"So, are you feeling Senioritis yet?" I ask casually. I lean back and prop my feet on the dashboard.
Jason and I are back in his car now, a couple hours after breakfast. We stayed at IHOP for a while eating and talking about the Stat project and school. He told me about his best smart-ass remarks and class disruptions. Turns out the scene with Mr. Anderson and the skateboard stunt I saw on my first day was only part of the McCann Saga.
Now Jason does a half-shrug, half-nod gesture like he's contemplating. He looks good driving, reclined and steering with ease. "To be honest, I had Senioritis as a freshman. School is really depressing sometimes, but whatever. What about you?"
He thinks school is depressing sometimes? Hmm. Can't say I disagree, considering my experience at North Shore. My first few days there weren't exactly inspiring what with the gossip, gawking, and greetings. But Jason and his friends - my friends - have definitely made it better. And easier.
"Not yet," I admit. "Maybe when we get closer to graduating I'll feel it more. Right now it just feels like another year. Especially with all these midterms. I'm just focused on that."
"Nerd," he jibes, and when I pout he grins. "Nah, TK, I'm just playing with you. You don't mess around with your grades. I get that."
"Yeah, you know," I agree indifferently, "securing my future and all that." I pause before the words come tumbling out. "My parents said good grades aren't everything but they definitely help. I'm a high achiever anyway but I still have to work hard. Danny's the one that didn't have to try. Things came naturally to him in high school. And it wasn't surprising when he got into Stanford Med. He only had to put it off because - "
I stop abruptly, my voice catching on the confession. I was about to say because our parents died. My story isn't hard to say but it is hard to tell. And it's too heavy for someone who already carries the weight of the world on their shoulders, on the brink of either lifting it up higher or letting it crush them. That's the best way I know how to describe depression: after my therapy sessions, I have an idea even though I don't have it. That's how I think Jason feels. And I don't want to add any more pressure.
"I'm sorry, I'm babbling," I amend, shaking my head and looking out the window.
"It's cool. I'm curious about you. I told you that."
I turn back to face him. He's throwing me a smirk over his shoulder as he drives, his honey eyes hypnotic. I feel my cheeks redden a little bit but I can't bring myself to leave his bewitching gaze.
"Why?" I murmur.
He shrugs and shifts his attention back to the road. His expression is both helpless and amused, like he can't stand my endless questions but likes it a little, too.
"There you go, asking all them questions," he observes. He pauses for a moment, yielding to his words like he yields to traffic. "I just like what I see, baby girl. That's my answer."
"That's all you had to say." My twin pipes up and takes over, eager to shoot off at the mouth. She's so trigger-happy. And she's gaining more control of me.
"You know why I ask you so many questions?" I challenge, emboldened. "Because you're always so cryptic and mysterious. I'm curious about you, too, Jason. Because I already know you're bad and dangerous and risky. But I wanna know how bad."
He comes to a stop at a red light, twists to face me, and drapes his arm over his headrest. He's looking at me with eyebrows raised, mouth curved into a smirk, eyes wicked and mesmerizing. His gaze drifts up and down my body in that sultry way and his grin gets slyer. Just like that the atmosphere in the car has intensified. I swallow hard and squirm in my seat, getting a little hot and bothered.
"I'm not just bad, baby girl," Jason corrects. "I'm the worst." And then he floors the gas, skating through the red light a mere second before it changes to green.
My heart hammers with thrill and excitement. That's a warning. But it also sounds like a promise - like I haven't seen the worst yet but I will if I stick around. If anything I'm more intrigued.
"Fine. What's the worst thing you've ever done?" I ask off the top of my head. Then, after a thought, I add, "So far."
His gaze is trained out the windshield again. He wrinkles his nose and makes a nah face.
"Jason, come on," I plead. "I don't care what it is. Tell me."
"No, it's not that, TK," he assures me with a chuckle. "The list is really long. I'm just thinking."
Damn. What, does he have a rap sheet or something? Why I am surprised? I bite my lip, then quickly fix it before he can see. "Just pick one, then."
A few moments of silence pass as he ponders. Then he confesses, rather nonchalantly, "I lit up in a movie theater with Miley once."
My mouth drops open. I can't even fathom. "What?"
He smirks like he knows I couldn't handle it. "The movie was confusing as hell, TK. And boring. " He holds up a hand innocently. "So I had some on me 'cause we'd just come from a shipment. I gotta stop doing that," he mutters hastily. He shakes his head. "Anyway, after we rolled one the movie started making more sense. Like, a lot more sense."
I blink. "What movie was it?"
