"Ow!" I cry out.
A sharp pain stings my... elbows? What the hell? I open my eyes and look around, panicking and utterly terrified. I'm no longer in the alleyway - there's no gun pointed at me. My hand reaches up to feel my neck - no one's clutching me by the throat. I glance down at my feet - they're bare and unharmed. I'm lying on the floor of my bedroom, right beside my bed. Pale-blue dawn light seeps into the space through the drapes over my window.
After a very long and downright perplexed minute, it hits me: I was dreaming! Oh my God. I. Was. Dreaming. I must've been so frightened that I fell out of bed and smacked down on the floor. My elbows absorbed the impact, which explains why they hurt.
Wait a minute. If I was dreaming, that means I fell asleep. No! I'm getting careless. I can't let that happen anymore. I can't afford to sleep because I have fucked-up nightmares like that. That was a dream within a dream or something. No - I just swore that I woke up within it, when Peter called me to come into work. But I was actually asleep the entire time. That explains why everything looked so hazy.
But my fear and shock aren't hazy. I feel them lancing through me right now, as real as I did when my parents died. Being alone and helpless, having a gun pointed at me, getting shot - that was worse than any nightmare I've had thus far.
Weakly, I push myself upright and curl up, hugging my knees to my chest. Oh my God, I think I'm shaking. It felt so real, so horrible, so scary. I run my hand down my face and it comes back wet. I'm crying and I'm only now realizing. Tears stream down my face as I try to regain my grip on reality.
My phone rings from my bedside table. It startles me, and somehow I summon up enough energy to reach up and answer.
"H-Hello?" I say shakily, not bothering to check the caller ID.
"It's me," Jason McCann replies on the other end. He pauses for only a second. "You okay, baby girl?"
An obscure feeling lurches within me, and I think I cry harder. Shit, I'm a mess. "No. I don't know," I manage to answer, my voice sounding choked.
"What's the matter?" He sounds like his normal, nonchalant self, but something in his voice tells me that he cares, and I'm floored - literally. He has shown his concern for me, but I've never heard it.
I take a deep breath. "I had a really bad nightmare."
"You actually went to sleep?"
"Didn't mean to."
"You sound really scared, TK. Didn't I tell you not to be afraid?" I can imagine him smirking and raising an eyebrow, gazing at me with his sweet but scandalous honey eyes. I want to see his face.
"Yes," I confirm, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the edge of my bed. "But you don't know what I'm afraid of."
"What happened in your nightmare?" he asks. But then, before I can even struggle to reply, he says, "You know what? Tell me later. I'll give you a ride. Be ready in half an hour."
He hangs up without another word, and I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a few moments, dumbstruck. It's time for school already? How long was I asleep last night, or this morning? When exactly did I doze off? How did I plan on getting ready for school if I didn't even know I wasn't awake? I've lost all concept of time.
Which is why I waste five minutes slumped on the floor before remembering that today's my first day as part of the Bizzle Gang, officially. Shit! I have to get ready! I scramble around, grabbing the outfit Miley and I picked out yesterday, and stumble into the bathroom.
I turn the water on hot and plow through a quick shower - it helps clear my head and I'm able to sort through my thoughts. This kind of just makes my head hurt more because I remember everything Miley told me yesterday. How am I going to face Jason now? I still just want to hug him. I don't think he'll respond well to that. And I'm not so sure I should let on that I know about his depression. Miley mentioned it by accident, just like she noticed the Adderall on my sink. I don't think she'll tell anyone though. She's not the prying type, and neither am I. I'm simply curious.
Speaking of Adderall, I shove three capsules into my mouth and down them with tap water. I'm not risking sleep anymore. I feel the spike of energy and alertness as I dress quickly in faded denim skinnies, a cropped blue crewneck pullover, and white Converse. I fit a grey beanie over my thick, soft-black waves and swipe on my eyeliner and lipstick. By the time I knot a red plaid flannel around my waist and bound down the stairs, a text lands in my phone from Jason, letting me know that he's outside.
