by Amy Reece
chapter five
“Truth without love is brutality, and love without truth is hypocrisy.”
–Warren W. Wiersbe
“Ally!” It was Jack, now jogging up to me. I could see his car, headlights still on, driver’s door open, parked in front of the Acapulco Taco Stand. I turned and he could see the tears, the wet t-shirt—yikes—and probably the goose bumps. “What the hell? Why didn’t you take the bus? Where are your clothes?” He was taking off his jacket as he spoke and wrapping me in it.
“My wallet and my iPhone and my bus pass got stolen and my clothes got thrown in the showers and I tried to call everyone I know on Veronica’s phone but nobody answered so I had to walk home,” I babbled through chattering teeth.
“Come on.” He picked up my bag and guided me to his car. “I’ve got the heater on. We need to get you warmed up.”
I sank gratefully into the warm passenger seat, pulling his wonderfully soft leather jacket around me. I could smell him on it, the delicious warm, spicy scent and, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to say it—man. He rooted around in the trunk, coming back a minute later with a blanket.
“It’s got some dog hair on it,” he apologized as he tucked it around my legs. “But it will help you get warm.” He shut my door and went back around to the driver’s side to get in. “Now…” He turned to face me, taking my hands between his and beginning to chafe them. “What happened? How did your stuff get stolen?”
So I told him, more coherently now that I was beginning to feel my hands and cheeks again, how I had returned to the locker room after my run to find my locker broken into and my stuff gone.
“Do you still have the lock?” I nodded my assent. For some reason I had felt the need to pack it up with my other stuff. “Can I see it?” I bent down to the floor to fish it out of my bag and handed it to him. “Yeah, they popped your lock.” I shot him a questioning look. “Well, these are pretty easy to break into. All you need is a table knife or a screwdriver and you stick the tip between the u of the lock and the locker handle and give it a good whack. It’s actually pretty simple physics: levers, you know?” In response to my raised eyebrows he gave one of his little half-smiles. “My misspent youth, remember?” He reached down past me to put the broken lock back in my bag. “You should have called me. I would have come to pick you up.” When he sat up his face was close to mine.
“I don’t have your number,” I said ruefully. We stared at each other for a moment. He looked at my mouth and I really, truly thought—hoped—he was going to kiss me, but then he cleared his throat and sat back behind the steering wheel.
“Yeah, well, I’ll make sure you have it from now on. As soon as you get a new phone.” He put the car into gear and began to pull out onto the street. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee to get you warm faster. There’s a McDonald’s right up the street on Candelaria. Not the best coffee, but we can do the drive-thru.”
We sat in the McDonald’s parking lot with the car still running and the heater blasting warm air into the confines of the Mustang. The coffee was too hot to drink, but I held it between my hands, enjoying the warmth. “The paint job looks great, Jack.” I had noticed the beautiful, shiny red paint as I got in.
“Thanks.” He smiled and sipped his coffee carefully. “I finished it yesterday. Pretty much took up my whole weekend. Hey, was this afternoon a complete disaster or did you get a chance to talk to Veronica?”
“Jack, I’m still amazed that you actually believe any part of this crazy story,” I said.
“Of course I believe it.” He paused in the act of taking a sip of the too-hot coffee. “It’s you, Ally.” Like that explained everything. When I shook my head in disbelief, he reached over and put his hand against my cheek, turning my head to face him. “Don’t do that,” he said rather sternly. “Don’t ever sell yourself short.” In a movie this statement would be followed by a passionate kiss. In my life it was followed by him removing his hand and going back to trying to drink the fiery coffee. Maybe the sweaty stench starting to be noticeable now that I was warming up was holding him back. Shit. I really needed to stop cussing.
“Well, it wasn’t a deeply heart-felt conversation, but she did let me use her cell phone to try to call for a ride.” I must have looked confused or something following my statement.
“What?” He was searching my eyes. “What did you just think of?”
