Reverb (Trojan Book 2)

by S. M. West

Still.

  His body is still.

  He holds his breath and relishes the moment. Then he opens his eyes and mouth and a plume of smoke rushes from his parted lips, clouding his features.

  I’ve watched him do this before, across the school grounds. Light a cigarette, inhale, and savor the first drag. For that moment, it’s as if he’s found the elusive thing he’s chasing.

  “You can come out.” He draws again on the cigarette.

  At first, I don’t move, bewildered, wondering who he’s talking to. He’s alone and can’t possibly be talking to me. I’m well hidden.

  “You don’t want me to come for you.”

  Nervous, I step from the shadows and his frown deepens. He scrutinizes me from head to toe, and after a beat or two I fidget, feeling more than a little self-conscious.

  “Hi.” I offer a weak wave and he growls.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I saw you leaving the Garcias’.”

  “So you thought you’d follow me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s your problem, thinking you have any right to my business. Stop fucking thinking about me.”

  He makes it sound like I have a crush on him and I’m mortified. It could look that way to him.

  “It isn’t like that.”

  “Go home, kid.” His sharp, dismissive voice cuts through the night.

  “My name’s Eva.”

  “What?” He flicks the last of his cigarette onto the ground.

  “Call me Eva. Not kid.”

  “What are we, friends?” He’s filled with so much scorn that I regret tailing him.

  “You’re a jerk.” The insult surprises me more than him. I don’t blurt out hurtful things to people, even if I’m thinking it, but he’s pushed me too far. “What’s the big deal? You don’t own the park, and I’m not hurting anyone.”

  “Fuck.” A hand runs raggedly through his inky hair and something odd, almost remorseful, washes over his guarded features.

  I turn on my heel, not bothering to wait for a response or even an apology.

  “Eva, don’t go.” There’s something in his voice that gives me pause.

  “Why should I stay, so you can yell at me some more?” I turn, facing him and folding my arms over my chest.

  He smirks, shaking his head as he nears me. “I never yelled.”

  Towering over me, he’s nearly a full foot taller, and a swarm of butterflies awakens in my stomach. He’s so close, I can smell tobacco, fresh laundry, and a hint of him. A scent all his own.

  “You were upset, and don’t deny it.”

  “I was, but it has nothing to do with you. I come here to be alone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that place is suffocating. Too many guys, too much drama and…”

  “And what?” I wait but he doesn’t say anything, only stares. “Is that why you come here all the time?”

  “Who says I do?”

  His eyebrows rise and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I’ve given away too much, and not wanting to piss him off again, I try something else.

  “What do you do here?”

  “I want to be alone. Either you leave or I do.” His tone is flat, and there’s determination in his amber eyes.

  “I’ll go.” I offer a small smile, hoping he didn’t mean it, but no such luck. “Okay. Good night.”

  He folds his arms over his chest, and I begrudgingly start the trek to my house. All the while, his stare burns a hole in my back.

  I shouldn’t care to know who this boy is. Chances are he’ll be gone by the end of the school year. Most of the boys next door only last about that long, sometimes a calendar year, before they’re gone. Jared likely won’t be any different, and yet I can’t help myself.

  Same peculiar feeling

  Freshman/Sophomore year

  JARED

  Rooted in the passenger seat of Ike’s car, I inhale a long drag of my cigarette, leg bouncing up and down at the thought of going inside the Garcias’ house. I stare ahead at the high school kids getting off the school bus.

  It’s been a little over a month living here, and the well-kept exterior hides the filth behind closed doors. The Garcias are fucked up. Mr. Garcia drinks his face off and Mrs. Garcia’s—or Val as she insists we call her—dismal life is dulled by Adderall. But not enough to deter her from groping the boys.

  “We could leave right now. Never come back.” Ike thrums a frenetic pace along the steering wheel. This is his daily shot at trying to get me to walk.

  “It’s tempting.” I haven’t told him about Val’s advances—a brush here, a squeeze there.

