Break The Ice (6 page)

I’ve spent too long looking at myself in the mirror. I adjust my gaze back to the road. While I wasn’t paying attention, I somehow coasted halfway across the yellow lines. I turn a little to get back into the right lane and straighten out until I spot a manhole cover ahead. It looks a few inches too deep. Jerking the wheel again, I swerve around the hole without hitting a single bump.

Not five seconds pass before lights flash on behind me, and I regret trying to keep Mel’s shocks intact. I have no idea what to do. No cop has pulled me over before, especially not on a highway. I keep driving until the shoulder opens a little and steer off the road.

The trooper pulls up behind me. He steps out, holding a small pad of paper and a pen. Ten steps from his car to mine. Not even mine. Shit, where does Mel keep the registration?

I open the side console and wrappers fly out. Not good. I wipe my hands on the seat, trying to dry the sweat before the trooper sees. How’s he going to tell my hands are sweaty? I’m not thinking straight. Calm down.

He raps the window with his knuckle.

I already screwed up. Rolling the window down, I stammer, “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

“License and registration,” he says.

Grabbing my wallet, I slide out my license. The picture is awful. I woke up late for the test and…focus, Sam. “Uhh, funny story, officer. This isn’t my car so I’m not sure where the registration is.”

He leans down and glares at me over the rim of his aviators. “You telling me you stole this vehicle, son?”

“What? No. No! My friend let me borrow it so I can drive to Lake Shore.”

“Well if you didn’t steal it, find the registration before I have to–”

A car flies down the highway next to us and pushes the trooper into the Dodge. His belt slams the door. That’s going to leave a dent. My hands sweat some more.

“Keep it under sixty-five, kid,” he says and runs back to his car.

The car that saved me is too far away to see who drove it, but I’m almost certain I saw two blue arms sticking out the passenger side windows. They drive over a hill in the distance, and I lose sight. The trooper peels out behind me and throws on his siren. He’s going to be in for a shock if he catches up to a couple of Dinmani.

I wait a few minutes before driving again, heart still hammering. I don’t want to drive yet. Not without a break to calm my nerves. I pull out my phone. No new messages yet. How much longer do I need to be on the road?
Arrival time: 8:35a.m.
I double check the time on the phone and the car. It’s no mistake. In my haste this morning, I left the hospital way too early.

I’m going to get there before Kaitlyn, no way around that. If it’s a nice town, I might shake off some nerves and walk around the stores. Or I’ll kill some time sitting alone at Orange Cone. It doesn’t matter. Either way, I’ll be counting down the minutes to noon.

I pull into a spot at Orange Cone and spot the
Sorry, We’re Closed
sign hanging in the window. They don’t even open until eleven. Only two hours and twenty minutes to go. Then another hour, assuming Kaitlyn shows up on time. Or at all.

After triple checking to make sure Mel’s car locked, I walk away from the Orange Cone and towards the other shops. Lake Shore is nicer than home. The buildings, the air quality, the people smiling at each other as they walk by.

Many of the shops open before nine. I should go into at least one of them. I won’t, but the thought keeps me walking. I’ll eventually hit the end of the row, turn around, and repeat. It’s boring and a little pathetic, but it’s my life, and I’m fine with that.

I pass a few clothing stores and a flower boutique. Maybe I can buy Kaitlyn some flowers. I shake my head, pushing it away. That’d be a little much for the first time ever meeting someone in person. A line of people talk outside a small shoe repair shop. For how many people are outside, twice as many crowd the inside.

Two doors down, I stop. Keep walking, you don’t have the money to buy anything. But I can never pass up the chance to browse a video game store. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to be late.

A guy walks up to the door on the inside. His hair falls over his ears, and he brushes it back before reaching for the lock. He opens the door and the smell of plastic and air freshener waft out. “Hey man,” he says. “We don’t open for ten more minutes.”

I don’t understand why he came out to tell me that, so I hesitate before responding. “I wasn’t trying to get in.”

He looks at me funny. “You sure? You’ve been staring in the window for a few minutes already.”

Was I here for that long? “I, uh, I’m just bored. Wasting some time, that’s all.”

“Odd way to waste time.” He stands in front of me, door ajar, and says nothing else.

I read the logo on his shirt. It’s black with a red square in the middle. Inside the square, blocky letters say
The Konami Code
. I hold back a grin. “That the story of two guys searching for the holy grail of video games?”

