Katana (7 page)

He flushed. “Am I out of line? Is it too soon with you getting out of the hospital? I wanted to ask you last night and … well … you know. It’s just that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

It took me several tries before my mouth was able to form words. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” His smile wavered when I didn’t respond. “Did I make you mad?” He held his hands in front of him in surrender. “Please don’t kick my ass.”

That did it. A laugh erupted from my throat before I could smother it with my hands.

He leaned back, satisfied. “Tomorrow night then?”

YES! YES! YES! I wanted to jump up and do a happy dance on the loveseat, but then I remembered my part-time job and my mood deflated. “I’m busy tomorrow.”

“Since when?” a new voice asked.

I turned to find Quentin leaning against the door, legs crossed, balancing a pizza box on his palm. I narrowed my eyes at him. How long had he been standing there? “I work a double shift at the salon.”

“Salon?” Whitley asked.

Quentin pounced on the couch next to Whitley. “We both have summer jobs shampooing hair at
Today’s Reflections.
We’re trying to earn our parents’ love and approval by showing them how responsible we are by paying for our senior trip to Cancun ourselves.”

“I see,” Whitley said.

Quentin shrugged. “But that’s beside the point. How does Tuesday work for you?”

I stood up. “Q, that’s not—”

“Tuesday works,” Whitley interrupted. “Is six okay?”

Quentin frowned. “Hmmm. If I remember the schedule correctly, Rileigh works that day, too.” He tilted his head. “Tell you what, I’ll cover her last hour. You could take her out to dinner at seven.”

“Excuse me,” I said.

Whitley shrugged. “I was thinking more casual. Coffee?”

I stamped my foot. “Now wait just a minute.”

Quentin nodded. “Coffee’s good. Pick her up at eight.”

I could feel my cheeks burn. “You know, people, I
am
in the room.”

Quentin leaned over without looking at me and patted my arm. “Of course you are, sweetie.”

Whitley stood up. “Eight o’clock.” He turned and smiled at me. “It’s a date.” Before I could answer, he darted out the door, closing it behind him.

“You’re welcome,” Quentin stated smugly, getting up to sit next to me on the couch.

“Oh, I’m not about to thank you,” I snapped, snatching the pizza slice he was about to bite into. “Honestly, Q, I was doing just fine on my own.”

Quentin laughed and quickly smothered it behind his hands. “Oh, Ri-Ri.” He stuck out his lip and patted my hand. “You’re serious, aren’t you? That’s adorable.”

I glared at him as I chewed. It was all I could do to keep from slapping the perfect cleft off his chin.

He laughed again. “Rileigh, I’m your best friend—”

“I think you mean
were
my best friend,” I muttered.

He rolled his eyes as he pulled out another slice from the box. “I’ve witnessed you make too many mistakes in the love department. I couldn’t let you spend your entire summer massaging old-lady scalps for dollar tips. Especially when someone as delicious as Whitley is at stake.”

“If you weren’t so busy butting in, you would have seen that things were going pretty well.”

“When’s the last time you’ve been on a date?”

It had been more than six months, but I didn’t want to voice what he already knew. Instead, I angrily tore a chunk out of the pizza, averting my gaze from him as I chewed.

“That’s what I thought,” Quentin answered. “Not to mention your last couple of attempts at love were … ” He rolled his eyes, searching for the right word. “Disastrous.” He shrugged and happily devoured his pizza.

“Thanks for your concern, but you’re forgetting that I’m the first girl at the skate park to land an Ollie Impossible. Remember last summer when I fell off the half-pipe and broke my wrist? I didn’t cry,
did I?
And who punched John Wringer in the face for calling you a queer?”

Quentin stopped chewing. “Me.”

“Yeah, well, I totally would have if you hadn’t done it first. My point is, I’m more capable than you give me credit for. I think can handle something as basic as my own love life.”

He sputtered, nearly choking on his food. “Really? How do you explain the last guy?”

“Tom? We just didn’t have enough in common.”

“I’ll say.” He slapped his knee. “You’ll go to any college that’s close to a beach. He’s applying to Harvard. You like skating and scary movies. He likes country music and making out with other girls. Yep, you’re right—not enough in common.”

“Aaron was a good guy,” I countered.

“True, and you two crazy kids might have made it if he wasn’t already in love.”

“Aaron didn’t cheat on me!”

“I was talking about his Camaro.”

He had me there. I crossed my arms. “What about Tony?”

“Girl, I had a better shot of living happily ever after with Tony than you.”

“Really? You know, I always wondered.”

“Hmphf,” Quentin muttered with a full mouth.

I shook my head. “But that’s not the point.”

Quentin huffed. “Then what is?”

“I can’t have you managing my dates for me, because when it comes down to it—I’m going on them alone.” My eyes flew wide as the realization hit. I dropped my half-eaten crust in my lap and gripped Quentin’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Oh my God. I’m going on a date with Whitley Noble—alone. This is bad! I’m going to screw it up, I’m going to—”

“Ri-Ri!” He grabbed my cheeks, smooshing them painfully between his fingers. “Stop! You’re freaking out.”

I could only nod.

He sighed and released his grip on my face. “There’s only one way to get your mind off everything.” He looked at his watch. “If we leave now we can get a couple of hours in before the sun goes down.”

“Skate park!” I leapt off the sofa and clapped my hands. “Great idea! Let me grab my board!” I raced to my room and snatched my beaten and chipped board from under my bed. The pink paint—once the same color as my helmet—was now faded and chipped from constant ramp abuse. There was even a blood stain, long dried a rusty brown, in one of the cracks.

