Katana (16 page)

“I got the door,” I heard my mother call. “It’s probably Jason.”

I stepped up my pace, skirting in front of her and grabbing the doorknob from under her freshly painted hot-pink nails. “It’s for me.” I smiled.

Debbie raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “A skirt? I never thought I’d live to see the day. Where are you and Q off to?”

I took a deep breath. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have at the moment. “Ha ha. I’m not going out with Q tonight.”

“Oh?”

I stared at the ground as I tugged at the skirt, remembering why I never wore the things—so drafty. “I have a date.”

Debbie cocked her head. “Rileigh, don’t mumble. It’s very unladylike. Now, what did you say?”

There was another knock at the door, followed by a confused and muffled inquiry.

“Just a minute,” I called through the door before turning back to Debbie. “I
said,
I have a date.”

Debbie made a small choking noise and took a step back. “You what?” She then thrust an arm in front of me, pushing me aside as she wrenched the door open. I watched, dismayed, as the surprise on her face melted behind her professional mask. “Why hello there. I’m sorry you had to wait so long, but you know how we women love to take our time.”

Whitley smiled at her. “Well, any time spent for Rileigh is worth the wait.”

I felt the fire of a blush ignite my cheeks. Debbie measured Whitley up and down with her eyes. “Aren’t you sweeter than a sugar cube on a snow cone,” she said. “Come inside, please.”

“He can’t!” I answered, darting around Debbie and grabbing Whitley by the arm. Debbie hadn’t been around enough to see me off on many dates, but what she lacked in physical presence she made up for with grueling interrogations. Getting pregnant at seventeen had jaded her against men—or so I’d thought until Dr. Wendell walked into the picture. I knew she thought it was her motherly duty, but I also knew I needed to get Whitley away from her before she did something to
really
embarrass me. “We’re going to be late.”

“Next time, then.” Debbie watched from the door as I pulled Whitley down the walkway. We almost made it to the driveway when she called out to me.

I groaned inwardly. “Can you give me a sec?” I asked Whitley.

“No problem.” He inclined his head to the black BMW sidling the curb next to our house. “I’ll just wait in the car.”

I gave him an appreciative smile before walking back to the porch where my mother waited. “Did you need something?”

Debbie frowned. “Rileigh, he’s gorgeous.”

I clenched my teeth. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“He looks smooth. Did you see his car?”

“Yes, Mom.”

She met my eyes. “You’re a good girl, Rileigh. I know you’ll be careful.” She paused a moment before digging into her pocket and pulling out a business card. “On a side note, he has fantastic bone structure. If he’s interested in doing some modeling, tell him to give me a call.”

“Sure thing.” I took the card, careful to not let her see me crumple it in my fist as I turned and made my way back to Whitley’s car.

“Have fun,” Debbie called after me. “I have a date myself, so I’ll probably be home late.”

Without answering, I threw my hand up in a backward wave as I made my way to the passenger side of the car.

Whitley smiled as I slid into the seat. He wore jeans, a blue-striped collared shirt, and a brown corduroy jacket. “You look … ” He stopped and tried again. “You look … God, I can’t come up with anything to describe how amazing you look.” He wore his hair down, styled back from his face, the ends brushing his collar.

I felt the heat of color burn my cheeks to almost painful degrees and quickly turned my head, pretending to study the armrest. Those damn dimples were back and once again wreaking havoc. Quickly, I ran a list through my mind of things that would help me calm down: spiders (ew), picking gravel out of road rash (so nasty), and that colon-cleanse infomercial. (I realized too late that the last one was overkill and I shuddered.)

Finally, with my composure restored, I settled back into the cushy leather and buckled the seat belt. “Nice car.”

He shrugged. “I inherited it.”

I flinched. Real smooth, Rileigh. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged again. “That’s okay, you didn’t know.” He waved his hand dismissively. “So what do you want to do? I was originally thinking coffee … but with the way you look, now I’m thinking we should go someplace nicer.”

“Coffee’s perfect.” And it was. It avoided the awkwardness of an expensive restaurant or the uncomfortable silence of a movie. It was the perfect place to sit and talk.

So we left my house in South St. Louis and ventured deeper into the heart of the city. We arrived at a colorful coffee bar only blocks away from the Anheuser-Busch Brewery. The aroma of roasted coffee beans nullified the smells of hops and barley that filled the darkening night.

Inside, we ordered our lattes and perched next to each other on an overstuffed, stained loveseat. From there, we could hear each other above the music from an acoustic guitar player with enough piercings to skip the rod and line and catch fish with his face.

I learned Whitley had come to St. Louis from Los Angeles to stay with a relative after his dad died. His mother died when he was a baby. Despite these tragedies, he had a great sense of humor. After one particular joke, I laughed so hard that I had to place my hand on his shoulder to steady myself. My heart skipped as the heat from his body and my fingers mixed. Slowly, I forgot how screwed up my life was and actually felt like a normal girl on a date with a cute guy.

We continued to talk and laugh until the coffee bar had cleared out and the employees, wiping the already clean tabletops, shot nasty looks in our direction. I gasped, looking at a clock behind the counter. “It’s a quarter after eleven!”

“Yikes!” Whitley jumped to his feet. “I’ve got an early morning.” He held out his hand. “I hate saying this, but, ready to go?”

“Guess we better.” I smiled, slipping my hand inside of his. He curled his fingers around mine, pulling me gently to my feet and leading me through the door.

Once outside, Whitley released my hand and searched through the front and back pockets of his pants.

I stopped beside him. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

He looked up with a sheepish grin. “Can’t find my wallet. I probably left it at the counter.”

“No biggie.” I shrugged. “If you want to go inside and grab it, I can wait out here.” The breezy summer night felt delicious against my skin.

