Crash Into You (11 page)

Chapter 19
Isaiah

AS I WAIT IN THE
school parking lot, my fingers glide over the pony embossed on the steering wheel and my thoughts return to Rachel. Three hours—the time I spent with her. It wasn’t much, but there was something about her, a spark that made her...unforgettable.

I don’t understand why I still think about her. Three hours with someone isn’t enough to know them, but she didn’t fit into any cliché or box. It’s like she was a mystery I was in the middle of solving and then I was yanked from the case.

The damn sun hasn’t even risen, and school starts soon. Seven hours of torture lie ahead of me. I’d rather be in the garage working on the Chevelle some guy brought in last night. Hell, I’d rather work on a Ford Focus. I’d rather be with Rachel.

My eyes drift to her number, which rests in the drink holder. She writes exactly like I’d expect from a girl like her: feminine with loops and pink ink. I shake my head. Who the fuck keeps a pink pen nearby? Rachel. She did. She would, and I liked that about her.

A muscle in my jaw tics and my left hand grips the steering wheel. Everyone on the street is aware that Eric’s looking for her and those two loser college boys. No one but Abby knows that I left the race with Rachel, and the money I gave Abby bought her silence. As long as I stay clear of Rachel, she’ll never be found.

My car door groans as I open it, and I make a mental note to oil the son of a bitch when I get to work later.

“Isaiah!”

A nervous adrenaline rush flows into my veins when I hear Echo’s voice. Sliding out of the passenger side of Noah’s car, Echo calls to me again. I immediately walk in their direction. Screw school. Echo and Noah—they’re my family.

With her arms wrapped around her stomach and red curls blowing across her face, Echo places one foot in front of the other in a hesitant motion toward me. Noah stays next to his car. I glance at him, hoping for a clue as to what the hell is going on, but he gives me nothing as he leans against the fender. His gaze flickers to Echo and, for a second, concern flashes on his face.

“Echo,” I say as soon as she’s close. “What’s wrong?”

My mind races through the possibilities. She mentioned her baby brother showed some signs of allergies. Is he sick? Is it her fucked-up mom? Did she try to hurt Echo again?

Echo brushes her hair away and exposes bloodshot eyes. “I’ve been trying to reach you since last night. Why didn’t you go home?”

I look at Noah again. My staying out all night has never been an issue. Noah’s my best friend, not my babysitter. “I worked late then crashed at the garage.” All in a vain effort to drain Rachel from my mind.

Echo’s foot taps the blacktop as she runs her hands over her arms. “I tried your cell.”

“It’s dead.” Because I wanted to kill the temptation of calling Rachel.

Echo’s head falls back and she sucks in a deep breath. “I screwed up and I’m sorry. So sorry. But she can’t tell anyone. I made sure of it. I slipped during my session yesterday, and what’s said during a session is privileged. I threatened her—if she tells anyone I’ll turn her in.”

My stomach begins a downward spiral. I hate where this is heading. “Told who what?”

“I accidently told Mrs. Collins that you’re living with Noah. I’m so sorry, Isaiah.”

The slap of her words makes me take a step back. Fuck. Echo told her therapist, a guidance counselor at my school, that I don’t live with my assigned foster family. Every muscle I possess seizes with anger.

Her voice breaks and she wipes a hand over her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I swear to God I’ll turn her in if she says one word. I swear it.”

Another tear rolls down her face. Echo means what she says even though Mrs. Collins is the one person who can help her deal with her issues. I’m pissed. No doubt. But families have each other’s backs.

“It’ll work out,” I tell her, though I have no idea if that statement is true. Forgiving her doesn’t erase the fact that she may have ruined my life. “And if it doesn’t, then I’ll fix it.”

Because Echo is a touchy-feely girl, she hugs me. I hug her back while meeting Noah’s stare. He gets that his girl and I love each other in a brother-sister type of way. Noah nods his appreciation and I nod back. How the hell am I going to get out of this?

Chapter 20
Rachel

“YOU KNOW WHAT I NEED?”
I lean away from the hood of West’s SUV and wipe my greasy fingers on a rag, careful not to touch my clothing. West snuck me out here to the massive “children’s” garage after dinner, claiming a near-death emergency.

“A life?” West, my older brother by less than a year, slouches against my Mustang. With his baggy jeans and designer black T-shirt, he fits suburban ghetto wannabe to a T.

“Get off my baby.”

“It’s a car, Freak-a-sauraus. You realize most dudes aren’t as obsessed as you are.” Because he knows I’m serious, West moves away from her.