He looks at his shirt and laughs. “Something like that. Man it’s hot out here. Come inside, just don’t tell my boss.”

I step into the air conditioned store and smile. I hadn’t noticed the heat until he said something. Sweat trickles down my forehead. A spare shirt would have been a good idea. Instead, I’m stuck with palm trees, flamingos, and a giant sweat stain.

“So what are you doing in town?” the guy asks. He’s behind the register, counting a stack of one dollar bills.

“What do you mean?” I say, browsing the clearance rack.

“I don’t recognize you,” he says. “I mean, no offense, but you have the look.”

“What look?”

“Like somebody who games often. We’re the only store in town. So you either don’t go to school here and only torrent games, or you’re not from the area.”

I give my outfit a second look, hold out a pale arm, and then run my fingers through my shaggy hair. “I can’t imagine what gave me away.”

“Relax, no reason to be ashamed. You’re amongst friends here. I’m Ted.”

“Sam,” I say. “And, no offense, but shouldn’t you be at school? You’re a little young to be a graduate.”

He smiles. “Gee, you think?” He drops the ones into the register and moves on to larger bills. “This freak heat wave sent our shit wiring to the grave. Principal announced a week of vacation before the first day of school.”

“Lucky,” I say.

“And you?” he says.

I finger through a stack of DVDs. Nothing I haven’t seen at least twice. “Didn’t bother going today.”

“Right on. And why would you? That place is awful.”

“You can say that again,” I mutter to myself.

“How long you in town for? Oh shit, I should unlock the door.” Ted runs to the door and flips the lock. He stands at the glass for a second, staring out into the street.

“The afternoon. I’m here to meet someone.” I clench my fist. I shouldn’t have said that. Now he’s going to ask–

“Oh yeah? I know em’?”

“Probably, but I don’t know her last name.” Well, I do, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Ted turns around from the door and grins at me. “Her? You dog. Come on, what’s her name? Is it Deb? Or Jess? They’ve gotten three guys to come down this year alone.”

I shake my head and keep staring at the old NES games kept behind the glass.

“Alright, alright. Touchy subject, I understand. Trust me. So what’s your poison, then?”

Ted’s face appears behind the glass.

“What do you mean?” I say, standing up straight.

“What do I mean? It’s a simple question. You a PlayStation or Xbox kinda guy?”

“Neither,” I say.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re…”

“A computer nerd?” I say.

He wipes fake sweat from his brow. “Is that all? Thank God. Thought you were going to say Wii for a second.”

“Good one,” I say.

“What do you play? A little WoW? Or more into the CoD era?”

“Usually things I don’t have to pay for,” I say.

“The free mmos? Those can be tempting. Especially if you know how to pick em’.”

“Yeah. Infinity Spectrum is next on my list,” I say. I don’t mind sharing the information because I doubt he’ll have a clue what I’m talking about.

Instead, he stops wiping the glass and stares at me. “No shit? I love that game. I even got a few people at school to join in. Nothing beats a little Knights of the Round and–”

“Space Wars.”

Ted looks around me and says, “This guy knows what I’m talking about,” he says.

I glance over my shoulder. I’m still the only one in the store. In an attempt to hide my embarrassment, I pull out my phone and check for new messages. To my surprise, there’s a text waiting from Kaitlyn. Odd. She rarely texts.

Kaitlyn:
hey. change of plans? my dad has to drop me off earlier. i’ll be waiting around after like ten, but don’t rush to get here quicker

I check the time.
9:18 a.m.
Less than an hour. My stomach clenches and then releases. I’m nervous but not at the same time.

Me:
Don’t worry. I’ll be there.

“She cancel on you?” Ted says.

“What? No, moved up the meeting time.”

“That explains the freaked out look for a second.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet.

The bell behind me rings and a couple of teenagers walk in. They bolt over to the PlayStation 4 section and start pulling games from the shelves.

“Hey, take this,” Ted says. He’s holding a slip of paper.
Generic Wombat
.
878-214-2893
. “When you get set up on I.F., look me up,” he says. “Oh, and do us both a favor.” He pulls a five from the wallet. “If you’re meeting a girl, go down the street and buy a new shirt. That thing should be burned and then the ashes made into something that can be burned again.”

“I can’t take your money,” I say.

“You’ll thank me after.” He extends his arm.

