The Stern and Wild Ones (The Seeker Series) (6 page)

By about an hour into their practice I was bored and cold. That's the thing about Albuquerque weather--you never know what it's going to do. It's really unpredictable. It had been unseasonably warm for early November for the past few days, but this afternoon it appeared that a storm was beginning to blow in. The temperature had dropped at least 10 degrees since school let out. I was determined to do this, however, so I just kept alternating walking and running laps. I must have looked ridiculous.

At 3:30 the mystery of the missing football team was solved, as they came running out to the field in their practice gear. The cheerleaders moved off to the sidelines. There was some very disgusting catcalling as the guys began to warm up. Ick. It was all so stereotypical. I will admit to some pride in the fact that I received a few catcalls of my own, a fact that the cheerleaders did not seem to appreciate. I watched the football team warm up and I found myself a bit surprised by the way they looked. They were all so big and buff. I mean, I had been going to school with these guys for years and had never noticed all those muscles. It was like watching a bunch of bodybuilders work out. Oh well, I guess I've just never paid much attention. I don't go for super muscle-y type guys. I like a guy to have a nice, defined chest and abs, but nothing too overdone. I found myself daydreaming about what Jack might look like without a shirt on. Judging from what he looks like with one on, he is probably just the way I like a guy to look. He has amazing arms, and I bet his chest matches nicely. But I digress. As I watched them begin practice, I was disturbed by how violent a sport football seemed to be. I admit to knowing nothing about it, but I was still surprised by how much anger seemed to be involved. There was actually one near-fight that the coach had to break up. Jeez.

Their practice and my running continued for another entire hour, by the end of which I was thoroughly chilled and yet sweaty. Go figure. I was so glad I would not be seeing Jack in my current state. I mean, we don't have that kind of relationship, but here's hoping. I really don't know quite what to make of our relationship; are we just friends? It seems like maybe that's all he wants sometimes, but then I'll
catch him looking at me in a certain way and I'm not so sure. It would actually be fine with me (ok, more than fine) if he wanted more than just friendship--I mean, come on--he's totally hot! He's also really sweet and smart and I almost missed the cheerleaders packing up and retreating to the locker room.

I sauntered after them
casually, grateful to end my afternoon workout. Veronica was already stripping off her bandeau bra when I rounded the corner into our row. She gave me a dirty look and thrust her too-perky breasts a little higher. I tried to ignore her massive mammary glands as I made my way to my locker. "What the...?" I was gazing in shock at my open locker, backpack, gym bag and various articles of clothing spread on the floor. I looked closer and saw the ruins of my hot pink combo lock amongst the wreckage. "Shit," I whispered. I'm not usually much of a potty mouth, but my locker had been broken into! I think I'm entitled. "Shit, shit, shit...." I continued under my breath as I began to gather up my erstwhile belongings. "My wallet and my iPhone are gone!" I followed a trail of clothing into the showers and found my jeans, shirt, and jacket, wet and crumpled in a corner of the showers. Now that's just mean.

"Wow, that sucks," I turned quickly and found myself face-to-boob with Veronica's chest.

"Oh for God's sake, put a shirt on, "I mumbled as I pushed past her with my dripping garments in my hands. Great. What was I going to wear home? How was I going to
get
home? My bus pass was in my wallet. Shit.

I was standing in front of my locker, shoving the few possessions I had left in my backpack. "I don't even know what to do. Do I report it?" I asked Veronica.

"I don't know. I've never had that happen," she replied.

"Do you think any of the coaches are still around? Maybe I should find one," I wondered, half to myself.

"No!" Veronica surprised me by nearly yelling. At least she finally had her shirt on. It's unnerving talking to someone who's topless. You just can't not look. I'm not a perv or anything, but the eyes are just drawn to the boobs. "I think they've all gone home. Yeah, they all go home pretty early. I think you should just report it tomorrow at school. That's what you should do." She was nodding so hard I thought her head might bob off. Weird reaction, but I had other worries currently.

"Yeah, ok. Can I use your phone real quick? My bus pass got stolen so I need to call and see if I can get a ride home."

"Um, sure. Here," she shoved it in my hands. "I'd offer you a ride, but I'm getting a ride with my boyfriend and he only has two seats." I'd seen him tearing out of the parking lot in his Corvette. Some people just have way too much money.

