My Soon-To-Be Sex Life (13 page)

I opened my locker, tossed my backpack onto a lopsided stack of crumpled papers and textbooks perched precariously upon my gym shoes and slammed the door shut before the chaos came tumbling down. It shut, but not enough for me to thread my combination lock through the latch. Damn. I pressed my shoulder against the metal door, shoving all my weight against it to gain that fraction of an inch needed.

I dug my heels in, rubber soles squeaking on the tile floor.

I really had to clean this baby out sometime.

A snort of laughter had me flushing and I risked shifting against the door to see who dared to mock my girl-vs.-locker situation. But the laughter wasn't meant for me.

Across the hall, Owen was also trapped against his locker. Ty and two of his goons had the kid cornered.

Perfect.

Any other poor schmuck and I had to admit, I'd probably leave them to their fate. But this was Roach's little brother. I had no choice.

I stalked toward them, ignoring the clamor behind me as my locker vomited its guts out onto the floor. Goon One spotted my less than subtle approach and elbowed Ty in the ribs.

“Drop the kid, Ty,” I said. “Now.”

“Stay out of this.” Ty shot me a glare over his shoulder. Good, if I could keep his focus on me, then maybe...oh, shit. With Ty distracted, Owen saw his moment and began to smack Ty's chest with a weak fist, not even using his knuckles, but making impact with the back of his hand. I choked back a hysterical and highly inappropriate giggle. Owen didn't punch like a girl. He punched like an ape.

“Did you just hit me?” Ty's head whipped back to the much smaller boy, who gulped and nodded.

“You leave Charlie alone,” Owen squeaked, sending frantic glances in my direction. “I mean it.” He wanted to impress me. How sweet – and so very stupid. Fortunately, classes had started and the school hallway remained empty of fringe spectators. Although from Owen's perspective, a crowd of strangers might have been his preference.

Ty laughed and hauled Owen's scrawny frame an inch off the ground, flinging him into the lockers. He slid down the metal surface to crouch on the floor. Ty slapped the glasses right off Owen's nose.

“Get off him,” I hollered, leaping forward, pounding my fists on Ty's muscular back.

Ty grabbed my arms, holding my wrists together. “I'd say this was foreplay if I didn't know you better,” Ty said on a sneer. “Oh, you're going to love what I have planned for you.”

“Let me go.” I tugged, but he held fast. “You are such an asshole. No, that's insulting to the good sphincters out there. You're the hemorrhoid on an asshole.” There were more than a few flaws in my logic, but Ty seemed to get where I was going.

He shrugged. “I can handle that.” He released me abruptly, sending me rocking on my heels. “Glad you held up your end of the bargain, loser,” Ty told Owen as the nerd staggered to his feet. “I just know it will come in handy.” Ty shot me a smirk, and then fired out one final shot at Owen. “Take some advice kid, get homeschooled.”

Owen held onto his dented locker door for life support. His knees buckled, sending his foot sliding into his fallen glasses. Drawing Ty's attention to a missed opportunity.

The three of us stared at them. Time slowed. I met Ty's glinting eyes and deliberately shook my head.

He wouldn't.

Yeah, sure he would.

A sharp pop sounded as Ty crushed Owen's glasses under his foot, shattering one lens and warping the hell out of the wire frame. He wore a feral, triumphant grin as he performed the desecration. Satisfied with the damage, he jerked his head and his goons fell in line behind him. They stalked down the hall.

It could have been much worse. Whatever Ty had wanted, he'd accomplished his goal of scaring Owen shitless way before I stepped in. I gave Owen a chance to pull himself together. His Star Wars t-shirt had ridden high on his chest, revealing an abnormal amount of underwear around his waist. Clearly, the kid had endured one hell of a wedgie.

I grimaced. “You okay?”

Owen nodded and tugged his shirt down over the waist of his brown chords. He kept his gaze on the floor, fixed on the remains of his glasses.

“Sorry about these.” I bent down and saved what I could. One lens had popped free of the mangled frame and the other had cracked into five jagged pieces.

“It's okay,” Owen said. “I have other pairs strategically placed around my house, just in case. Sometimes I forget I'm wearing them.”

