Rules We're Meant to Break

by Natalie Williamson

  “Oh.” I want to ask him what exactly Cammie told him, and also why, if they’re since-diapers-friends, they don’t hang out at school, but I force myself to keep my mouth shut. Neither answer would change anything at this point.

  He’s friends with Cammie. Close friends. Which, according to the rules, means he’s off-limits to me.

  When we pull into Kevin’s driveway a few minutes later, I scramble out of the car the second he puts it in park, and say, “I’ll just be a sec,” before I slam the door behind me and rush up the front walk.

  I take a little longer than I probably need to let Buffy out and double-check her food and water bowls. Partly this is because she’s so excited to see me and get some ear rubs that I don’t want to make her feel rushed, but partly it’s because I need the extra minutes to regroup before I have to go get back in Jordan Baugh’s car. My phone buzzes with a text from Hannah right as I’m finishing up.

  Where are you??? Elliot will be here soon and you were supposed to help me finish stress cleaning!

  Sorry! I text back immediately. On my way now. Had a car issue.

  “All good?” Jordan asks me a minute later, when I’m climbing into his car for the second time today.

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “It’s no problem. I’m not in a hurry.”

  I don’t really know what to say to that, so I give him directions to Hannah’s house and start fiddling with my phone so that I have something to focus on besides him.

  This part of the drive is as quiet as the last, but as we’re waiting to turn into Hannah’s neighborhood, Jordan surprises me by breaking the silence. “You have Ms. Ulbrich for English, right?”

  I turn to look at him, thrown off by such a random question. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

  “I have her last hour. She used your paper on Beowulf as an ‘example of excellence’ for us.”

  I frown. “How do you know it was mine? When she reads stuff to us she never uses names.”

  The backs of his ears turn red again. “I had to stay after today to do some makeup stuff. It was on her desk.”

  “Oh.”

  There is a long pause. So long that there’s been a break in traffic and we’re moving forward again before he says, “I hated Beowulf.”

  “Oh my God, me too!” I can’t help my enthusiasm, because Hannah loved Beowulf and totally did not understand why I bitched about it so much. “I don’t think I’m cut out for epic poems. I like my stories regular, thanks.”

  Jordan laughs, and I get this fizzy feeling in my chest at the sound of it. Shit.

  I think of rule number seven and force myself to look out the window, where I see that, thank God, we’re turning onto Hannah’s street. Jordan’s still chuckling to himself a little when he pulls to a stop along the curb in front of her house, but his face is mostly serious when he turns to face me, drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and says, “Your stop, right?”

  “Yeah.” I glance up at Hannah’s front door. “Thanks for the ride. Or rides, I guess.”

  Jordan smiles. “Anytime.”

  I gather up my stuff and reach for the door handle. I need to get out of this car, stat, and not just because I’m sure Hannah has already seen us and is planning to give me the third degree. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

  “For sure,” Jordan says, and I don’t think I’m imagining the warmth in his tone.

  Which is why I’m out of the car and shutting the door before he can add anything else.

  I’m halfway to Hannah’s front door when Jordan calls my name. I turn around to see him leaning across the seat so he can see me out the passenger window. Did I forget something in his Jeep? I do a mental check: wallet, keys, backpack, phone. It’s all here. “Yeah?”

  “I like your costume.”

  Oh my God. Rule number seven. Rule number seven. “Uh, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says, grinning. “Happy Halloween.”

  six

  Hannah’s waiting by the door when I finally make my way inside, wearing an expression so similar to the one her cat gets when he’s stalking his toys that it’s kind of terrifying.

  “Hi,” I say warily, kicking off my shoes and dumping my backpack on the floor next to them.

  “Hi,” Hannah says. “So. Car trouble, huh?”

  “Yeah. It was making that churning noise again only it wouldn’t start at all this time, and when we tried to jump it nothing happened.”

  “We?” she asks, with that same weird emphasis.

  I sigh. At least she’s going straight for the kill instead of dragging it out indefinitely.