  I’m no whiny bitch and I’m handling it. Besides, he has likely guessed. She isn’t exactly discreet with her inappropriate flirting. We’ve both been here before and I’ve had worse.

  “What’s holding you back?”

  “I’ve got nowhere to live.”

  “With me, dumbass.” He punches my arm.

  The mob of teenagers scatter in all directions as the school bus lumbers on to its next stop.

  “On the street?” I scoff, tracking a small girl crossing the street, her gait familiar.

  He’s crashing in a dirty flophouse with whacked-out dope mongers, sleeping with one eye open. It isn’t any better than where I am right now.

  I flick the glowing butt out the window, no longer giving a shit about the lawn or hopeful that this time will be different. This place is like all the others. It ain’t no home.

  “And you know you’ll be tossed from that shithole in a day or two.” I clench my jaw at unintentionally being an asshole.

  “It’s fucking temporary. Milo’s looking for a place for me.” Who is he trying to convince, him or me? Bullshit.

  Now outside the car, I lean into the open passenger window. “Yeah, whatever. If you believe that shit, then I’m LeBron James.”

  “Fuck you.” He pins me with an injured glare.

  Living on the street is hard, and keeping your belly full is a constant struggle. There’s always someone looking to take advantage or rip you off.

  For now, Ike has money coming in and a place to sleep, but it could all be taken away. And as much as I want to have his back, like old times, I also want my high school diploma.

  I’ve got nothing if I walk. It may be only a piece of paper, but at least it’s a chance at a legit future. If Brenda could hear me now, she’d say her work here is done. Ike, on the other hand, would bust a gut, laughing in my face.

  He talks about us working for Milo, stealing cars like he is right now, as if we’d be living the dream. He’s got coin but not much else. I’ve done odd jobs for Milo and, sure, the money is tempting, but I’d be trading one nightmare for another.

  The cops are onto his crew and I’m not looking for heat. With the law breathing down my back, only time would hold me from a six by eight-foot future.

  Ah, no thanks.

  Abandoned at birth, I came into this world at a disadvantage and living has only made the divide even bigger. My one chance at a home was stolen by the grim reaper.

  Grim, that’s about right. My only dream, if you can call it that, is simple, really. Get the hell out of the system unscathed and build a life.

  The two of us linger in silence. My neighbor, the ever-so-helpful girl, strolls toward us, unaware of us. Her head is down, peering into her backpack.

  She’s tiny, a pinch over five feet, if that, in a navy-blue dress. Skin a warm bronze and dark shiny hair, like midnight on water, is tied back in a low ponytail. She reeks of good girl.

  We haven’t talked since that night in the park, and I want it that way, but she’s always around. I feel her gaze on me at night, thinking she’s so subtle, watching me from her bedroom window.

  It isn’t clear what her game is, but she wants something. Is it because she kept her mouth shut when she caught me in her kitchen? Whatever it is, when she makes her move, I’ll be ready.

  I’ve seen h
er in the halls at the high school and from what I’ve gathered, she’s a freshman, a year younger than me, and a popular little thing.

  “Hey, Mama.” Ike bounds from the car, eyeing her like a lion would a gazelle.

  Her head snaps up, stunned, until her gaze finds mine. A glowing smile slips across her face. “Hi, Jared.”

  I dip my chin and tighten my jaw, struggling to squash the strange stirring in my gut at her delight in seeing me.

  “Hey, pretty girl, you don’t have a hello for me?” He places his hand over his heart as if wounded by her neglect.

  “Oh, sorry. Hi.” She tilts her head back to get a better look at him. He’s the same height as me, well over a foot taller than her.

  “I’m Ike. What’s your name, sweet thing?” He considers himself a ladies’ man, and I fail to bite back my chuckle at her unease.

  “Eva.” She peers around my friend, frowning when she takes in my cutting grin.