I told him how Veronica had sort of freaked out when I suggested trying to find someone to report the theft to. “It was kind of weird, that’s all. So, no great conversation, no deep, dark secrets revealed, but I did talk to her. At great personal cost to myself, no less,” I ended ruefully.
“Yeah, that does, indeed, suck,” he commiserated.
“So,” I began hesitantly, “you seemed to know a lot about breaking a lock. Did you ever do anything like that?” I couldn’t even look at him. He was always so closed-mouth about his past, but I was growing increasingly curious.
He gave a big sigh. “Yeah. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was younger. Stuff I’m not proud of, stuff I’m still paying for now.”
“Would you be willing to tell me about it?” I dared. “I mean, you don’t have to, but I thought, you know, since we’re friends and all…”
“Yeah, sure,” he said dejectedly, running his hands through his hair. I hated to do this to him, but I really felt it was an important step in our friendship. “What do you want to know?”
“I guess…what happened to you? I mean, you seem so nice now, and so mature. I can’t picture you as a hell-raising juvenile delinquent,” I said as I tried to lighten the mood.
He gave a half-hearted chuckle in appreciation. “Well, I was a good kid all the way through elementary school and most of junior high. The trouble started when I was in 8th grade. My mom was hit and killed by a drunk driver on her way back to Taos from a business meeting in Santa Fe. She was an attorney.”
“Oh, God, Jack.” I was horrified. “I’m so sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s probably a good idea to tell you. You can decide if you want to even mess with me. I may not be worth the trouble.” He smiled as he said it, but I could see through the veneer.
“Hey!” I turned in my seat to face him. Now I was the one putting my hand against his cheek. “Don’t ever say that. You are definitely worth the trouble.” He took my hand in his and held it loosely while he told me the rest of his story. How his father had spiraled downward after his mother’s death into severe depression and alcoholism, leaving Jack and two year old Megan to fend for themselves. How he started getting into trouble at school, although he had previously been a good student. As a freshman his behavior had gotten worse: suddenly he was involved in a gang, painting graffiti, breaking and entering, fighting, ditching school, and both using and selling drugs. “I was on a really destructive path,” he finished.
“What happened? How did you get out of that lifestyle and here to Albuquerque?”
“I got arrested. My dad didn’t even come to bail me out.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I had to spend three nights in the county lock-up. You do a lot of thinking in jail. I thought about how disappointed my mother would be and I thought about how I wasn’t there for Megan. They were really close to taking me and Megan away from my dad and putting us into foster care.”
“But they didn’t? What happened?”
“My auntie and uncle drove up there to Taos and bailed me out.” He laughed, once. “My uncle looked me straight in the eye and told me to get my head out of my ever-lovin’ ass and shape up. What kind of an example was I setting for my little sister?”
“So, that’s your Kryptonite, huh? Megan?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, my aunt and uncle saw what was going on with my dad and packed Megan and me up and brought us back to Albuquerque. Manny told me that I had one chance. He gave me a job at his body shop and told me that I had to go back to high school and graduate. He and my aunt took us in, fed us a
nd clothed us, gave us each our own bedroom. Their kids, my cousins, are mostly grown and gone. I wanted to drop out and get my GED because I was so far behind in my credits, but they said that was a deal-breaker. I needed to set a good example for Megan. I had to serve ten months in juvenile detention before I got to live with them, but at least Megan had a good home. I got out this summer.” He stared out the front windshield. “Man, I owe them so much.”
“Hey,” I squeezed his hand. “I think you owe yourself some credit too. You have really turned things around. That can’t be easy.”
He wrapped his hand around mine. It was a wonderful feeling; his hand was so warm and rough from his job at the body shop. “Thanks, Ally. You’re a really good person. Does my story scare you away? Still want to be friends?” He looked at me hesitantly.
I squeezed his hand. “Of course I want to be friends. You have a great ride.” I made a last attempt to lighten the heavy mood and change the subject.
He chuckled appreciatively. “Let’s get you home so you can get changed. Then, if you want, I can take you to pick up a new cell phone.”
