The Lovely Reckless (15 page)

CHAPTER 17

PROXY

Lex pulls into Lot B on Monday morning, and I look for Marco's Mustang. I spot the sloped back end right away. But today he isn't standing next to his car with the hood popped.

The lightness I felt on the ride over instantly vanishes, replaced by the familiar weight that I'm tired of carrying. After a weekend of thinking about Marco—or trying not to—I wanted to see him. I'm still angry about what happened between us at the party, and I didn't plan to talk to him. But I won't lie. The way he kissed me … it felt like more than a hookup.

I don't see Cruz, either, or her yellow Nissan.

English will suck more than usual.

Lex picks through the receipts and gum wrappers on her console. “Do you see a folded piece of loose leaf paper anywhere? It's my calculus homework.”

“Hold on.” I push around the empty soda cans on the floor with my foot. “If you cleaned out this car once in a while, you wouldn't lose things every five minutes.”

“Thanks for the tip, Mom.” She leans between our seats and digs through a mountain of clothes.

Across the street, students pile out of a yellow school bus parked in front of the admin building. As it pulls away, I catch a glimpse of Cruz on the sidewalk, her long ponytail swinging behind her. She's walking next to Marco, cradling her arm.

Is she wearing a cast?

They enter the building through the side door near the stairs to the basement.

“It's not up here, Lex.” I grab my backpack and get out. “I'm going inside. I need to get something out of my locker before English.”

“Okay.” She gives me a strange look. Last year I would've waited for her.

“See you later.” I close the car door and rush across the street. I didn't talk to her about Abel. I'll bring it up later.

When I get inside, I jog down the steps to Shop. The metal door is cracked open, like someone forgot to pull it shut.

“Why didn't you call me?” Marco's voice drifts into the hallway.

“Because you would've done something stupid.” Cruz sniffles.

I peek through the crack. They're standing in front of the Camaro with Chief.

“She's right,” Chief takes his cap off and scratches his head. “And the cops are who you should be calling.”

Cruz doesn't seem like the kind of girl who cries easily, and if Chief wants the police involved, then whatever happened must be serious.

“No
cops
.” She spits out the word like it is cigarette ash in her mouth. She turns her back on Chief, offering me a clear view of the white first-aid sling supporting her arm.

I burst into the room, not caring if I'm intruding. “What happened?”

Cruz swipes at her eyes with the back of her uninjured hand. “My dad went after my little sister Teresa and”—she raises her arm in the sling—“I got in the way.”

“He hit you?” I've seen plenty of movies with abusive fathers—drunks stumbling around in dingy white tank tops, the ones the kids at the rec center call wifebeaters. But none of my friends' fathers had ever laid a hand on them.

“More like he grabbed it and twisted.” She closes her eyes. “It's not the first time.”

“It's the
last
time, or he'll end up in the ground.” Marco shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stares at the floor like he's trying to drill a hole in it.

The last time I saw him we were kissing … and yelling. My lips tingle just thinking about it. Why is that kiss so hard to forget?

Marco looks up. I try to turn away and avoid an awkward moment, but I'm not quick enough. His eyes soften, and I feel the kiss all over again.

I turn my attention back to Cruz, where it belongs. “What are you going to do about your dad?”

She bites her nails. “I've got bigger problems right now.”

Bigger than her dad practically breaking her arm?

“Maybe Chief is right about calling the police,” I say gently.

“Whose story do you think my mom will back up? His or mine?” Cruz swallows hard. “I'll get thrown out of the house.”

Chief drops down into the passenger seat of the doorless Camaro, stone-faced. “Or the police believe you and lock him up.”

Cruz shakes her head. “Until Child Services gets the police report, declares my mom an unfit parent, and sends my sisters to foster care.”

Marco slides his cell out of his back pocket and reads a text. His expression darkens. “Shit.”

“What's wrong?” Cruz asks.

“Deacon knows.” Marco bolts for the door.