"Thanks. That's ok. I'm sure I can get my mom or my grandmother." Only I wasn't able to reach either of them. I knew that Grams had late office hours tonight so she was probably with a client and I suddenly remembered that my mom had said she had a PTA meeting and that I was supposed to warm up leftover spaghetti for dinner. I tried to call Tara and even Travis, but no luck. I need more friends. What the hell good are cell phones if you can't get someone when you really need them? I handed the phone back to Veronica and decided I'd better get started walking the two miles home. I know it's not
that
far, but remember: I just finished running for, like, two hours, AND I was going to be wearing shorts and a t-shirt and a thin sports bra courtesy of some inconsiderate thief. AND it was getting really cold outside. Shit.

"Well, good luck," said Veronica. "It really sucks that your stuff got stolen." Yeah, you said that. "Well, bye, "she waggled her fingers as she left.

I finished gathering up my stuff and headed out, prepared for the long, chilly walk home. It wasn't too bad until I emerged from the neighborhood surrounding the school onto the extremely busy Wyoming Blvd., one of the major North-South thoroughfares in uptown Albuquerque. It was now around 5:00pm (I guess--my cellphone is missing, remember? Nobody wears watches anymore) and the heavy northbound traffic from Kirtland Air Force base was humming along. Dusk comes early in November, which added to the chill. I had managed to get myself fairly wet when I picked up my clothes from the shower, so I was especially chilly in the wind that was now whipping around the more open boulevard. I think I also looked like I had been competing in a wet t-shirt contest. Shit. I just want to make it known that the tears beginning to make their way down my cheeks were tears of anger. How DARE someone break into my locker and steal my stuff?? I felt so violated! I was so immersed in stewing in my own rage, that I was startled to hear my name. I turned, and life suddenly got a little bit better.

"Truth without love is brutality, and love without truth is hypocrisy."

-Warren W. Wiersbe

"Ally!" It was Jack, now jogging up to me. I could see his car, headlights still on, driver's door open, parked in front of the Acapulco Taco Stand. I turned and he could see the tears, the wet t-shirt (yikes), and probably the goose bumps. "What the hell? Why didn't you take the bus? Where are your clothes?" He was taking off his jacket as he spoke and wrapping me in it.

"My wallet and my iPhone and my bus pass got stolen and my clothes got thrown in the showers and I tried to call everyone I know on Veronica's phone but nobody answered so I had to walk home," I babbled through chattering teeth.

"Come on," he picked up my bag and guided me to his car. "I've got the heater on. We need to get you warmed up."

I sank gratefully into the warm passenger seat, pulling his wonderfully soft leather jacket around me. I could smell him on it, the delicious warm, spicy scent and, I'm sorry, but I've got to say it-
-
man.  
He rooted around in the trunk, coming back a minute later with a blanket.

"It's got some dog hair on it," he apologized as he tucked it around my legs. "But it will help you get warm.
” He shut my door and went back around to the driver's side to get in. "Now," he turned to face me, taking my hands between his and beginning to chafe them. "What happened? How did your stuff get stolen?"

So I told him, more coherently now that I was beginning to feel my hands and chee
ks again, how I had returned to the locker room after my run to find my locker broken into and my stuff gone.

"Do you still have the lock?" I nodded my assent. For some reason I had felt the need to pack it up with my other stuff. "Can I see it?" I bent down to the floor to fish it out of my bag and handed it to him. "Yeah, they popped your lock." I
shot him a questioning look. "Well, these are pretty easy to break into. All you need is a table knife or a screwdriver and you just stick the tip between the u of the lock and the locker handle and give it a good whack. It's actually pretty simple physics: levers, you know?" In response to my raised eyebrows he gave one of his little half-smiles, "My misspent youth, remember?" He reached down past me to put the broken lock back in my bag. "You should have called me. I would have come to pick you up." When he sat up his face was close to mine.

"I don't have your number," I said ruefully. We just stared at each other for a moment. He looked at my mouth and I really, truly thought (hoped) he was going to kiss me, but then he cleared his throat and sat back behind the steering wheel.

"Yeah, well, I will make sure you have it from now on. As soon as you get a new phone." He put the car into gear and began to pull out onto the street. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee to get you warm faster. There's a McDonald's right up the street on Candelaria. Not the best coffee, but we can do the drive-thru."

