"Ana Lyons." Bee repeated, her brow creased as she tried to place the name. "Who the fuck is Ana Lyons?"
I had just shown Bee the text after days of debating whether or not I should. She was more shocked by what the message said than I was. Ana should be thankful that Bianca Sackler didn't know her face.
Despite her being fun sized, Bee wasn't afraid to fight. Growing up with four older brother she couldn't afford to be weak or else they would've walked all over her. That eat or be eaten mentality carried over to her school life as well.
Her temper was almost as short as she was. But she swore she was working on it. Her main goal for senior year—aside from keeping her grades up—was staying out of the principal's office.
I believed she could do. Just as long as no one tried her.
"Ana? The blonde girl who dresses like she's going to a Catholic school?"
I started to tell that was Anna Wells when she held her palms up and shook her head. "You know what, I don't even care. She's irrelevant just like Deshaun," she said definitively, clapping her hands together as if wiping them clean of them subject. "That's the end of that."
Accepting the subject change, I took another bite of my pancakes.
Bee an I did this every year the day before school started. We had breakfast at the diner and discussed the new school year. By that I meant that we gossiped about everyone and everything. Who broke up, who hooked up, what teacher lost their job after a drug raid, etc.
The diner, which had an actual name—The Olive Badger, the Diner just had more of a ring to it—was all dark wood and red leather booths. The floor was white and black checkered and all around were large posters of people who were enjoying the food a little too much.
It wasn't packed in there, but most of the booths and seats at the counter were taken. Some of the faces I recognized from school.
"Are you doing dance again this year?" I asked, taking a sip of my orange juice.
"Nah, boxing." A grin broke out on her freckled face.
"Since when does Bellcreek have boxing?"
"You haven't heard?" Her green eyes lit up as she leaned in across the table. "Some anonymous donor give the school a shit ton of money," she told me. "They're offering a bunch of new electives: boxing, sign language, art—"
"They already have art." I would know, I've been taking the class since freshman year.
"Not those color by number assignments Mrs. Wheeler passes out. Actual art." She began ticking things off on her fingers. "Painting, sculpting, stamp making."
"Stamp making?"
She nodded excitedly. "You didn't get the email to pick your classes?"
I tried to remember the last time I even logged into my email account. Probably the day I created it.
"Jade." My friend frowned. "School starts tomorrow. All the good classes will be full by now."
"Shit." I fell back against the leather seat. "Maybe if I hurry now..."
Bee was already waving down our waiter. She put down almost forty dollars for a fifteen dollar check. Always a big tipper.
What I did wasn't something I was proud of and I'd pay it back one of these days. While Bee was already heading towards the door, I took one of the ten dollar bills and slipped into my pocket. That'd be enough to get Taylor some more diapers.
* * *
As predicted, the painting class I wanted to take was full. So were my was sculpting . Even stamp making. The only ones left were woodworking, tap dance and bird watching.
Bird watching would mean not having to be cooped up in a classroom all day. According to the description we'd spend most days at the park near the school. That could be fun?
Tap dance was a definite no. The nose of the tapping was already giving me a headache.
Woodworking...that'd involve buzz saws and probably a lot of splinters. It did sound a little more exciting than bird watching, though.
"Jade."
I jumped, startled out of my intense game of eeny-meeny-miny-moe. My mom was standing in the doorway, Taylor on her hip. Mom was in her work uniform, ready for her shift at the warehouse.
"The tow truck will be here in about an hour," she told me, setting Taylor on the floor since she kept saying "down".
Taylor went straight for my DVD shelf, mesmerized by the colorful spines.
"I need you to go down to the garage and make sure that they don't try to fix more than the radiator." She paused, handing me a wad of bills.
It was $270. I looked up at her. "Where'd you get this?"
She gave me a look that reminded me she's the parent and I'm the child and she didn't have to explain herself to me. I pressed my lips together and accepted that.
She gathered Taylor up again, interrupting her mission to pull every DVD off the shelf. Then she walked over and hugged me tight. "I love you."
"Love you."
As she left my room she cooed to my baby sister, asking her if she was ready for daycare. Then, over her shoulder, to me she said, "This is going to be hell when you start school."
I didn't know if she meant high school or when—if—I left for college. Maybe both.
* * *
It was almost two hours before the tow truck rattled it's way on to my street. The rusted old truck backed up into the driveway in front of our car. I stood, still trying to figure out of I should ride back to the garage with the guy or what.
