Breakaway (20 page)

“You're all grown,” Ahmed said with admiration, but he left the weed in his pocket.

“I saw Stacie the other day,” I said to Chris. “At the diner. Chick and I stopped in and she was there.”

“Yeah?” Chris asked, not acting like he was too interested. His eyes were on the Internet jukebox as he fed money into the machine. A few seconds later the honey melody of “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd started to play. “How's she doing?”

“Good,” I said. “She looked good.”

“Stacie always looked good,” Ahmed said. “Never anything wrong with the way she
looked
. That's for sure, right?”

“What did you tell her about me?” Chris asked, his tone still casual but he was definitely interested.

I shrugged. “Nothing. Your name didn't come up.”

Ahmed laughed in appreciation at that but Chris kept his face expressionless. He was a good poker player.

“How long have you and Chris been friends?” I asked Ahmed, suddenly curious since their friendship was so much like mine with Mario. I wondered what had kept their friendship from falling apart while my friendship with Mario seemed to be mostly over.

“Shit,” Ahmed said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We go back like a recliner. Almost twenty-five years. Back then this neighborhood was almost all black folks. Chris got his ass kicked on a daily until I started sticking up for him. Used to have to walk his skinny ass to school every day, just so he'd get there in one piece.”

“Hmph,” Chris grunted as he bent over to line up the cue ball.

“You've been hanging out with each other the whole time?” I asked. “Ever since then?”

“Sad, ain't it?” Ahmed said. “I guess there was that one time we got into it over a girl we knew. She was stepping out with both of us and it came to blows. You remember that?” Ahmed asked Chris. “We didn't speak for almost six months.”

“I remember,” Chris said, taking a step back from the pool table to chalk his cue. “Can't remember that girl's name, though.”

“Natonya,” Ahmed said with a wistful smile. “She was half black, half Cambodian. So hot, she could melt glass. If she hadn't blown us both off for some college boy, I still wouldn't be speaking to him,” Ahmed said as he gestured at Chris with his beer bottle.

“The truth is I can't stand him,” Chris said, directing his comment to me, “but he keeps coming around. Never been able to get rid of him.”

“So, what's going on with you, Jaz?” Ahmed asked me as if Chris hadn't spoken.

“Not much,” I said.

“He's got a girlfriend,” Chris offered as he leaned over to line up his next shot.

“Oh yeah?” Ahmed asked. “She hot?”

“She sure is,” Chris said before I could answer.

“I don't have a girlfriend,” I said firmly.

“Does she know that?” Ahmed asked, and laughed at his own joke.

“We don't sleep together,” I said, disclosing to him something I would never admit to my friends.

“That's good,” Chris said. “That means she's got some self-respect. That's a good thing,” Chris said with a meaningful look at Ahmed.

“I'm not interested in sleeping with her,” I said as I unconsciously rubbed the hair at the nape of my neck. This wasn't exactly the truth. The truth was I would have slept with Raine in a heartbeat if I didn't consider the prospect completely off the table.

“Yeah, okay,” Ahmed said in a tone of mock belief.

“No, I'm serious,” I said, unsure why I was saying any of this. “I don't sleep with anyone. I wouldn't sleep with a girl unless I was willing to have a kid with her. My dad was the one who said that to me,” I said, shifting my gaze to make eye contact with Chris. “He said, accidents happen. Don't sleep with a girl unless you want to have a kid with her.”

“Did he?” Ahmed asked idly as he kept his eyes focused on the pool table.

“Yeah. He did,” I said flatly. “And so I don't sleep with anyone, because I know what it feels like to be an accident. Someone else's mistake.”

“Kid, that's messed up,” Ahmed said, his voice earnest and quiet now. “Don't say shit like that.”

I drained the last of my beer and stood, the room filled with tense silence after my confession, but I didn't care. “I'm tired,” I said. “I'm heading out.”

“Ahmed,” Chris said, his back to us as he straightened the pool cues in the corner and took care to hang the rack on the wall. “You want to give him a ride home? He shouldn't be walking home by himself this late.”