“I would love that, thanks. Isn’t it amazing how dependent we are on a piece of technology? How did our parents’ generation get by without them?”
“Payphones, I think,” he said as he backed out of our parking spot. “My Aunt Trina talks about always having to have a quarter in her pocket when she was younger. Can you imagine?”
“Do they even have payphones in real life anymore? Hey, there’s something I’ve been wondering about. Why don’t you ride a motorcycle?”
“What do you mean? I have a car,” he replied, stating the obvious.
“I know you have a car, but it would totally fit your badass image, you know, with a tattoo and a leather jacket, and that dangerous look you have.”
“Badass image?” He laughed. “You’re crazy. Nobody thinks I’m a badass. Nobody thinks about me, period. Why would they? Most people are too busy thinking about themselves, at least in high school.” He paused and looked over at me. “So, you noticed my tattoo, huh?”
“Well, at least some people aren’t too busy thinking about themselves.” I tried for a superior tone, trying to cover my embarrassment at having been caught out on the tattoo comment.
He spared me a glance with more than a little smirk in it. “Do you like tattoos? Do you have any?”
“I like them on some people. And no, I don’t have any. I’m only 16 and my mom would never even consider giving me permission to get one, unlike Veronica’s mother.”
“You’re only 16?” I’m pretty sure I heard him swear under his breath. “So, when do you turn 17?”
“Next month. I’m one of the unlucky few that has a Christmas birthday. Why? Does it matter? Do you have a rule against hanging out with 16 year-olds?”
“No, I don’t have a rule against it. I just thought you were older. You seem older.” He drove in silence for a few minutes. “I’m 18, Ally, almost 19. And I’m on probation. Listen, I know we’re not dating or anything, but it still doesn’t look too good. I have to be careful. The next time I’ll be tried as an adult.”
“Oh,” I said in a small voice. “I don’t want to get you into trouble or anything.”
“I know.” He sighed and reached over to take my hand. “It’s okay. None of this is your fault. I need to be extra careful because my next probation hearing is coming up in a couple weeks. I’m really hoping this will be my last one and I’ll be done.”
I gripped his hand tighter. “God, Jack, that would be great. What can I do to help? Can I talk to anyone, tell them how great you are or anything?”
He gave me one of his wonderful half-smiles. “How about you don’t do anything that would make you seem like you’re having your morals corrupted? Like don’t go getting a tramp stamp like Veronica.”
Why was he noticing that tramp’s tramp stamp? “Gross. I would never do anything that trashy.” I took my hand out of his and pointedly looked out the side window.
“So, you think I’m great, huh?” he teased.
I continued to look out the window and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Yeah, well that was before I knew you were scoping out Veronica’s ass.”
“Hey,” he defended. “I can’t help noticing when she sits down and her jeans ride down and those stringy underwear are showing along with her tramp stamp. What do you call those things?”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “You mean thongs?”
“Yeah, thongs. You never have those showing above your jeans.”
I turned and punched him on the arm. “I would never wear a thong. And you shouldn’t be looking at my ass, either.” Of course, I was lying and was secretly flattered. And I might have a secret thong or two hidden in my underwear drawer, courtesy of a shopping trip with Tara. But Jack certainly didn’t need to know that.
“Oww! Jeez. Besides, what you ask is physically impossible. But I will never look at Veronica’s ass again. Pinky swear,” he said as he held out his pinky to me.
I really couldn’t tell if he was being serious or teasing me some more, but I wrapped my pinky around his. He didn’t let my hand go as we continued to drive to my house.
Later that night, as I sat on my bed doing homework—which the thief had not stolen, unfortunately—I got a text on my new iPhone from Jack. He had made sure to program his number into it before we even pulled out of the Verizon parking lot and then made me call his phone to make sure it worked.
Jack: Hey just wanted 2 make sure ur OK. Sick or anything?
Ally: I’m fine. That’s an old wives tale that getting cold gives you a cold.