He hesitates, then presses his tongue against his cheek like he's fighting off laughter. "I don't remember. I was burnt."
I prop my elbow on the armrest of my door and stare at him, chin in hand. "Well... did you get caught?"
"Hell nah. Getting in trouble for that would've been the worst thing. Or one of them. I've never been arrested." He glances at me and smirks proudly.
"Because you've never been caught," I point out, hiking an eyebrow.
"I didn't say I've never done anything that I could get arrested for." His tone is dark.
I purse my lips. I should be used to his ambiguity by now. And I'm not going to deny that I like it. I like the challenge of figuring him out.
"So..." I wonder aloud. "Do you - light up often?"
He snickers - probably at the way I'm saying it, like it's a foreign language. It's the same way I say Bizzle Gang. "Only when I need to."
"And when is that? When you want stuff to 'make sense'?" I curl my fingers into quotation marks as I say this.
Jason pauses and keeps his eyes on the road, thoughtful for a minute or so. "Mostly when I wanna get rid of the tense feelings and anxiety," he explains quietly, carefully.
You're not the only one who gets anxious, he told me that night the Wreckers showed up at the cafe. But why does he get anxious? This seems like a sensitive subject.
I watch him; his jaw is working like he's tense now. "Why do you feel like that?" I ask softly.
"The same reason you do."
I frown. "But you don't take Adderall." Even if Miley didn't tell me that he stopped taking it last year, I would've known. He doesn't act nearly as jittery as I do. But that's because he has a substance to relax him. So why does he have the nerves in the first place?
"Nope," he confirms, smoothly rotating the steering wheel as he makes a turn. "But I take uppers. We call 'em bizzurps in shipments. The only difference is, mine are prescribed, baby girl." He smiles ruefully.
I flush at his jab but my thoughts quickly return to the matter at hand. I'm figuring him out slowly but surely. I just have to approach this right. I recall our conversation in the library earlier this week.
So what, you want an explanation? he asked me.
Are you gonna give me one? I was almost frustrated at the time.
Depends on what you ask me.
I drag a hand through my hair. "You know why I take my uppers," I remind him. I exhale. "So why do you take yours?"
Jason's gaze skips back and forth between the road and me a few times. I can see the contemplation passing over his face, the expectation of my questions. And finally I see something in his expression that reminds me of myself, the day I told him about my Adderall. He just wants to be understood. Not judged, not analyzed, not assumed about... just understood.
"Because sometimes I get down, baby girl," he explains to me, his voice grim. "I get down so low and deep that I can't see the top."
My heart squeezes with sympathy. He just gave me the answer I was waiting for - he just won't come right out and say it. That he has depression. It's not like him to be so straightforward. But since Miley told me already, and because I'm smart enough to realize it, I know what he's saying without him actually saying it.
And like Miley said, I couldn't tell because he didn't show it. But I don't think he could help it this morning. Sometimes one person sees more than others do, and you have no choice but to explain yourself in hopes that they'll see what you're going through, too.
I feel like that has happened between Jason and me. He knows about my Adderall and my nightmares, but he never pushed me to say more than I did. I need to return the favor.
"So smoking," I mention, clearing my throat. "It helps?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm. I've always wondered what it feels like. I've never tried it."
"Do you want to?"
"Yes," I reply too quickly.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I'll show you. Soon. It'll help with your nerves."
Something dawns on me. "Wait, that's what you were offering me before?"
"It works. I promise."
I nod. "What else helps you?"
"Skateboarding. Music. Working out. Talking to you."
"Really?" I raise my eyebrows in shock.
"Yeah." Jason's tone is simple. "I like talking to you. It's chill, no pressure." His mouth twists."Except when you ask me all these damn questions."
"I'm sorry," I apologize sheepishly. I fold my hands in my lap. "It's because I like talking to you, too."
"Don't be sorry."
"Why is your nickname Bizzle?"
"No, no, now it's my turn," Jason protests, shaking a finger at me.
I pout. "What?"
"I just wanna know one thing."
"Just one?" I repeat.
"Yeah. I already know a lot about you, TK." He peeks at me in his periphery. "You have good music taste, you're optimistic, you wanna be bad 'cause it's fun. But I wanna know one thing. Are you tired?"
I blink, flustered. "Huh?"
"Are. You. Tired?" Jason repeats slowly enunciating each word.
I stare at him. "Tired, no. I took more Adds than usual this week. But sleepy, yes. Can't help that." I frown.
He reaches over to mess with the radio. "Then take a nap."
"What?"
He adjusts the volume to low. "What's the matter? You don't understand English? I forgot how to say it in French - "
"Jason, you know I can't sleep," I remind him as I shake my head, defeated. "Nightmares."
