“So you’re back?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
“Seriously, why are you here?” Daniel asked, blowing smoke into the night air. He followed my line of sight and exhaled.
“We agreed to leave her alone—all of us.” Tweetie was dimly lit by the multicolored lanterns hanging loosely above the porch. She laughed at something some random kid said.
Her eyes landed on mine and her smile vanished like Daniel’s smoke in the air, brows drooping with insecurity and uncertainty.
She didn’t shy away though, matching my stare. Then again, she never had.
Look at that crazy blonde hair and those intense blue eyes. She’s like fucking Tweetie bird.
I shook my head with a bitter smile. “I said if she left Patchwork I would leave her alone.” I kicked off the tree, heading up the cobblestone path for the embellished, asymmetrical porch.
Daniel quickly dropped the cigarette and stamped it out, grabbing my elbow. “We stopped being good for her a long time ago.”
I paused, and he let go of me reluctantly. Tweetie kept coming back to me, eyes flitting from her board to mine, hiding her stare beneath spirals of hair. Years ago those bright yellow curls rewrote the map of my life.
Of all our lives.
I’d been on track to be the biggest skater in the world, then a cute little girl asked me to teach her. Still, we’d tried to do good for her—as good as you can do when bad is coded into your DNA.
Tweetie looked back again to see if I was still watching, and this time the insecurity melted from her features. She tilted her head, eyes filling with curiosity.
A single raindrop fell as a grin broke my cheeks.
“I think I’m done being good for Tweetie.”
Two
Flip: To flip your board, as in a kickflip.
TWEETIE
My board chipped.
Great.
Flip was outside and his eyes barely strayed from me, even as Daniel joined him. I tried to tell myself I was making it up, but every time I looked down the cobblestone path, our eyes locked.
I quickly looked away. My lap, the sky—anywhere else. Night was falling fast and bubbly gray clouds covered the stars. Another rainy autumn.
A white, crinkly, and nameless bag dropped into my lap.
“Dinner,” was all King said before throwing some napkins and disappearing back into the house. My heart splintered.
That was King.
Always looking out for me.
Please don’t be burgers.
Please don’t be burgers.
I pulled out a plastic-wrapped burger, trying not to deflate. Setting the burger down, I reached for the fries.
“So you’re Tweetie. The Tweetie,” a kid to my left said. He stuffed orange chips into an already orange-dusted mouth and couldn’t have been older than thirteen.
A scoff drifted loud and purposeful behind him. A girl leaned against the bay window, cigarette flame bright in the shadows. She rolled her eyes when I met them.
I pretended I didn’t hear and laughed. “I don’t know about the…” I trailed off as Flip kicked off the tree and headed in our direction. A few straggling raindrops fell, so few I could count them like beads of silver.
“I’m Sparky,” the kid said just as Flip reached the steps. One, two. With each step closer, my heart beat louder. Act normal. Keep talking to Sparky. You don’t even know him.
I glanced at Sparky. “I’m sure there’s a reason for that.” He gave me a toothy grin as I heard a crunch to my left.
Flip stepped on my burger.
I stared at the mushy mess then broke out of my shock.
“Hey asshole,” I said to his back. “That was dinner.”
“Oops.” He shrugged, pushing the screen door open with his back. “Accident.” He laughed, the sound disappearing into melody with the party music.
The girl stared at me, eyes wide, like I’d just spat in the face of the devil.
“What?” I said through a mouthful of fries.
She shook her head and went inside.
Later the party was in full swing, exactly how I remembered it: strip poker in one corner, battles over NES remotes in the other. A Patchwork party was a fingerprint, never the same for two people. If you liked games, you played games. If you needed to let loose, you broke some windows. They only had four rules here, and as long as you followed them, you were golden.
There was a darker side to this world, but it wasn’t like what the town thought.
We weren’t villains; we were outsiders.
I hung back by a row of soft curtains and tried not to stare at Flip, which meant a lot of looking at my beer or the walls. Along them imposing, shirtless figures were painted like murals of Greek gods, but with neon colors they shone even in the dark like someone broke open a glow stick.
They were the Rebel Gods of Heaven Falls, and their religion was sin, debauchery, and corruption…and they were worshipped as they should be.
I’d always loved the wild spray paint covering our house, bright and chaotic and without rules, like our life.
My smile wavered, catching another stare from Flip. I was certain it was just odd timing, but every time I looked up, he was looking back. He mouthed something. My breath caught, trying to make out the words.
“Hey, cutie.”
I jumped, eyes still locked with Flip’s. A guy with way too much gel in his hair leaned on the wall beside me. It actually took physical effort not to look at Flip, focusing on the guy as if he were a Where’s Waldo book. My mind kept spinning.
Flip’s watching.
Why is he watching?
Check to see if he’s still looking.
“Hey,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. I don’t know about cutie, but it was nice to be called one, even if the guy was probably just drunk and looking to score. He opened his mouth but paused on the word, eyes traveling over my shoulder. I craned my neck, following.
Daniel.
Daniel used his words like he used his fists—sparingly. He said everything he needed to with his golden eyes.
“Uh.” The guy’s eyes darted from me to Daniel. “I gotta jet.” I exhaled as he disappeared into the party. That was what it was like growing up at Patchwork, and apparently it wouldn’t change now that I was back. There was a five-foot bubble around me at all times.