I grab the five. A new shirt before meeting Kaitlyn will help. “I’ll pay you back,” I say. “One way or another.”

“You can help my guild in I.F. We need an experienced player. You seem to fit the role.”

A few more people trickled into the store without me noticing.

“Thanks,” I say.

I head for the door. My fingers wrap around the door handle, and I pause. It can’t hurt, right? Turning back to Ted, I say, “Kaitlyn.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. “I did not expect that,” he says.

Solid colors, plaid, stripes, logos. I don’t know what to do. Checking my phone again, I panic. Ten minutes to ten and I can’t even narrow down the options. An employee walks around the rack of clothes. She must have sensed my meltdown.

“You doing alright?” she says.

“I’m about to meet someone, and I need a new shirt,” I say, holding out a thin blue shirt and a plaid button down.

“Well, what kind of clothes do you like to wear?”

“Usually? Things that let me blend in,” I say. What the hell, right? There’s no reason for me to lie to her.

She looks me up and down, her eyes pausing on every flamingo. “You’re not doing a great job.”

I pull at my hair, letting it stand up. I don’t care. If I show up wearing this sweat soaked mess, she won’t notice my hair.

“Follow me,” she says.

Three racks over, she stops at the bin marked
Sales.
She rifles through the top layer and throws a few things into the different bins. “Nothing in here. I wonder if…” She steps over to the section labeled small and digs in.

“Uhh, thanks, but I don’t think that’s going to work,” I say.

She holds a single finger up. “Wait for it.” Four shirts fly over the edge before she jumps back. “Ah-hah.” She turns around holding an XL button down, all white with a square pocket. “All this fabulousness for two dollars and some change. Plus,” she adds, “the white will hide the sweat.”

Seems like she’s following the same
what the hell
attitude as me. “I’ll take it.”

She finds a register, rings me up, and shows me out of the store all within two minutes. Now all I have to do is make it a block and a half in six minutes. Not a hard feat with legs as long as mine.

The Orange Cone is in sight. If I make it there quick enough, I plan to throw the Hawaiian shirt into the backseat of Mel’s car. Holding onto it isn’t ideal, but I can’t throw away her brother’s shirt. Then again, like Ted said, it’d be better off if I burned it.

I make it to the car at 9:58 and ditch the shirt before staring over the roof at Orange Cone. People crowd around most of the tables. Even though the place isn’t open, everyone takes advantage of the free space.

Three distinct, yellow shirts stand out from across the parking lot. The first sits at a table alone, but I can’t see her clearly. I make my way over until I stop at the edge of the first row of tables. Still twenty feet away, I get a good look. Her dark hair, perfectly braided in an intricate pattern, hooks over her shoulder. The bright shirt makes her tanned skin stick out. She’s busy texting and ignoring everyone around her.

Next shirt. I scan the crowd and find a second woman, much, much older. She’s surrounded by three kids who are wrestling each other on the benches. I doubt she’d have had to ask her dad to drive her.

The last yellow shirt also sits alone. I stop myself from laughing. I hope Kaitlyn isn’t a three hundred pound Asian man.

My search falls back on the first girl. As hot as it is out, she doesn’t seem to have a drop of sweat on her. She’s defying nature.

At that moment, she raises her head and catches me staring. To my surprise, she smiles and waves. I wait a few seconds. There has to be a mistake. One, two, three…two guys walk around me and head for her table. That makes more sense.

I walk over to my right, the last empty table. The sun beams down on it, not an inch of shade makes its way over, but I don’t care. I’m going to sweat even if I sit under a tree. Wait a second. Before I sit, I check over my shoulder. Two tall trees branch off behind the Orange Cone.

Shade won’t save me, but it can’t hurt. I side-step the table and go around the building, sitting down against a large trunk, waiting for someone else to show up in yellow. I dig my phone out.

Kaitlyn:
you here yet?

Kaitlyn:
guess not. let me know when. remember, yellow!

I reread the texts three times. If she’s asking me why I’m not there yet, that means she’s not driving with her dad anymore. And if she’s insisting that she wore yellow, then the only explanation is–

“Hey. Don’t want to be seen with me around others? I guess that’s okay.”

The voice is unmistakable.

I lift my head slowly, not sure what I’m going to do when I recognize her. Sandals, understandable. Shoes in this weather suck. Jeans. A little odd. I’m usually the only one who wears jeans in summer. The yellow pops up, a typical t-shirt with a batman logo stretching across the middle.

