Seeking Jake Ryan (Dear Molly Book 1)

by M. F. Lorson

  “It was her sister’s wedding day,” I said, defending the character.

  “Oh yeah,” she giggled, hiding her smirk. “You would stay quiet, considering you’re trying to get fired from a job you don’t want.”

  “Exactly,” I joked back. “It’s easier to spare people’s feelings.”

  I could see her shake her head in my periphery. “You look like her, you know.”

  “Who?” she asked, looking up. I was frozen in place by her round green eyes and the freckles that seemed to blend right in with her pale lips.

  “The girl from Sixteen Candles,” I answered.

  She blushed, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Okay, Mr. Red Corvette.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think you know exactly what it means.” She looked a little embarrassed now, so I let it go, but I hated that she compared me to that guy from the movie. He was nice and all, but I hated the thought of being so one-dimensional.

  “You know I’m selling that thing, right? In fact,” I blurted out without thinking. “You should come to the dealership with me. Help me score a vintage ride like yours.”

  “Ha ha,” she said skeptically.

  “I’m serious. Let’s go to that used car lot on Baker Street. Right now.”

  “Ed’s Auto Emporium?”

  “That’s the one.” I could feel myself getting really excited about this now that I pictured her there with me. “Will you go with me? Be my moral support?”

  “I might as well,” she answered confidently, and I could tell she was up to something.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Ed is my uncle.”

  Sloane

  I was riding in a red corvette for the first and probably last time, which is why I didn’t hesitate to request that Gabe put the top down.

  “It’s windy, and the sky has a very rain threatening look about it,” said Gabe, fastening his seatbelt.

  I reached across his lap and pressed firmly on the button just to the left of the steering wheel. A small smile played across his lips even as he shook his head.

  Settled back in my seat I watched the black cover fold back and reveal a gray sky.

  “It actually does get old,” said Gabe, backing out of his driveway. “Driving with the top down. I’m not going to miss that.”

  “I will,” I answered, tilting my head back to feel the wind on my face. I could sort of tell he was looking at me through the corner of his eye. I hoped I looked all radiant, like women in movies, the wind whipping their hair back, tan skin practically glowing in cinematic glory. I had a sneaking suspicion I just looked like me.

  “You think your uncle will give me a good deal?” Asked Gabe.

  I laughed, picturing the look on Uncle Ed’s face when he saw this seventeen-year-old boy asking to trade in his 2018 Corvette Convertible.

  “I think my uncle will give you a terrible deal. You’re going to a used car lot. I know your people don’t do that often—”

  Gabe lifted an eyebrow with disapproval.

  “No offense,” I offered, holding my hands up in surrender. “It’s just...good deals don’t happen at used car lots. You’ll trade this in for half of what it’s worth and whatever you drive off in is going to have problems.” I shifted to look at him. “You know that right? You know this is a bad idea?” I felt awful for thinking it, but a little part of me resented that Gabe was so loaded he could lose a bundle on his Corvette and not have to cry about it later. Downgrading your car was supposed to be a move for desperate people too far from a payday. Not rich boys who wanted to drive something less flashy.

  Gabe paused before answering. “I know I could probably get a better deal elsewhere. I could take it back to the dealership, they’d be more than happy to take it off my hands. Problem is they’d want me to buy another. They’d have my dad on the phone, giving him the twenty minute sales pitch for the newest version on the market.”

  I could tell from the tone in his voice that not involving Mr. Maxwell was a huge selling point of visiting Uncle Ed. I probably should have left it at that, but as Gabe’s new friend I felt it was my duty to probe a little deeper and make sure I wasn’t aiding and abetting this kid getting grounded for life.

  “Speaking of your dad. Isn’t he going to be furious when you come home without this?” I ran my hands along the leather interior. It was hard to imagine any version of the world in which a father who had dropped ‘heaven knows how much’ on a sports car for his teenage son, wasn’t angry to see him come home in a used vehicle from a place called Ed’s Auto Emporium. We hadn’t been parked in the lot more than two minutes, and already Gabe’s car stood out like a ten carat diamond in a mall jewelry case.

  “This car is just a reminder that we burned through Dad’s inheritance,” said Gabe. He pulled the keys from the ignition and jingled them in his lap. “I know you think we are loaded, but we aren’t as rich as we used to be. We certainly aren’t as rich as we pretend to be.”

  Suddenly my tongue felt too big for my mouth. How many dumb comments had I made about Gabe’s wealth without having any idea what his real situation was? I could think of three today alone. I had a feeling that I looked about as close to a deer in the headlights as Gabe had earlier when he accidentally mentioned my mom. For two people that were just starting to get to know each other, we were strangely good at turning small talk into something heavy.

  I didn’t want to make him feel like he had to elaborate so I decided to help him make his very stupid decision to the best of my ability. “Goodbye, pretty car,” I whispered, patting the dashboard affectionately. “We only knew each other for a short while, but I already feel your absence.”

  Gabe rolled his eyes. “Are you about done?”

  I took a deep breath before pushing open the passenger side door and stepping out onto the lot.