I drop the rag and slam his hood. “I didn’t come out here to be insulted. Go inside, crawl to Dad, and tell him you forgot to change your oil again and let’s see how this plays out.”

West pulls his baseball cap off his head and pounds it against his leg. “Shit. The oil. I forgot to change the oil. That’s why the light came on.”

I snatch my jacket and am reaching to open the door when West steps in my path. “I was playing. You know it. I tease, you take it. It’s the game we play.”

I slide to the right. “I’m done playing.”

He mirrors me. “No, you can’t leave. Dad will be pissed if he finds out I didn’t change the oil again. You’ve seen how he is with me. Come on, Rach. Have a heart. You know you’re my favorite sister.”

“I’m your only sister.” Well, the only one alive, that is.

“Gavin’s a little girly.”

I laugh. “No, he’s not.”

West releases a sly grin. I laughed, therefore he knows he’s winning. “Come on, have you seen the dude’s eyebrows? Unnatural for a guy. I’ll bet you ten dollars he has them waxed.”

Not quite willing to bend, I sigh and cross my arms over my chest.

West drops to one knee. “Please, Rach. Please. I’m begging here.”

“Fine.”

“Great.” He hops up, steals my coat from me and slips his hat on his head backward.

“On one condition,” I say.

“Name it.”

“Change the oil. Regularly. You don’t wait until a light flashes on your console and you don’t wait until you’re near bone-dry. It’s not that complicated. Every three thousand miles or every three months. They put a reminder sticker at the top of your windshield.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” And we’re both aware we’ll be having this same conversation again in a couple of months.

I open the cabinet and shuffle through some boxes to find the extra oil filters I bought for West’s SUV. “If I had a diagnostic code scanner I could tell you if there’s another reason why the maintenance light came on.”

West seats himself on the hood of my car and I throw a rag at him. “For the love of God, get off my car. Touch it again and I’ll crack the head of your engine.”

“Sorry.” Repentant, West heads to the other side of the garage Mom and Dad built to house my brothers’ and my cars. Our parents are the only ones allowed to use the garage actually connected to the house. “I thought you said I just need oil.”

“Yes, you need oil, but you could have seriously damaged other things because the car needed oil a long time ago.”

West slumps against the wall, and I throw him a bone. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

Hope creeps along his face. “You can fix it?”

“Yeah, I can fix it.” With new filter in hand, I repop the hood and begin the task of salvaging West’s SUV. “But the scanner would be nice for when it’s something more than a missed oil change.”

West’s cell phone chimes, and he pulls it out to read a text message. “You should have asked for it for your birthday or Christmas.”

“I did,” I mutter, but West is too caught up in whatever he’s texting to hear. I asked for the scanner along with a few “girly” things, hoping my parents wouldn’t notice and would just check the item off the list as they went on their shopping spree, but that didn’t happen. They bought me a new ebook reader and jewelry. No scanner.

The tick, tick, tick of West tapping on his cell continues to my right. “Heard Dad asked you to work with Mom and the Leukemia Foundation.”

Is anything in my life not a topic for discussion in this family? “Yep.”

“You know she’ll only accept the position if you agree to speak.”

“Yes,” I say more softly. I hate the guilt festering on my insides.

“And you also know,” he says in a way-too-happy voice, “if she takes on the position, she’ll have that I’m-planning-something manic high all the time.”

And I’ll constantly be on the verge of a panic attack and I’ll have to constantly hide it. With those types of attacks, I vomit. Vomiting is what once led me to the hospital.

When I say nothing, West continues, “She’ll be happy.” He pauses. “Just saying.”

I inhale deeply. Why does my mother’s happiness always depend on me?

“Have you given Dad an answer yet?”

“No, I haven’t.” I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t say yes, either. Like a coward, I escaped when Dad’s phone unexpectedly rang. Dad mentioned later that he was okay with giving me until Friday to think it over. It’s Wednesday night, so I have one more day before the answer is due. Both Gavin and Jack hunted me down to tell me their opinion on the subject, which is to get over my fear of public speaking and work with Mom.

“You should do it, Rach,” West says with his fingers still moving on his phone.

I lift my head and toss my hair to clear my ear. “What? What was that? Did I hear Dad calling for you?”

“Fine. Consider me backed off.” West shoves his cell into his jeans pocket. “Will my car be ready by Saturday? I have a date.”

When doesn’t West have a date? “With who?”