“Sure. Yeah, sure. Come on,” Ahmed said to me and gestured for me to walk in front of him. “I'll catch you later, loser,” Ahmed said to Chris. I didn't say good night to Chris, was too tired to muster the energy, and he didn't say anything as we left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Raine showed up for the soccer game on Friday about twenty minutes after the game started. I was half expecting her not to show, had been watching for her so was distracted by her arrival. She looked fierce, with a pleated gray wool skirt and black boots, her outfit meant to mimic the classic schoolgirl's uniform, but she wore it with a white tank top and a cropped plaid jacket so you could see the slim line of her waist. The hemline of her skirt rippled at the curve of her thigh.

We won the game, which put me in a good mood even if the win was meaningless. We had no chance at making regionals based on our season record, but it was good to go out of the season on a win.

When I headed off the field, Raine was leaning on the low fence that surrounded the field, talking to Eli. They seemed friendly, like they knew each other pretty well. Eli had one hand resting on the fence and was standing close enough to her that I felt the familiar flash of white-hot jealousy knife through my chest.

For half a minute I thought about just walking off to the locker room, ignoring Raine as long as she was talking to Eli. They were joking about something now, Raine laughing at something he said. What the hell?

I had to swallow my jealousy, like a dose of nasty-tasting medicine, because it wasn't like I could say anything. For one thing, Raine wasn't even my girlfriend. We were just friends. Only a psycho would act jealous about a girl he'd never even kissed. For another thing, even if she was my girlfriend there was no way she would tolerate a guy who acted like an insecure, jealous prick.

When I was about ten feet from Raine and Eli, she turned to look at me, and maybe it was just my imagination, but her eyes seemed to brighten a little. Her face was already fixed in a smile but it reached her eyes as she watched my approach.

“Hey, Jason,” she said.

Eli turned to look at me and I expected to see something like guilt in his eyes but he was smiling too, his expression completely unguarded. “Nice game, Jaz,” he said. “Sorry it wasn't enough to keep us in the regionals.”

“No worries,” I said.

“I'm glad you won,” Raine said to me in that playful, flirtatious way she had when she was having fun at someone else's expense. “I would have been pissed if I drove all the way over here just to watch you guys lose.”

Eli laughed at her joke and slapped my shoulder as he turned to go and waved good-bye to Raine.

“I didn't think you would show,” I said once Eli was out of earshot.

“I thought you would get in a fight,” she said. “I guess we're both full of surprises.”

“How do you know Eli?” I asked, almost blurting out the question.

She shrugged. “I have a few classes with him.”

“Yeah?” I asked. “You into him or something?”
No! Stop talking. Immediately.

She tilted her head to one side as she considered my question and I felt like she could read every thought in my head. “Am I into Eli?” Her brow wrinkled. “Like, do I have a crush on him or something? Is that what you're asking?”

“Is there another way to interpret that question?”

“Are you—?” Her frown deepened and her eyebrows twisted in question. “Are you jealous or something?”

“Jealous of what?” I asked, feeling heat creep up my neck. I hoped that my face was already red enough from exertion to cover the blush of embarrassment.

“Forget it,” she said. “Please tell me you are planning to shower—with soap—before we go anywhere.”

“It'll only take me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need to wash the stink off.”

She turned as if to walk along the length of the fence toward the gate, but I tossed my bag on the other side and hopped the fence. As I bent down to retrieve my bag Chick came over to the fence to talk to us.

“Hey, Raine,” he said, his voice quiet and uncertain. He never had learned how to talk to a girl. Never had any practice.

“Hello, Chick,” she said warmly and my chest swelled with gratitude that she treated him like a human being.

“Are you guys going somewhere?” he asked.

Raine looked to me first and when I didn't answer said, “Jason and I are going to a gallery downtown. There's an exhibition opening tonight.”

“Cool,” Chick said. “Do you guys mind if I ride along?”

I could see that she didn't really want Chick to come along but didn't know how to say it without hurting his feelings. The truth was I had been looking forward to being alone with Raine all week. Ever since we had gone to have coffee, I had been thinking about her, thinking how easy it was to talk to her.