"It's daytime. And I only said take a nap. Now lay back and close your eyes," he orders, not even looking at me. Keeping a firm hand on the wheel he reaches across my lap, his elbow on my thigh, and pulls a lever so my seat reclines.
This dominant, possessive, bossy ass motherfucker! I don't know if I'm annoyed or enticed. Maybe it's both.
"I'm not going to sleep," I insist stubbornly. I cross my arms over my chest.
"Okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"Haha."
He pushes a button on the console in the middle of the car. Suddenly I feel soothing heat on my butt and the backs of my thighs. Wow. Seat warmers. And the music playing from the radio is calming like a lullaby.
I narrow my eyes and glare at him.
"I said close your eyes, not narrow them at me," he says smugly.
"Will you shut up if I do?"
"Absolutely."
"I'm not going to sleep," I tell him again before squirming down in my seat like a child and shutting my eyes. My vision goes black and I see nothing, only feel and hear. Feel the heat spreading under me and warming me like a blanket. Hear the sweet classical notes of the music drifting from the radio...
"Hey, baby girl. Time to wake up."
I feel a hand squeeze my arm gently, and a low voice close to my ear. I open my eyes and glance around, startled and confused. Jason is beside me in his car. We're sitting in North Shore's parking lot. I feel like I missed something.
"What happened?" I ask Jason, sitting up and running a hand through my hair.
"You fell asleep," he replies simply, rolling his eyes like it's a ridiculous question. "Drooling a little, too." He smirks and dabs at my cheek with his knuckle.
Disbelief strikes me. "Wait, what? I fell asleep? For how long?"
"Like two hours. I drove back here and waited for school to be over. You were out, TK."
I stare at him in astonishment. "I... I didn't have a nightmare." The realization is a shock. Sure, I only dozed off for a little while. That's happened before. But peacefulness and actual rest? That hasn't.
"It's all up here, baby girl." Jason reaches up to tap his finger against my temple. "It's all in your head."
I'm disoriented and dazed. I just can't believe this. "How did you do that?" I whisper as if he's done some kind of magic trick.
"What, make you sleep?" He shrugs innocently. "I just set the mood right."
I just look at him. It dawns on me that while I refuse to go to sleep because I assume that I'm going to have nightmares, I've never actually tried. I've never actually tried to relax and close my eyes and let it come naturally. Not since I started taking Adderall.
Jason smirks crookedly and my heart thuds against my ribcage like a bird trying to get out. His arm is draped over the headrest right above me. My seat is still reclined so he's looking down at me, our bodies angled towards each other. Oh, he smells heavenly. And we're so close again. It's distracting. We gaze at each other for a moment in our proximity, and my eyes lower to his supple lips. Oh my God. I remember: they're as soft and warm as they look. I want him to kiss me again. And for real this time.
Longing for his touch, I lean forward suddenly. I'm pretty sure I don't imagine him leaning forward to meet me -
"Bizzle Gang on 'em!" a voice calls from outside. It sounds like Za, and it interrupts our exchange.
Jason twists his mouth wryly and turns to look out the window. Za is walking towards the car, making guns with his fingers, messing around, followed by Miley and Khalil shaking their heads at him. At once the parking lot floods with students eager to leave school on a Friday afternoon.
We get out of the car - reluctantly - to meet the crew outside. Jason handshakes with Za and Khalil. They give me tight friendly hugs. So does Miley.
"So what's good?" Za asks. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows. "What y'all been doing today?"
I glance down and realize I'm still wearing Jason's denim button-down. I mean, it matches my outfit and everything, but I know how it looks. Or what it looks like. I flush.
Jason shakes his head, cool and confident. "Me and TK were just hangin'. I was telling her about tonight. What's the move?" He looks at his crew expectantly for an update.
"We using Za's car," Khalil informs him. "He just got it out the shop. It'll skid."
"Yup," Za agrees. "Burning rubber and gliding like butter." He slides his palms together, demonstrating, and we laugh. "And if them Wreckers planning to cheat I got something for them."
Jason cracks his knuckles and exchanges a dark look with Za. They're going to fight if they have to...
"I got the goods," Miley speaks up. Her platinum blonde hair lays flat over her face today. She looks punk rock. "As usual. And we should be clear tonight. No roll-by or patrols."
"Do the pot but don't get canned," Khalil jokes with a smirk. Miley grins at him with her tongue out.
Jason nods and crosses his arms over his chest. "Aight. We good. Anything else?"
"What are we wearing?" I ask, playing with the collar of his shirt.
Miley, Za, and Khalil all glance at each other before turning to look at Jason expectantly.
