Speed Demon (15 page)

“I’m not going out with him. Now leave me alone.”

He looked altogether too pleased with that answer, making me regret my decision to be nice.

Just once it might be fun to watch him writhe in agony.

 

 

Showing up at school with a cast that prevented me from bending my arm (hello, half my wardrobe wouldn’t even fit over the stupid thing) and was ink black got me attention I wasn’t expecting.

People started talking to me again, and even if it was just out of morbid curiosity, I was prepared to take it. I didn’t even remind repeating for the tenth time that I had fallen in the construction zone of my garage. No way was I admitting I had actually slipped on a rotting satanic apple skin. Though chances were no one would believe that. It was hard to believe myself.

At lunch, I balanced my tray with my good hand when I got to my empty table in the corner and tried to pull the chair out with my foot. My backpack swung dangerously on my back and I had visions of it slamming forward, knocking me and my tray onto the table.

Suddenly there was another hand on the tray, steadying it and preventing total disaster. I glanced over and the “Thanks” froze in my throat. It was Isabella.

“Do I even want to know how you broke your arm?” she asked, removing the tray entirely from my grip and setting it down on the table.

“You know me,” I said, feeling a flicker of hope. “I slipped in a cloud of insulation flakes in my garage. Went down with zero grace. Years of dance training wasted on me . . . I can’t even walk without hurting myself.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It must kill.”

“It does. And the director of
Midsummer Night’s Dream
is not going to be thrilled with me. We’ll have to redo my costume.” Then because I didn’t want her to walk away, I said, “Iz, I’m totally sorry for what happened at the party. I didn’t mean to hurt you . . . that’s the last thing I would ever want. Levi just caught me off guard. I should have told him to go to hell but I didn’t, and I really am sorry.”

I really did need to learn how to tell Levi to go to hell. Or go back to hell. I was having issues with that, I had to admit.

Holding my breath, I waited for her to say something, anything.

She sighed. “It still sucks that you didn’t, but the thing is, I don’t think a guy and thirty seconds should come between us and five years of friendship.”

Yes. I let out my breath with a whoosh. “Me either. I miss you.”

She sat down at the table. “So you want to go out Friday night? I’ve been bored out of my mind without you to hang with.”

“I’m still grounded.” I sat down across from her and tried to open my juice bottle one-handed. “But you can come over and we can watch DVDs and stalk people on MySpace.”

“Cool.” Isabella ripped the juice bottle out of my hand and uncapped it. “Dude, you’re totally helpless, aren’t you? How long do you have to wear that thing?”

“Six freaking weeks.”

“That sucks.”

“Seriously. But I only have one more week to my grounding sentence. One more weekend at home and one more Daisy Girl Scout meeting, then I’m done.” In the nick of time too. If I had to look at my brother’s filthy laundry one more time, I was going to surgically remove my eyes. “What’s new with you?”

“Nothing.” Isabella shrugged. “Oh, look, here’s your new lunch buddies to join us.” Her tone of voice left no doubt as to her feelings about that.

I looked up and stifled a sigh myself. Levi and Amber were heading our way. Sometimes I wondered if Levi had been sent to prison solely for being the deadly triple combination of annoying, persistent, and clueless.

“Hey,” I said.

Levi plunked his food right on down next to me, forcing Amber to sit next to Isabella or risk looking like a total freak by sitting next to Levi and having us lined up all on one side of the table. Why did Amber put up with Levi? Honestly. I liked to think I wouldn’t be that eager for any guy’s company that I would be willing to be dragged around and forced to hang out with the chick my boyfriend had kissed while we were still dating.

Hello. Awkward.

Did everyone understand this except for Levi??

Apparently.

“Hey, K. After lunch, I’ll carry your backpack to your next class. It’s too heavy for you like that, and Amber and I have to pass your science class on our way to health.”

Have Levi and Amber deposit me at my next class? Like one big walking weird relationship? What were we, Mormon? “I’m fine.”

“No, I’ve got it.”