I was so focused on whether or not to ask, I didn't even realize who I was asking until he spoke.
"This the car?"
I looked up at the tall boy in the dingy green coveralls. His golden blonde hair hung down to his broad shoulders. Some of it fell into his face and he brushed it back before putting a cap on, backwards.
"You're Nolan, right?"
He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. I always thought that look was reserved for school, since that was the only time I ever seen him. Apparently, the was just his face. Even with the permanent scowl he was kind of cute.
His honey brown eyes looked down at me, burning with annoyance. "Congratulations on learning to read," he said dryly.
My eyes immediately went to his chest where a white patch had his name in red writing.
Obviously, I already knew his name. We had been going to school together for as long as I could remember. And he always had bad attitude. Still, I was shocked by his lack of professionalism.
Too stunned by how rude he was, all I could do was watch as he hooked our car onto the tow truck. Once he had it secured he turned to me, holding out a grimy, grease covered hand.
My eyes flickered from his hand to his eyes. "I'm not paying you until after the car is fixed."
"Keys," he said and I could tell he was trying hard not to add something like 'dumbass' to the end of it.
What he did instead was somehow worse. In the most patronizing voice ever he added, "I need the shiny things in your hand to put the car in neutral so that it'll be easier to move."
If Bee were here she'd put him place. She'd probably have him on his ass before he even knew what was happening. But since I was me, I handed him the keys, then folded my arms over my chest stubbornly.
I watched as he opened the door of our beat up red Toyota Camry and switched the gears. Then he started back towards the truck.
"Can I ride to the garage with you?" I asked, following him down the driveway.
"No." He spat over his shoulder.
This boy was really starting to irk me. Channeling my inner Bee, I slammed the passenger door shut the moment he pulled it open.
For the first time...ever, he had a look on his face other than bored. His eyes widened, jaw going slack as he stared at me like I lost my mind. In that moment it didn't matter that he was whole head taller than me. He almost looked scared of me, which I kind of liked. Was that how Bee felt every time she took down someone bigger than her?
Riding the wave adrenaline I stepped closer to him, narrowing my eyes at him. "First you showed up an hour late," I said poking his chest. It was a lot harder than I expected and he didn't even flinch. Shaking it off, I went on. "And you've been nothing but rude this entire time. Now you're refusing to let me—"
"Whatever," he said, cutting me off. His bored expression was back, so was the annoyance in his voice. "Get in, just stop talking."
Apparently, wanting him to be nice was asking too much. I walked around to the passenger side and hauled myself up on the seat and buckled in.
The cab of the truck was a mess of fast food wrappers and newspapers. The dashboard was littered with old soda cans and few random bobble heads. A couple of those pine tree air fresheners hung from the rearview mirror.
I stole a glance at Nolan. He had one hand on the steering wheel the other propped up on the rolled down window. The smudges of grease weren't only on his hands, but some was on his neck as well. His profile was sharp, all angles and straight lines. My hands itch for a pencil and paper to sketch it out.
As if he could feel my eyes on him he looked over at me, squinting against the sun that was burning through the window on my side. "What?"
"Nothing," I shrugged, looking out at the road ahead. "Sorry for poking you."
No response. Somehow sitting here with him was more awkward than being in the car with Deshaun. I guess that's why I just couldn't shut up.
"This is the part where you apologize for being rude."
Met with more silence, I turned to him. His golden eyes brightened in the sun light as he looked me in the eye. He shifted his eyes back to the road as he reached over, pulling open the glove box. He grabbed a pad of what I thought were large sticky notes and handed them to me.
Giving them a closer look I realized they were actually review cards. Nolan had a slight smirk on his face when I faced him again.
I took a pen from my purse ready to fill out the form.
"How was your service?" I read aloud after filling in my name and the date. Underneath the question were a series of faces ranging from smiling to frowning. "Definitely a frowny face," I said as I circled it.
Nolan snorted beside me.
I read the next question, "What made you choose that rating?"
I filled that part out silently. He can read it later when his boss is firing him because of it. As uninterested as he Nolan pretended to be I did notice him try to steal a peek at the form to see what I was writing. I angled away from him as I continued answering the questions.
When we reached the garage, though, the paper in front of me was the last thing on my mind.
What was Ana Lyons doing there?
//
Hi! Hello!
Cliffhangers are fun, don't let anyone tell you other wise.
Anywho, now that we're two chapters in, how do you feel about Jade?
Bee?
Nolan?