

  I actually laughed. “You’re joking, right? Now, suddenly, you’re the one doing me the favor?”

  “Nope, I’m simply relishing in the act of knocking that pretty little halo off your head,” he replied. “How can you possibly be angry with me for pointing out the obvious?”

  “The obvious?”

  “What I said about you before,” he said. “It’s dead-on. How can you honestly expect anyone to look at you as anything other than a snob when you’re constantly patronizing those around you? The very fact that you don’t give any guy here the time of day says everything.”

  I got only as far as opening my mouth before he stole my chance for a rebuttal.

  “It’s not because guys aren’t paying you any attention, because they clearly are. And it’s not because they’re all jerks. Well, some undoubtedly are, but they’re not all bad. You just don’t care enough to find out,” he continued.

  “Ever think it’s because I’ve had too many misfortunes of coming across men like you?” I finally cut in. “I don’t bother with dating because, quite frankly, I want to be thinking about more important things than sending XOXO via text message and investing interest in a relationship which is most likely to burn out faster than it started.”

  Jack smirked. “Spoken like a true cynic.”

  “Best to keep myself armed, especially when there are big bad wolves lurking about,” I said. “You’re going to have to venture someplace else to find your helpless, unguarded damsel to attack. Call me a cynic all you want. It’s still the one thing guaranteed to keep you away.”

  “So I only have one hurdle to overcome?” His eyebrows piqued as a devilish grin road wider into his cheeks.

  The bell clamored overhead, declaring that everyone should start making their way to their next class, and I faintly breathed a sigh of relief.

  “See ya’ in English,” Jack said, with his irritating smile still intact.

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Chapter 7

  Comedown

  “Come on, time for the Keebler cookie elf to go back into his tree!” shouted Clint Racer, New Haven’s top linebacker, as he jokingly swept up an unsuspecting classmate over his shoulders.

  “Poor guy,” muttered Ian, the two of us watching Racer toss the scrawny freshman into an opened locker as we headed down the hall following my dismissal from the next class. “If he was lucky, he’d try to get put into locker 418.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “That was mine freshman year. The combination dial on it is busted. So if you’re thrown inside, you can just use the interior latch to climb back out on your own. Thank God for my eight inch growth spurt that next summer. They haven’t tried doing this to me since,” he replied, looking at the incident pitifully. “That’s it. I can’t take anymore of this.”

  Ian handed me his bag and started heading over to the spectacle.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, running after him.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Looks like I’m going to be helping pull my best friend out of a dumpster,” I replied, cutting in front of him.

  “I don’t appreciate the allegation,” he said grinningly. “I’m more than capable of getting myself out of one. Trust me, I have experience. Besides, all his bulk slows him down, and, remember, I’m the human roadrunner. If I can slip out of there without one of his buddies grabbing me, I’ll be home free.”

  “Well, call me crazy, but I’d prefer not to have to think about any of those scenarios.” I sped away and went straight over to Clint before Ian had a chance to interfere. “Hey, Clint!”

  The six-foot-four blonde turned to greet me with a pleasant appraisal. “What can I do for you, sweetheart?” he said, closing the locker door as I approached.

  “Well, you could do me a favor by letting that poor kid out,” I said as politely as I could. “Please.”

  “What will you do for me if I do?” he smirked, leaning in closer.

  “She’ll let you walk out of here with all your teeth,” cracked Jack, greeting me at my side.

  “I don’t need your help here, thank you,” I said, casting him a severe glare.

  “I can see that,” he chuckled, looking over at Racer. “Come on, man. What’d you say? Take it easy on the kid.”

  “I don’t think I was talking to you,” said Clint, giving Jack the same condemnatory stare.

  “Nah, man. He’s cool,” said Nate.

  This accreditation seemed to be enough to defuse Racer, because he pointed to the locker’s owner and told them to dial in the combination.

  “Get out,” he said, looking at the stupefied kid crammed inside.

  At first, he didn’t move, probably because he wasn’t sure if this was going to be an extension of the torment. But when he finally did, Clint shooed him away.

  “Thanks,” whispered the freshman, nodding weakly to Jack and me before he raced away.

  I didn’t bother to pay Jack the same respects upon my departure.

  “Four o’clock then?” he called out as I started walking away.

  I snatched a clean sheet of paper from my book bag and scratched down my address on it before returning to him. “Be on time, or get lost. Literally. And I’d appreciate the latter,” I said, pinning the page against his chest.

  “I’ll be there,” he replied, taking hold of it.

  Ian had already left for the day, so despite my objections to let Gwen drive me home, I had no other choice come the end of the school day. We headed out to the parking lot, seeing a silver Lamborghini being admired by onlookers in a space a few down from ours.

  “Care to guess who the luxury wheels belong to?” said Gwen, seeing me roll my eyes. “You can’t deny the boy has got it goin’ on.”

