Love Blind (6 page)

This is an excellent trait to have in a friend.

“So what about bouncer guy?” She nudged my arm, and we started to walk toward class together.

“Chaz. Short for Charles.” I knew I grinned like an idiot, but I was fifteen, and he was legal to get beer.
Con
quest.

Tess shook her head and laughed. “If you could see, you'd know how gorgeous you are, and you wouldn't be all that surprised.”

What?
That was maybe the only compliment I'd ever gotten from Tess outside of our band.

“I know what I look like.” And I
was
surprised. And flattered. Hot bouncer and a sophomore in high school?

“So. We need to practice.” She smacked her gum a few times. If she was in different clothes, with long brown hair, she'd have looked like one of the Barbie twins.

“Right. So I'm grounded hard-core for two weeks, ‘at which point we'll reappraise'—so the moms say.”

Tess released a way overdramatic sigh.

I opened my mouth to tell her to spare me another lecture, but she cut me off.

“Well, could you quit the attitude with the moms for those two weeks and let Rox do braids in your hair so we can play again?”

“Maybe.” Perfect. Two moms and a sort-of best friend riding me. That's exactly what I needed. Though Rox sometimes let me off early if I was really, really cooperative. So the braids were probably a good idea.

The next two weeks would be filled with arranging pots on the shop's shelves, braided hair, and an occasional yoga class for quality time.

My girls better appreciate the sacrifices I made for the band.

◊ ◊ ◊

Walking home was always thinking time. Running over songs in my head. Songs from my band, songs I loved. I needed my ears as much as my eyes for the mile walk—too many street crossings—so the iPod wasn't an option until I got close to home. By then, I rarely bothered.

A rhythm that Tess had been playing with flowed through
my head as I hit my street, and I tapped my thumbs on my jeans while walking. Then I closed my eyes because I knew this street well. Twenty steps to the Tanners' house, then a bump in the sidewalk. The Masons had a big yard, so it was twenty-five steps to pass their house, and their driveway had a bit of an odd curve to it. All things that I'd thought were fun to practice in middle school, but had started to become a reality when my eyesight took another big leap down and my pressure-relieving surgery hadn't helped as much as the doctors thought it would.

I hated it when my brain spanned away from something I wanted to think about, so I focused on Tess's rhythm again.

When I heard bike tires behind me, I nearly jumped off the sidewalk. I don't mess with bikes because they blend into trees and basically anything upright, and bikers are generally assholes.

Rox stood waiting on the porch for me, arms crossed, leaning against one of the posts. Exactly like she said she'd be doing for at least the next two weeks. Special
torture
treatment after my weekend.

Frickin' brilliant.

The bike slowed just past me, and I smelled citrus. Then a flash of green caught my eye as he stopped in the driveway in front of Rox's pottery shop.

“Kyle! The shoes!” He was actually wearing them. After that morning, I'd sort of thought he might not, and honestly it would have really pissed me off. It wasn't the easiest job to go
in search of the perfect Kyle shoes—especially because I didn't know him all that well with the whole barely talking thing he had going on. And they'd pretty much wiped this month's allowance.

“Yeah. Uh.” He turned to face me.

“Now you need to scuff the shit out of them, okay? Otherwise you'll look like a total poseur.” Even I could see how bright the rubber was. Not good.

His eyes almost, almost met mine, but he stared down again.

“So, you like 'em?”

He started to scuff, a black mark from our driveway marring the pristine rubber. “They're the color of your glasses from that night.”

I grinned.
A whole sentence. Aces.
“Yeah. Funny. These seemed like good Kyle shoes. They're one of those limited-edition Converse colors.”

“Huh.” Silence. Painful, awkward silence.

“You've got some serious issues, Kyle. I'm cool with this. People with issues are good. I need to surround myself with people crazier than me. You're totally a safe bet.” I reached out and punched his arm.

He didn't react.

Unfortunately, Tess and Mira only
dressed
like they had issues—most of their act was bullshit, but they could both play, so I let it slide. Kyle seemed to be pretty seriously messed up.

