Jason can't get out of detention until tomorrow - Mr. Anderson holds grudges, I see - so our tutoring session for today is on hold. Fine by me.
I tell Danny that I have to stay after school anyway, just so he doesn't pick me up. I'm feeling pretty antsy from my meds and I need some alone time to clear my thoughts. This is a side effect of the Adderall: anxiety. Normally I would have plenty of reasons to be anxious: I'm at a new school, senior year will start getting stressful, Jason McCann gives me butterflies that won't go away. But I know the pills are making it worse, to the point where my anxiety fuels my spitfire. Meaning, I snap at people and get bold when I'm like this. It's better if I'm just by myself until it wears off.
I decide to walk home after school (and walk off the side effects...). Danny and I don't live far from North Shore - the townhouse is only fifteen minutes, right? - and this area is mostly suburban anyway. I'll be alright.
I put my headphones in and leave the school zone, passing graffiti walls and an industrial block before entering a neighborhood on North Shore Boulevard. And I only walk for about five minutes before I realize I'm not alone. A car has rolled up beside me, blasting hip-hop music.
Somehow I already know who it is before I look over. Jason is smirking at me from the driver's side, cruising slowly to match my pedestrian pace. The seats are low and the windows are down in his sleek black car - it's almost as sexy as he is. Obviously expensive, too.
Jason cuts the music abruptly so it's quiet in the street again.
"That's dangerous, you know," he says, coming to a stop as I do. His voice is muted but I can still hear him.
I pull my headphones out. "What's dangerous? You?"
He laughs, to my surprise. He seems like he's hard to amuse, and only gives smirks and grins. "Yeah," he admits. "But I meant walking around with your headphones in. You can't hear anything and you're not fully aware of your surroundings. What if someone snuck up on you?"
I glance around at the deserted neighborhood. There's no one on the sidewalks or in the streets, and the houses are still.
I turn back to Jason. "I heard you."
"No, you heard my music. I was playing it loud on purpose to see if you noticed."
I don't understand his concern, but my heart flutters anyway. "What are you even doing here? I thought you had detention."
"How could I forget, with you reminding me so much? It doesn't start until four o'clock. Now get in. Walking alone isn't a good idea. You think I'm dangerous? Try these L.A. streets and alleyways."
I blink at him, stunned. He can't be talking to me. I must have an invisible twin who's bolder and badder and better. She's standing right behind me, and Jason sees her right through me.
Jason raises his eyebrows and leans over to open the passenger door. As it hangs wide, inviting me in, he leans back in his seat expectantly.
"I have time to give you a ride, baby girl, but I don't have all day," he says. "You coming or not?"
He has time to give me a ride? Yum. Am I coming? I want to, just at the sound of his voice. Oh my fuck, you little nasty! I want to slap myself. Why, why do I let him do this to me? And twice in one day?
My bolder, badder, better invisible twin gives me a little push from behind, and I find myself getting into Jason McCann's car. It's lower than I expect and I almost fall into my seat.
He snickers and cruises down the road. We don't say anything for a couple minutes, and I study his profile inconspicuously. He leans back as he drives, one hand on the steering wheel and the other arm resting against his door. There must be about twenty tattoos on his left arm alone, and about three on the other. I can make out a compass, an owl, and a rose amongst the sleeve. The Rolex hugging his wrist matches the chain around his neck, and this close I can see that he's also wearing a chain with a cross at the end. So he believes in God, like me? Makes sense. The boy was crafted by the angels of heaven.
Finally Jason glances over at me and I look away as quickly as I can. I hope he didn't notice me staring. Or salivating.
"So San Diego Central, huh?" he says casually. "Why'd you leave in your senior year?"
I play with my fingers. "Forcefully relocated."
He smirks like he knows the concept. "That sucks. North Shore's not that bad, though. It's just not The Valley."
"Yeah. It's more like The... Alley."
He raises an eyebrow in question.
"You know... Dark. Secretive. Dangerous. A place for trouble." I hold his eyes as I say this, wondering if he realizes I'm describing him as well.
He blinks before surprising me again and laughing. It's a short laugh, like he's both amused by me and agreeing with me.
"You figured that out in two days?" he says, skating past a red light. God, this boy lives on the edge. "You really are a know-it-all."
"I'm not," I insist, feeling myself get pouty. He thinks he knows so much about me already. How? Why "You're the nerd tutoring me in AP Stat."
Jason presses his tongue against his cheek like he did earlier, trying not to laugh at Miley's joke. "I'm not a nerd. I just don't fuck around with my grades. And I like Math."
"What else do you like?" I ask much too curiously.
He glances over and smirks, looking me up and down. He won't answer but I can tell he can't believe my straightforwardness. I can feel my afternoon dose of Adderall burning in my brain, making me bold. Can it please just wear off before I say something embarrassing?
He's still smirking as he yields at a two-way avenue. "Left or right?"
"Er... Left."
"Am I taking you home?"
"Yes. Make another left at Springfield and keep going straight until you see the townhouse lot. Fourth one on the right."