“I'm coming with you,” she says.

He stops. “No, you're not. If Deacon sees you in that sling, he'll kill your dad. Stay here.”

Her bottom lip trembles as Marco tears up the stairs. I walk over and loop my arm through her uninjured one, the way Lex does whenever I'm upset.

Cruz looks over at Chief. “If Deacon finds my dad before Marco gets to him…”

“He won't really kill your father, will he?” I ask.

“I don't think so, but with Deacon … you never know. He's unpredictable. It's the reason we broke up. That and his temper.”

“Did he hurt you?” After hearing what Cruz's father did to her, I'm afraid to hear the answer.

“Cruz is probably the only person he'd never hurt.” Chief takes his cap off again, then puts it back on a second later. “I failed with Deacon. Got to him too late. A kid can only take so many beatings until the good gets beaten out of him, too. It's a damn shame. The only person I've seen in years who drove a car better than Deacon or Marco is you.”

The color drains from Cruz's face, and she covers her mouth. “I'm supposed to race on Thursday, and I'm right-handed.” She can't shift.

Chief climbs out of the Camaro and points an angry finger at her. “You shouldn't be racing at all, unless it's on a track. You and Marco are going to get yourselves killed. What will happen to your sisters then?”

Her hand shakes. “I don't have a choice. Someone has to pay the rent, buy food—”

“I've heard this song before.” Chief dismisses her argument with a wave. “When Deacon got expelled. When Marco dropped out of all his AP classes. When you and Marco started racing. I'm ready to hear a new one.”

Marco was in AP classes? Why would he drop out?

The bell rings.

“Get to class.” Chief takes a seat in his chair. “Unless you're ditching, too.”

Cruz's shoulders sag as she heads for the stairs.

I wait until we reach the top before I steer her toward the stairwell. “Can you postpone the race until your arm heals?”

Trying to talk her out of racing is a waste of time. She can't snap her fingers and change her situation just because I ask.

Right after Noah died, mom begged me to pull myself together—to hang out with my friends at Woodley and pick up where I left off like Noah's death had never happened.

Can't we move on?
she asked me a hundred times.

Can't you forget?
That's what she really meant.

I can't rewrite history any more than Cruz can find a job that pays a seventeen-year-old enough to cover rent—or trade a father who hurts her for one who takes care of her.

“It doesn't work that way.” She wipes underneath her eyes with the hem of her shirt, and the mascara smudges disappear. “The race is Thursday night. If my car isn't in it, it's an automatic loss.” She inhales. “I won't be able to make rent, and I'll owe money I don't have.”

“How much?” I still have two hundred dollars.

“Twelve hundred.”

I could swallow my pride and ask Mom for the money. But Cruz probably wouldn't take it, and the offer might offend her. I have another idea. “You said your car has to be in the race. Does that mean someone else can drive it?”

“Yeah, but—”

“What about Marco?”

“Nobody would ever be stupid enough to agree to let Marco drive proxy. He's too good.”

Think.

“What about someone nobody knows? Someone who has never raced before?”

She shrugs. “I guess. But if the person doesn't know anything about racing, they'd have no chance of winning.”

“I will if you teach me.”

Cruz stares at me like I'm crazy. “You would do that?”

I can't tell if she's asking because she likes the idea or hates it. “If you think I have a chance at winning.”

“We'd have to start practicing tonight.” She rubs her arm through the sling and winces.

“Are you okay?” I hate seeing her in pain, and I hate her father for doing this to her.

She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath before opening them again. “I'm good. What time are you free?”

“I finish working at the rec center at seven.” I'm really doing this.

“I'll meet you in the parking lot. My other sister Ava is a sophomore. She can drive us in my car.”

There's no way I can get out of riding with Lex, not without an airtight story. “Actually, that won't work. Can you meet me near my dad's apartment in Westridge instead?”

“You name the place. Just text me the address. I'm not showing up to class with mascara all over my face and my arm in a sling. Put your number in here for me.” She hands me her cell.

