Chapter 9
"Right now?" He asks skeptically.
"Aw, worried Uncle Mitch will chew you out?" I chide.
"Yes," he answers right away.
"Oh well," I say with a shrug as I walk pass him with a satisfied sway to my hips.
Approximately ten steps later he calls, "That is if he knew. Fortunately, you wrote us some get out of jail free cards."
I stop dead. Dammit. I forgot about the passes I wrote us. I can't exactly revoke my offer. I heave a sigh as he walks up beside me.
"We have to take your car," he sings cockily.
I huff out a breath and walk to the double doors at the side of the gym. We emerge into the parking lot and I lead the way to my Mustang. I unlock the doors and we both get in.
"Can I drive?" He asks with a hopeful smile.
"Are you crazy? No."
"I have my license. Look," he says presenting the small plastic card he pulls from his wallet.
"Why would I let you drive my car?"
"One, everyone says you're filthy rich so if you get into an accident doctor bills and a new car won't even put a dent in your weekly allowance. Two, I got mine taken and I miss being behind the wheel. Three, I'm begging you, which never happens."
I regard him for a while and don't answer. I just open my door and get out. He holds open the passenger door and bounces on his toes, waiting as I take my time. I slip into the passenger seat and he closes my door. He's a gentleman. I've give him that. Even Sam doesn't open doors for me anymore. Sam. What is he gonna do when he doesn't see me at lunch? Oh well, he's probably too angry with me to even care.
He plops down into the driver's seat and exhales. "This is a beautiful car. How many cylinders?"
"Eight," I answer immediately, affectionately patting the dash.
He looks at me with a little more respect. "It's extremely sexist of you to look at me like that. Despite everything you think of me, I love my car. Dad used to talk about Mustangs all the time. He always said that there was nothing better than the sound of American muscle."
I hold my breath and hope that he doesn't catch on to my use of the past tense. Why did I say that? What is he doing to me? No such luck. He asks, "Used to?"
"Just start the damn car and lets go," I answer, ending the conversation before it can start.
"Okay, I'll go first. I'm adopted," he says starting the car and revving the engine. If he does it again we might get caught, but I don't care. The sound is too sexy to care.
He carefully puts the car in reverse and backs out of the parking spot. He shifts again and we're gone, on our way to God knows where. It feels good to just ride. I haven't done it in a while now. I've pretty much been a lone rider since I got my licence and car two years ago. It's funny how good it feels to just go where someone else is taking you and give another person the control.
"Okay, so, mommy and daddy didn't want you. Next," I say meanly. I may seem okay with this, but I want to let him know that I have no intention of telling him anything about myself. Plus I want to prove that I am every bit a bitch I claim to be.
"You won't scare me away. You know that right?" He asks looking over at me. He turns onto the highway and starts down the I10. I have no idea where we're going.
"You know I don't care right? Where are you taking me?"
He hums for a minute and says, "Mexico. Where's the music chica?"
His Latin accent is flawless and I swoon a little bit before snapping out of it. I roll my eyes to feign nonchalance and tap the screen on the dash. I think as I scroll through my music How can I wear him down? I select the playlist with all my cheer routine songs on it. Hopefully this will annoy him as much as he's annoying me.
I sigh after two whole songs have played and we're still driving. Although it's only been about ten minutes my impatience get's the best of me. He isn't bothered by the annoying ass techno blasting from my speakers? What does he have nerves of steel? This shit annoys the hell outta me and I listen to it almost every day. I still don't know where we're going.
"You can't drive to Mexico from here, now where are we going?" I ask.
He takes a minute to answer, "I want to visit a friend of mine back home. I need to tell them something."
"Oh, so you're using me for a ride? You owe me for gas," I say.
He just shakes his head and gets this really serious look on his face. His shoulders straighten and his jaw clenches.
"Is this a girl we're going see?" I ask. He doesn't look at me, but I see his hands clench tighter. Without answering he presses the button on the steering wheel to change the song. He pointedly ignores my question and lifts his chin defiantly.