We definitely had to be friends. Even quiet, he wasn't boring.

“Wait.” I looked up and down the street. “You don't normally go home this way, do you?”

His eyes widened a bit before he stared at the ground again, and his head shook once.

WORDS. I had to get the guy to use some
words
.

Rox cleared her throat. “No friends, Hailey.” And she even used her
authority
voice.

Hell.

“This is Acquaintance Kyle, but I think maybe almost Friend Kyle. You don't need to worry about him. He's, like, one of the good guys. I mean . . .” I narrowed my eyes at him and leaned in 'cause I knew it made him uncomfortable. “There could be an ax murderer in there somewhere, but he did leave the awesomeness of Portugal. The Man early when I couldn't find Tess.”

That comment, and the shoes, were about as much thank-you as he was going to get from me, so I figured a bit of flattery couldn't hurt. I also knew I made him uncomfortable. I wasn't blind enough not to see that. Probably I shouldn't have enjoyed making him squirm.

Rox sighed. “Thank you again, Kyle.”

“No problem.”

I let my gasp be heard. “Really? ‘No problem' to her and a series of head shakes for me? Wait. You came home this way to show me you had the shoes on.” It was good. Great. “That
was very awesome of you, Kyle.” I slugged him on the shoulder again. “You're, like, blossoming already.”

“I gotta get home.” He started to push off.

“Wait.” I jogged a few steps so he couldn't get too far away. “The list?”

“Uh.”

I touched his forearm and he shrank back. Serious issues. “The list. In or out?”

“I'm in,” he mumbled before he started pedaling as if he'd robbed a bank.

Though a bike was a pretty dumbass way to rob a bank. Still, it was a cool picture. Kyle, in his bright green shoes, money bags on his back, cops chasing him. And he was in. I was going to get to learn a lot more about Possible-Ax-Murderer Kyle. Cool.

“Hailey!” Rox snapped. “You got two calls today from someone named Chaz?”

Don't smile. Don't react. Holy. Shit.
Chaz called me. Me. Only a few days later. That had to be good in guy time, right?

“Tess's friend. Weird.” I shrugged and slipped past her into the house, wondering if there was any way to sneak my phone to call him back.

F
ight! Fight! Fight!”

I hated those words more than almost any others in high school. I particularly hated them when they had to do with me. Which, unfortunately, they often did. And it wasn't always as easy as shuffling away from someone tripping me in the hall. Silence doesn't necessarily mean escape from the eyes of guys looking to whale on someone. Especially when everyone's all wired and stir-crazy right before spring break. My face bruises had
just
healed.

By the third punch in the gut, I was down, curled into a ball and protecting my head and face from kicks.

The salty flavor of blood filled my mouth. I kept as still as possible, waiting for a teacher to come along. Waiting for the bell to ring so everyone would scatter, and I could pull myself up and go clean off in the bathroom.

Another kick landed on my thigh. My hands clutched my junk from the next hit. It hurt to breathe deeply. I counted for distraction, but the numbers became a tally of blows or the seconds I'd have to stay down until the guys gave up.

So instead, I thought of Hailey and tried to remember the colors of the glasses I'd seen on her. Tried to decide which pair was my favorite. The blue ones, maybe. Or the green ones that matched her bra. God, I liked that green bra, even if it was sort of sleazy.

After many millions of years of pondering Hailey's bras and glasses and then even what she might look like naked, the bell rang and it was finally, finally over. For now. Before I could get up, Dave, I think his name was, coughed up a loogie and spat it in my hair. It was almost worse than the beating, but still I didn't say anything.

People left. Raced to classes. Moved on. Show's over.

I pulled myself into a crouched seated position and ran my hand over my face. Aside from the split lip, it wasn't too bad. Not nearly as bad as freshman year.

One day, I thought, I might fight back. Maybe. Maybe it would be something to put on the list. The list I'd written over a week ago and hadn't done one thing about. The list for Hailey, who I was maybe friends with. Particularly after that time on my bike. In the shoes she bought me that I didn't want to take off. That matched her green glasses.