  “Me and Jordan. Who I’m assuming you noticed dropping me off.”

  Hannah taps a finger to her chin and pretends to look confused as I push past her into the living room. “I mean, I thought it looked like him, but then I was like, that can’t be right. Amber would never fraternize with the enemy.”

  “Are you done? I thought I was supposed to help you stress clean before everyone else shows up. When are Ryan and Megan and Elliot getting here, anyway?” I ask, plopping onto the couch and waving to her parents, who are out on the back deck grilling burgers for us to eat later. They both grin and wave back at me.

  “They should be here any minute. You know for a fact that I already cleaned everything so I only needed you here for moral support. And I’m almost done,” Hannah says. “I just have one more question.”

  I wave a hand at her and adopt the snooty, formal tone we use whenever we imagine what the people who live in The Castle sound like. “Proceed.”

  “I will, thank you,” she says, going snooty right back. Then she gets this sly grin on her face. “What’d Jordan say to you before he drove away?”

  I will myself not to react as I flash back to Jordan saying I like your costume. And to how his gaze traveled down my body when I first got out of my car at school. “Nothing really,” I say, working hard to keep my tone even and disinterested. There are cans of soda set out on the coffee table, so I grab a Sprite and pop the top open just to have something to do with my hands. “He was asking about English class. We both have Ms. Ulbrich.”

  “Lame,” Hannah says, right as I take a sip of my drink. “I was hoping for something about how hot you look in that dress.”

  I splutter a cough and almost choke.

  “Whoa, you okay?” Hannah asks, leaning forward and reaching around to thump my back.

  “Fine,” I wheeze. “It went down the wrong pipe.”

  Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you sure that’s all?”

  Thank God the doorbell rings before I have to respond.

  * * *

  Hannah’s Buffy watch party is a ton of fun, as per usual. Elliot hardly talks for the first hour, but Ryan’s new girlfriend, Megan, chatters more than enough to fill his silences. We all gorge ourselves on burgers and chips and puppy chow and then settle in front of the TV in the living room.

  By unspoken agreement Ryan and I shuffle the seating arrangements around so that Hannah and Elliot have to share the oversized armchair that can almost but not quite pass for a love seat. She flashes a grateful smile in our direction once the first episode starts rolling, and I give her a thumbs-up back. By the second episode they’re holding hands and Elliot is somewhat joining in on the debates about the best moments and characters on the show, so I’m calling that a win.

  And what’s even better? Hannah is so distracted by Elliot’s presence that she doesn’t ask me about Jordan Baugh again.

  * * *

  The next morning when Buffy and I come downstairs, Kevin is sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of Kashi and scrolling through something on his iPad, two steaming hot mugs sitting in front of him. Mom is nowhere to be found.

  “Morning, Amber,” he says, glancing up from whatever he’s reading as soon as I step into the room.

  “Um, hi,” I say, hesitating for a second before going over to the pantry and grabbing a scoop of food for Buffy. She digs
right in, but unfortunately she’s a slow eater. Which means I’m stuck here for at least a few minutes before I can use taking her outside as an excuse to leave the room.

  “We’ll probably want to get going soon,” Kevin says. I look back up at him and frown, confused. “So we have time to look at your car before school,” he adds.

  “Oh,” I say. “I, uh, figured I’d just have Mom give me a ride. Is she still getting ready?”

  Kevin’s smile is hesitant. “Actually, your mom had to open the bakery this morning. Apparently Stella called in sick, so I’ll have to take you. She said she left you a note in your bathroom.”

  “Oh,” I say again, because that seems more appropriate than Jesus Christ, why couldn’t she have texted me like a normal person?

  We stare at each other for a second, and then Kevin reaches out to nudge one of the mugs closer to me. “I made oatmeal for breakfast. You like it with two scoops of brown sugar, right?”

  “Uh, right.”

  “Great!” he says, getting to his feet. “You can eat in the car. Do you need to do anything else before we go, or are you all set?”