My brother picks up one of my ratchets and spins it so that it makes the winding noise. “Some girl I met in French.”

Surely he knows her name. I mean, he did ask her out, and I assume that was her he was just texting. I place the strap wrench on the filter and hesitate. “Do the girls you date ever mean something?”

“Mean something?” He stares into space for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess. Some I like more than others.”

My cheeks burn and I need to rub my eyes, but if I do I’ll smear grease on my face, and then Mom will know I’ve been out “tinkering with those cars again.” She tries to understand my fascination, but I always see the disappointment in her eyes. So I hide my passion from her and discuss whatever I had read in one of her fashion magazines. Mom loves fashion.

I ask so softly that if West doesn’t hear my question, I’ll know it means he wasn’t meant to answer, “Did you ever tell a girl that you’d call, and you never did?”

The winding sound of the ratchet stops, and the heaviness of the silence cause me to look up. Uncharacteristically solemn, he stares straight at me. “What’s this about?”

I refocus on the filter. “Nothing.”

“No.” West’s sneakers squeak against the concrete floor as he walks over to me. “This is something. You’ve been carrying your phone around like...like a normal teenage girl would, instead of leaving it in your room like you usually do. And you’ve been acting off since the charity ball. Did you meet some guy? Did he not call?”

I yank hard on the wrench, but the oil on the filter created a slick surface. “Make yourself useful and grab that oil pan. Oil’s going to drip when I get this loosened.”

With a huff, West does what I ask and hovers over the engine next to me. “Who is it, Rach? Who’s the asshole who didn’t call?”

“No one.” Just some really hot guy who I shared my first kiss with. I grit my teeth and put all of my strength into the wrench.

“Tell me who it is. His ass is mine.” The pure malice in his tone gives me chills. West has a flash-fire temper when pushed too far, and he can kick ass when the line is crossed. But I’ve never believed he’d hurt a guy in my honor...until now.

“Is it Brian?” The anger within him builds like a snowball. The pan trembles in his hand. “I saw him talking to you at the party. If it is, stay away from him. The guy’s a prick.”

I open my mouth to tell him what type of friends he has, since they were the ones who took me to the drag race and left me to fend for myself. But then I remember that he’d crucify me if he knew that I hung out with them, participated in a drag race, ran from the police and then kissed a guy while alone in his apartment.

West moves the pan to catch the leaking oil as I remove the old filter. “There’s no guy, okay? I’m curious. You date a lot of girls, and I was wondering if you call every single one of them.” I wipe off the filter mount and finish the rest of what I have to say. “And what it means if you don’t call.”

My brother stays unusually quiet while I finish replacing the old filter with the new one and add new oil. When I motion with my head that he can pull the pan away, West finally answers, “The ones I don’t like, I don’t call back.”

My lips turn down and an ache ripples through my chest. I toss the old filter into the garbage, snatch West’s keys from the tool bench and open the driver’s-side door so I can start the engine to check for leaks. I wish I were alone. “That’s all I needed to know.”

West begins to say something else, but I flip the keys in the ignition and apply the gas so that the loud revving noise of the engine will drown him out. West’s words confirmed what I already knew from the silence: Isaiah never liked me.

I reach into my pocket and power off my phone. Why continue to wait for a call that will never come?

Chapter 21
Isaiah

MRS. COLLINS WAITED UNTIL THURSDAY
to yank me from class. While not surprised by the summons, the delay did catch me off guard. I walk into the main office and freeze when I see the person sitting in Mrs. Collins’s office. My heart stalls.
The bitch called my fucking social worker.

In midsentence, Courtney notices me and immediately yells, “Don’t you dare bolt, Isaiah.” Her swinging blond hair gives her that pissed-off-racehorse effect again.

I give her credit. She knows what I’m thinking. I toss my books onto the row of chairs lining the wall and head for Mrs. Collins’s office. Odds are I won’t need that shit anymore. A screwup like this will mean a group home. Not that I’d let it get that far. I’ll run before anyone forces me to set foot into that hell.

Once inside, I lean against the wall next to the door. Mrs. Collins, a middle-aged version of Courtney, swivels back and forth in her oversize business chair. Tilting stacks of papers clutter the desk and look close to tipping. This lady has the organizational skills of a hoarder.

“Would you like to take a seat?” Mrs. Collins asks with a sweet smile.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. The only chair available is the one that would trap me in the room. I’m only interested in easy outs.

“Isaiah, you should sit...” Courtney starts, but Echo’s head-shrinker cuts her off.

“It’s okay. You’re free to stand.”