Instead of suffering through teacher explanations or the whispers that would follow me, I eased my bag onto my shoulder
and took off. Pavel would be outside playing soccer, like almost every afternoon. And as much as I never wanted to drag him into whatever shitty situation life handed me, his house was safe.

◊ ◊ ◊

“Kyle, my friend. Finally you come to see me. And in the day. No school?”

Pavel wore a knockoff tracksuit, messing around with his soccer ball, flipping it off his foot and behind his back. Girl voices screamed from inside his one-story house, followed by his mom's sharp reprimand.

“No school. Not for me.”

He nodded. “You bleed, eh? Fight?”

I shrugged. Pavel had seen me bloody before. Way more than this. When he still went to school with me. Before all the shit happened that made his parents pull him out.

He flipped the ball back up and headed it. “So we don't talk about the blood. Okay.”

I looked down at my ripped shirt. I'd need to change before going home. Mom was probably having a sleeping day after pulling so many night shifts. Definitely not a good day to come home with a busted lip and a ripped shirt.

“But your mom will be upset. I'll lend you a soccer shirt. Tell her you saved a goal, but the guy on the opposite team ran into you. Good?” he offered.

Mom might buy that. Or maybe she'd be too tired to try to find the lie. “Thanks.”

“Have you found a lady?”

Pavel always asked this, sometimes even before anything else. He was sort of obsessed with it in the way that only a guy trapped with his four younger sisters every day would be.

“No.”

He dropped the ball and plopped down next to it, signaling for me to have a seat. I moved next to him, careful of the bruises and lumps already forming on my body. His eyes widened when I flinched, but he shook his head and released a great sigh.

“I found
Cosmopolitan
at the library. It has many tips for being a good lover.”

I barked out a laugh.
Ouch.
Hurt to laugh. “Pavel. No one says ‘lover.' And I've never met a teenage guy who reads women's magazines for advice.”

Pavel shook his head. “Which is why they never have true love. They don't know how to talk to girls.
Cosmopolitan
has many good ideas.”

“Dude. I'm not reading
Cosmo
. I'm not interested in girls. I mean, I am. But you know. I can't.”

The weight of my words fell between us. Too many memories of Pavel held down in the freshman locker room and me fighting so hard to get to him. And the taunts about us not being able to get it up for girls. And all the blood. And his screaming. And me forced to watch. None of it mattered now. He'd still gotten pulled from school to study at home, less than a year after he'd gotten into the country. And here it was me
being the one who couldn't say shit if I had a mouthful.

“You have nice shoes.” Pavel pointed, always one to note some name-brand thing I was wearing, and I smiled at the memory of Hailey. I couldn't help it. The stupid awesome green shoes and Hailey's delighted face when she gave them to me. And my bike ride past her house. Something I should have put on my list but didn't think to.

“Yeah. They were a gift from a girl.”

Pavel's eyebrows lifted almost to the top of his head.

“Don't get excited. She owed me because she sort of ruined my other ones.”

“This was a good gift, though.”

I nodded.

“She's a friend?”

I nodded again. “Maybe. I don't see her much. She's younger. South campus still.”

Pavel flinched at “south campus” but shook it off a second later. “
Cosmopolitan
says that younger women like older men. You must learn the location of the G-spot.
Cosmopolitan
says it is essential for pleasing the ladies.”

I burst out laughing, holding my aching side and trying not to move too much. I needed to see Pavel more. He was a good guy. I envied his ability to let go of all his crap and just be.

“I'm a ways off from finding the G-spot.”

Pavel spun the ball on the tip of his finger.

“No. That's negative thinking. I told you, my mom is making us all listen to Zig Ziglar CDs from the library. We are only
positive now. The power of positive thinking. It's very different for us. Different but good.”

I was an asshole. I had nothing to cry about, considering what Pavel had been through. And I owed him more than a visit every few months. Part of why I didn't spend time with him was because I worried I reminded him of our freshman year too much. Just like I reminded Mom of my absent dad. And not to keep on with my own pity party, but it wasn't always easy being a magnet for shit.