Street Girl

09 | lucy

I try not to, but I smile. "Sure."

"Cool."

He takes a cobalt blue hoodie from the closet and hands it to me. Stuffing my Tupperware of cake in his hands, I pull the hoodie over my head until it devours me, and his smell of clean laundry practically leaks into my pores. When I poke my head out, I snatch the cake from him.

"Don't look at me like that," I say.

"Like what?"

"With that stupid grin on your face."

"Sorry."

Elliot opens the door, and cold air breezes in. I already miss the warmth of this place, but at least Brett is coming to give my stuff back. I hop onto the porch as Elliot leans against the doorframe and chews on his bottom lip.

"So," he says, "do you like, go to school or anything?"

"No, I dropped out."

"Really? So what do you do?" At my silence, he shifts on his heels. "Sorry. I'm asking too many questions."

"Maybe a little. Thanks for dinner, though. I really do appreciate it." He averts his eyes and fidgets with his fingers, like he wants to add something. I don't have all night, so I say, "What? Come on, spit it out."

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, about you not wanting me around you anymore. Do you still want that? Or can I like, have your number or something?"

Butterflies. I don't do butterflies, yet they tear around in my stomach like a tornado. "What for?"

"I don't know." He rubs the back of his neck. "I was thinking we could be friends or something. I mean, we met in a pretty crazy way. You can't expect me to forget something like that."

I cross my arms. I don't know what this guy likes about me, but I guess having a way to contact him wouldn't be so bad. "Sure. Whatever. Hand over your phone."

"Really? Okay, awesome." He slips his fancy iPhone into my palm, and I type in my name.

"You know," I say, "normally in a situation like this, I'd do something hilarious like program in the rejection hotline."

"What?"

"Nothing." I hand him back the phone with a smile. "That's my real number."

"Thanks. Guess I'll see you around?"

"I guess. Bye, Elliot." I turn on my heel and storm down the driveway, unsure why my heart is beating so fast. I'm acting like an idiot.

Elliot shuts the door, and I exhale a breath of relief. When I open my eyes, Brett's box Chevy is parked across the street, its black body contrasting with the bright snow. Wu-Tang plays from the stereo.

Sliding into Brett's car is like coming home; the stink of his Marlboro cigarettes, the heat pouring from the vents. It's achingly familiar. He rests his hand on the wheel and smiles a little as I get in. Brett is what I'd call softly handsome, with gentle features, warm brown skin, and pointy ears, but all the ruggedness of a man his age. He can be a mean sonofabitch if you're on his bad side, but there's a kindness in his eyes I've always loved about him. I think of him as my brother, my best friend, my protector. But he's twenty-eight years old and I'm seventeen, and sometimes I wonder if I'm nothing but a charity case to him. He feels bad for me because of Slater. But I feel bad for him, too.

Hard to believe such a good soul could ever have been Colton Slater's best friend. They've known each other since high school, but by the end of mine and Colt's "relationship," Brett realized how messed up he is. Now he looks out for me in the only ways he can. If Colt found out, I don't want to imagine what he'd do.

Brett reaches into the backseat and hands me a plastic bag. "Here's your stuff."

Some of my clothes are inside, and I cram everything into my worn-out denim backpack. It's not much, but it's enough. Brett's silence says nothing good.

"Just spit it out, Brett."

"Slater still thinks you owe him your life."

"I do owe him my life, but I don't care. He can't have it."

He falls quiet. The golden glow from the lawn reindeer of Elliot's house is like the light at the end of a tunnel. "Anyway," Brett says, "he should be gone in a day or two. Maybe you can come by then."

"Maybe?"

He hesitates. I scoff.

"I get it, Brett. You get no pleasure out of this. Say what's on your mind."

"It's hard having you around, Luce. The way Colt showed up out of the blue like that... hell, if you'd been there, we'd all be in big shit. If he finds out we're helping you, it's game over. For all of us."

Brett's words are a bitter pill to swallow, but he's right. I grab the door handle. "I'm sorry, Brett. I'll stay out of your hair."

"Wait, at least let me give you a ride."

"No, thank you. I'll be okay." Back in the cold again, dark clouds shield the half-moon's pearly light. Brett rolls down the window.

"Come on, Luce. Get back in."

"No, it's okay, really. I'll see you later, okay?" I try to sound strong, but my voice breaks. As I trek down the street, regret pools into me. I have too much pride for my own good, and it isn't going to get me someplace warm. But no way am I getting back in that car. Brett idles for a moment before he revs the engine and speeds away. His taillights disappear into the snowy night, and I pull Elliot's hood over my face. I don't mean to breathe in his scent, but...

It's weird to say, but wherever I end up tonight, I'll be thinking of him.