  “ Alright then,” I declared. “Let’s go see what rolling pile of turds my uncle tries to sell you first!”

  Gabe

  Sloane was the first and only person to learn the truth about my family. Why did I tell her that? I hadn’t told anyone, even Becca. And Landon certainly wasn’t sharing that information with anyone. He was just about as good as Dad at pretending we still had loads of money instead of loads of debt.

  The truth was we were still making huge payments on the Corvette, and it would free up a few hundred a month just trading it in for something to cover the balance.

  Sloane was right about something. My dad would be livid when he found out, no matter how much money I was saving him.

  “Hey, kiddo!” An older man in a gray suit greeted us as we browsed the sensible sedans.

  “Hi, Uncle Ed,” Sloane said with a smile. The family resemblance was obvious. He had the same fiery red head of hair as his niece.

  “This is my friend, Gabe,” she said, touching my arm with a smile. After I shook the man’s hand, she put me on the spot. “He’s certifiably insane because he wants to trade in this babe magnet for something my dad would drive.”

  Uncle Ed let out a throaty laugh that matched Sloane’s. “Well, I won’t argue with the kid. I’d love to have this baby on my lot,” he said, slapping the hood of my car. “Let me go finish up some business inside, and then we can get you a new car, son.”

  “Thanks, sir,” I said with a wave as he jogged up to the office.

  Sloane and I walked down the long rows of parked cars, the afternoon air turning cool and making me wish I brought a jacket I could give to her. She hugged her arms close to herself as we walked.

  “Are you sure you’re not the tiniest bit sad about selling that car?” she asked.

  “Not even a tiny bit. It was never really my car. My dad bought it for me because he thought it made him a good dad or something.”

  “I wish my dad would buy me a Corvette,” she joked.

  “Well, I wish mine came home once in a while.” It came out before I had a chance to censor my harsh tone. It wasn’t a
cut at Sloane, of course, but I could only assume the bitterness toward my dad was going to find its way out one way or another. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, her smile genuine. “I don’t know what I would do without my dad. Especially after...you know…”

  “Exactly,” I said, finishing the thought for her.

  The moment felt right, and I was still so desperate to ask. “How long has it been...if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Three years. Exactly three years.”

  “Wow.” It was a question I technically knew the answer to, but I just wanted to open the conversation. Heck, maybe I did it just to talk to someone.

  “You?” she asked me back as we wandered slowly through the aisles of cars.

  “Six years. But some days I swear we’re still dealing with the aftermath.”

  “Dang. I was really hoping it would get a lot easier after the fourth year.”

  “Fingers crossed six is the magic number…”

  She smiled at me as I held my crossed fingers in the air. “Yours was...pretty sudden, wasn’t it?”

  I loved that she asked that. I don’t know why, but knowing how someone left and how it hit us made me appreciate the question. “Aneurysm. No warning signs.” I felt my throat tighten with the words.

  Then her hands touched my sleeve, cupping my forearm in a genuine, nurturing gesture, and my throat tightened even more. Okay, if we kept talking about this and she kept touching me like that, there was a good chance I might lose it. This was a bad idea.

  I cleared my throat. “And yours?”

  “Cystic Fibrosis. Not sudden at all. We saw it coming for years.”

  “Didn’t make it any easier, I bet.”

  “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but no...I guess not.”

  This time it was my turn to offer some comfort but instead of touching her arm or giving her a hug, I knocked her playfully with my elbow. It made her smile.

  In an attempt to lighten the mood, I stopped at one of those new boxy car models that looked more like a giant piece of tupperware on wheels than a car.

  “If you drive that, I don’t know if I can be seen around school with you,” she said, turning her nose up at the lime green toaster.

  We laughed, moving on to the next ugly used car.

  “Not to mention, you have a girlfriend you have to pick up for HoCo, and I doubt she’ll get in if you pull up in something like that.” Sloane was walking ahead of me, not facing me so she couldn’t see the sudden change in temperature in my mood when she brought up homecoming. But when she turned around, she picked it up immediately.

  Her expression asked the question for her.

  “Homecoming is fun and all, but the party afterward is another story.”

  “If you want me to pity you because you have to throw the most popular party of the school year, I have bad news for you.”

  I let out an easy chuckle again. Sloane stopped to lean against the hood of a fading blue minivan. I couldn’t help but admire her unique taste for what it was—a girl born in the wrong decade. Sloane seemed to inhabit everything good about this decade while also bringing back everything good about the Sixteen Candles days. No one could quite pull off those pastel flowered skirts like her, and somehow paired with an off-the-shoulder crop top, it almost looked like something a normal girl our age would wear.

  “I don’t want you to pity me,” I said, leaning down next to her. “But how can I tell my friends the party is off this year without them knowing the truth? How could I tell Landon?”

  She sighed. The only sound was the cars on the nearby expressway while I waited for Sloane to say something.

  Finally, she glanced up at me, her green eyes holding me captive as she said, “Sounds to me like you need to stop worrying about other people and stick up for yourself.”