"It's my turn to pick, isn't it?" he guesses. He pulls his lips into his mouth, pondering. "Let's wear all black. Like my soul." He gives us a playfully diabolical look.
We laugh and Za puts him in a headlock. "Yeah, that's right, you a nigga at heart."
*****
Nina lives in San Diego. She's my first cousin on my mother's side, and we're pretty close. After my parents died my aunt and uncle offered to take me in and become my guardians. But Uncle Jerry is stationed in the Philippines right now, where my mom's family is from, and Aunt Teresa is a personal assistant, so they travel a lot. Everyone agreed that Danny and I needed to stay together and be stable.
After Jason drops me off I call Nina. I haven't spoken to her since my parents' funeral, and I need to talk to her about tonight. Danny was skimpy on the details earlier - when the two of us get together he usually doesn't want to be involved anyway.
"Hello?" a bright voice chimes after the third ring.
"Nina! Hey mami," I reply, using our childhood nickname for each other.
"Tessa! Hi, mami. It's so good to hear your voice. It was just about to call you. How are you?"
"I'm good," I reply, smiling. "What about you?"
"Same old, same old. Nothing's really changed." She pauses and her voice softens. "You sure you're okay? How are you dealing with everything?"
I take a deep breath. My parents smile at me from their photograph on my dresser. "I'm... dealing with it. Getting better. I just need to get used to it."
"How's your new school?"
"North Shore?" I smirk. "You know how San Diego Central is The Valley? Well North Shore is the total opposite."
Nina laughs. "I wouldn't know. I kinda miss public school. But I have more time to hang out with my friends, so it's cool."
Nina's been homeschooled since eighth grade. It's just easier that way when you travel so much.
"So what brings you to Laguna Beach tonight?" I ask her.
"I'm hanging with some friends near there. So I thought I'd come by and spend the night. Afterwards they're gonna drop me off at your house. Is that okay?"
"Yeah. Do you know what time? I'm going out and Danny's working night shift."
"Oh. It'll be late. I'm sure you'll be home. I'll text you."
"Alright. See ya later cuz. Love you."
"Love you too, Tess."
The afternoon passes and dims into evening. Several hours later I'm getting ready for tonight. I change into a fitted long-sleeved crop shirt, leggings, and hightop sneaker wedges. I try and fail to straighten my hair - it still falls in thick, beachy waves down my back. I don't know why I even bother. I also knot a plaid shirt around my waist and tie a bandana around my head. Finally I touch up my eyeliner and put on some oxblood lipstick.
I snicker to myself when I examine my reflection in the full length. I look like I'm going to a blackout or dancing in a flash mob. But I do look kind of badass, or I think I do. I just know that I don't look like Tessa. I look like TK.
The doorbell rings from downstairs then, pulling me from my stare. Must be Jason. I hurry to answer it.
I'm stunned when I open the front door and see him standing on the porch. My breathing shallows as I let him in. Oh my... I don't even know.
The monochrome look suits him. Especially black. It makes his skin look all tan and yummy and brings out his tattoos - this time I decipher a Pisces fish and a dark-haired angel among the sleeve. Besides his denim vest, he's in all black everything: plaid button-down, skinnies, Supra sneaks, sunglasses - and a beanie. His shiny bronze hair lays flat over his forehead again.
"Hi," I say, pressing my lips together to suppress my goofy grin.
"Hey." Jason takes his sunglasses off and looks me up and down. His eyes gleam wickedly as he smirks and nods. "You look good, baby girl."
"You too."
"Just one thing. Grab your vest." He points to the couch where mine is hanging over.
"Oh, right." I hurry over to get it and throw it on, then return to the door.
He nods again. "Perfect. You ready?"
We walk outside to a vintage red Mustang, faded in all the right places and sitting on rustic rims. Za's in the driver's seat, Khalil beside him. Miley's in the back.
As I greet the crew and we climb into the backseat, Jason and Miley get into it like a pair of siblings.
"If you don't stop smacking that gum..." Jason warns Miley.
"I'm gonna do it harder just to piss you off," she antagonizes.
"I bet there's a lot of things you do harder. And they involve that mouth."
Za and Khalil cackle. I widen my eyes and press my hand over my mouth.
"Shut up," Miley says. "All you do with your mouth is talk big to make up for smaller things." She glances down to his crotch and smirks.
Gunzo and Kalfani have a fit in the front at this.
"If you really knew, Miley," Jason taunts, eyes devilish, "you wouldn't be able to stretch your legs like that. Now scoot over."
"You're an asshole. And there's no room. This is a two seater in the front and back anyway."
