Taking Mine (9 page)

It's like this the rest of the way. Me in my thoughts and him in his. Whatever just happened between us has effectively put a strain on our friendship, if that's even what it was, and it makes me sadder than I think it should. I hate to admit it, especially to myself, but I think I like him. Or liked. Or whatever at this point. But either way, it's obvious he doesn't feel the same or he would have acted on it.

When we reach the intersection a block from my house, I convince Justin that I'm fine walking the rest of the way by myself. A reminder of what Kip's possible reaction would be if he saw him helps my case when he wants to argue. I jog across the street when I hear my name being called.

“If you're ever in a position to, always run. Don't fight unless it's a last resort.”

I smile, breaking a small chip off the large iceberg that had successfully wedged its way between us.

“I'll tuck that tidbit away just in case.”

He doesn't smile, simply nods. I take a couple more steps when he calls out my name again.

“Yeah?”

“I'll forward you that practice test from Blake. You never traded emails.”

“That sounds great. Thanks, Justin.”

He nods again but makes no effort to move. I walk the rest of the way feeling like his eyes are burrowed into my back. I fight the urge to look until I reach my driveway and give in. He's there, standing in the same spot, new cigarette lit. I can barely make out the shape of him, only the movements of him smoking. The ember gets flicked away and I lose sight of him.

EVERYTHING'S PICKED UP
and the shop's ready for closing. It’s later than what we usually close, but we were abnormally busy for a Wednesday. Kip left about thirty minutes ago and I have to stay behind to file. At least, that's what I told him. His concern didn't help my conscience when he suggested I go home after I spilled an entire pan of grease on my shoes.

I had a meeting with my adviser earlier today and it didn't go very well. She pretty much confirmed what I already knew. Considering I was never emancipated and my brother wasn’t ever assigned as my legal guardian, I have no proof of my parents’ income. When I applied for financial aid before the semester began, they declined me and I had to file an appeal. The problem is, it can take up to three months to process and there’s still a possibility it will be revoked. Tuition is due now, so I don’t have the luxury of waiting. Loans are an option, but lenders tend to only approve students who are already accepted into law school, wanting to better their odds to see the money returned. I can change my major, but if I really want a chance at being accepted, I need to stay on course. In the end, I'm just screwed.

I poke my head into Taylor’s office. “Are there any orders out yet?”

He shakes his head but motions me into his office since I'm here. “Jimmy wants to offer us a different solution to the dilemma with the Mustang.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“We're still going over the logistics, but there's a catch.”

“What catch? How can there be a catch? We made a deal.”

“We did,” he says. “But he's offering us something extra. Something beneficial on our end.”

“Okay,” I say, drawing it out.

Taylor clasps his hands. “But I'm fairly positive Kip isn't going to go for it.”

“Can you get to the point?”

“I don't want to say too much until everything is ironed out, but I'm giving you a heads up. You know, since you are the one who got us into this mess.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say dryly.

“You're welcome,” he repeats in the same tone.

Dan saunters in, dropping a large sum of money in front of Taylor, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Taylor looks to me and back at Dan. Getting the impression I'm intruding, I start to leave.

“Are you going scouting tonight?” Dan asks.

My eyes connect with the stack of money and then Taylor when I respond. “Yeah.”

“Let Ethan know to prepare to stay late,” Taylor says, directing me.

“Yes, sir,” I say, feeling every bit of the place he's putting me in.

Beneath him.

Taylor always walks a fine line between carefree and giving one too many shits. There is no middle ground with him. Where my brother, on the other hand, lives in the middle. After informing Ethan, I wait for Dan outside the employee entrance. He comes barreling out, an even bigger smile than before.

“What was that?” I ask.

His smile drops. “What was what?”

“Don’t play stupid. The money?”

Dan lets out an exasperated breath, already tired of my questioning. “We’re just doing some business on the side.”

“It’s not drugs, is it?”

“God, no,” he shoots back, repulsed. “Lilly, I have a family. Even I have standards. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Deciding to leave it alone for now, we part ways. It’s still early. Earlier than I’d like to be looking for cars, but it’s a weeknight and Kip’s already suspicious. There’s a motel a block away from the shelter that I used to frequent. It’s mostly drug users and out-of-town laborers, but every now and then a good vehicle comes up. And there are no security cameras and they never fix the streetlights, so it’s an easy fix.

It’s about a twenty-minute walk, maybe a little longer without shoes. I keep my eyes peeled for anything worthy of being avoided, which is pretty much any and everything that looks questionable. Figuring since I’ll be close to the shelter, the lack of shoes will help me fit in. I stop a building over from the motel, scoping out the parking lot. The building is U-shaped with the lot settled in the middle. I’ve been spotted here before. Someone happened to see me outside their window as I was picking the lock, but with the way the parking lot juts right up against the street, it was easy to make a run for it. And again, no cameras to identify me or to pinpoint the direction I went.

