Chapter Two –
I fiddled with the sleek buttons of the speaker system of my secondhand Mercedes. The bass boosted in the confines of my vehicle, the windows quivering to the beat. Sinking into the leathery cushion of my chair, my fingers relaxed against the fuzzy, leopard-print covers of my steering wheel, relishing the smooth drive of my newly-fixed car, fresh from the shop. I was ecstatic to finally get my hands back on my baby. Because the hood of my car constantly sounded like clinking change, not to mention the momentary clouds of smoke that would snort out the sides, my ailing vehicle had to be fixed in the shop for an almost unbearable period of three, dragging weeks. There was nothing I despised more than being dependent on the ever-flaky Will Bailey, whom I had to constantly pester for a ride. I'd call my parents, Jeanie or Andrea, my older sisters, but they were always so wrapped up in their socialite, partying lives they barely answered any of my calls. After claiming to have forgotten me at the road on two separate occasions, I'd resorted to taking public transportation. I disliked bumping elbows with strangers on the bus, but it was an invigorating fresh air from Will's increasingly infuriating ways.
I sighed, my grip tightening around my steering wheel as Will's snotty, derogatorily generalizing remarks about the students of Rushmore rang in my ears. My eyes narrowed at the passing sparrow gliding across my windshield as I waited my turn at the stoplight. Who does he think he is, anyway? He paraded his Daddy-given wealth on his sleeve, carrying himself around like an obscenely rich, but hopelessly ignorant man-child, when the ugly reality remains that he was a month shy from thirty. But it's just as much my fault, blinded by his sweet, pearly-white smile and the pristine, sculpted abs beneath his tawdry designer polos, I'd also romanticized the idea of dating a man eight years my senior, wrongly and perhaps selfishly assuming that I'd be attending extravagant charity galas and visiting art galleries and museums. Not that I particularly enjoyed the arts – anything was nicer than Will's sordid idea of fun, which often involved a bucket of hot wings, frat-boy booze, endless ravers and showering shimmering strippers with his father's hard-earned cash. And now here I was, stuck in a seemingly dead-end road. I didn't even like to think about it, much less admit it to anyone out loud – I was settling, and I knew that, but in all honesty, you form some sort of bond after two years, and even though many believe twenty-two to be the ripest of ages, I was torn. I looked nothing like Jeanie and Andrea, who strictly and quite successfully modeled their looks after the Kardashian sisters – in fact, all my life, I'd always been the larger girl amongst peers. The opposite sex never seemed to give me a second thought until I'd grown into my curves two years ago, and when Will noticed me, I was hooked. I wasn't ready to let that go – I was terrified of being alone.
I snapped out of my daze, wincing at the abrupt, blasting horn of the navy blue pick-up truck honking behind me. I stuck my hand out the window apologetically as I stomped down on the gas pedal, my car jerking forward, easing the early morning road rage. The car jolted as the tires rolled over a bumpy patch of the road, ascending the freeway leading downtown. Peeking into my side mirrors, I steered slightly to the right, switching lanes. I squealed, a glinting, coal-black Ducati with a rumbling engine zipping across my car without warning, missing the nose of my hood by mere inches.
“Asshole!” I grumbled, leaning into my windshield, my eyes squinted towards the young man in a fitted, faded denim vest with ripped sleeves, crouched over the roaring motorbike, threading in and out of traffic.
I'm not sure what it was that took over me – maybe it was all the stored-up anger I tended to brew inside me, always a brooder, not a doer – but I floored it. Flashing my signal lights like a pro, triggered by resentment, I swerved in and out of traffic smoothly, my lips spreading into a wide, victorious smile as I pulled up next to the biker at a stoplight. I jabbed my finger at the window switch, the spotless glass next to me gliding south. My forehead crinkled in irritation as I poked my head out the open gap, my loose, French-roast tresses fanning out in the light, gusty breeze.
“Hey, buddy!” I called out, my voice wavering from the jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins, “Here's a friendly Tuesday morning tip for ya – how about not driving like a jackass?”
The man turned towards me, my breath garnering in my throat as he removed his helmet, fluffing his thick shock of earthy-brown, curtained hair. The stranger's numbing, stunning features threw me off guard, my jaw slacking as a charmed smile spread across his lips. The tiny, silver hoop in his ear glinted in my peripheral vision, my eyes helplessly drawn to the uncannily familiar baby-blue of his sexy, drowsy eyes.
“Sorry, Miss,” he apologized huskily, winking as he added, “You're right, that was my bad – you have my word. I'll be driving like a jackass no more.”
“I, uh – you bet your ass I'm right,” I stammered, softening, fully expecting a heated argument, or at least a scornful retort of some kind.
“Right, I'll see you around,” he replied, glancing up at the green light, beaming as he slipped his helmet back on, his voice muffled, “I promise I'll be keeping the streets safe for gorgeous girls like you. You have a good day now.”
My cheeks tinged with pink as he bulleted forward, my heart falling as he veered a corner out of sight. My windows rolled back up as my car kicked into gear, my thoughts scrambling for coherence as I completed the remaining path to Rushmore High. I pulled up into my usual space at the far end of the parking lot and made my way towards the dreary stretch of the clustered, brown-bricked school buildings.
I thanked a handful of shifty-looking students who opened the door for me, their clothes reeking of cigarette smoke laced with a little dank, awkwardly spreading out and leaning away from me as I strolled past them. As they vanished into the boys' bathroom, Coach Derrick of the basketball team, a burly-chested man notorious for his short fuse, stalked in after them from the corner of my eye. My shoulders hunched in anticipation, the coach's booming voice ricocheting down the hallway, followed by the boys scrambling out of the bathroom, the boy in the end hastily adjusting his sagging jeans as he staggered after his friends.
My forehead crinkled as I noticed Freddy by his locker, his oblivious expression almost comically shifting to one of stunned fright on his hanging mirror as he caught sight of my face creeping into the reflection. He shook his head, slinging the strap of his backpack over his shoulder as he turned to face me, grinning. His smile faltered as I crossed my arms over my chest, peering into his locker at the sliver of the bright paperback, the words “MANGO STREET” visible, buried underneath a messy pile of crumpled schoolbook covers with the edges shredded off, amongst a bundle of worksheets, uncapped pens and sprinkled eraser shavings.
Freddy tilted his head to the side, following my line of vision, the freckles on his cheeks disappearing in the flush as he grabbed hold of the book and shimmied it out of the mess. He buffed off the shavings with his fingers and shot me a sheepish smile, waving the book in the air dramatically.
“Right, I'll be reading this in Algebra–”
“No, you won't,” I interjected pointedly, pursing my lips in disapproval, “From what I recall, you're not doing too well in that department either. We'll go through it together after school –”
“Ah, yeah, about that,” Freddy started, his voice trailing off as he detected my flared nostrils.
“Come on, Freddy,” I intoned sternly, “Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait.”
“Fine, fine, Clarissa finally said she'd go out with me but I guess we can reschedule,” he relented, visibly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “You sound just like my brother.”
“Maybe I should meet him then, sounds like a very reasonable man,” I replied coolly, “Clarissa's a nice girl. You can take her out this weekend – you know – after your big test this Friday.”
“Okay, okay.”
I frowned, “You and I both know you need you're gonna be needing that scholarship in two years – you better smarten up. Time's a-tickin'.”
Freddy nodded silently, a thoughtful expression spread out across his face as he bolted his locker shut. He flashed me a smile before hurrying off to class.
“Thanks, Ms. Woodley. I'll see you later.”