I wished I could dismiss JJ as easily as Taylor had. There was a sick, sour taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with one sip of illicit beer. But that wasn’t Taylor’s fault—he couldn’t help who was on his team. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone assuming I was anything like Drew simply because we were forced to spend the majority of our waking hours together.
The CKY cut out and was instantly replaced with Rihanna, blaring at an even louder volume than before.
“It’s on, bitches!” Amy screamed gleefully as she jumped on top of the coffee table, kicked off a bunch of empty Rock Star energy drinks and Cheetos bags, and started busting out what looked like a choreographed routine.
Heidi covered the ferret’s teeny-tiny rodent ears as Ferret escorted the two of them toward the front porch, where I had a feeling he was gonna get an earful concerning his friend’s gross attitude about women. And then maybe some further stimulating conversation on the nature of tea leaves. Ragner, and most of the rest of the guys at the party, were gathering around the coffee table Amy had turned into a stage, cheering and pumping their fists.
“Come on.” Taylor grabbed my hand, squeezed, and my heart sped up. “Let’s go outside.”
“Hells yeah, you take her outside, Bowser!” JJ crowed.
“Come on, man, hamster the fetus act. Shove it,” Taylor said, and something in his tone finally silenced JJ. Or maybe it was whatever “hamster the fetus act” meant. “Ready?” Taylor asked.
I nodded and let him pull me through the party, past the kitchen, and out back.
“Why does he keep calling you Bowser?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s just a nickname.” He shrugged.
“What does it mean?”
“You don’t know who Bowser is?”
He inferred from my blank stare that no, in fact, I did not.
“You know, from Mario?”
“Oh!” Realization dawned. “That big turtle guy who’s always kidnapping Princess Peach?”
“Nailed it.” He shot finger-guns at me.
“But why do they call you Bowser?”
“Cuz I’m the king, Betty. King of the Koopas. Bow-ow-ow!”
From all around, more male voices joined in on the howling chorus of bow-ow-ow. I couldn’t see them in the dark, but I could hear them. It was slightly spooky.
“But he’s the bad guy.”
“Who says, man? Why should some weird-ass tiny plumber in overalls get the girl? I’d rather be a badass turtle king covered in spikes any day.”
Huh. Interesting analysis of the Nintendo universe. I felt like I had just been handed some valuable insight into the soul of Taylor “Bowser” Griffith, but I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. Was it troubling that he identified with the villain? Maybe not. After all, I’d never felt much like a princess. I’d much rather be Tamora than Lavinia. Although that was a horrible example, because everyone in Titus Andronicus dies in a spectacularly gruesome fashion, so I wouldn’t want to actually be anyone. But I had a feeling Taylor might somehow know what I meant.
Something sharp and heavy whizzed through the air in front of us, landing with a resounding thunk in a piece of wood.
The crowd outside, again all male, cheered uproariously. We’d gotten close enough to see a small figure in a knitted cap acknowledge the roar of the crowd with a neat wave.
“Sick shot, Thiago!” Taylor applauded.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, moving closer to the stump to investigate. “Did he just throw an axe at us?”
“Not at us, at the stump. Mellow out, Betty,” Taylor laughed. “You never heard of Stump?”
“Actually, no, I wasn’t raised in a lumberjack camp,” I replied tartly.
“I’d never heard of Stump ’til I got to Vermont, either,” he confessed, “but it’s ill as shit. You put a bunch of nails in a stump, then throw an axe at the stump, trying to like hammer the nail into the stump. Totally sick, right?”
“Yeah … sick.” Privately, I thought it sounded sick in the non-skater way—namely, really stupid and dangerous. They were really close to the house and were standing in a crowd of people. Plus, they were drinking. How easy would it be for an axe throw to go haywire? I didn’t want to sound like a wuss, though, so I kept my thoughts to myself and hoped we passed by Stump as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Taylor started leading me away from the house into the woods.
“Thiago’s like some kind of Stump genius. Maybe it’s like the national pastime of Brazil.”
“Maybe.” Although I was pretty sure it wasn’t. “This party’s crazy.” I shook my head. “The camp doesn’t mind?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “We’re way far away from the campers, so why would they care? We might as well be in New Hampshire. And we’re supervised. Technically.”