I have a thing about proper grammar and spelling in my text messages. I don’t have a problem with other people using shorthand, as long as I don’t have to look anything up, but my messages will be written with correct spelling and punctuation, thank you very much.
Jack: Yes ma’am
Ally: Thanks for rescuing me today. You seem to be doing that a lot lately.
Jack: My pleasure. Any time. C U 2morrow
As I lay back on my pillow staring at his text messages, I realized I needed to face the truth: I did indeed have a major crush on Jack Ruiz. No more denials. No more self-lies. In the span of about a week and a half we had gone from being two strangers who had a couple classes together to a friendship of sorts. And tonight there had definitely been some flirting going on. Okay, fine. There had also been some rather unattractive jealousy on my part. I admit that too. Happy? I sighed as I realized I had probably totally tipped my hand to Jack. He probably knew now that I was feeling very friendly indeed toward him. All right, calm down. Let’s take a moment to analyze the situation. On the plus side, he had not run screaming into the night. Instead, he had driven me to pick up a new cell phone—we had insurance, so it didn’t cost anything. My mom says that not buying the insurance for a teenager’s cell phone is insane. He had also made sure we now had each other’s numbers. On the minus side, he had totally backed off when he found out I was only 16. Now, so you understand, an 18 year old dating a 16 year old is not illegal in New Mexico. I googled it to be sure. But there was still the issue of his probation, about which I couldn’t find very much information online. I fell asleep still pondering this conundrum.
***
The rest of the week was fairly uneventful. Jack and I continued to work together in physics, he ate lunch with Tara, Travis, and me, and we sat next to each other in English, but there had been very little progress made in the relationship department, if you know what I mean. By Friday, I was beginning to think I had imagined any flirting on his part. Tara was sympathetic yet practical, figuring he had backed off because of the age difference.
“But it’s not even a full two years’ difference,” I complained as I gathered books from my locker before school.
“Yeah, but he’s 18, which means he’s a legal adult and you, little missy, are still 16 for another month. You’re jailbait, sweetheart, and he’s already got tr
ouble with the law. Why don’t we find you a nice, safe 17 year old guy around here, huh?”
“I don’t want a nice, safe 17 year old.” I slammed my locker with more force than strictly necessary. “I want Jack.”
“Well, then…” Tara gave me a look up and down my entire body. “Stop whining and do something about it. Maybe we could start with a makeover so you don’t look quite so much like an eighth grader. I mean, my God, Ally, are those the same jeans you wore in middle school? I know you haven’t grown since then.”
“Remind me again why you’re my best friend.”
“Because I’m not afraid to tell you the painful truth?” She hugged me to her side briefly. “Come on, it’ll be fun! You need him to look at you as a woman, not a little girl.”
“Fine,” I said. “But you need to show some restraint. I don’t want to look like I’m playing dress up. And absolutely no heels! I have to be able to walk. And I can’t pull off a ton a of makeup, either.”
“Yay!” she squeaked. Tara loved nothing more than playing dress up with me, but it had been quite a while since I had been a willing victim.
“You really think he’ll look at me differently?”
“No, I think he’s already looking at you in the naughtiest way possible, but I’m going to make you irresistible. His inconveniently noble character will be no match for my deviousness,” she said proudly and marched off to her first period class.
The other major issue in my life, the whole psychic vision thing, also seemed to be giving it a rest. There was, however, one positive outcome of Monday’s afternoon adventure and that was that Veronica was now speaking to me. It’s not like we were suddenly BFFs or anything, but she did say “hey” to me on Tuesday as she sat down in English. And on Wednesday, she said, “What’s up?” as she passed me in the hallway, only it sounded more like “wuz up.” On Thursday she asked me if she could see my homework. See? We were really working at a quality relationship. At least she wasn’t glaring at me anymore. She still seemed nervous and edgy, though. I hadn’t had a vision in more than a week and I was starting to wonder if I’d lost my touch.
