No Brainer ( The Darcy Walker Series #2) (53 page)

“It’s really important, Dolce. Just call me after school.”

Vinnie hung up without further ado. He’d earned a football scholarship at Ohio State University and was the only person I’d told about the man in the yellow Dodge Charger. The man who’d slammed me in the trunk of his car, only to take me out, and abandon me in the middle of nowhere. Vinnie had made it his mission to find him because this man gave me the impression that he “knew” me. And it wasn’t just that he’d saved me from Eddie Lopez one evening, unbeknownst to me. So far, Vinnie had come up empty-handed. Vinnie either wasn’t as good as I thought he was, or simply put, this guy was better.

I shoved my toothbrush back in my mouth when my phone immediately rang again. I broke into a smile when I saw the Orlando prefix. “Hey, buddy,” I greeted Cisco. “You’re going back to school today, too?”

“Yes,” he replied happily. “Thanks for the new ant farm.”

I spit out the toothpaste, swished a Dixie cup’s worth of water in my mouth, and then wiped dry on a faded hand towel. It was Monday, day-one of junior year. Murphy made fried chicken and waffles this morning, trying to get me in the mood. Good eating, but I’d flossed my teeth twice trying to remove “the deep South” from my smile.

“I’m glad you like it,” I said, walking downstairs, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it ticked off the ants.

It reminded me of my neighborhood. People didn’t move into BTCC to retire; most moved in counting the days until they crawled out. My father couldn’t bring himself to leave the home he and my mother built, ergo I was the oldest kid on the block. School, at best, provided me with camaraderie, but the one thing I despised was the throng of girls that flocked to Dylan daily. Obviously, I woke a little more than bitter this morning, but I had this edgy feeling Brynn Hathaway would cause me problems … BIG problems … of the shamma lamma, ding-dong kind.

Not to mention I was B-O-R-E-D.

I was victim to my own self.

Murphy glanced outside chuckling, as I disconnected with Cisco and glumly rolled on clear lip gloss. “It appears your limousine has arrived. Your boy’s driving his father’s Suburban.”

“D’s here?” I asked surprised. And that car seemed a little large for the occasion.

Shoving my lucky hat on my head, I grabbed my copper Jansport backpack and slung it over my right shoulder, opening the door. Dylan had Jon Bradshaw and Finn Lively—brothers one and two—with him as they idled in the driveway. Last night, he’d hosted his annual all-boys slumber party before school started. Sort of like a “Goodbye-to-Summer, Hello-to-Hell” sort of celebration. Times like these, it stunk to be born with ovaries. Parents automatically assumed it would be an orgy.

“This is your year to shine,” Marjorie tugged on my skirt, standing partially nude behind me. Let’s hope it was her year to figure out the laws of public decency called for an invention called clothing.

I swatted her pink panties. “Thanks, M,” I giggled.

I jogged outside, throwing a goodbye kiss toward the bus stop along the way.

The clouds in the sky looked like cotton balls, and the air felt desert arid. Just thinking about it made my underarms sweat, but nothing instilled white-knuckled panic in me more than schoolwork. Maybe that’s why Murphy made soul food, trying to fill me with love. Unfortunately, we’d both learned the hard way, love didn’t always conquer all. The best you could hope for was peace; peace happened to be foreign to my brain.

Heaven knew I’d need help. My day was planned out with seven subjects, knowing a good chance existed I’d only get a legitimate A—without extra credit and blood sacrifices—in one of them. In general, the attention-challenged like me either found their life’s calling or were doomed to fail when someone asked your square-peg mind to fit through society’s round hole. You could eventually get it through, but some sort of irreparable damage would be endured in the process.

After school, my outlook wasn’t much better. I was off to work at Belinski’s Bookstore. I hadn’t clocked any time for weeks and needed to knuckle down and get back into a routine, even if it included mindless activity. Thing was, Belinski’s wasn’t a bookstore; it was a mausoleum. An average night consisted of more than four, less than ten customers.

When I neared the newly washed black SUV, I caught the whiff of testosterone and didn’t know whether to run for cover or fall prostrate and beg,
Please, Santa, please
. Jon Bradshaw (nicknamed Grumpy), swung the passenger door wide while Dylan let out a wolf whistle.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I frowned. “Penance? Guilt?? Bring a leper to school day???”