“What do you mean?
“Well, our manager’s here. How the hell else would we get beer?” he laughed.
“Manager?”
“Every pro skate team’s gotta have a manager.”
Wow. These guys may have been a bigger deal than I realized. I had just thought they were skateboarders. I hadn’t realized they were, you know, professional.
“Back up a minute. Your manager bought you beer?” I asked, dumbstruck. This made the authority figures at SAD look downright strict.
“He straight up had to. We’re all still underage. Well, ’til next month, then JJ’ll be twenty-one. You ever heard of Donovan Rayne?” he asked, his voice rich with expectation.
“Um … no.”
“Come on.” His jaw dropped open in disbelief. “Donovan Rayne? The Donovan Rayne?”
“Still don’t know who that is.”
“Wow, you don’t know anything about pro skating, do you?” Taylor asked, laughing.
“Sorry.” I shrugged. I really didn’t. Pro skating hadn’t made much of an impact in Weehawken. Or maybe it had, like back in the ’90s or something, and I’d just missed its heyday.
“Nah, don’t apologize. It’s kind of … refreshing.” He smiled. “Well, Donovan’s our manager, and he used to be, like, the biggest skater in the world. Then an injury ended his career. The only thing he’d ever known how to do, you know? Gone. In an instant.”
“I can’t even imagine.” I shook my head. What would I do if I couldn’t act anymore? I had no idea. It was the only thing I’d ever wanted to do my whole life.
“Shit, I almost ended up like him.” Taylor stopped. We’d come to a clearing where log benches surrounded a long-dead fire pit. He led me over to a bench and sat.
“You did?” I asked, settling down next to him, resting my beer in the sandy ground.
“Really bad snowboarding accident when I was fifteen. Stupidest shit I ever did. I shouldn’t have been snowboarding. Thought it was the same as skating, but it’s not—it’s different. Broke my back and the doctors weren’t sure I was gonna walk again, let alone skate.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “Taylor, I’m so sorry, that must have been awful.” Almost involuntarily, I moved closer to him.
“But Donovan, man, he was a fucking champ. He’d been my manager since I was twelve—”
“Since you were twelve?” I interrupted. “That’s so young! You’ve been a pro skater since you were twelve?”
“Yeah. Donovan saw me skating in a parking lot and kinda took me under his wing. And then, after my injury, he did all the physical therapy with me. We’re talking hours in the hospital. Practically taught me how to walk again. If it wasn’t for him … well, and for my mom.”
Taylor broke out into a wide, embarrassed grin, and it was so cute I almost threw up in my mouth. Then I really almost threw up in my mouth because I just described something as “cute” and that something was a boy who I was suddenly feeling strangely vulnerable around.
“So many of my teachers wanted to fail me, but my mom made sure I didn’t. She made sure I got my homework, that I did my homework, that I graduated. I didn’t really care much about school since I turn
ed pro, but it was important to her, so …”
“And did you?” I prompted. “Graduate?”
“Yep, last year.” He took a swig from his beer bottle, then set it down. “Right on time, like any normal eighteen-year-old.”
“I just graduated. Just last month.”
“No way.” He smiled. “Congrats, Cass. You’re probably going to college though, right? You seem really smart.”
“Um, yeah. I am. Going to college. Not ‘I am really smart.’ I mean, I wouldn’t say that. I mean, thanks.”
I felt a red-hot blush creep up my neck. Boy-induced blushing? “Cute”? Who was I? Hopefully it was dark enough that he couldn’t tell I was blushing. Oh, gross. Less blushing, more talking. “I’m going to Rutgers? In New Jersey?” Why was that coming out like a question? It wasn’t a question. I had somehow transformed into one of those horrible up-talking girls.
“You’re okay now, right?” I asked. Time to steer the conversation away from me and my increasing bizarreness.
“Hell yeah. By now, shit, I’ve broken almost every bone in my body. And I’m still skating.”