I grab a Pop Tart on my way out the door and notice Danny's passed out on the couch. He's dressed in the tie and dress pants he wore yesterday, and it's eerily similar to my dream. I throw a pillow at his face.
"Danny, wake up! It's past eight. You overslept. I have to go. I have a ride. Bye! Love ya!"
Outside Jason is perched on the edge of his hood, arms crossed. He makes yellow/blue plaid and a jean jacket look better than they ever should. His gaze runs up and down my body when I come to a stop in front of him, and he gives me that smirk that hits me like a cannonball. Like a McCannonball.
Shut up, my better-badder-bolder twin sneers. That was lame as hell.
"You look good, baby girl," Jason acknowledges, interrupting my personality war. He moves to open the passenger door and leans on it expectantly, waiting for me to enter.
"Thanks." I step forward and settle in. At least I'm smiling more than I'm flushing. That's a start. I unwrap the foil over my pitiful but practical breakfast, and am already offering Jason one as he gets into the driver's side.
He looks down at the pastry and raises his eyebrows at me before accepting it. But he smiles a little bit. Either I amuse him or he really likes Brown Sugar Cinnamon.
"No coffee?" he muses as he starts driving.
"Haha. I don't really drink it that much, actually."
"But you work at a coffee shop." His mouth twists at the irony.
My twin suddenly gains control and speaks for me. "Well, you work with drugs and shipments. Does that mean you take what you deliver?"
Dayum! Where'd that come from? We stop at a light and Jason turns to me with the face I imagined over the phone: raised eyebrow, lips tilted up in a smirk, eyes gazing at me like he can see right through me. He's surprised by my audacity again, and I worry that he doesn't exactly like it.
"I just meant - I only drink it at night sometimes to keep me awake," I amend. My boldness fades under his gaze. I nibble at my Pop Tart, feeling totally lame.
He doesn't answer right away. The light changes and he pulls forward, flooring the gas and driving a little faster than before. Did I make him mad?
"So you only drink it when you need it," he replies at last. He focuses on the road. "Just like I only take what I need, when I need it." Here he glances over and drifts his eyes down my body again. It's so suggestive and naughty somehow. My heart skips a beat.
I press my lips together and turn to look out the window, flushing.
"What days do you work?" he asks me eventually.
"Um, Tuesday, Thursday, and every other Saturday."
"Za and Khalil are gonna be on the lookout whenever you're there. I'll be posted up sometimes, too. Like I said, I doubt the Wreckers will come back, but they're stubborn. And stupid. So we'll just make sure. Unless you don't want us to."
"No!" I say quickly, whipping my head around to face him. Panic from my nightmare grips me suddenly. "I mean, yes. I want you to. Please."
He regards me, obviously noting my pleading, and nods. "Okay. We got you. I told you not to be scared."
"I'm trying."
"What was your nightmare about?"
I play with my fingers in my lap. "Um... the Wreckers from Saturday night. The messenger and his friend who got up in your face. I went to work and they dragged me down the alleyway. They accused me of snitching. Then one of them pulled out a..." My voice wavers a bit. The feelings rise up again, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. "A gun. And pointed it at me. He threatened to shoot me and when the shot went off, I woke up."
Jason considers. Then his gaze hardens into topaz. "Shit, TK. That could've happened for real."
"It felt real," I mumble, folding my arms across my torso.
"Is that why you sounded so shaky on the phone?"
I nod. "Yeah. And I really don't like guns."
"Neither do I," Jason mutters grimly.
I look at him with wide eyes. "You've handled them before?"
"Not by choice."
I swallow hard. We have that in common, I guess? How? Why? I don't know. I don't want to ask. I want to get off the topic entirely.
"We'll definitely keep an eye on you, then," he promises as he turns onto North Shore Boulevard. "You don't fuck around with a nightmare like that."