“Bring a leper to school day,” Jon laughed. I smacked him on the forehead as he mumbled something about Dylan losing his ever-lovin’ mind.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Dylan chuckled. “You look
loooovely
.” It depended on how you defined lovely. Even I knew you needed to make an effort to show you’d aged gracefully over the summer. Showcasing my lucky hat, I’d slinked on Willow’s black t-shirt and paired it with a black miniskirt and my Nike Classic Cortez sneakers. Plus, I applied an extra dose of voodoo cream, hoping to look centerfold-ready by first period.

As of 6AM, I smelled like motor oil.

“Why didn’t you bring your car?” I asked. Dylan turned the volume down on the radio, all smiles.

“Lively,” he laughed, his head pitching to Finn sitting in the back, “brought four pieces of luggage for one outfit this morning. I needed a bigger car.”

“I see,” I said. “Grumpy needs to take some fashion cues. He looks like he schlepped out of the sewer.”

“Shut up, Walker,” Jon grumbled. He hoisted himself out of the front seat in a holey white T, old sneakers, and khaki cargo shorts. His wavy brown hair looked weeks late on a cut, lying over deep-set, hard-as-nails eyes. He maneuvered around to whisper in my ear, “Brynn called.”

Well, hellooooo, Benedict Arnold.

I was slapped with a cold knot of dread. I’d never particularly liked this girl, but I had a feeling there might be some good in her. Good I needed to discredit. I longed to publicly embarrass her, make her cry, and dye her perfectly brown waves peach. Problem was, she looked like a Botticelli angel—all sweet, spotless, and pristine pure.

My name didn’t make that particular rolodex.

I should have expected as much. I’d left Dylan hanging … just hanging. After his semi-confession that he felt something—or
maybe
felt something—I stared at him like a deer-in-the-headlights. Let’s just say I’d “morphined” the mood, and whatever else he was going to say was swiftly stalled.

Ugh, I stunk at relationships … evidently, Brynn didn’t.

I climbed into the seat and threw my backpack in the rear, aiming for Jon’s head. “Whhhaaaaatttt the what, Walker?!” he gasped, rubbing his crown.

“The devil made me,” was my excuse.

A smile played at Dylan’s lips. “You’re naughty today, Darc. You’re cute when you’re naughty, but that’s not usually a good sign.”

“I’m in a bad mood,” I grumbled.
Other than Brynn
, I omitted, “My invitation to the party got lost in the mail.”

Clothed in an Abercrombie red and white vintage polo, no doubt about it Brynn would appreciate the view. Dylan’s black hair was shorn short, classically styled, and meticulously irresistible; I fought off the urge to rearrange his face with my calculator.

Dylan sighed as if he expected this conversation, gently stroking my cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “Darc, we’ve already gone over this. You’re a beautiful girl, and we’re three teenaged guys. Trust me, it doesn’t work that way.” Well, how
did
it work because he sure as heck let me snuggle with him in O-Town. “Come over here, and show me some love,” he winked.

“I’d rather suck face with a mole.”

“That’s not very nice, sweetheart,” he giggled.

“Nice isn’t in my particular skill set, Lover Boy.”

“Lover Boy?”

“Lover Boy,” I frowned.

“That’s what you said,” he grinned.

“That’s what I said,” I snorted. “One day I’m going to kill your mockingbird mouth, D. You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s passion,” he murmured flirtatiously, “and I haven’t forgotten where we left things. It’s all I’ve been thinking about, and I do intend on resurrecting that conversation.”

I heard moaning and groaning from the backseat. “You’re going to do this in front of
them
?” I gasped, eyes widening.

“I’m going to do it in front of whomever I please.”

Pound. Pound. Pound went my heart
. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. “That doesn’t shock me,” I snorted, trying to change the subject. “You like them better than me. In fact, you like
everyone
better than me.” (cough, Brynn, cough) “You might as well say it because my heart sure as heck feels it.”

Dylan threw his chin back, like I’d cold-cocked him. “Where’d that come from?” he groaned.

“Don’t sugarcoat your little all-males slumber party, D. I was bored out of my mind last night doing Big! Fat! Ze-ro!”

Not totally true. I texted anyone that would chat up until midnight.

“Whoa,
min vän
is in a foul mood,” Finn laughed from the backseat. All three of us turned simultaneously for clarification. “Swedish for ‘my friend,’ ” he interpreted. Finn Lively had sky-blue eyes with tousled blond hair to his chin. He tried on a different accent each day—all the elements of a ladies’ man—combined with a face that screamed flat-out beautiful. “Smile,
min vän
,” he coaxed.

Smile? I wanted to push all of them in front of a subway.

“Nice shirt,” he grinned at me.

I glanced down at the white skull on my chest, falling in love all over again. “Willow,” was my explanation.