“We were just planning on the two of us going, Chick,” I said. I didn't want there to be any misunderstanding, because there was no way I was going to let Chick tag along. It's not as if I had planned on some great romantic evening. Raine had made it clear this was not a date. But I wanted her to myself, didn't feel like sharing Raine's attention.

“Oh,” Chick said, and his cheeks went pink as he looked at me, then Raine, then back to me. For a second I thought Raine might jump in and say that it was okay if Chick went with us. The pity in her eyes was obvious and it made me like her more, to know that she felt sorry for Chick.

Raine started to open her mouth, as if to relent and invite Chick along with us. But I didn't know when the next time I would get to see her or spend time with her would be, so I wasn't about to let Chick spoil everything.

“Sorry, man,” I said as I swung my backpack onto my shoulder. “Next time.”

Raine and I fell into step together as we walked back toward school. She waited out in the hallway while I took a quick shower. By the time I finished getting dressed, we were the last ones in the school besides Arturo. Chick was gone, but when I saw Raine waiting for me I forgot to wonder about him.

 

 

Raine drove to the north side of town, where the subway line stretched out from the city, and the streets were choked with parking meters and bus shelters and ethnic restaurants. She had her iPhone docked on the stereo, the music turned up kind of loud—so there was no mistaking it when suddenly Miley Cyrus's “The Climb” blared into the car.

Raine's hand shot out to hit advance on her playlist, but I got my hand there first and stopped her. “Own it, girl,” I said.

“I don't listen to Miley Cyrus,” she said as she tried to push my hand away so she could change the song.

“Yeah, I know,” I said as I slapped her hand away and then kept my hand over the iPhone so she couldn't touch it. “This isn't Miley Cyrus. This is Hannah Montana. I can't believe I'm hanging out with a closet Hannah Montana lover,” I said, raising my voice as if in alarm. She grabbed my wrist and tried to pull me away from the iPhone. I held her off with one hand and reached over with the other to turn the volume up as high as it would go. Then I opened the sunroof to let the music spill out of the car. She started laughing. “Sing along,” I said as I nodded my head in time with the music, as if I were really into it. “You know you want to.”

“I do not like Hannah Montana!” Now she was laughing too hard to say anything—almost crying, she was laughing so hard.

“Sing it!” I shouted as I rolled down my window, the music really loud now that it had reached a crescendo. People on the street and in the cars near us were staring as we passed.

Then she started to sing, just let go and belted the song out at the top of her lungs. I was singing along with her and people were really staring now. I held back on the a cappella parts, leaving her to solo, then joined her again for the final chorus.

It was a full minute after the song ended before she was able to stop laughing long enough to catch her breath. “I can't believe you know the words to that song,” she said. “Be honest. You're a closet Hannah Montana lover too.”

I just smiled out the window, my arm rested along the top of the door. “No,” I said with a chuckle. “I just have a little sister.”

We both went quiet in the same second, our faces falling out of mirth, all humor sucked out of the car like air sucked into the vacuum of space. My cheeks still ached as a reminder that we had just been laughing hysterically a moment before, though nothing was funny now.

“Had,” I said. “I
had
a little sister.”

She bit her lower lip—I was so jealous that she could bite her lower lip anytime she wanted, while I could only imagine it—as her forehead wrinkled and her eyes were desperate and sad. Her chin quivered, as if she might actually start to cry. Her hand was on the gearshift between us and I started to put my hand over hers, then stopped myself and instead punched her gently on the shoulder. Weird, but maybe less weird than putting my hand on hers.

“Stop thinking about it,” I said.

“I'm sorry, Jason,” she said, and she said it with such feeling that it warmed a small part of the cold hollow in my gut.

She parked on a residential street and we walked back toward the busy road. Even in her boots her chin only reached my shoulder and I thought about putting my arm around her—not because I wanted to put the moves on her or anything, but because somehow I craved the warmth of her body next to mine, like hugging a pillow when you go to sleep at night.