We sat in the McDonald's parking lot with the car still running and the heater blasting warm air into the confines of the Mustang. The coffee was too hot to drink, but I held it between my hands, enjoying the warmth. "The paint job looks great, Jack." I had noticed the beautiful, shiny red paint as I got in.

"Thanks," he smiled and sipped his coffee carefully. "I finished it yesterday. Pretty much took up my whole weekend. Hey, was this afternoon a complete disaster or did you get a chance to talk to Veronica?"

"Jack, I'm still amazed that you actually believe any part of this crazy story," I said.

"Of course I believe it," he paused in the act of taking a sip of the too-hot coffee. "It's you, Ally," like that explained everything. When I shook my head in disbelief, he reached over and put his hand against my cheek, turning my head to face him. "Don't do that," he said rather sternly. "Don't ever sell yourself short." In a movie this statement would be followed by a passionate kiss. In my life it was followed by him removing his hand and going back to trying to drink the fiery coffee. Maybe the sweaty stench starting to be noticeable now that I was warming up was holding him back. Shit. I really need to stop cussing.

"Well, it wasn't a deeply heart-felt conversation, but she did let me use her cell phone to try to call for a ride." I must have looked confused or something following my statement.

"What?" He was searching my eyes. "What did you just think of?"

I told him how Veronica had sort of freaked out when I suggested trying to find someone to report the theft to. "It was just kind of weird, that's all. So, no great conversation, no deep, dark secrets revealed, but I did talk to her. At great personal cost to myself, no less," I ended ruefully.

"Yeah, that does, indeed, suck," he commiserated.

"So," I began hesitantly, "you seemed to know a lot about breaking a lock. Did you ever do anything like that?" I couldn't even look at him. He was always so closed-mouth about his past, but I was growing increasingly curious.

He gave a big sigh. "Yeah. I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was younger. Stuff I'm not proud of, stuff I'm still paying for now."

"Would you be willing to tell me about it?" I dared. "I mean, you don't have to, but I thought, you know, since we're friends and all..."

"Yeah, sure," he said dejectedly, running his hands through his hair. I hated to do this to him, but I really felt it was an important step in our friendship. "What do you want to know?"

"I guess...what happened to you? I mean, you seem so nice now, and so mature. I just can't picture you as a hell-raising juvenile delinquent," I tried to lighten the mood.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle in appreciation. "Well, I was a good kid all the way through elementary school and most of junior high. The trouble started when I was in 8th grade. My mom was hit and killed by a drunk driver on her way back to Taos from a business meeting in Santa Fe. She was an attorney."

"Oh, God, Jack," I was horrified. "I'm so sorry. You don't have to tell me."

"No, it's ok. It's probably a good idea to tell you. You can decide if you want to even mess with me. I may not be worth the trouble." He smiled as he said it, but I could see through the veneer.

"Hey!" I turned in my seat to face him. Now I was the one putting my hand against his cheek. "Don't
ever
say that. You are definitely worth the trouble." He took my hand in his and held it loosely while he told me the rest of his story. How his father had spiraled downward after his mother's death into severe depression and alcoholism, leaving Jack and 2-year-old Megan to fend for themselves. How he started getting into trouble at school, although he had previously been a good student.  As a freshman his behavior had gotten worse: suddenly he was involved in a gang, painting graffiti, breaking and entering, fighting, ditching school, and both using and selling drugs. "I was on a really destructive path," he finished.

"What happened? How did you get out of that lifestyle and here to Albuquerque?"

"I got arrested. My dad didn't even come to bail me out." He rubbed his hand over his face. "I had to spend 3 nights in the county lock-up. You do a lot of thinking in jail. I thought about how disappointed my mother would be and I thought about how I wasn't there for Megan. They were really close to taking me and Megan away from my dad and putting us into foster care."

"But they didn't? What happened?"

"My auntie and uncle drove up there to Taos and bailed me out."  He laughed, once. "My uncle looked me straight in the eye and told me to get my head out of my ever-lovin' ass and shape up. What kind of an example was I setting for my little sister?"

"So, that's your Kryptonite, huh? Megan?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, my aunt and uncle saw what was going on with my dad and packed Megan and me up and brought us back to Albuquerque. Manny told me that I had one chance. He gave me a job at his body shop and told me that I had to go back to high school and graduate. He and my aunt just took us in, fed us and clothed us, gave us each our own bedroom. Their kids, my cousins, are mostly grown and gone. I wanted to just drop out and get my GED because I was so far behind in my credits, but they said that was a deal-breaker. I needed to set a good example for Megan. I had to serve 10 months in juvenile detention before I got to live with them, but at least Megan had a good home. I just got out this summer." He stared out the front windshield. “Man, I owe them so much.”