He and Grumpy sighed a naughty sound as their mugs went goo-goo eyed. Actually, it proved to be an easy transaction. I manufactured some puppy-dog eyes and simply said,
Please
.

“Willow’s going to have my child one day,” Finn murmured on an exhale.

Dylan danced around, having an eeeuw moment since Willow was his aunt. “Button up your shirt, Lively,” he groaned. Both of Finn’s arms were straddled across the bench seat, his chiseled chest peeking through a blue and white fitted plaid shirt, unsnapped to his navel. You know, a roundhouse kick to your libido.

I gulped … then gulped again.

“Nah,” Finn grinned smugly, “I saved the view for Darcy.”

Dylan’s eyes shot up in the rearview mirror, like two missiles looking for a target. “Shut up, Finn, before my foot’s up your…”
bleeping bleep.

“He’s in love,” Finn mouthed.

Yeah, whatever
, I grumbled to myself. My fist had a little sumpthin’ sumpthin’ for his face once we got out of the car.

I grasped the coffee he waved in front of me as a peace offering: (A), because I was thirsty, and (B), because I operated in codependent idiot mode. He must’ve experienced a major case of the guilts, because he’d bought it at United Dairy Farmers, my favorite. By no means was it a specialty store; it was gas station coffee. But it had the right combo of coffee, caffeine, and sugar to punch my taste buds in the face each morning.

Buckling
myself in, I wiggled down in the seat as he backed out of the driveway and made our way to Valley High. Traffic flow was heavy, bumper to bumper. At times, we moved at a crawl; others, Dylan slammed on his breaks because a vehicle unexpectedly stopped in front of him. Horns blared loud at each intersection, and the one-fingered salute was the norm.

Yup … your typical first day back to school.

While Finn named off two senior girls he’d date before week’s end, and Jon grunted this was the year Clementine Miriam Rabinowitz would date a Gentile, I thought my head would blow right off my shoulders. Especially when Jon chuckled that he’d like to double date with Dylan and Brynn. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to rip his eyeballs out and make him swallow those suckers down.

Unbuckling myself, I climbed halfway between the seats and started smacking the living daylights out of him. My head on the floor, my butt up in the air like the hump on a camel.

“Walker,” he laughed, dodging my hands, “I was joking.” Well, it didn’t sound like joking, and it sure as heck didn’t feel like it to my churning gut. Especially when Jon unsnapped himself and attempted to pull me onto the floorboard of the backseat.

I grabbed the curly hair on his legs and started twisting. “You’re as hairy as freaking Big Foot!” I giggled.

“Ow!” he laughed.

My lucky hat fell to Finn’s feet. He picked it up and shoved it on his head as he flipped open the latest edition of
’68 Zombie Comics
and started reading. “Now, now kiddies,” he purred, “Let’s all love one another.”

“Hey,” Dylan half giggled, half threatened, tugging me toward him by my right shoe. “You’re going to hurt her, Bradshaw. Let her go, or I’m going to—”

I heard the sounds of metal slicing and crumpling as the Suburban suddenly skidded to the left into the middle of the intersection. An image tumbled through my mind of Dylan’s right arm darting out in front of me, while power like a tidal wave rolled through my body. It lifted me up, viciously moving my body without consent, then I suddenly launched forward with glass splintering around me like a freezing rain. I was flying through the windshield when I heard another crunch and glimpsed Jon sailing through the side window at the precise same time.
No airbag
, I thought calmly. They didn’t arm because we weren’t buckled, or something else had kept them from deploying. My flight felt like it took a lifetime as my ragdoll body twisted sideways before coming to rest on my back on the highway in front of us. The last thing audible was Dylan’s horrified scream then suddenly nothing except a horn stuck on beep.

The pavement didn’t seem hard, even though I felt gravel prickle the back of my wet and sticky head. Were my brains spilled on the pavement? I couldn’t move—but nothing hurt—and I briefly wondered if I’d been paralyzed. My chest didn’t feel right, but Jon’s guttural groan soon drowned out the hissing and crackling in my lungs. No strength to lift my head, my eyes slid over to the left where he lay facedown, arms down to his sides, about twenty meters away. My Nike shoe lay next to him, untied. Struggling to make sense of what’d happened, I saw that the Suburban looked like an accordion, trapped between two cars—a Lincoln Town Car that had struck the passenger side and a blue mini-van that had hammered the driver’s side. Was Dylan okay?
I love you
, I should’ve said. I needed to check on him … I needed to check on him.