“A pro skateboarder,” I mused. “What does that mean, exactly? Like, how does this work? People pay you to just travel around, skateboarding?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” He nodded. “From Tulsa to Tokyo. All over the place.”
“That’s crazy.” I shook my head. “You must have girls in every city.” I laughed, thinking how ridiculous I was being. He must have made a million girls all over the place feel all stupid and blushy.
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to bullshit me, Taylor.”
“No bullshit, cross my heart.” He made an x movement over his chest. “Seriously, Cass, I don’t.”
“I’m not a typical girl, Taylor, you don’t have to make me feel special.”
“I know you’re not a typical girl.” He reached out one long, tanned finger and tucked a springy red curl behind my ear. “And that’s why you are special.”
My mouth dropped open. Someone had just called me “special” and I didn’t feel even a little bit like vomming. Actually, I felt like the opposite of vomming. I felt all warm and fuzzy like I was wrapped in my mom’s favorite organically sourced cashmere blanket. My heart was beating about a million miles an hour, and my whole face felt warm—especially where Taylor’s hand still lingered on my cheek. He started pulling my face toward his, and his startlingly blue eyes disappeared as his long lashes closed over them. I closed my eyes, too, leaning in closer, and closer, and—
“CASS!” Amy shrieked. “I GOT YOU SOME SUNGLASSES!!!!”
Startled, I leapt away from Taylor and rolled right off the log into the ashy dirt surrounding the fire pit. Really graceful, Cass. I hastily picked myself up and tried to dust the ashes off my butt. Taylor mumbled a rather colorful stream of curses under his breath.
Amy burst out of the woods like a colorful comet, decked out in an entirely new outfit. She was wearing a giant T-shirt emblazoned with GANGSTA RAW PRO SKATE in neon graffiti lettering surrounded by splatter paint. The shirt was so long it covered her sundress, and she was also wearing a matching backwards baseball hat. Not only did she have a pair of sunglasses propped on top of her hat and tucked into the collar of her T-shirt, but she was clutching two giant fistfuls of extras.
“Oh my God, Taylor, your friends are so super nice. Look at all this stuff they gave me!” she squealed, shoving several pairs of dark blue sunglasses into my hands. “They didn’t really dance, though. Lame.”
“They probably just didn’t want to slow you down, Betty,” Taylor said evenly as he stood, but I could tell whatever moment had passed between us was over. Part of me was pissed at Amy for interrupting, but part of me was relieved, too. I had started to feel way too mushy and vulnerable for my liking.
“What’s Gangsta Raw, anyway?” Amy asked, squinting quizzically at the tiny GRs on the sunglasses.
“It’s our sponsor. They make skateboards, skate shoes, clothes, sunglasses, energy drinks—all sorts of shit.”
“And you get all sorts of that shit for free?” I asked.
“Yeah. More than we can give away.”
“Well, I’m glad you gave it away to me!” Amy attempted to clap her hands with glee, but only succeeded in knocking her handful of sunglasses together. “Well, now that we’ve collected our souvenirs, it’s time to go, Cass. Don’t wanna get in trouble.”
“You got a curfew, or something?” Taylor joked as he escorted us back to the cabin.
“Unfortunately, we do.” I grimaced. We’d missed it by a long shot, but still, better late than never.
“Finally,” Heidi sighed as we made it to the porch, gently handing the ferret back to Ferret. “We should have been in bed hours ago.”
“Thanks for the lovely evening, boys!” Amy trilled as she and Heidi started dragging me down the steps and onto the path away from the camp.
“So, that’s it, Cinderella? You just turn back into a pumpkin and bounce?” Taylor shouted as we disappeared into the night.
“You know how it works, Romeo!” Amy yelled. “Find her tomorrow!”
Shaking with laughter, the three of us sprinted down the path, filling our lungs with the crisp night air.
“So … you and Ferret, huh?” Amy said slyly, poking Heidi in the ribcage as we wound our way back toward our front lawn.
“Are you kidding me?” Heidi exploded with outrage. “He was disgusting!”
“Really?” I was shocked. “But it seemed like it was going so well, with the small mammals and the tea and everything.” If I was going to guess Heidi’s type, that would have been it. “You’re not into the dreadlocks and stuff?”