I had to spell it out for him. “Levi. Adam is in my next class. If you walk me there with Amber, I will never speak to you again for the rest of my life. I will wish painful things on you. I will tell my mother that your parents want you back and you’ll have to move out of our house. I will hack into your cell phone account and change your plan to pay per text.”

He raised an eyebrow and gave me a look of bewildered hurt. “Fine, geez. Chill out. Just trying to help. That’s all I’m ever trying to do.”

Amber snorted.

Interesting. Trouble in the paradise of our homecoming king and queen?

That was probably inevitable.

And I shouldn’t grin about it.

Really. I shouldn’t.

So I smirked instead.

 

 

When I sat down at my lab table in Anatomy and Physiology after lunch, I kicked my backpack under my chair and tried to figure out where to put my arm. It hurt if I set it on the table because it was too high, but if I left it in my lap, it was dangling. I needed a pillow, but I didn’t seem to have one handy.

Sitting next to Adam in class had been a blast and a half for the last two weeks since the party. It was forty minutes of torture every day trying not to look at him, touch him, or make any sort of eye contact.

But not only did he look at me today, he actually spoke to me. “What happened to your arm?”

Was that concern on his face?

Yeah, that’s what I was taking it as. Total concern.

“Oh, I slipped on the insulation stuff they’re using in our kitchen remodel and broke my arm.” I shrugged like it was no big deal and that I hadn’t cried or whined or felt heinously sorry for myself.

“That sucks. Does it hurt?”

I risked a look at him from under my eyelashes. Still looking concerned (yay). “A little,” I said, my voice suddenly breathless. I so wanted him to warm up to me again. Even if we were never together, I couldn’t stand not speaking. It was miserable and I really didn’t like the idea that he was going to hate me for eternity.

“Full cast, huh?” His finger touched the cast over my wrist. “Black. Figures.” And he gave me a smile, like we shared a private joke because he knew me and wasn’t at all surprised that I had picked a black cast.

“I know. Big shocker.” I smiled.

He smiled back, even bigger.

And we might have gotten further than that, like to the point where our eyes met, the world receded, imaginary singers appeared over our heads and sang about the brilliance of our attraction while dancers did the samba, and for one moment, that crystal clear moment when time stood still, we would know that this was It. That we were meant to be together.

Except all of that was stopped before it ever had a chance to even begin by our teacher’s slapping a stack of papers down on our lab table and saying, “You two failed your fetal pig dissection. See me after class.”

How romantic was that?

 

 

I was dancing across the kitchen, unperturbed by the fact that I’d had to take the bus home because as usual Levi had soccer practice and couldn’t drive me.

Isabella was talking to me.

Adam was talking to me.

Amber was miserable.

All was right in my world.

Okay, so I had no driver’s license still, but with a broken arm I couldn’t drive anyway, so why did it matter? Yes, I still had a demonic cat running around my house, but as soon as I figured out how to close the portal, I was sending his furry butt back.

I was almost ungrounded and I could probably get some new clothes out of the broken arm deal since half my clothes wouldn’t go on over the cast.

Adam and I had to redo our pig dissection after school on Thursday, but since my arm was out of commission, that meant Adam would have to wield the scalpel and I would have to record our findings. Cool by me because I did not want to slice dead pig flesh yet again. And think of the bonding potential for us. By the time we got to the lower intestines, maybe Adam and I would be back on as West Shore’s Most Unlikely Couple.

Mike glanced over at me, his arms full of a giant sheet of drywall that he was holding in place while his uncle nailed it to the wall. “You look happy today—your arm wasn’t broken?”

I held my cast up over the kitchen island so he could see it. “Majorly broken. Arm and wrist. I’m an overachiever. Thanks for all your help. I know I was a huge wimp.”

“Hey, it hurt, I’m sure. I’m sorry you slipped. I should have been more careful when I was showing you the equipment.”

“No, it was my fault.”

“It was both of your faults,” Mike’s dad commented.

Um, because we asked him?

“We’re going to be done here by the end of the week,” Mike said. “It goes fast once we get to drywall stage. Did you talk to your mom?”