  “I just need to let Buffy out for a second.”

  He nods. “All right. I’ll grab my briefcase. Meet you in the garage.”

  The whole time I’m outside with Buffy I debate ways to get out of this impending carpool without looking like a complete asshole, but I come up empty. It’s seven and it takes at least fifteen minutes to get to the high school, so with the first bell at 7:25 we’re already cutting things close. The bus would have come and gone like twenty minutes ago. Hannah would have to backtrack to come pick me up, meaning we’d most likely be late. Ryan’s probably barely gotten out of bed since he has a first period teaching assistant class and doesn’t live very far from the school. Plus telling Kevin I’ll wait for either of them would go over like a lead balloon, and would most definitely earn me an earful from my mother later.

  With that depressing thought in my head, I sigh and call Buffy over to come back inside. Chauffeur Kevin it is. So much for never asking him for help. Though I guess I didn’t actually ask him to do this. So not a total rule break, technically speaking.

  Kevin’s car is some fancy Mercedes that looks like a box and is high enough off the ground that I have to use the little step thingy on the side to climb in. It still has that new-car smell from the dealership, even though I’m pretty sure he’s had it for a few years. I can’t help comparing the pristine interior of Kevin’s car to the lived-in clutter of Jordan’s Jeep yesterday, and I decide I like Jordan’s better even though I really shouldn’t like either of them.

  I stay quiet as I shove my backpack down by my feet and buckle my seat belt. Once I’m all set, Kevin holds out the mug with my oatmeal and says, “I got you a glass of water too, in case you’re thirsty.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, taking the mug from him.

  I hurry to shove a bite in my mouth in the hopes that he won’t talk to me while I’m eating, but the silence only lasts for about two minutes. As soon as we’re out of the neighborhood he starts peppering me with questions, mostly about my car and what exactly happened yesterday. Hmm, and has it made that noise before? Were you able to get the key to turn over at all? What did the dash lights look like? Has it done this before? When did you say you last replaced the battery? Was it acting funny when you drove to school yesterday morning, or did things seem normal?

  “Huh,” he says finally, when we’re sitting through our third red light at the last intersection before the high school. “It sounds like it might be your alternator, but I’m not sure. We’ll have to have my buddy Pat look at it. He’s got a great auto repair shop and—”

  “That’s okay,” I say, cutting him off. No way am I having one of Kevin’s buddies look at my car. Having to get a ride from him this morning is bad enough. “Mom and I have a place we use. We can take the car there.”

  There is a beat where the only sound in the car comes from NPR, which Kevin has had turned on low volume for the whole drive. Then Kevin says, “Of course. Whatever you guys want.”

  “Good.” I shift to look out the window and we don’t talk again until we finally make it to the school parking lot.

  “What row?” Kevin asks, and I point him in the right direction. The lot is filling up quickly around us, echoing with the sound of slamming doors and laughter as all the upperclassmen park and head into the building, and I shrink lower into my seat, hoping no one who’d care will notice who my ride is.

  My car, a beat-up old Buick I bought for five hundred dollars (the Kelley Blue Book value, which I think might actually have been exaggerated) from one of Eric’s ancient female relatives before he and Mom broke up, is in one of the middle rows, about a third of the way up to the school. There’s still a space left to the right side of it, though it isn’t the roomiest, and for a second I wonder if I should tell Kevin to park somewhere else. But he whips the Mercedes box into it like it’s no big deal, puts it into park, and glances over at me.

  “This will probably be easier if you leave your keys with me. That way I can wait for the tow truck while you go inside.”

  “Are you sure that’s okay? Really, I can just wait for my mom to help me after school—”

  He holds out a hand to me, palm up. “Keys, Amber,” he says, tone firm for the first time this morning. “Your mom wants me to look at the car before we have someone pick it up. I can get the info for whatever place you want to use from her, but I will be looking at it first.”