“He threw away a bottle!” Heidi fumed. “Didn’t recycle it. Just threw it right in the trash. Disgusting,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Just disgusting.”
“I’m not gonna fight you on the disgusting front,” Amy agreed.
“The ferret was nice, though,” Heidi amended.
As we made our way back to the boat house, Amy and Heidi kept talking, but I didn’t say anything. All I could think about was Taylor. Had he been about to kiss me before Amy appeared? I thought so. No, he definitely was. I mean, I hoped so. Oh, God. Suddenly being kissed by Taylor Griffith seemed like the most important thing that could possibly happen this summer. Who was I turning into?
The door slammed. Too late, I realized I had slammed it.
“Oh, shit!” I cursed fervently. Served me right for daydreaming like a stupid idiot about someone’s practically perfect smile and alarmingly hard chest muscles.
We froze in the kitchen. Miraculously, the only sound was our breathing—the house was silent. Wordlessly, we scampered up the stairs and leapt into bed.
I fell asleep, dreaming of blue eyes and tanned skin.
CHAPTER 11
Where were you last night?” Drew asked the next morning at rehearsal, unfolding a crumpled tissue from his pocket and dabbing at his rather red, runny nose.
My heart started racing. There was no way he could know, right? About us sneaking out? Or about my one, tiny, infinitesimal sip of beer? God, I was regretting that now. Amy was right; drinking at that party was so not worth getting fired for. I didn’t even like drinking. I never drank. Until some guy handed me a beer and all of a sudden I did? I felt like such an idiot. And worse, that I’d done something just to impress a guy, not because it was something I actually wanted to do. Consequences. There were going to be Consequences with a capital C, like I was in a health class movie. Oh, why hadn’t I just said no?
“Um, I’m not sure what you’re referring to. I was in the house.”
“Interesting.” Drew scratched his thick beard. “For some reason, I couldn’t sleep last night. At all. When I went into the lounge to make sure that stupid Cool Runnings video was off, your room was quiet. Suspiciously quiet.”
“You were listening at our door?” I puffed my c
hest out, trying to summon up some outrage to deflect his suspicion. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem particularly deterred. And also, had he just called Cool Runnings stupid?
“I don’t try to hear you, it’s just impossible to avoid all the shrieks, giggles, clicks, and whistles that emanate from inside your room. It’s like living down the hall from a dolphin habitat.”
“Oh, for the love of—”
“And then,” he interrupted, “in the wee hours of the morning, still not sleeping, I heard the front door slam, and a rather distinctive ‘oh, shit.’”
“Again, I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” I said, chipping away at my blue nail polish, trying to stay cool. “And how can an ‘oh, shit’ be distinctive, anyway?”
“‘Her voice was ever soft,’” he quoted, “‘gentle and low, an excellent thing in a woman.’”
My jaw dropped as Drew punctuated the line from King Lear by blowing his nose like a trumpet into his crumpled tissue. Was that a compliment?
“Well, it’s low, anyway.” He shrugged. “Not so much with the ‘gentle’ and ‘soft.’”
“What, low like a man voice?” I fumed. Okay, definitely not a compliment.
“ONSTAGE, lovers!” Nevin thundered from across the field. Unfortunately, that meant us. I shuffled onstage mulishly, following Drew. Saved by Nevin. I really didn’t want Drew to continue that line of questioning.
Heidi and Rhys were standing upstage; it looked like Heidi was henna-ing his arms with a Sharpie, so they’d apparently been hanging out up there for a while. Amy, perched next to Noah on a bench downstage, broke character to wave.
“Drew, what are the rules about sunglasses?” Nevin yelled.
“It’s bright out.”
“The handbook is very clear on the issue of sunglasses.”
“Maybe I wasn’t the only who didn’t read the handbook,” I muttered. Much to my surprise, Drew chuckled.
“OFF!” Nevin roared.
“Fine, fine,” Drew muttered as he folded up his Ray Bans and stuck them in his back pocket.
“Holy shit!” I gasped, as Heidi dropped her Sharpie and it rolled across the stage.
The Taming of the Drew Page 10