"I'm about to fall out this damn car. If you don't move your skinny ass over - "
"It's okay," I interrupt before they can tear each other's heads off. "I'll just sit in your lap. Again." I settle onto him, less awkwardly than before, wiggling to adjust, and lean back against his chest so I'm not blocking the rearview mirror and windshield.
"Comfortable?" Jason murmurs, and even though I can't see his face I know he's smirking.
I roll my eyes and shift my hips just a little more. He must be enjoying this. "Yes, actually. Don't move."
"I won't. You're the one who won't stay still. But you can keep moving your ass on me like that, baby girl." His tone is smug.
I feel myself turn flaming red. Miley, Za, and Khalil are too busy listening to the radio to hear this exchange - but then again, Jason's only talking loud enough for me to hear. And he's talking dirty. I ignore my racing heart and the spike of desire that clenches my muscles.
"Don't get happy," I hiss over my shoulder, and he chuckles and leans back, like he's waiting for me to start his lap dance.
*****
The industrial district is just as Jason described it. Dark and empty streets host abandoned warehouses, graffiti walls, and billboards. When we drive up I hear someone blasting "Nighttime" by Migos. Street lamps illuminate a yard surrounded by a chain link fence. Several people are gathered in the streets and around the fence - they either want to watch the drift or came hoping to see a gang fight.
I recognize the talker and the messenger Wrecker standing in there, along with another guy and two more girls. Must be the rest of their crew. They're dressed uniformly like us.
Za and Khalil talk to some girls in the crowd, and Jason and Miley greet some people as well. I see that the Bangerz are well-known and respected. Finally the five of us walk over to the yard where the Wreckers are huddled. They look over and line up as we approach. The hostility in the air is obvious and tangible.
The talker moves to the middle. He's a light-skinned black guy with brown eyes, short-shaved haircut, and lots of tattoos on his neck and arms. He's about Jason's height and lankily muscled, too.
"Finally," he says, glaring at us and crossing his arms over his chest. "Why we always waiting on you guys?"
"Party don't start till we walk in," Miley replies, haughty. She pulls out a packet of weed and dangles it, smirking, before tucking it back in her pocket.
"And the cops don't show up till y'all walk in, either," one of the Wreckers says, snarky, hopping off the hood of the yellow Camaro and pointing to Miley's goods. She's a pretty Latina with long burgundy hair.
"Y'all punkin' out now?" Za challenges.
"No." The messenger steps up. He glowers. "Y'all just bring outsiders. Like her." He jerks his chin at me.
The talker peers at us. "Let's see. Gunzo, Blondie, Kalfani, Bizzle..." He points to each of them as he names them, stopping at me at the end of the line. "And the snitch from the coffee shop."
I swallow hard, thinking back to my nightmare, but hold my head high. Jason puts his arm around my shoulders like he's protecting me.
"It's TK," he corrects them flatly. "And she wasn't snitching. She was looking out for her crew. Something y'all need to learn how to do from now on."
"Oh, a newbie?" the other girl remarks as she approaches our line. She's leggy, caramel-skinned, full of attitude. "Why don't you introduce us?"
"Introduce yourself," Jason snaps.
The talker smirks. "Quavo."
"The douchebag," Miley adds.
"Adrian," the messenger says.
"The punkass," Za relates, and Jason pulls him back when Adrian steps forward threateningly.
The redheaded girl props her elbow on Quavo's shoulder and flips her hair. "Cherry."
"The poser," Jason mutters.
"Tate." The girl with attitude purses her lips.
"The bitch." Khalil shakes his head like he knows this firsthand. Tate flips him the bird.
The last Wrecker, a black guy with lots of tattoos, moves from the Camaro and slams the door impatiently. "Johnny. Now can we kill this weak shit and start already?"
Jason shakes his head and narrows his eyes at them. "Nah. Not yet. Where's Russo?"
Russo? Who's that? I know that name.
"I'm right here," a girl's voice says from ahead. It sounds familiar. "Miss me, Jason?"
We all turn to face the voice and I almost have an aneurysm from my shock. A tall girl with toffee skin and long, soft-black hair like mine - except straighter - appears from around the car. She smirks and gives Jason a daring look.
I gawk as she - my cousin - walks over to us. Russo. That's Nina's last name. When I said See ya later cuz I didn't mean here! I'm so baffled it's amazing I can make my voice work at all.
"Nina?" I exclaim.
She looks down the line of the Bizzle Gang until she sees me at the end, beside Jason, and her haughty grin fades immediately. Judging by her expression, she's just as taken aback as I am.
"Tessa?"
Holy shit.