Her eyes hold mine for a moment. They’re not green. No, they’re gray with a light blue ring along the pupil. I can’t break away from the tiny steel traps.

She blushes and scratches at her temple. “Bad joke?” Stepping over my feet, she joins me next to the tree and drops down.

Her perfume wafts over me. It makes me dizzy. It’s simple, some flower that I probably know but can’t place because my head is so cloudy. I need to respond before she gets up and leaves.

“No,” I say. Good start. Keep going. “I thought those guys were with you, and I didn’t want to impose.”

“You’d have saved me,” she says. “I hate those two. They don’t understand the words ‘you’re the worst kind of people, please go away.’ I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

“Me? I usually don’t have to tell people to go away, aside from when I’m grinding or questing.” Fuck. Me. I can’t believe those words left my mouth. You’re not on an internet forum, Sam.

Kaitlyn laughs out loud. She can’t stop after a few seconds and snorts, making her laugh even more.

No, you’re only talking to the most amazing person on the planet.

“That’s good,” she says. “Not what I meant, but good.”

Her stare drills into the side of my head, but I can’t get myself to turn. If I fall for it and look into her eyes again, I’ll never pull away.

“What, you’re telling me the ladies aren’t knocking over tables to sit next to you at lunch?” she says.

“I can say, with conviction, not a single tray has ever fallen,” I say.

“Well, I don’t believe it,” she says.

I shrug. “I don’t expect someone like you to understand.” I bite my tongue. Worst way to phrase that. Why am I sabotaging this? It’s only been sixty seconds.

She smacks my leg, a little too hard to be playful but not hard enough to be mad. “Watch yourself, Destroyer. I know your weak spots.”

Getting over my fear, I face her. Those eyes. I can’t and look away again.

“Come on. You
are
someone like me. Close your eyes. Do it or I’ll hit you again.”

I close them.

“Turn on your monitor.”

“What?”

“Hey, no peeking. Let me see you do it.”

I pretend to press a monitor’s power button.

“Say hi to Des and click on Team Speak.”

She knows about Des. This girl.

“SamTheDestroyer. Come in, Destroyer. We have enemies closing in, and I’m all alone in here. Get your ass in gear and report for duty.”

That second, every ounce of awkwardness that cluttered my nerves melts. This is Kaitlyn. I’ve known her for six years and, even if she’s way out of my league, I am not going to let that ruin this day.

“It’s easier to talk to you when you’re a tabby cat,” I say, opening my eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never been known to talk to beautiful girls.” There. It’s out and there’s no going back.

“You’re not hard to look at either, Destroyer.”

“Okay, your turn,” she says. Her smile beams and makes it hard for me to focus.

“Uhh, favorite color?” I say.

“Oh come on! I ask you celebrity you’re most likely to sleep with and you ask me favorite color?”

The corner of my lips tug back into a cheesy grin. “Only because you wanted to tell me your answer.”

“Hey,” she says, “most people find it interesting that Emma Stone is my number one choice.”

“I’m sure they do.” I pluck a blade of grass from the ground and tie it in a knot. “Plus, I already know the answer is yellow, so, what about book?”

“The–”

“Great Gatsby.” I reach for another blade.

She laughs. “I’m searching for someone to write a biography about me. You might be qualified.”

“What can I say? I paid attention the last six years.”

“Hey, I have, too. Red, Ender’s Game only because you refuse to read Fitzgerald, and you will always play a rogue-like character despite how bad they are in every game.”

“For the record, I don’t refuse to read Fitzgerald. I refuse to read anything my sophomore year English teacher described as ‘like, life changing.’”

She grimaces. “Poor Sam. It must be hard living the life of a high school rebel.”

“What’s that about a rebel force?”

I look up at the new voice. At first, I don’t even care who it is. Some stranger. The president. George Lucas. I’d prefer the world leave everything happening beneath this tree alone. At least for an hour or two.

“Hey, Ted,” Kaitlyn says.

“Just coming to check how you’re treating my new friend here.”

“You two know each other?” she says.

“We’ve met,” I say.

“That is a killer shirt, man,” he says, two thumbs up.

“Thanks,” I say, uncomfortable again.

“Lunch?” Kaitlyn says.

“Yep. Mark decided my hard work warranted a much needed break.”

“You eat lunch before eleven?” I say.