Of course he did. I handed him the bits of frame and glass I'd recovered. “Whatever Ty has on you, we can do something about it.” The irony that Adams had said almost the same thing, moments before, didn't escape me. Still, I had to try.

My cell phone rang. I dug into my pocket, but Owen clutched my arm. It definitely wasn't a strong grip, but I could see he was working a muscle. Like, one. “Charlie, I did something, something really bad, and I need to do penance.”

I answered the call.

“Whatever it is, Owen. We can fix it,” I said, distracted as I brought the phone to my ear, but admitting I'd grown fond of Roach's little redemption philosophy.

Speak of the devil. “Where are you? I thought we were meeting in the cafeteria.” Her voice blasted through the phone. “Did you forget it's perogie day?

“No, I didn't. But Owen…”

“Owen hates perogies,” she said. “Let's move beyond food. You've got to come with me. Divine Wrath has a huge show tomorrow night and Preston's invited us backstage. Not only that, there's going to be this massive after party at the band house.”

“I dunno...” I studied Owen's face. Teary eyes. Deep frown. He continued to talk, while I wasn't listening, looking like someone just shot his puppy, point blank, with a cannon.

Damn, Ty, for so many things.

“Don't dither. I need you. The band needs you,” Roach was saying in my ear. “They need us to work the merchandise table.”

Oh, now that sounded like fun – Roach's kind of fun, which, if you remember, includes alphabetizing her DVD collection.

And then I heard what Owen was going on about, “I gave him the list, Charlie,” Owen repeated. “He told me if I gave him some intel on you, just one thing, he'd leave me alone. And I did it, I gave it to him, and now you're going to hate me forever.”

The list.

Owen, the little rotter, had given Ty
the
list. A red haze settled over my vision. Suddenly I wanted to direct a slasher film, with Owen as the one and only victim. Getting repeatedly sliced and diced, time and again, blood spatters on the camera lens, spurting from arteries like one of those jet propeller lawn sprinklers…

“Charlie, did you hear me?” Roach and Owen asked, almost in the same breath.

I ended the call, turned from Owen and walked away while I could.

But the hits kept coming.

The rest of the day I waited for the axe to fall. I kept checking online, waiting for an appearance of
the
list and the beginnings of a lynch mob. For the stares to start, cell phones to be passed around, or for lockers to suddenly sprout more secrets from the intensely private personal files of Charlotte Webb.

But, nothing.

Ty the Executioner waited for the right moment to strike.

And it was killing me.

Snow dusted my boots as I tromped on the sidewalk that framed the school field. The familiar rumble of Bernie's engine had me straightening my back with resolve. Roach could always pull me back from the brink but not this time. My hurt was too great. Even Superman needed the Fortress of Solitude. If I didn't get some time to think…I'd embrace the crazy.

And once I did that, there'd be no turning back.

I snuck a glance at Bernie. Owen mashed his face against the window in the back seat. Too bad it didn't snap under the pressure and decapitate him. That would have been nice.

“Charlie, get in.” Roach poked her head out the driver's window.

I kept walking.

“Owen told me what happened.” I stopped and looked at her then, saw how she glared at Owen in the rear view mirror. “And the boy will be duly punished. Possibly skinned alive. Twice. Nay, thrice over. But please, can we talk about it?”

Yeah, Roach did want to commiserate with me, of that I was certain. She
was
my best friend, but I also knew she worried I'd take any bitterness I had toward Owen out on her as well. Guilt by sharing the same gene pool.

“I'll still help with the show, Roach,” I assured her. “And I don't really blame Owen. Who is a fucking. Little. Idiot.” Roach idled in the street. “But I need some time, okay?”

“What about your date tonight? Still on?”

“As far as I know.” I shrugged. “I'll fill you in later.” As Roach gave Bernie some gas, my gaze skirted over Owen who mouthed,
Sorry
.

“You look a little, well, I guess
desperate
is the word, Charlie, you okay?” Tony met me in the alley behind
Up-A-Chuck.
He'd answered my knock on the bay door.

Behind Tony - a smash of pots. Swears. The bludgeoning of something dense and likely bloody.