I add my number and return the phone. “I'll see you tonight.”

“This is more than a favor, Frankie. If you do this, I'll owe you.” She's serious. I hear it in her voice.

“You don't owe me anything. That's not why I'm doing it.” I want to help Cruz. I think of her as a friend, and she wasn't racing for fun.

She shakes her head and smiles to herself. “It makes sense.”

“What does?” I ask.

“Why Marco is crazy about you.” She takes off down the hall, leaving me speechless.

Did Marco actually say that to her? Or anything remotely close to it?

I climb the stairs to the second floor and walk to the end of the hallway, where a window overlooks the quad. The side door opens and Cruz slips out, leaving the same way she came in. Time to face Mrs. Hellstrom alone.

I'm about to head to English when I notice someone else crossing the quad toward the parking lot.

Where the hell is he going?

If Abel wants to sneak around, he needs to stop wearing a dead rock star's leather jacket.

*   *   *

Lex drives faster than usual on the way to the rec center.

Does she know Abel left school before first period? Did they have another fight?

Lex weaves between lanes, and I feel seasick.

“I need to talk to you about Abel. I saw him ditching this morning before first period.”

She pulls at the ends of her hair. “Why do you care? You have new friends now.”

Her comment hits a nerve. “I'm going to ignore that.”

“What about Abel?” I try again. “Do you know why he left?”

She pulls into the rec center parking lot. “No. And I don't care.” The pain in her voice says otherwise.

“Yes, you do.”

“But I wish I didn't,” she says softly.

*   *   *

Cruz chose a parking garage for our first lesson, which seemed like a strange place to practice street racing. But she insisted it was perfect. Her cousin worked the evening shift, so he could play lookout.

When we arrive at the garage later that night, Cruz's cousin raises the electric arm and waves us through. Ava grinds the gears, and Cruz cringes. “Easy. You're going to wear out the transmission.”

Ava glares at her. “Guess you should've given me driving lessons when I asked last year.”

“Just stop on the second level and let Frankie take over before you give me a heart attack.”

Ava hops out on level 2 and sits on the trunk of a stranger's Lincoln Town Car with her legs crossed. “I'll watch from here. I value my life.”

Not encouraging. “So what's the plan? How do you race in a parking garage?”

Cruz laughs. “You don't. I'm teaching you how to get off the line when the flagger gives the signal. If you can't do that, there's no race.” She points at the ramp. “Stop halfway up.”

“I'll never get the car out of first gear fast enough without stalling or rolling backward.”

“Are you saying you can't drive stick?” she asks.

“It's been a while. Am I racing uphill?”

“Getting off the line fast is all about the bite point. If you can't tell when the clutch engages, you'll stall on the line and the rest won't matter.” She points at the ramp. “Let's do this.”

I drive halfway up and stop.

Cruz runs her hand along the dash and takes a deep breath. “Try to go easy on her. Technically, she isn't mine. If we screw anything up, I have to fix it or cough up the money to pay someone else to do it. And if we total the car, I have to replace it. A Nissan GT-R in this condition isn't easy to find.”

Great. No pressure.

“Who owns the car?”

“A guy named Kong. He owns King Kong Bodyworks. He lends us his cars, and he gets a cut of whatever we win racing. It's like a lease.”

“Does he own Marco's car, too?”

“Yep. Mine, Marco's, Deacon's, and a few others. It works out for everyone. We're the only people on V Street with top-of-the-line cars who aren't dealers. Everyone else buys a piece of shit and puts their money under the hood.” Cruz's expression turns serious. “This stays between us, right? Kong is a good guy, but the cops won't see it that way.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Are you ready to do this?”

“I think so.” I have no idea.

I press the clutch to the floor and shift into first gear. I let up on the clutch and give the Nissan some gas, trying to synchronize the two movements. The engine revs along with my pulse, and the car starts rolling backward.