"Hey," I squeezed his hand. "I think you owe yourself some credit, too. You have really turned things around. That can't be easy."

He wrapped his hand around mine. It was a wonderful feeling; his hand was so warm and rough from his job at the body shop. "Thanks, Ally. You're a really good person. Does my story scare you away? Still want to be friends?" He looked at me hesitantly.

I squeezed his hand. "Of course I want to be friends. You have a great ride," I made a last attempt to lighten the heavy mood and change the subject.

He chuckled appreciatively. "Ok, let's get you home so you can get changed. Then, if you want, I can take you to pick up a new cell phone."

"I would love that, thanks. Isn't it amazing how dependent we are on a piece of
technology? How did our parents’ generation get by without them?"

"Payphones, I think," he said as he backed out of our parking spot. "My Aunt Trina talks about always having to have a quarter in her pocket when she was younger. Can you imagine?"

"Do they even have payphones in real life anymore? Hey, there's something I've been wondering about. Why don't you ride a motorcycle?"

"What do you mean? I have a car," he replied, stating the obvious.

"I
know
you have a car, but it would totally fit your badass image, you know, with a tattoo and a leather jacket, and that dangerous look you have."

"Badass image?" He laughed. "
You're crazy. Nobody thinks I'm a badass. Nobody thinks about me, period. Why would they? Most people are too busy thinking about themselves, at least in high school." He paused and looked over at me. "So, you noticed my tattoo, huh?"

"Well, at least
some
people aren't too busy just thinking about themselves," I tried for a superior tone, trying to cover my embarrassment at having been caught out on the tattoo comment.

He spared me a glance with more than a little smirk in it. "Do you like tattoos? Do you have any?"

"I like them on some people. And, no, I don't have any. I'm only 16 and my mom would
never
even consider giving me permission to get one, unlike Veronica's mother."

"You're only 16?" I'm pretty sure I heard him swear under his breath. "So, when do you turn 17?"

"Next month. I'm one of the unlucky few that has a Christmas birthday. Why? Does it matter? Do you have a rule against hanging out with 16 year-olds?"

"No, I don't have a rule against it. I just thought you were older. You seem older." He drove in silence for a few minutes. "I'm 18, Ally, almost 19. And I'm on probation. Listen, I know we're not dating, or anything, but it still doesn't look too good. I just have to be careful. The next time
I’ll be tried as an adult."

"Oh,
” I said in a small voice. "I don't want to get you into trouble or anything."

"I know," he sighed and reached over to take my hand. "It's ok. None of this is your fault. I just need to be extra-careful because my next probation hearing is coming up in a couple weeks. I'm really hoping this will be my last one and I'll be done."

I gripped his hand tighter. "God, Jack, that would be great. What can I do to help? Can I talk to anyone, tell them how great you are or anything?"

He gave me one of his wonderful half-smiles. "How about you just don't do anything that would make you seem like you're having your morals corrupted. Like don't go getting a tramp stamp like Veronica."

Why was he noticing that tramp's tramp stamp? "Gross. I would never do anything that trashy." I took my hand out of his and pointedly looked out the side window.

"So, you think I'm great, huh?" he teased.

I continued to look out the window and crossed my arms in front of my chest. "Yeah, well that was before I knew you were scoping out Veronica's ass."

"Hey," he defended
. "I can't help noticing when she sits down and her jeans ride down and those stringy underwear are showing along with her tramp stamp. What do you call those things?"

I chuckled in spite of myself. "You mean thongs?"

"Yeah, thongs. You never have those showing above your jeans."

I turned and punched him on the arm. "I would never wear a thong. And you shouldn't be looking at my ass, either." Of course, I was lying and
was secretly flattered. And I might just have a secret thong or two hidden in my underwear drawer, courtesy of a shopping trip with Tara. But Jack certainly didn't need to know that.

"Oww! Jeez. Besides, what you ask is physically impossible. But I will never look at Veronica's ass again. Pinky swear," he said as he held out his pinky to me.

I really couldn't tell if he was being serious or just teasing me some more, but I wrapped my pinky around his. He didn't let my hand go as we continued to drive to my house.