  “Oh, please,” I remarked. “Anybody who needs to showboat in a vehicle like that is clearly trying to compensate for something.”

  “Like what, looks? He makes the next best looking guy in school look like a gargoyle in comparison.”

  “You know better than to fall victim to New Haven’s Casanova.”

  “Who said anything about falling? I’m talking about a little recreational exercise,” she said with a devilish grin.

  “Gwen!” I exclaimed, giving a hard elbow to her arm.

  “What? I wouldn’t mind going for a ride in that,” she said, eyeballing the Lamborghini, “and he wouldn’t even have to turn on the ignition.”

  I turned bright red with embarrassment as I looked around, hoping no one could hear her. “You’re a terrible influence.”

  “I’m young. I should be allowed to have a few questionable moments of indiscretion.”

  “It’s a pornographer’s car,” I concluded, taking her by the arm and guiding her away toward the Saturn.

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” said a voice from behind, a heavy smirk obviously riding this person’s mouth.

  My cheeks burned even redder as my mind landed recognition with the tone. I turned to meet Jack, his back resting against the driver’s side door of the Lambo. Trying to calm the nerves swirl
ing in my stomach, along with the humiliation of being heard, I took a deep breath before replying.

  “A vehicle like that is made for one purpose and one only. No one cares what’s in the engine. It’s all just for show.”

  “You’d be surprised what’s revving in here,” he said, stroking the body. “Take a look under the hood. I can guarantee you’ll be pleasantly surprised by what you find.” He then gave me a little wink.

  “And what would you be without an innuendo?”

  “Let me give you a ride,” Jack replied. “And you can find out.”

  “That car and you really are perfect for one another, because we both know that neither one of you has any substance beneath all the flash.”

  “Well, it’s a shame you feel that way. I hope to give you better clarification in the future.”

  “Trust me, you’ve provided enough information for me to make a proper assessment of you.”

  Jack’s smile widened. “Aren’t you just the little spitfire? It’s rare to find someone impervious to my natural charm,” he said, sauntering toward me.

  “I’m not sure if it’s your ego that’s been stroked too much, or if it’s something else, but I’m pretty sure I’ve just done you a favor.”

  “Ouch, rush me to the burn unit,” he replied playfully.

  “Can’t. But you can go right ahead. Hopefully, your injuries will keep you from our session today.”

  “No, I wouldn’t miss that for the world. Speaking of which, why don’t we get started earlier? I’ll give you a ride to your place, since we’re both heading over there.”

  “Sorry, I don’t take rides from strange men,” I said, going over to the Saturn and climbing in the passenger seat. “See you at four.”

  Tires squealed as Gwen floored it, leaving Jack as a shrinking figure in the rearview mirror.

  “I don’t get why you’re giving him such a hard time,” said Gwen, screeching to a stop at a school crosswalk as kids flocked out into the street.

  “Because he’s an ass.”

  “He apologized.”

  “No, he didn’t, and he shouldn’t have said it in the first place.”

  “But he’s hot,” said Gwen whiningly.

  “You know how shallow that sounds?”

  “But he’s hot. And not like give-him-a-second-look hot. Like government-experiment-to-create-the-perfect-specimen-gone-horribly-perfect HOT!”

  “Don’t care.”

  “You honestly think he’s doing this tutoring thing just to annoy you?” Gwen snapped. “The man’s got better things to do than waste it learning about past participles and conjunctions. With a face like that, no one else cares about what’s actually going on in his head. His GPA is about as worthless as a roundabout in the road. There’s no fudging point. He likes you.”

  “The feeling’s not mutual.”

  “You’re a terrible liar. I saw the way your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when he came into the gymnasium yesterday. You knew damn well that a boy like that was gonna come with a bit of attitude.”

  “And with every girl in school practically tripping over themselves in his wake, I have to ask why he’s even bothering with me?” I queried. “There are better looking girls out there, and ones definitely more accessible.”

  Gwen suddenly slapped the back of my head following the remark.

  “What the hell?!” I cried.

  “Firstly, I’m not sure why you think you’re grotesque or something, but you’ve got it going on. Thin, pretty, fashionable in your own sense, natural air of confidence-”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I interrupted. “Confidence? You’re kidding me, right? I’m an introverted wallflower. Guys rarely chat me up, and fewer ask me out.”

  “Because you intimidate them.”

  “Then how come they’re flocking at your doormat? You’re ten times better looking than I am.”

  “I’m just more approachable. You’ve got this edgy biker chick vibe about you, not to mention incredible smarts. That’s down right terrifying to a guy, which brings me to my second point. The very fact you’re not falling at Jack’s feet like everyone else might be refreshing. He probably likes the sport of it.”

  “Oh, well, paint me enchanted. Nothing screams romance like a man who enjoys preying upon his prospects.”

  “And may I remark, your outburst back there with him hardly qualifies you as a wallflower now. It takes a strong personality to talk to someone like that.”

  Gwen pulled up alongside the curb to drop me off when we reached my house.