“Check your watch, bro,” he says, laughing.

I pull my phone out and hate what time it is. Twelve. We already spent two hours talking. It felt like minutes.

“I’ll grab a cone for everyone,” Ted says. “What’s your favorite color?”

Was he asking me?

“Red,” Kaitlyn says, answering for me.

Ted grins and backs away six steps before turning around. He jogs back to the Orange Cone.

“Sorry about him,” she says. “He’s always a bit…intrusive.”

“It’s okay,” I say, only because I can’t admit that I’m frustrated with myself for letting someone in on our–what exactly is this, anyway? It’s a meeting between two internet friends. There aren’t many rules for that.

Kaitlyn leans back, laying down in the high grass and resting her head on a tree root that’s popping up from the dirt. She kicks her feet out and rests them on my shins.

I try to look away, but I forget for a split second and run my eyes along her legs. They go on for miles. I check if she noticed. Lucky for me, she’s staring up at the clouds. My heart stops threatening to break my ribs.

“So,” she says. “Plan to tell me why you wanted to meet up after so long?”

“Well it wouldn’t have been appropriate a few years ago,” I say.

“Our parents would have had to set up a play date or something.” She plucks a weed from the ground and twirls it around in her fingers.

I smile, wider than in recent memory.

“I get the sense that you don’t smile much,” she says.

The words cut the grin away. “Why’s that?”

“A lot of your smiles look forced, but every now and then a genuine one breaks through. Just an observation.”

“What else have you observed?” I say, not sure if I want to know the answer.

“Nope, you answer mine first.”

I squeeze my knuckles until three of them pop. “It’s complicated.”

She bends her neck to look at me. The sun shines in her eyes and a small crease wrinkles on her forehead. “Then don’t think. Just do it.”

“You mean say it?”

Shrugging, she drops her head back onto the tree. “I don’t know what
it
is.”

That’s my imagination, getting me in trouble again. She didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a general word, and I tried to make it mean something else. “No, it’s, I, uhh.” And now I can’t seem to make words. Great.

She pulls out her phone and starts texting.

I’ve bored her so much that she needs a distraction. At least I’m used to it. She places the phone back on her stomach and, seconds later, mine vibrates.

Kaitlyn:
you’re not good at talking, are you? :)

Me:
Is it that obvious?

            
 
She shrugs without looking at me.

Kaitlyn:
depends. but since i know you so well, it’s pretty easy to tell

Me:
Sorry about that. It’s easier when I can hit backspace a few times before sending.

“But then you lose out on all of the authentic moments,” she says. “And those are the best.” She sticks her tongue out at me and rocks herself back into a sitting position. “Sometimes, around certain people, I find it easiest to remove my filter and let whatever comes into my brain out of my mouth.”

“Good idea.” It can’t hurt to try. I take a deep breath. “The reason I wanted to meet today was because I–”

“I hope everyone likes vanilla and cherries because that’s all they had.”

Damn it, Ted.

Kaitlyn sits back against the tree. “Who can complain about cherries?”

“Well, you pop a few and they can be your favorite thing in the world.” His laugh is a bit high pitched.

“Crude,” I say, accidentally out loud. I forgot to replace my filter. Kaitlyn laughs more at mine than Ted’s joke, and it lifts my spirits a little.

Ted sits down on the other side of Kaitlyn. “I’m nothing if not basic.” In order to lean against the tree, he scoots closer to her.

A twinge of jealousy rages in my gut. But then she moves and, in turn, leans in against me. Her skin brushes against my arm hair. Every muscle tenses, extending out a fraction of an inch and touching her arm again. Goosebumps surge down both arms.

“You cold?” Ted says, eyeing the bumps.

“Ice cream,” I say, thinking fast. “Gets me every time.”

“But you haven’t–”

“So what’s your school like?” Kaitlyn says, interrupting Ted from telling me I haven’t even tasted it yet.

“Probably the same as yours. Boring classes, mundane teachers. Bullies, nerds, jocks. It’s high school.”

“What’s your rank?” Ted says.

“What?”

“Your class rank? I’m second.”

“In a class of two hundred kids, second isn’t even that impressive.”

“Coming from the girl in first,” he says.

“I have no idea,” I say. Truthfully, I don’t care, either. I always found class ranks to be a dumb idea. Their only purpose is to incite pride, jealousy, or envy.

“I’m going to get first this year, I know it,” Ted says.