  Whoa. I didn’t know perpetually cheerful Kevin had that kind of attitude in him. I get my keys out of my backpack, unclip the house key (which has a KU key cap on it to remind me that escape from this place isn’t that far in the distance) from the carabiner I use to keep everything together, and hand the rest over to him.

  “Thank you,” he says, shutting off the Mercedes and reaching for the door handle. “I like the improvements you’ve made to your house key. Have you heard back from them yet?”

  I blink at him, surprised both at the abrupt change in subject and the fact that he seems genuinely interested in my answer. “Not yet.”

  “I’m sure you will soon, and I’m sure it’ll be good news. Keep me posted, okay?”

  “Um, sure,” I say, but I won’t. I don’t want to bond with Kevin over college. Not when odds are he won’t still be with Mom by next fall.

  “Great,” he says, opening his door. “I’m gonna go ahead and take a look at your car now so I know for sure what to tell the mechanic when I call them. Do you need a ride home after school?”

  I shake my head. Hannah can take me, and if she can’t, I’ll figure something else out.

  “All right,” Kevin says, getting out of the car. “Have a good day, then. See you at home tonight.”

  He closes the door without waiting for a response, and by the time I grab my bag and hop out of this giant box, he’s already in my car and putting the key in the ignition. As I walk past the back bumper, he gives a cheerful wave over his shoulder that I can’t bring myself to totally ignore. So I say a quick “Bye,” and scurry away, beyond grateful this carpool is over.

  seven

  Kevin ends up being right—it is the alternator that needs to be replaced in my car. Mom calls me during the passing period before lunch to tell me the news, and to tell me that our usual mechanic won’t be able to get it back to me until next Wednesday because they have to order the part.

  “Wednesday?” I practically shout into the phone, which earns me several raised eyebrows from my classmates. I ignore them and duck into an empty chemistry room so I can finish this conversation without an audience.

  “Yes,” Mom says. “They’re apparently swamped.”

  “Fantastic,” I mutter, leaning against one of the lab tables.

  “Easy on the sarcasm, sweetheart.”

  “Sorry,” I say grudgingly, even as I roll my eyes and flip off the wall. “This just sucks.”

  “I know it’s inconvenie
nt for you,” she allows. “Which is why I had Kevin check to see if there are any other options that would get it back to you sooner.”

  “And?” I ask, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible even though internally I’m screaming PLEEEEEEASE TELL ME HE FOUND SOMETHING.

  “And his friend Pat could get it back to you by Monday. For the same price. But he wanted me to ask you about it first because he said you were pretty adamant about using Gage and Sons.”

  I tip my head back and reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose. Which do I want more? To avoid ever accepting help from Kevin again, or to reduce my time sans car by two whole days?

  “Amber?” Mom prompts. She’s using the overly patient tone she gets when she thinks I’m being ridiculous, which is so irritating. And which also seals the deal on my choice.

  “Taking the car to Kevin’s friend is fine.” Because the sooner I can drive myself around again, the better, I think but don’t add.

  “Wonderful,” Mom says, and I can actually hear her clap her hands in the background. “I’ll let him know.”

  “You do that,” I mutter.

  “What was that?” Mom asks.

  “I said tell him thank you for me.”

  “Hmm,” Mom says, and I know she doesn’t believe me. But she doesn’t call me out.

  * * *

  Between Hannah and Ryan I’m covered on rides to and from school for the rest of the week, and I take Buffy to Hannah’s house for the weekend under the guise that it will be easier for us to carpool to work if we’re coming from the same place. Really I don’t want to be stuck at Kevin’s house without a mode of transportation, but I don’t explain that to my mom for obvious reasons.

  Matt is home for the weekend to do his laundry—seriously, just to do his laundry—and I run into him in the hallway between loads on Saturday morning.

  “Hey!” he says brightly, shifting the overflowing laundry basket he’s carrying to one arm so that he can reach down to scratch Buffy, who is, as usual, close by my side. “I heard your car’s in the shop. That’s a bummer.”