  “You want to meet up with us when you’re finished with lover boy?” asked Gwen.

  “Yeah, where’re you gonna be?”

  “Bella Deboure’s Boutique.”

  “I thought you were picking up Ian from work,” I said.

  “What’s your point?”

  “Asides from the cruel and unusual torture of dragging a guy to go dress shopping?”

  “Hey, I need a male perspective, and I can’t have Jeff see what I’m going to wear for Homecoming. I want it to be a surprise. So Ian’s about as close as I can get to a man’s opinion, not to mention he’s the only thing that’ll keep you from running out on me.”

  “Funny,” I said. “I’ll be there probably around 6:30.”

  “Love you.” Gwen sped off down the street the moment I shut the passenger’s side door.

  I walked up the driveway to the back of the house, seeing my dad’s legs sticking out from underneath the Cutlass.

  “How’s she coming along?” I shouted over the radio.

  “Can’t quite figure out why she’s not turning over,” he called back, rolling himself out.

  His face was painted with grease and oil smudges, and his hair was matted to his forehead with sweat.

  “You hitting the books already?” he asked, surprised by my early arrival. “Thought you’d be enjoying the weather.”

  “That’s actually what I need to talk to you about. Would it be alright if someone came over? I’m supposed to be tutoring them for English class.”

  “What time?”

  “They should be here by four,” I said, uneasily.

  My dad glanced at the clock inside the garage and chuckled. “Good to see you’re giving me time to make a decision.”

  “I know it’s short notice, but-”

  “I’m kidding,” he said. “So what’s he like?”

  “Sorry?”

  “The guy who’s coming over.”

  “I didn’t say it was a guy.”

  “You didn’t have to. The fact you wouldn’t specify this someone’s gender pretty much says it all. So?”

  “He’s a detestable ass-hat of global proportions,” I said.

  “I’m not even sure what that means, but I take it that’s not a good thing,” my dad laughed.

  “Safe assumption,” I said, going through the side door of the house.

  After fixing my hair and changing into fresh clothes, I headed back outside to see two denim decorated legs again jutting out from beneath the front hood.

  “You want anything to drink?” I asked, poking my head out the door.

  “Soda.”

  I popped back inside and snatched a can from the refrigerator.

  “Here,” I said, holding the can out at the base of the car.

  Sliding out from under the vehicle, Jack came bouncing upright, taking the soda from my hand.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, almost jumping back in surprise before catching a peripheral view of the clock.

  “Giving your dad a hand,” he said, cracking the pop tab open.

  “I said ‘four.’ You’re a half hour early.”

  “Hey, try starting her up,” said Jack, seeing my dad coming out of the garage.

  Paying no mind to this stranger’s interference, my dad climbed inside the Cutlass and revved the engine, rejoicing as it turned over with a wondrous purr.

  “Thanks, man,” said my dad, heading over and shaking J
ack’s hand. “Good to see someone knows what they’re doing here.”

  “Hey, it’s no problem. It was just the solenoids. I had the same problem with my car a little while back.”

  “The Lambo?” I said disbelievingly, looking down at the ostentatious sports car parked at the end of the driveway.

  “Nah, that’s not mine,” Jack corrected.

  “Oh, grand theft auto. How charming,” I cracked.

  “It’s my uncle’s. He owns a car dealership over in Arlington, and was kind enough to lend me a vehicle while mine was giving me grief.”

  “What do you drive?” asked my dad.

  “’67 Impala.”

  Here we go...

  “Beautiful,” said my dad, nodding in adoration. “Nice to see a man your age driving a real car, instead of those eco-friendly boxcar disasters everyone’s got now.”

  “Hey, you can’t go wrong with the style, smooth ride, and durability of a classic,” replied Jack, tapping the hood of the Cutlass appreciatively.

  “My point exactly.”

  I was going to be sick.

  “Cassie, here, is a big fan of the classics as well. I’ve been taking her to car shows since she was little. Couldn’t get enough of them after she saw her first ’72 Chevelle.”

  “Huh, you don’t say?” said Jack. “Can’t say I’m too surprised. She doesn’t exactly strike me as your typical Prius-driving, tree-hugging environmentalist who worries all too much about what kind of emissions pollute the air. But it’s hard to tell, since most people these days have been conforming.”

  “And you’re not?” I asked irreverently. “I figured you liked conformity.”

  Jack gave me a sideways glare, along with a competitive grin. “Well, I may not be driving a car that runs on donut grease, but I do my best to not dump too much industrialized toxic chemicals into waterways,” he replied. “And I make sure to not throw out too many six-pack soda rings in the general vicinity of dolphins’ migrational paths.”

  “Smartass.”

  “Cassandra,” my dad warned. He never really minded an occasional slip of the mouth on my part when we were in private, but in the presence of company, he found it to be unladylike. Hence, he only ever called me by my full name when I was in trouble of some sort.