Damn straight I am. “What do you want?”

Courtney rocks on the edge of her seat, as if contemplating joining me against the wall. She hates it when I stand and she sits. “You haven’t returned any of my phone calls.”

“So?”

“So? My job is to keep tabs on you. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You found me.” I snap a ta-da movement with my hands. “I’m alive. Can I go?”

Courtney’s a tiny thing. She shifts in her seat so that her knees are angled in my direction. “Your mom still wants to talk.”

My arms fall to my sides and I push off the wall. “My mom can kiss my ass.”

Mrs. Collins’s chair squeaks when it rolls toward her desk. “Isaiah, Courtney is here because I requested her presence on a school matter. If you don’t want to discuss your mother, then you don’t have to.”

“But...” Courtney shoots a confused glance at Mrs. Collins, and even I catch the subtle shake of the shrink’s head.

Mrs. Collins overpronounces her next words in a sweet tone. “He doesn’t.”

And I won’t.

“I asked Mr. Holden to join us,” Mrs. Collins continues. “He should be here soon.”

Trying not to show that I’m insanely curious about why Mrs. Collins is involving my automotive instructor, I retake my position against the wall.

Mrs. Collins taps a pencil against her desk. “How was your winter break, Isaiah?”

Noah warned me about this woman. When he was blackmailed into counseling last year, he said she enjoyed torturing him with questions. “Good.”

“Great!” The pencil keeps knocking against the desk. “How’s Noah?”

“Good.”

“Fantastic. And have you seen him recently?”

And that’s when it hits me—Mrs. Collins hasn’t told a soul that I’m living with Noah. This entire meeting is a bluff. “Yes.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

Her eyes light up. “You saw Noah this early in the morning? Were you at his place?”

“No.” I was at our place. “I saw Echo, too.”

The pencil stops tapping. “How is Echo? Did she have anything interesting to say?”

I shrug. “Nothing really. Other than she doesn’t like a snitch.”

A shadow crosses her face, but damn if she doesn’t make a good recovery.

Courtney slicks back her ponytail. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

The gravelly sound of a pencil sharpener from the main office fills the silence as Mrs. Collins and I stare at each other. This is too much fun. “Because you are,” I answer.

Courtney shuffles her feet. She’s young, new and hates being the low man on the totem pole. Mrs. Collins rests her elbows on her desk. If she had big guns, she’d be whipping them out now. “How are your foster parents?”

“Good.” Haven’t heard that they died, so I assume that statement’s true.

“And Christmas with them was...”

“Fine.” I enjoyed not seeing their faces.

“And they got you a...”

“Puppy.” Now I’m just messing with her.

Her mouth twitches. Is it possible she also enjoys the game? “They got you a puppy?”

“Yep.”

“What type?”

“A mutt.”

“And you named it...?”

“Iwin.”

Mrs. Collins brushes her fingers over her mouth. “That’s a strange name for a puppy.”

“Yeah. But I like the words coming out of my mouth—I win.” Because I have.

Courtney clears her throat. “Your foster parents bought you a puppy?”

“Don’t worry about me screwing it up,” I say without looking at her. “It ran away.”

“Oh, Isaiah.” She places a hand over her heart. “I’m so sorry.”

Christ, I hate people that obsess over animals. The world that bleeds for a malnourished dog is more than happy to fuck over people like me. “Things leave. It’s the way of the world.”

Mr. Holden walks in, twirling his safety glasses in his hand. “Mrs. Collins,” he says as a hello. He nods at me. I nod back. Wearing his typical blue mechanic’s coveralls, my favorite instructor regards Courtney as if she were a hybrid in the presence of gas guzzlers.

“Mr. Holden,” says Mrs. Collins. “This is Isaiah’s social worker, Courtney Blevins.”

Courtney moves as if she’s going to extend her hand, but withdraws it when Mr. Holden gives her a curt nod. “I’m between classes, Mrs. Collins.”

She flips open a laptop and scrolls down the screen. “I appreciate you joining us, Mr. Holden. Give me a second while I access Isaiah’s file.”

Mr. Holden chuckles. “How’s going paperless?”

“Tedious, but I like password protection. Finally...Mr. Walker. Currently living with...”

“Shirley and Dale Easum.” I finish for her.

“Yes, that’s what it says.” She glances up from her computer. “Mr. Holden, were you able to work out what we discussed last night?”

“Never had a problem,” he answers. “Isaiah’s talent made it easy.”

My head whirls in his direction. He’s not a man to give praise lightly.