"Fine. Cindy Lewis is my step sister," I relent with a sigh.
A smile splits his face and he asks, "Which one remarried? Mom, or Dad?"
"Dad," I mumble.
"Wasn't that easy?" He asks.
I glare and say, "Don't push it."
He raises both hands in surrender.
"Both hands on the wheel Dough Boy!"
"Sorry," he says sheepishly. He takes a left at a turn pike and continues along at sixty miles per hour. I listen to the engine rumble for a while before asking, "Is she your girlfriend?"
He smirks and asks, "Why? I'm kinda available if you're wondering." I scoff and he continues, "She was. I have no idea anymore. That's why I need to see her." I study him as he drives. There's this haunted look about him and I'm struck with the need to know why. What has him so gloomy? What did she do to him?
"What'd she do? Cheat on you with your best friend?
"Nah," he answers unperturbed by my rudeness, "She's just too good for me." There is a bitter note in his tone, but I ignore it.
I raise an eyebrow, "She's too good for a blue collar stalker who works at his Uncle's pizza shop a few towns away and buys books for girls who cry? Who is she Mother Teresa?"
"You know, I wasn't always this good of a person Ice Queen. People change."
I look out the window. I study my reflection and say, "Don't I know it."
He turns the music down and asks, "What happened to your Mom? Why'd your Dad remarry?"
I swallow the lump gathering in my throat, "She died." It feels kind of liberating to say it out loud actually. All the people not afraid to talk to me know about her, so it's really the first time I've ever said it out loud. I'm tired of dodging his questions. I won't answer them all, but he won't get off scott free either. I have a few questions of my own. "That's the first time I've ever said it out loud," I whisper.
I feel a hand brush mine and whip my head around. He squeezes my fingers in a comforting manner and asks, "Did she used to call you Book Worm?"
His question jars me and I jerk my hand away. "Why would you ask that?"
He does his best to give me a sympathetic look without taking his eyes off the road. "It's just that every time I call you that your face goes blank and this morning you cried. I just put two and two together. I'm sorry if I'm prying."
"Well, you are," I say shakily.
"Hey, I'm sorry," he says hastily. "My Mom's dead too," he confesses. "At least I think she is. It was a closed adoption and I'm prevented by law from finding my parents, but I peaked at the adoption papers and saw her name. I did a Google search and found an obituary with a picture of a woman that kind of looks like me."
I take in a shaky breath and let curiosity take over, "Why do you want to know her if she didn't want you?"
He let's out a shaky breath and whispers, "I don't know. Curiosity?"
Neither of us talk after that and we soon pull into the parking lot of a fancy prep school. At least, I assume it's fancy and preppy by all the luxury and sports cars in the parking lot. Plus there are kids walking around in blazers and loafers. It doesn't get any more preppy than that.
"We did not skip school to visit another one," I say as he pulls up in front of a courtyard. There are kids all around sitting at tables and under trees. They mill about talking and laughing. I bet Jennifer would've loved to send Cindy and I here instead of public school had she not signed that prenup and had access to Dad's money. I laugh at the thought.
"The uniforms are silly looking, but I like to think I looked as good as possible in it. The pants were stiff as hell, but you get used to it I guess," Hayden says searching the crowds for someone. I try to picture him in a navy blue blazer and khakis. It could work for him if his hair wasn't so long and he walked around with his nose turned up.
"Nah," I say, "snobby rich kid doesn't suit you."
"You obviously don't know me very well," he says under his breath. Finding whoever he was looking for he opens the car door and walks up to a group of seniors. I assume they're seniors because of the Letterman jackets they wear that proudly proclaim "Class of 2015". They stand out in the sea of blazers.
Hayden walks up to one of the guys in the group with short dark brown hair and a medium build. He's about an inch or two shorter than Hayden, but so are a lot of people. He happily embraces Hayden and I see them exchange a few words. The guy nods over to me and my car and Hayden looks over. He smiles and whatever he says to the guy makes him laugh.