He follows my directions and comes to a stop at the curb in front of our quaint townhouse. "Your parents aren't gonna say anything about Trouble bringing you home?"
"Trouble?" I repeat, ignoring the part about my parents altogether.
"Yeah. That's your nickname for me, since you think I'm so dangerous."
But you are. "What about Bizzle?" I say instead, like that's any better.
"How do you know about that?"
I press my lips together. "Word on The Alley."
A grin tugs at the corner of Jason's mouth. "Don't believe everything you hear. Bizzle isn't exactly a nickname. It's a street title thing. I only use it when the people I'm dealing with don't need to know my name."
People he's dealing with? What does that mean? Does he mean people he's hanging around with, or literally dealing? Like dealing drugs? My overactive mind races with question and speculation. I need to get out of this car. He's a mystery I shouldn't solve. At least, not now...
"I prefer to call you Jason," I let him know, gathering my things.
He watches me with those honey eyes. They're the most vulnerable part about him - at least, on the outside. "I prefer it too."
The finality in his statement is my cue to go. I step out of the car and close the door delicately, not wanting to slam it. It's just a really nice car.
"Have fun in detention," I offer, looking at him through the rolled-down window.
He snorts. "Have fun doing... whatever you do after school."
"Homework, maybe?" I laugh. "And I have a job."
"So do I," he admits, after a thoughtful pause. He eyes me. "You working tonight or something? You need a ride?"
I start to say yes, but my invisible twin has retreated, and so has her persuasion. I've had enough of Jason McCann today. He's like a drug. And I don't need to start depending on another one.
I shake my head. "No, it's okay. My brother will take me."
"Aight," Jason says. "Let me know. Don't walk around here alone. Seriously."
I find myself nodding firmly and agreeably - there's something dark and cautious about his tone. He's not playing around.
He nods at me, half-smirking, before rolling up his windows and zooming down the street. I glance at my wristwatch absently; it's 3:50. He's probably going to be late to detention, unless he keeps driving like that.
What a hot ride.
*****
"Would you take the trash out, Vanessa?" my manager, Peter, asks without looking at me.
"It's Tessa," I correct him, wiping down the coffee machine. There's like, no one in Hard Rock Caffeine (instead of Café, get it? Ugh) tonight, and there's barely any trash to take out.
"Yes, well, I can't have you standing around. That's free labor. Take care of the garbage and when you come back, you'll probably have a customer. Otherwise, keep cleaning."
I roll my eyes and mutter belligerently to myself. Peter's such an asshole manager. He thinks he runs the place. All he does is "supervise", "overlook", and boss me around, which is especially annoying because I work the night shift by myself. He can't even make an espresso.
I gather the plastic bag out of the garbage receptacle and make my way outside. The dumpster is around the side of the coffee shop, down an alleyway that intersects an abandoned building. Compared to the rest of downtown, it's pretty dark and secluded.
I hear voices as I walk towards the dumpster, and duck behind it cautiously. It's late and I don't know tae-kwon-do. What if there's muggers down there? The only light shines from the street lamp, and it's dim.
"I'll ask you one more time," a low, smoky voice threatens. "Why did you and your crew egg and teepee the skate park? My skate park?"
My heart hammers in my chest. Holy shit, that sounds like Jason! Swallowing, I glance around the dumpster, carefully so I can see but not be seen.
The Bizzle Gang is in formation. They're dressed uniformly in their denim and bandanas. Za and Khalil are holding a lanky guy by his arms, forcing him to stay on his knees. Miley is standing across from them, smoking but glaring. Is that a cigarette? No... not long enough, and the smell wafting over to me isn't unpleasant. Even with weed she looks dangerous.
And right beside Miley, standing with his lean muscled arms crossed over his chest, is Jason. He looks really angry, his perfect jaw clenching, his eyes flashing in the night.
"We didn't!" the guy insists. "We don't care about your skate park!"
"Obviously, since you trashed it. What you care about is getting back at me."
"I don't know what you're talking about, man! We ain't got nothing to get back at you for! That's bull - "
"Shut up," Miley orders, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "And stop playing stupid. You trashed Jason's skate park because we intercepted that shipment last week. You little bitches got jealous, so you insulted our turf."
"Exactly," Jason agrees, stepping toward the guy. Za and Khalil lift him up so he's face-to-face, but don't let him go. "I told you not to fuck with me, and you did anyway. But I don't get mad. I get even."
"You ain't got nothing on us, man. Not anymore. You gotta be on our level to get even. And what you mean you not getting mad? That's pussy shit."
Jason smirks, but not in an amused way. It's a devilish smirk, like he's on a mission to kill. Hold on. Is this the job he was talking about this afternoon?
"Now I'm mad," he says, and slams an uppercut into the guy's abdomen. He groans and doubles over. Jason lands another punch, then two, plus a blow to the ribs. Za and Khalil hold the guy still so he can receive the full brunt of it.
Awestruck, I turn and hurry out of the alley, with the punching bag guy's painful groans echoing behind me. I can't help but realize how weak and defenseless he sounds. Who's on that pussy shit now...