I see what he means; it's foreboding. I feel much safer now that I know Jason, Za, and Khalil are on the lookout. Nobody in their right mind is going to mess with them too much - I figured that out the day I saw them.
Jason maneuvers through North Shore's parking lot, eases into a space, and kills the engine. He turns to me and drapes his arm over the back of my seat.
"You good now, TK?" he asks.
I nod slowly. His nicknames are growing on me - he only uses them at certain times, like he knows when it'll affect me the most. But it comes so naturally.
"Yeah, Jason. Thank you."
He nods back at my assurance and glances out his windshield at the school. "What do you have first period?"
"Lit. It's so dead. You?"
"AP Calc."
My eyebrows shoot up. "You're taking AP Calc and AP Stat? How? Why?"
He shrugs and smirks. "I had a free period. And I told you, I like math. It helps with the... system we run, too."
I purse my lips. "Of course."
He smirks again. "You said Lit is dead. Let's skip."
"What? No. I just started here last week! You missed two days and got out of detention."
Jason laughs. What is this now? The fourth time? I don't know why but I love making him laugh, even if he's laughing at me.
"So?" he challenges, not seeing my point.
I glare at him. I forget, he ain't got no worries. "So, we can't just ditch. But I do have a paper to write. Let's chill in the library."
He considers it for a moment, then shakes his head and shrugs as if to say, Why not?
"See ya after homeroom," he says.
*****
As I walk down the hallways of North Shore I pretend I'm strutting down the runway of a fashion show. That's the easiest way for me to ignore everyone's raised eyebrows and following stares. Not only am I dressed like Jason and his crew, but I greet them in the halls and hang with them before the bell rings. North Shore just can't believe it. Up until a couple nights ago, neither could I.
While in Homeroom though, Stacey snickers and whispers to a group of her friends behind me. I don't know what they're saying; I can hear them, but I'm not listening. They look on with disapproval and after class, Stacey brushes past me pointedly.
"Hey Druggie, drop the act. You ain't fooling nobody. And showing your midriff is against dress code. You're so badass," she jibes sarcastically. She bumps me on the shoulder.
For the most part I ignore her as I walk to Lit and persuade Mrs. Collins to give me a pass to the library. But after my nightmare last night an insecurity nags at me with Stacey's antagonizing. Who am I kidding? Maybe she's right - maybe I'm not cut out for this. Can I handle it?
The messenger's words pierce through me: Shouldn't have got involved, bitch.
Jason finds me in the research and nonfiction section, pulling an encyclopedia from the shelf. He leans against the bookcase and kicks a foot up beside me.
"You were serious about writing your paper?" He frowns.
"Yes. Why? You thought I was joking?"
"I thought that was just your excuse for getting out of class," he reasons.
"You should stop assuming things."
He presses his tongue against his cheek. "About you? Okay. Just tell me then."
My voice stops working for a moment, stunned at his curiosity. I don't see how he could be as intrigued by me as I am by him. There's no mystery about me, not really. I'm an open book.
Jason smirks at my speechlessness as a trio of underclassmen girls pass us in the aisle. They glance over and quiet their conversation until they're out of sight, and their whispering resumes.
"Maybe they like your outfit as much as I do," Jason says as he looks back over at me.
I flush, half-bare midriff and all. I shake my head and leave to try to find a table. "Um... They're just wondering why you're talking to me. Everyone is."
"Why I'm talking to you? Isn't it obvious?"
"I don't know. They don't believe that I'm really with you guys. I'm not convincing anyone."
"Yet," he corrects, following me to a table near the computer lab in the back.
He doesn't say anything more as we sit down across from each other, and he leans back and props his feet up, crossing them at the ankles. He looks like he's modeling for an Adidas commercial.
"Why did you, anyway?" I wonder, peeking at him as I turn the pages of my encyclopedia. "Talk to me, I mean. On my first day."
He scrutinizes me. "Curiosity."