Ooh. Moral dilemma. I could lie and say I did and she said no, I couldn’t go out with Mike. Or I could just tell him the truth, that I didn’t want to go out with him after all because my life was complicated enough.

Or I could go ask her for real and trust that she would stay true to maternal form and laugh in the face of my dating a nineteen-year-old.

“I’ll ask her right now,” I said, going with Option C. Mom would get me off the hook. Not the most mature way to handle it, but why make life difficult or hurt someone’s feelings if I didn’t have to?

I went to dig my cell phone out of my purse and called my mom, knowing that she was probably winding her day down and wouldn’t get annoyed that I was calling her at work.

She asked seventy-five questions about my arm and my day and then finally seemed to realize I might actually have a reason for calling. “Did you need something, sweetie?”

“Can I go out on a date Friday night with Mike, our construction worker?”

“The construction worker?” She sounded appalled, which was a good start. “How old is he?”

“Nineteen. You said he was a nice boy.” Throw her own words back at her. That was a way to absolutely guarantee she would say no. I moved farther into the family room, over by the TV Zoe had blaring with cartoons. For whatever reason I didn’t want Mike overhearing my conversation.

“He is a nice boy. For doing construction on my kitchen and being nice enough to drive my accident-prone daughter to the ER. That doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s way too old to date my accident-prone daughter.”

Accident-prone was a slight exaggeration. “I’m sixteen!” I said, because that seemed fun and dramatic to throw out at her. “And I’m a junior. I’m almost seventeen.” In five months, because again, it had a good whiny quality to the declaration.

“Which is still too young to date a man who has his own apartment.”

He had his own apartment? Was she serious? That was kind of cool. For a second I almost changed my mind, then I came to my senses. I did not want to date Mike. “Mom. Come on. He’s not really that old. He can’t even buy alcohol.” And why was I still arguing with her? Maybe because it was actually kind of fun when I had no emotional stake in the outcome.

“I’m not kidding, Kenzie. The answer is no. And would you really even be interested if you and Adam hadn’t broken up?”

“No. Because I would still be with Adam.” Wasn’t that like completely obvious? My enjoyment of the conversation disappeared. I wanted to still be with Adam and that wasn’t exactly looking likely, despite our finally breaking our lab partner silence.

“So don’t just go out with someone to be with someone.”

I sighed. “Fine. You already said no anyway. Spare me the ‘get to know yourself before you get into another relationship’ lecture.”

My mom actually laughed. “I don’t think I know that lecture. I’ll have to practice it first and get back to you.”

“Do us both a favor and don’t bother. Okay, I’m going to go and tell Mike that my dictatorial mother will not let me go out with a guy who is a whole whopping two years older than me.”

“Okay.” She didn’t sound the least bit concerned at being labeled a maternal Hitler. Given that she was a prosecutor, she was probably used to it. “Tell him it’s nothing personal and I’ll see you in an hour, sweetie.”

I went back to the kitchen. “Mike, my mom said no. She said you’re old enough to have your own apartment.”

Mike looked at me, bewildered. “Why does that matter?”

“I know, I had the same reaction. But it means no, I can’t go out with you.” Because my mom was picturing me, Mike, an empty apartment, and her suddenly finding herself a grandmother.

“Well, that sucks.”

Maybe. Maybe not. I wasn’t entirely sure.

But I did know that I was checking things off my “Get Kenzie’s Life in Order” list. Deal with Mike had been number four after:

• Make up with Isabella. Check.
  
• Get Adam to actually look at me. Check.
  
• Eat lunch with Amber. (Okay, this was sarcasm. I didn’t really want to do anything with Amber, ever.) But check anyway.
  

 

All four done. I could take a certain satisfaction in that.

Marshmallow Pants rubbed up against my leg while I dug one-handed through the pantry looking for a snack. I glared down at him, unnerved by the idea that Otis in human form was squished into that cat and had his cheek all over my calf. “Get off my leg.”

It was a reminder that next up after Mike on the list were the biggies:

• Close the portal.
  
• Send Otis (Marshmallow Pants) back to hell.
  
• Levi.