“I talked to the owner of Pro Performance.” Mr. Holden speaks directly to me now. “He’ll give you a shot at a full-time job when you graduate.”

Mr. Holden and I have talked over this possibility several times. Pro Performance deals with high-end cars and suped-up dragsters. It’s my dream job, but the business has one request that I can’t grant. “What about the internship?”

To earn the full-time job, I’d have to intern with them this semester. Being an intern means no cash, and I need money.

“You can work at Pro Performance on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons when you’d typically be taking my classes. You can keep your job at Tom’s shop in the evenings and complete the internship during the day. The guy at Pro Performance will give us a grade on the work you do there. Mrs. Collins is calling it an outside classroom experience.”

My mind goes blank. There’s no way this is happening to me. I can make money and I have a shot at my dream: working on cars that go fast—very fast. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No. The only other requirement is to become ASE certified by graduation, which should be a breeze for you.”

The ASE—the Automotive Service Excellence certification. I’ve been studying for that exam and earning hours in the garage toward the certification for over two years.

Mrs. Collins raises her hand in the air. “Actually, there’s another requirement. The business in question called me to verify Isaiah’s credits and grades. They mentioned something about needing three letters of recommendation.”

The back of my head hits the wall. I can come up with two letters. One from Mr. Holden. Another from my current place of employment. A third? Adults tend to avoid me. I never should have allowed hope.

Mr. Holden knows me better than most. “I’ll give you one. Tom will, too,” he says. “Can you think of one more?”

Mrs. Collins mutters, “Who is a responsible adult who knows what Isaiah is capable of?”

I hate that woman. I really do. How can Echo and Noah stomach her?

“I’ll do it.” Courtney has been so silent that I forgot about her. “One condition.”

“And that is?” I rub my neck to relieve the building pressure.

“You answer my phone calls and you meet with me when I ask.”

Mrs. Collins barely contains her excitement. This meeting was never a bluff. The head-shrinker held a full house the entire time.

With her hands in her lap, Courtney waits patiently for my answer. I hate being on a leash. All I want is freedom—to be out from underneath everything that holds me down. With Courtney, I won’t just be on a damn leash; she’ll keep me on a choke collar. But this opportunity is a once-in-a-lifetime shot. The money Pro Performance pays their mechanics is sweet. “Okay.”

Courtney flashes a smile that’s all teeth. “Excellent. Our first meeting will be next Thursday. Right after school.”

Feeling the grip of a leash choking my neck, I grab at the collar of my T-shirt. “Fine.”

Courtney stands. “Mrs. Collins, thank you for the invite. I need to run, though. Staff meeting.”

“We’ll talk again soon,” answers Mrs. Collins as Courtney goes out the door.

Mr. Holden leaves without acknowledging anyone. The sound of the second hand ticking is the only noise in the room. Mrs. Collins relaxes back in her chair and folds her hands over her lap. “Now that we’re alone, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“No.”

“Anything about your foster parents or Noah or where you’ve been staying the night?”

“No.”

Her eyes drift to the tricked-out compass tattooed on the inside of my right arm. “What does your tattoo mean?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” She needs to steer clear of what’s personal. “You think you’re slick setting me up so that Courtney can keep tabs on me, don’t you?”

A satisfied smile crosses her lips. “Occasionally I can be crafty. Regardless of how you see yourself, you’re still a minor. The system may not be perfect, but it exists to keep you safe.”

Spoken by a lady who wasn’t raised in the nonperfect system since she was six. The clock ticks. She breaks the silence. “It was interesting what you said earlier.”

My muscles tense. “What?”

“You said everything leaves.”

Not interested in being analyzed, I switch the topic. “Can I go?”

“I can help you,” she says in a soothing voice that probably puts insomniacs to sleep. “Echo trusts me and so does Noah.”

Echo and Noah needed help. Hell, they had problems that could be fixed. “I ain’t them.”

“No.” Her eyes bore into mine. “You’re not, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t help.”

I push off the wall. “Actually, that’s exactly what it means.” And I leave.

Irritated, I punch a streamer hanging from the ceiling. I’m late for sixth period. Mrs. Collins would have written me a note, but I’d rather risk detention than stay in the same room with her. I turn the corner and skid to a halt when I spot Abby on the floor next to my locker.

“About time you showed,” I say. She already skipped two days this week. Her head jerks up and her wide eyes freak me out. “What’s wrong?”

Abby quickly stands. “It’s Eric. He found Rachel.”