  “Eva, ooh, I knew you’d have a sweet name to go with that sweet body.” He grasps the end of her ponytail.

  The move is harmless, yet another weird sensation, this time surly and uncomfortable, churns within me, not liking his hands on her. The girl steps from his reach, eyes round like saucers threatening to fall out of her head.

  Ike, only looking to tease not taunt, releases her long strands with a gentle laugh. The tightness loosens in my chest, and with relief, I cover my mouth to hide my anxious laugh.

  I shouldn’t be getting off on her distress, but whatever angle she’s playing, I hope it dies a quick death now that she realizes we like to play games too. She’s out of her league.

  “Um, do you guys want a snack?” She inches past us, her stare never wavering from me.

  “Dayum, I thought you’d never ask.” He grabs at her silky hair again, and Eva swiftly sidesteps him.

  She trembles ever so slightly, and that same peculiar feeling thickens and slithers through my gut. All of this feels wrong. We’re scaring her.

  “Ike, leave her alone.” I finally step in between them and she relaxes, casting a grateful smile my way.

  “Shit, girl, I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

  “Do you want a snack?” Her voice is stronger, steadier this time.

  I run my fingers through my hair, frustrated at her charity but also starving. Val uses food as a reward for being nice to her, and lunch money is scarce. Is offering food her sly way of reminding me about the kitchen incident and that I owe her for not ratting me out?

  “We’ve got chips or churros.” A faint smile touches her lips. “You like churros, don’t you?”

  Shit, is she putting me in my place or just being nice?

  “Bring it all, baby,” Ike says.

  “I thought you had to go?” I slap at his chest.

  He frowns at the reminder of work. He’s been my ride to and from school for the past week with permission from Milo, of course. On the clock, he can’t stick around. If there’s one thing we both know, you don’t abuse his boss’s generosity.

  “Shit, yeah.” He dons a sexy grin for Eva. “Another time, little lady. Later, J.”

  He jogs to the car, and her stance loosens and shoulders drop now that it’s just the two of us.

  “Wait here one second.” She dashes inside, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, and I fight to keep a silly grin from my face.

  With a bag of potato chips in one hand and a plastic container no bigger than a box of cookies in the other, she perches on the front step, motioning for me to sit. I do so, sure to leave space between us, and she pops a salty chip into her mouth.

  “So how do you know Ike?”

  My stomach tightens. Here begins the barrage of questions. I shove a handful of chips into my mouth, chunks flying with each word.

  “He’s a friend.”

  “Ew, don’t talk with your mouth full.” She wrinkles her nose and laughs. “Don’t you have any manners?” I stiffen and she catches my glower. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “Forget about it.”

  She hands me the bag as a peace offering, and I grab at it, starved. “Ike doesn’t live with the Garcias, so how do you know him?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  Arching a brow, she stares as if to say, you said that, what else do you have?

  We find ourselves in a staring contest, neither daring to blink or look away. She’s the first to break.

  “You don’t want to talk about Ike, do you?”

  “What’s with the asshole you were playing tag with?” Two can play at this game, and I take control of the conversation.

  I’d been sitting on this for a while. Who fucking plays tag? She swallows hard, and by the grimace overshadowing her delicate features, it’s as if glass is stuck in her throat. I’m a jerk.

  “Eva. Answer me.”

  “He likes to torment people. Don’t worry about him.”

  “He’s a bully.” My guess, he likes her and knows no other way of relating to her. “It stops today.” My command, protective and determined, surprises me.

  She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Really? Just because you say so, you think it’ll stop.” She purses her lips and I nod. “That’s the way he is. If it isn’t me, it’ll be someone else.”

  “I don’t care about someone else.” The words no sooner leave my lips than I want to take them back.

  Her eyes widen and cheeks flush. “That’s kind of you, but you can’t be with me all the time. He hangs out with our friends. He’s hard to avoid.”

  “Well, maybe you need new friends. I could be your friend.”