I end up waiting for over an hour, watching lights turn off one by one before I’m satisfied with the lack of traffic between rooms. I tuck my hair under a spare baseball cap I found in the break room, hiding the blonde locks that can be a giveaway. Already spotting a couple of Toyotas that look promising, I mark out a game plan. They have the best resale value for parts and there's never a short supply of buyers. The adrenaline coursing through me makes me jumpy, ready to get this over with.

It’s the first vehicle in the lot that gives me pause. It’s a Toyota Camry, early 2000 model, in decent condition, unlocked… with the keys sitting in the cup holder. It’s not as big of a surprise as people think it is to find an unlocked vehicle, keys sitting right in the ignition, let alone the cup holder or glove box. Relatively common, actually. I’ve stolen a car that was left running outside of an apartment complex once.

Feeling a bit smug when no alarm goes off when I open the door, I’m paralyzed when I hear my name. Standing stock still, as casually as I can, turn my head in the direction of the person the voice belongs to. The voice I like a little too much and almost the last person on Earth I want to see right now.

“Justin,” I breathe out. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes trail from the car and back to me as he holds up a to-go bag from Chuck’s. I’m momentarily impressed by how quick the diner was able to get back up and running in just five days. By the amount of smoke the kitchen was emanating, I had assumed they’d be out of commission for a while.

“Lilly,” he says, his voice cautious, taking a step in my direction. “What are you doing?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out, the red and blue lights behind him distracting me.

“LILLY.” JUSTIN REPEATS MY NAME
an uncounted amount of times. It takes an absorbent amount of focus to avert my eyes from the cop’s direction. “Get in the car,” he says.

Not giving me any more time to decide, he grips my arm and not-so-gently shoves me into the Toyota. I scramble over the center console, Justin climbing in behind me.

“What are we doing?”

He picks up the keys, adjusting his seat and starting the car.

“Justin, what are you doing?”

The cop exits his car, turning his head into his shoulder and dispatching something into his walkie. He hikes up his belt, preparing himself as he tries to get a good look inside the car. My eyes fixate on his walk toward us, his face determined.

“Justin.”

“Do you want to go to jail?” His eyes are hard as he looks at me. I shake my head no.

The tires squeal as he floors the gas, bottoming out as we hit the street. I snap my seat belt on, holding on to my seat for dear life. I check the passenger rear-view mirror, watching the cop turn around and jog back to his car. We run a red light and a cascade of brakes screech to avoid us.

“Justin.” His name is the only thing I can muster as we swerve in and out of traffic. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge my ramblings, only accelerates through the intersections with zero disregard for oncoming traffic.

He slams on the brakes, making a ninety-degree turn onto a side street. I brace my hands on the dashboard to prevent my body from jerking forward. Justin’s sole focus is on the road in front of us, his jaw clenched as we fishtail. He straightens the wheel, glancing at me for a split second; we’re heading down a one-lane in the wrong direction. I alternate between wanting to see where we’re going and wanting to close my eyes from terror. Risking a short glance over my shoulder, I spot the cop’s flashing lights a good distance away. When I turn back around, we’re approaching a four-way, all stop lights red in our direction. Justin doesn’t waver.

“Hold on,” Justin says a millisecond before he whips the car left. We barely managed to scrape past a van, pulling into an alley.

We park behind a dumpster and kill the engine, both of our eyes trained to the entrance, waiting for the familiar lights to pass. It takes a few minutes, each longer than the last, before the sirens approach and pass without incident. We simultaneously let out a breath.

I drop my head back against the headrest, hand clutching my chest. “What. The fuck. Was that?”

Justin eyes me from his side of the car. “You tell me.”

“Me? I’m not the one who instigated a high-speed car chase.”

“I’m not the one committing grand theft auto,” he retorts, throwing his hands up.

For the first time in my life, I’m confronted by somebody catching me. And it’s a person I know, a person who helped me not get caught. I take a breath to calm my temper, allowing some of the adrenaline to phase out.

“Why’d you help me?”

His eyes are directed out his window as he takes his time to respond, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I saw the panic on your face and reacted.”

His words leave little to discuss, and he’s obviously feeling more conflicted about it than he’s letting on.

“We should ditch it,” I say, reaching for the door handle.

“No. They’re going to be patrolling, no doubt a dispatch is out. I say if we don’t see anything in an hour or so we can go. Dawn is probably their shift change, so we’ll wait until then if we need to.”

Great.

Silence descends and it’s stifling. There’s a weird animosity between us, and I don’t even know what for. We’ve now committed a felony together, and neither one of us wants to be first to break the standoff. It’s not like I stole
his
car.

Minutes pass and all I can think about is all the food I didn’t eat today. Being so stressed about meeting with my adviser and work, I skipped lunch and dinner. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. Justin looks over at me and I start laughing.

“I can’t help it.”

He reaches for the floorboard and pulls out a crumpled white bag. My stomach growls louder at the sight of the bag and he laughs, halving the burger and handing it to me. He folds the bag down, shaking the fries out. I sigh in contentment as I chew my first bite.

“So.” Justin swallows his before finishing. “You steal cars for what…fun?”

“No,” I snap.

He raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry. I have no right to get defensive.”

He nods once, accepting my apology. “Want to explain why you do it?”

Not particularly. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time.”