I blink. "So it's not just because I sat in your seat?"
"That was part of it."
"Were you really mad or were you just trying to make a point?"
"Mad? No. Just surprised. And what point are you talking about?"
"That I should know what belongs to you."
He smirks. "That's not something I tell. That's something you figure out."
"You like being infuriatingly mysterious, don't you?" I ask, feeling hopeless and desperate and exasperated and mesmerized. I close my book - it's not like I'm actually reading it. I'm too busy reading Jason.
He taps his fingers on the tabletop. His Rolex glints under the fluorescents. "You ask a lot of questions, TK."
I pout. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just -" I pause, gathering the words. "I've known you for a week and I'm not sure if I've seen enough to know everything about you, or seen too much and still don't know enough."
"So what, you want an explanation?"
"Are you gonna give me one?"
"Depends on what you ask me."
I try not to grimace. That's better than nothing, I guess, so I rack my brain for some questions. As usual, I have too many. I lower my voice.
"What drugs do you get in your shipments?" I murmur.
Jason hikes an eyebrow. "Stuff that gets you faded. Calms you down. Kills the anxiety. And stuff that does the opposite. Like... Adderall." He looks at me pointedly.
My cheeks heat. "Who do you give it to?"
"Whoever needs it. And they give us something in return."
"Turf," I offer. "Right?"
"Yeah. Respects, alliances, or protection, too."
"What else do you do to earn all that? Besides shipments?"
He considers. "Eliminate threats," he answers after a moment, and his tone is dark.
Uh, that doesn't sound too good. I try a different route. "Er, why are you and the Wreckers rivals?"
"They're shady, petty as fuck, and we hate them," he replies, and it's the most straightforward answer I've gotten from him so far. So I just accept it and decide against asking about the "grudge" Miley mentioned.
"What's your plan? To end this feud, I mean."
He tilts his head and frowns a little. For a moment he looks tired and troubled, like he just wants it to stop.
"They won't stop until they have everything they want," he tells me distractedly, looking down at his tattoo sleeve like it's a puzzle. I follow his gaze and admire the ink - it's artistic. I want to ask him about it too.
"But this time we don't know what they want," he continues and glances back up at me. My eyes leave his arm and meet his.
"Maybe they just wanna mess with you and wreck shit, like you said," I offer, feeling obliged to help. I want to. "Is that why you call them Wreckers?"
His smirk returns. "Yup. That's exactly what they do. And not just turf."
I nod agreeably, thinking about my dream. They probably would pull a gun out. "Do you know that people call you guys Bangerz?"
"Yeah."
"Why?" I ask even though I kind of already know. I want to hear it from him.
"It's short for Bizzle Gang," he replies simply. He knows I know.
"Does it have anything to with guns?"
He glances around. "Maybe."
I bite my lip and pause, the questions halting for a moment. Jason looks at me and, so quickly that I'm stunned, reaches forward and tugs gently on my chin, pulling my lip back down.
"You have a cute mouth, baby girl," he says as he leans back. "Don't bite your lip."
If I wasn't speechless before I am now. The bell rings before I can collect myself, startling me with the shrill bang sound. First period is over. Jason takes his feet off the table and stands lithely, nodding his head for me to come.
I follow him out of the library and into the halls. He walks with me as I make my way to my French classroom. Of course, Stacey is around and gives me a dirty look.
I sigh and Jason glances over.
"What's her problem?"
"She's jealous. I don't care about that. But she's not convinced. I told you I'm not believable."
"I can fix that." Suddenly he circles my wrist and presses me against the lockers. His honey eyes gleam at me wickedly.
"What are you doing?" I whisper, baffled.
"Changing a variable in the experiment. To make it more - convincing."
And then he leans down and kisses me very quickly. But he smells amazing and his lips are soft and when he pulls away he rubs my chin gently, wiping away the lipstick he smudged.
I stare after him as he saunters off, only half-aware that everyone, including Stacey, is staring at me.