  What the hell am I doing? We can’t be friends. I don’t need her to be my friend. Something tells me she’s more trouble than she’s worth. I have enough trouble.

  And even as regret stews inside me at my stupid offer, I’m not sure I can handle her rejection. Why is she taking so long to respond?

  Dark eyes flick to my face, now inquisitive and hypnotic. “I’d like to be your friend. But I don’t need a babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

  “Sure, I can see that.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to add to my sarcasm, remind her of how well she handled things when the jerk shoved her to the ground.

  A slight smile coasts along her mouth, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. We stare at each other and she nibbles on her bottom lip, her gaze never straying from mine, silently inviting or challenging me.

  “So if we’re friends, does this mean I can hang with you at the park?” She smirks, and I press my lips together. The park is where I go to be alone. To feel safe.

  She comes at me another way. “So how do you know Ike?”

  This again.

  Releasing a harsh, exasperated breath, I run a hand through my thick hair for something to say. I want this over with. “He’s my best friend. We go way back. I met him in foster care.”

  We’ve had each other’s backs since day one, sizing each other up in a blink of an eye. We had to. I was nine and the Maclean kid—the foster home we were in—was out for blood and threatened to beat one of us. He was big—bigger than me. But no match for the both of us.

  Without any conversation, we teamed up against Peter Maclean. He never stood a chance, and we’ve been friends ever since.

  “Is he at another foster home? What school does he go to?”

  Grateful to be outside and have many things to look at, I peer down the street, wondering if there’s a painless way to avoid her questions. There’s a girl headed our way and she looks familiar, like Eva but different.

  “Nah. He’s out.”

  “Oh.” Sensing my unease, her fingers lightly graze my hand, resting on my thigh, and a thrilling jolt shoots up my spine. “So he’s eighteen?”

  “Nope.” I press my lips together.

  This conversation is done, and through the corner of my eye, I see her cheeks flush and she dips her head. “You don’t like talking about him, do you?”

  I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s her tone or the in
nocent way she bats her lashes, looking so open and pure, but whatever the fuck it is, I start talking.

  “It isn’t that. It’s just…you can’t tell anyone.”

  “I promise.”

  “Ike’s a couple years older.” I don’t clarify he’s technically still a minor, even if he’s a few months short of eighteen.

  Eva’s promised not to say anything, but I’m not sure I can trust her. She could snitch to her parents or the Garcias or shit, even the school.

  “He hit the streets after his last run-in with the police.”

  Her eyes widen. “He’s a runaway? Aren’t they looking for him?”

  I shrug. There’s so much more I could say but she wouldn’t understand that fortunately or not, depending on how you look at it, the system is overrun with kids and pitifully short on social workers and other resources.

  They tried to find Ike but couldn’t, and if they’re still looking, their means are slim and stretched. And more than likely, someone’s figured out Ike will be of legal age soon and given up the search. Eva can’t possibly understand any of this shitty life. Her life is perfect.

  “Jared.” Bianca runs up the driveway, launching herself into my lap.

  I tumble off the step, now sprawled on my ass with a girl on top of me. My fingers dig into the brittle grass to steady myself and because I refuse to touch her.

  Laughing, she’s all arms and legs and tits in my face. I shove her off me and bound to my feet. Surprisingly, she slides into a more seductive pose on the ground, chest out, legs bent, and hand on her hip.

  Eva blooms red like a strawberry, sitting ramrod straight and averting her gaze. She stares at the ground.

  “What the hell was that?” I brush at the dirt on my jeans, flicking my hair from my face.

  “I’m excited to see you.” Bianca beams, holding out a hand, expecting me to help her up.

  I don’t.

  Growling, I step back a few, putting more distance between us. What is it with this girl?

  She’s Tito’s girlfriend. He’s a year ahead of me and the lead singer in a local rock band. We met the first week of school and bonded over music. It turned out his band needed a guitarist, and I needed something to fill my time, away from the Garcias.