Humming to myself, I kicked aside the dirty T-shirts on my floor in the hopes of uncovering my knee pads. A trip to the skate park was exactly what I needed. There was something reassuring in the adrenaline rush that came from balancing on one hand, the world upside down, and nothing between your feet but sky. I couldn’t explain it (and I tried a million times to Debbie, who insisted that I “act more like a girl”), but a thundering pulse and a heightened sense of danger had always been comforting, familiar even. Quentin called me an adrenaline junkie. Maybe I was. And if so, maybe a good rush was exactly what I needed to snap back into the old, not-hearing-voices, pre-attack Rileigh.

“Ready?” Quentin asked as I rolled into the living room.

“Skate park!” I shouted, kicking my board into my hand and leaping out the door.

He followed, locking the door to my house as I climbed into his car. Seconds later he was in the driver’s seat, turning the key. “Listen … I want to say I’m sorry. You’re right, you know. I shouldn’t have interfered. You were doing fine on your own.”

I frowned. “I was?”

“Absolutely. You’re just going out for coffee. It’s not like you’re getting married or anything.” He twisted in his seat so he could back out of my driveway. “Honestly Ri-Ri, what’s the worst that could happen?”

I’m sure Quentin didn’t mean to phrase his question so ominously, but that didn’t stop the hard lump from forming inside my throat. The worst that could happen? I had a date with Whitley that I was sure to botch. I was hearing voices and fighting off bad guys with skills I shouldn’t have. This Kim guy said he had answers, but at what price? When you looked at the whole picture, the possibilities were endless.

9

T
he next day at the salon, I busied myself with shampoos, answering the phone, and sweeping hair in hopes that it would distract me from the insanity that was now my life. Unfortunately, the stylists’ curious stares and muffled whispers amplified my feeling that I was, indeed, a walking freak show. And it only got worse.

An hour before I was scheduled to get off, I was halfway through organizing the shelves when a tap on the shoulder startled me into dropping a stack of towels on the floor. Before I could stop myself I whirled around in a crouch and raised my arms in front of me in defense.

Quentin threw his hands up in surprise and took a step back. “I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a Frappuccino, but now I’m thinking you should lay off the caffeine.” His face softened. “Still on edge?”

“What? No!” I dropped my arms and studied a spot on the ceiling. My cheeks burned. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. You just need to learn not to sneak up on people. It’s rude.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Seriously. You need to wear a bell or something.” Squatting down, I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck as I retrieved the towels. I sighed. This was so Quentin. One little life trauma and he has to talk about feelings and uncover buried emotions. So not for me. “Can we just … you know … not?”

He ignored the question and instead picked up a towel. “Let me help.”

I was pretty sure he wasn’t referring to the towels. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I’ve noticed.”

I stopped stacking towels and looked at him. “Are you upset with me?”

He sighed. “Not upset, Ri-Ri, just worried.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “There’s nothing to worry about, I’m fine.” Hoping to discourage further conversation, I turned my attention back to the remaining towels on the floor. “As far as my date with Whitley goes, I was thinking about wearing my black skirt—the one with the chain dangling from the hip. What do you think?”

Quentin placed a hand on my shoulder. “Rileigh, we were attacked.”

I snapped my head up. “You think I don’t realize that?
Hello.
I had a front row seat!”

“Realizing and accepting are not the same thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shrugged his hand off my shoulder.

“I’m worried because you act like nothing happened. And I know I haven’t helped. At the time, I thought setting you up on a date and taking you to the skate park was a good distraction. But now, I’m not so sure distractions are what you need.”

I laughed angrily. “So, Dr. Q, what do I need? A good cry under my covers?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

“Is that how you dealt?”

“No. I don’t think I can deal with this without some help. I’m thinking about seeing a certified therapist.”

I opened my mouth, but the heated words died on the tip of my tongue. I looked away from my friend’s worried gaze and sat down on the floor next to him. “Don’t take this from me, Q. I need to be angry.”

Quentin linked his fingers through mine. “Why?”

I remembered the feeling of silk as it slid through my body, and the crunch of breaking bones, and I shuddered. “Because … ” I searched for the right words. I knew the anger was important. It overwhelmed the terror that threatened to devour me. Even now I could feel a chord of fear biting into my heart like jagged teeth. “I just want to forget it happened, you know? But I can’t, because there’s all this other crap that I have to deal with.”

“I’ve had nightmares every night.”

I looked up, surprised. “Me too.” But I was willing to bet that Quentin didn’t dream about long-haired Asian men screaming in the dark. Then again …

Quentin gave my hand a squeeze, a subtle reminder that I was connected to another human being and not as alone as I felt.

“Q, I—I think I’m in trouble.” The words I’d been thinking for the last two days became a solid, almost touchable, thing the moment they left my tongue. Soft tremors wracked my body.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered.

Then, before I could chicken out, I spit out the words as fast as I could. “I heard a voice—not mine—and I freaked and lost control. Then yesterday, when I got home, that Kim guy from the hospital called—something about answers and his dojo. Then I heard the voice again, but first—”

“Rileigh!” Quentin gave my shoulders a quick shake.

I blinked. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

He nodded.

“Can I start over?”

“Please.”

I opened my mouth to try again just as Jeannine, the salon owner, stuck her head through the heavy maroon curtain that blocked the sink room from the rest of the salon.

“Rileigh, you have a visitor.”

“Visitor?” Quentin asked.

“Beats me.” I shrugged.

Quentin helped me up and together we walked out into the lobby.

Jeannine inclined her head toward the door. “He said he’d wait outside.”