  She was right of course, and as her uncle came jogging back to us, ready to make the best sale of his month, I decided that I needed to do exactly that. So without second guessing what my dad or Landon would say, I signed away my red Corvette for a compact Hybrid with low miles and great gas mileage.

  That night, when I drove her home, I found myself wishing that I had Sloane’s guts. Maybe if I kept her around—not just for a project—then maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to tell Becca how I really felt and speak up for the writing job I really wanted.

  As I dropped her off at her house, well past nine, I jumped out of the car out of habit.

  “You don’t have to walk me to the door,” she laughed as she pulled her backpack out of the trunk.

  “It seems rude to just drop you off on the curb,” I said, which was a cover. While I did think it was rude, I got out of the car because something told me Sloane didn’t have a lot of guys walking her to the door, and she deserved it.

  “Thanks,” I said as we reached the front porch. “I don’t think I would have gone through with that without you.”

  “You’re probably right,” she said with a wink. “If you ever need my moral support for anything else, just let me know.” Her eyes caught mine, and I had a feeling that she was trying to tell me something. It was very possible Sloane could see that not everything in my seemingly perfect life was perfect at all.

  “I will,” I replied, walking back to the nearly silent car running in front of her house.

  “Night, Gabe,” she called as the door opened.

  I waved goodbye as I climbed in my new car, and although today’s meetup was all about our class project, this newfound confidence had me planning all sorts of other stuff.

  Sloane

  It’s a weird feeling, learning the people you thought were invincible are full of flaws like everyone else. Landon and Gabe had always been members of the Khaki Collective to me. I saw their clothes, their car, the smirks on their faces when a Becca Landry type flirted with them, and I assumed everything they projected was what they were.

  Even knowing they had lost their mother, I couldn’t imagine them feeling real things, couldn’t see them feeling the empty space at the breakfast table in the same way that I did. But now that I knew Gabe, it was like someone had pulled back the curtain, suddenly all the working parts were right there in front of me, and I didn’t quite know how to reckon that with what I had believed to be true before.

  Now that I knew the Maxwell’s were drowning in debt, and Gabe would rather be behind the scenes than in the limelight, I was beginning to question other things about him as well. For example, his unwavering devotion to Becca. He didn’t want to have the annual Maxwell post-Homecoming party. I totally got that, but it was more than a little bewildering to me that he did not show a single ounce of enthusiasm for going to the dance or being crowned Homecoming King.

  Maybe he was worried about the cost. Becca would expect an expensive dinner beforehand, and most likely she would want to split a limo with her friends, get the big photo package, the whole nine yards. But if that was the case why couldn’t he just tell her. He had just majorly unloaded his family drama on me, and we barely knew each other. Surely his girlfriend of three years would be understanding. Surely he could tell her no, right?

  I wasn’t so foolish as to think that our connection was so special that he could tell me things he couldn’t tell her. It seemed a lot more likely that there was something missing from their relationship.

  I felt like a real jerk even thinking that way, but the signs just seemed to be everywhere lately. For example, in Media Studies, it was painfully obvious that my fellow cameraman was head over heels for Becca. Not a day went by that he wasn’t fawning all over her, making excuses for her line flubs, or just finding reasons to talk to her between scenes. I had like zero boyfriend experience, but everything I had read in Cosmo seemed to imply that these things should be driving Gabe insane.

  Where was his inner beast? Wasn’t he supposed to be pounding on his chest gorilla-style, demanding the world know that Becca was his? Instead he encoura
ged it, even going as far as to step aside when Parker came over to talk to her. Gabe was sweet to Becca. Gabe was considerate of Becca. Gabe even laughed at Becca’s bad jokes. But there was a difference between affection and a spark. Those two were sorely missing a spark. If I had to guess, part of the reason Gabe wasn’t excited about going to homecoming with Becca, was the fact that the more time he spent with her outside of school, the more likely it was that she would notice he didn’t look at her the way she looked at him.

  All of this was rolling around in my head as I tried to compose a list of possible video subjects. Our goal was to make a short film that showed what student life in Grover was really like. That meant interviewing actual students. We wanted to show a broad spectrum because that was something Good Morning, Grover was missing. The majority of kids watching our show didn’t identify with the Beccas and Gabes of the world, so this segment would show people from all sorts of cliques. The bad asses like Harper, the under-praised heroes like Reagan, someone who played lead trumpet in jazz band, the chick that won last year’s spelling bee, there were tons of options, but among those options Becca and Landon had made their way onto my list.

  I handed my phone to Gabe, the list pulled up in the notes on my screen.

  “I get where you are going with this, right up until the part where you added my brother and my girlfriend.” The way his voice lowered when he said girlfriend only confirmed my suspicions. Girlfriend was supposed to be a loud and proud word—not an under your breath, nearly the tone of a curse word.

  “We also agreed that we would show what student life is really like. Leaving off Becca and Landon would be like pretending there are no jaguars in the jungle. You can’t just show the birds and frogs.” Harper would have absolutely murdered me for implying she was the frog in this comparison, but it was mostly true. Grover had a hierarchy and showing that in the film was important to me.