"What was that about?" I mumble to myself. I contemplate getting out and going over there, but rethink it as I see a pretty brunette run over from the other side of the courtyard. She must have gotten Hayden's attention because he turns and meets her halfway. They embrace hungrily and I suddenly miss Sam. He'll be pissed at me for a while, I know it. Usually when we fight, if we fight, he does what he did today. He takes all the blame and apologizes in this grand gesture that warrants make up sex, but this time Hayden ruined it.
And now he's given me the perfect opportunity for revenge. Oh this is gonna be sweet. Today my outfit of dark blue skinny jeans and a white T-shirt isn't exactly jealousy material, but I can make it work. I climb into the driver's seat as I watch the girl play with his ear as he talks to her. I rev the engine and turn off the car. I've gotten his and many others' attention.
I watch his face change from happiness to confusion as I walk over to him. My heart skips a beat and adrenaline pumps through my veins in anticipation. I click the button on my remote to lock the door and change my expression to the one of "the bitch".
"Who is this Hayden?" I ask like a jealous girlfriend with the cock of a hip and the raise of an eyebrow. I cross my arms and subtly push up my boobs with the movement.
His eyes narrow, "This is Brooke. I told you about her in the car."
"You told me she looked like a troll and had frizzy hair. And didn't you say something about her cheating on you with your best friend? Why is she hugging you like you're some long lost pet?" I ask with narrow eyes.
She detaches herself from him and looks at me, hurt. Sorry sweetheart, but this aint about you.
"Let me get this straight," I say as a crowd gathers, "You dragged me, in my car, miles and miles from home so that you can visit your ex-girlfriend, who I had no idea about when we slept together, so that you can what? Reconcile? Reconnect? Right in front of me Dough Boy? That's low."
He almost shakes with anger as the brunette asks him, "What is she talking about? You cheated on me? With her?"
"Hayden? Are you still with her? You told me you broke up," I say feigning hurt.
"This isn't funny. Get back in the car," he says steaming. So, I found his hot spot. Glory glory glory. How does it taste Doug boy? How does it taste?
"Answer me dammit! Did you cheat?" She asks, tears streaming down her eyes. Her voice is all high pitched and her eyes are big and glassy.
He closes his eyes, "Why would you believe a word she says? You don't even know her."
"No I don't, but I know you! That's also not your car and you haven't been answering my texts! Why would I not believe her? Look at her! She's exactly your type. Exactly like you," she says, voice quivering.
"Don't flatter him sweetheart. He was a pity date. Came crying to me about how badly you broke him heart," I say in a fake sympathetic voice with my bottom lip jutting out.
No one says anything and Hayden gives me perhaps the deadliest glare I have ever seen. This is magical. Now he gets it. Hopefully he'll be out of my hair in no time. He stands there with his arms at his sides, already defeated. He reaches for her and tries to explain.
"Brooke, listen to me. Uncle Mitch took my phone and my car, I couldn't get in touch with you because-"
"Save it Hayden. I knew it. I knew we couldn't work," she said before walking off, tears running down her cheeks.
"Well, my job here is done. Let's go home honey bunches," I say turning around.
"Fine," he yells at my back.
I turn slowly with a sadistic smile, "What was that?"
"I give up. You want me to believe you're a bitch, fine. I get it." He storms over to me and growls, "But we'll see how happy Sam will be to find out you've slept with me."
"Oh yeah, and how ever will he find out? You gonna explain it to him? He's not as gullible or fragile as your wittle Brooke."
Hayden turns to a girl standing in the crowd, "Misty! Did you post it yet?"
"Doing it now!" She calls back fiddling with her phone.
All the blood drains from my face, "Post what?"
It's his turn to smile sadistically, "Misty there runs the gossip site for the school's journalism club. She records everything. The video of you confessing to Brooke about our affair will be up within the hour. Sam should know he's dating a cheater since Brooke now knows and we can finally be together sweetheart. No obstacles." He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. He slips the keys out of my back pocket as I stand there like an idiot.
He's an evil genius.