“Do you have to go and help with that?” I asked out of politeness, a trait that reared its ugly head occasionally. I think the last time was in the seventh grade.

“Naw, they have it under control.”

Perfect. I cut to the chase. “Is Eric working today?”

“Rumor has it he took the day off to get ready for some hot date.” Tony eyed me with concern. “You're not here to break my boy's heart are you? To take the moon out of his sky, the stars from his heavens…”

Melodramatic, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a matt of dark chest hair. I had to ask, “Are you
sure
you're not Italian?”

Tony shrugged. “What can I say? I'm a romantic.”

I did some digging. “Did anyone, say, about this tall,” I held up my hand to Ty's height, “big, beefy,” I rounded my shoulders and tried for a stunned expression, “and lacking brain cells drop by to see Eric? Maybe about an hour ago?”

“Are you jealous? Because I know for a fact, Eric would never ditch you for a girl who fit that description.”

I straightened with a snap. “Not a
girl
, a guy. A big dumb jock who's after my blood. Never mind. I guess I'll find out tonight.” I shuffled away from the restaurant.

“Wait, if Eric calls, do I say you were looking for him?”

“No. Yes. It doesn't matter.”

“Want his phone number?”

“He's not answering.”

“He's a bit of a luddite. Grace still married?”

I slipped out of the alley and into the street.

The lights from the marquee bathed the night in a warm, vintage glow, which was a bit of Hollywood smoke and mirrors - the temperature had plummeted at sunset, leaving all warmth an illusion. Anticipation revved the winterized moviegoers and the line outside of the Empress buzzed. Of course, that could be the chatter of all those false teeth in the cold. To say I was the youngest in that bunch of brave souls was accurate, but I bet I was the only one out of diapers.

Still, it was heartening to see so many older couples out on a brisk Valentine's night. Kind of made me think this love thing could last. Why, these people had to be together for more than thirty years, right?

“This is a wonderful idea, Fred. I adore going to the pictures,” the elderly woman in front of me said to the man at her side. “That online matchmaking service works just peachy.”

Make that thirty
minutes
.

I hung back, letting everyone else slip past me as I waited for Eric to show, but all too soon the line whittled down to just me. The once chipper looking old-fashioned ticket booth took on a sinister disposition. I scanned the empty street and the sidewalk, hoping for Eric's form to appear in the distance, backlit with a bit of fog around him for dramatic effect.

No fog. No drama. No Eric.

The college-aged girl inside glanced up from her cell phone. “You want a ticket, or what?”

I stalled, glancing at the Hitchcock promo poster taped on the theatre door – the director's famous silhouette filled in with a bunch of his movie titles. “Which one is playing tonight?
Psycho
?
Dial M for Murder
?”

“
Easy Virtue
.”

I choked on my saliva. “Excuse me?”

“That's the film.”

Talk about signs from above.

“One of Hitchcock's initial efforts.” The girl began a bland recitation - a government service phone menu had more personality. “
Easy Virtue
is a silent film that speaks loudly about the judgment and self-righteous attitudes of its time.”

Another frantic scan of the streets. Maybe Eric was just running late. If I got the tickets now, we could go right in when he
did
arrive. I'd already sent four texts and left three messages on his voicemail, my pride wouldn't let me call again.

“I'll take two tickets, please and thanks.” I dug in my coat pocket for some money and slid a bill along the counter, under the beveled glass. The funds were accepted, tossed in the till and two tickets were slid back to me all while the girl texted with her other hand. Impressive.

“Enjoy your show.” The insincerity was palatable. Or that might have been the taste of popcorn drifting on the air.

“I will, I mean, I
hope
I will.” I tapped the tickets on the counter. “I'm waiting for a guy. It's our first date. On Valentine's. I'd say that's pretty special, wouldn't you?”

The girl looked at me then. Glanced out at the vast, cold, empty night. “You're screwed, kid.” She pointedly flipped a “BACK IN FIVE MINUTES” sign in the window and went back to texting.

Swallowing hard, I began to pace in front of the glorious Empress while the marquis lights flickered and snapped over my head threateningly.

I knew. Of course, I knew.

But I still waited a full hour and forty-seven minutes.