“I’ll hurry. Promise you won’t go running off with a better-looking guy while I’m gone?” His smile was dazzling. A giggle erupted from my mouth before I could smother it with my hands.

Whitley gave my hands a quick squeeze before explaining his situation to the girl outside cleaning windows. After he smiled at her, she appeared more than eager to escort him back inside, abandoning her squeegee and glass cleaner on the stairs like an afterthought.

Alone except for the occasional passing car, I settled down onto the concrete steps and enjoyed the warm gust that blew in from the river. It carried a sweet smell, like clay and damp wood, and I breathed deeply. The night was quiet, but that was typical for a Tuesday evening. I had visited this Soulard coffeehouse before, but I hadn’t been able to hear the soft whoosh of cars traveling along the nearby interstate like I could now. Come the weekend, I knew no one would hear anything over the laughter and shouts from people leaving the bars and restaurants that stayed open until the early hours of the morning.

I no sooner leaned against the cool concrete with a contented sigh when a shrill voice called out to me. “Oh. My. God. I don’t believe it.”

I tensed. There was only one person who had a voice similar to the squeal of car tires braking at eighty miles per hour. Quentin’s sister Carly.

The five-foot-ten-inch captain of the cheerleading squad marched up to me with two Bratz doll clones in tow. She lifted her hand and made an exaggerated effort to push her curtain of hair behind her back, making sure to call attention to the nightclub band tied to her wrist. The same neon-green band was tied to the wrists of her minions.

“How are you?” She pulled me up into the kind of hug you’d give someone with leprosy. I made a show of returning the gesture. This was how it had worked with us since junior high. It was no secret that she hated me and that I returned the sentiment, but we had an unspoken agreement to never let our feelings show directly. Since Carly was Quentin’s twin and I was his best friend, an out-and-out war would get us both in big trouble with Quentin’s mom. So we relied on cold war tactics like spreading rumors through anonymous Internet profiles.

But now, as I pulled away from the smell of beer and cigarettes, the whole thing seemed ridiculous.

“I’m good.” I forced a toothy smile that I hoped didn’t look too much like a snarl.

“Oh, thank God.” Carly splayed cotton candy pink nails against her chest. “After Quentin told me about your attack, I was sooo worried. We all were.” When the dolls on either side of Carly didn’t move, she shot them a narrowed glance. A moment of silent confusion passed before the dolls recovered and voiced their agreement.

“See?” Carly smiled proudly. “We would just hate it if something happed to you, Rileigh. You’re such a good friend.” She gave me another half-hearted hug.

“Thanks, Carly.” My smile wavered, strained from being stretched over my teeth for so long. “You’re too sweet.”

She opened her Coach clutch and pulled out a compact. “What are friends for?” After studying her reflection for a moment, she snapped the compact shut and gazed at something over my shoulder. “Ugh. Great.” She curled her lip in disgust.

I looked behind me to find a broad-shouldered man in a long jacket lumbering toward us. The first stirrings of a cool breeze blew a flutter through the ends of my hair. I knew what that meant—someone was waking up.

My smile vanished. “Please no. Not in front of Carly,” I whispered under my breath. I could feel each pop and snap of electricity as the message to prepare for a fight circuited through my nerves. My muscles twitched and tightened in response.

The stranger picked up his pace and called out to us, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Hey! You there!”

Before I could answer, Carly huffed and shoved her compact back into her clutch. “Keep on moving, loser. We don’t have any change!”

He stopped in the middle of the road and pointed at me. I could feel the malice in the gesture as if he had jabbed the finger into my chest. “You there.” The overhead streetlight illuminated two red devil horns that had been tattooed on both sides of the man’s shaved head.

The dolls tensed behind Carly, but she only scoffed. “Whatever, dude. Look, we’re not joining your church of crazy or buying anything you have to sell, so you better beat it before I call the cops.”

She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and held it up, but it vanished from her grip and wound up wedged in the wooden door behind me, secured by a silver-pointed star.

22

C
arly’s scream sounded distant as the spirit took over and pushed me deep into my mind. Once again, the ribbons of silk unfolded into my limbs, but this time something felt different. As the spirit flexed each of my muscles and sunk my weight back on my heels, I curled my hand and produced a fist. Though it wasn’t complete, I had maintained some control.

The man threw his jacket into a heap at his feet. “Nobody’s going anywhere, except
you.”
He locked his yellow-brown eyes on me. “You’re coming with me.”

I descended the stairs and widened my stance on the sidewalk, my fear replaced by eagerness. I wanted to punch this guy’s face in.

But wait. That wasn’t right. I didn’t want to fight … did I?

I couldn’t remember.

It was like I was taking a test labeled
Who is Rileigh Martin?
And instead of answers there were pictures floating inside my head. Pictures of my skateboard, a katana, Quentin, the hair salon, Kim, Whitley, school, the skate park, the dojo—and the problem was, no one told me if the test was single answer, multiple choice, or essay.

“You can have her!” Carly squealed, pulling me from my thoughts. Two sets of slender fingers grasped my shoulders and shoved me forward. “Just don’t hurt us!”

So much for being friends. I stopped her advance by wedging a heel into a crack in the sidewalk. As she continued to push at me, I snagged one of her wrists and twisted it at the same time I lifted her arm. Carly stumbled to her knees, yelping, helpless to move without snapping her wrist.

The tattooed thug stopped his advance and smirked as he appeared to drink us in with his eyes. “Ladies, by all means, if you’re going to fight, go ahead. I can wait.”

I made a disgusted sound. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to you next.” I turned my attention from him and lowered my lips to Carly’s ear. “Listen carefully. We’re done pretending to be friends. From here on out, you will not look at me, you will not talk to me, and most of all you will not
touch
me. Got that?”