When the guy was truly gone, Daniel unfolded his arms, eyes softening on me. Daniel was just like the rest of the boys at Patchwork: legendary—a god. He was a street fighter, and I was told men thrice his size had been taken it out in less than five minutes.
Everyone knew Daniel was impossible to defeat.
I’d only ever seen that side of him once. Briefly. To most, he was soft and quiet. Kindness radiated from his gentle voice.
I smiled, genuinely happy to see him. “Hi.”
“You’re back,” he said.
“Uh, yeah, I am.” Another silent, questioning stare. Why am I back? “Where’s Romeo?” I asked, needing to fill the silence with something other than my answer. I’d barely been back a few hours and figured it was just Romeo being Romeo, using clocks as a suggestion.That said, Romeo rarely missed a party.
“He left a few months after you did, little girl.”
“Left? Like, left left?” In response, Daniel reached to a towering cassette tower, pulled one out. The Imperialists. A skull and crossbones made up of a cassette decorated the back and a message in white read: Pirating is destroying record industry profits. We left this side blank so you can help.
“You haven’t heard him on the radio? They’re everywhere.”
“I’ve been…preoccupied.”
Concern twisted his youthful, hot chocolate features. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Looking for answers.”
He arched a brow. “Did you find them?” At that moment, a stack of old pizza boxes Sparky and some other kids had been using to play makeshift Jenga crashed into the TV, knocking o
ut the NES plug, and chaos ensued. I could tell he wanted to keep talking, dig into why I’d come home, but thankfully he had to go play grown-up.
I went to refill my beer at the keg, but froze. Flip was on the other side and an insane part of my brain said he was waiting for me.
“Need a refill?” He tilted his head, lips parting to show just enough of his pearly teeth.
“Um…” Yes. No. I stepped backward, putting space between us, his head tilting more with each step. I spun around and ran up the stairs. At the top, I pressed my hands to the wall, peering around the corner to see if he was still there.
Yep.
He shook his head, confused, but when he took a sip of beer, his crooked grin disappeared into the red cup.
I’d dreamed of meeting Flip for years and what do I do? Run away. I had no idea what I was doing with boys. None. Especially not ones who were basically The Beatles of skateboarding. I’d had to give myself a pep talk for nearly a month just to come back to family.
I did not prepare for Flip.
After so many years of writing about him, dreaming about him, he was here. A legend in the flesh.
He looked up the stairs and I jumped back, flat to the wall. I couldn’t go back down there, not with his slow smiles and long stares and cute, shruggy shoulders.
My eyes landed on a door a few feet down the hall.
Shit, she’s crying.
We thought this would make you happy.
I am happy.
I took a breath, eyes still on the white wood, happiness swirling with sadness at the memory. Patchwork House allowed almost anyone to stay, but bedrooms were reserved for Rebel Gods only, and once upon a time, me.
Inside that door was a bedroom with frilly, feminine decor that didn’t match the rest of the house. A bed I’d slept in for years, a window I’d pushed open to climb down and meet boys clandestinely. It held memories I probably should have tried to forget, but that pulled closer each day I was away.
Even though I was back, I wasn’t ready to be back. To sleep in my bed. To explain why after two years, I’d suddenly appeared.
Next to my bedroom door, was another one. A closed one. On it was a sign that read Fuck Off. Off limits. It had been off limits as long as I’d lived here, and I was sure the rules hadn’t changed. But I had.
I pushed the door open.
I’d only been in this room once, but those memories were warped by alcohol. It was lived-in, but more than that, it was a skater’s room. Posters atop posters of various famous skaters. A board on the floor, the deck a patchwork of bright yellow, orange, and pink. A D.A.R.E shirt hung off the dresser, but it read Drugs Are Really Expensive.
I smiled to myself.
Whoever slept in this room, I liked their sense of humor.
“If you wanted a tour of my bedroom, all you had to do was ask.”
My heart stuttered and stopped before starting up again at twice the speed.
Flip.
I turned around. “I…it was…” I stuttered—this was his room? “I was looking for the bathroom.” His blush lips curved in a way that was more cruelly sensual than a smile.
The only distance between us was the rug. I circled the plush edge, fumbling with my cup, spilling beer all down my hands. He followed.
“I don’t think we’ve met. Properly. I’m Flip.”
“I know who you are—I mean—” I flattened my back against his dresser.
He leaned forward, grin growing, like he enjoyed my torment. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”
“I…” I shimmied left, sliding out from underneath him, inching out of his room. Flip followed me into the doorway.
“Tweetie,” I finished as my back slammed into something hard. I looked over my shoulder to find King and instantly relaxed. Whatever had happened between me and King, he would always be safe.
Always.
“What’s going on?” King asked. Flip hadn’t moved. I was sandwiched between them, the air too thin, the space too small. Flip’s brows were drawn in a way that made me feel like I had when I’d snuck into my first real Patchwork party and the guys found me.
Bad.
Disobedient.
Flip’s eyes grazed over my shoulder like a soft touch. “Just getting to know my new housemate. We share a wall, after all.” Absently, King's hand landed on my elbow and Flip’s stare followed, narrowing farther.
“I was talking to Tweetie,” King edged.
The moment splintered into tension, seconds dragging on in an ever-tightening wire in my gut.
“Is this really Flip’s bedroom?” I looked at King. With my words, the air shifted noticeably, Flip and King once again speaking without actually saying words.
“Why didn’t you tell me? This room was always off limits—was it because it was his bedroom?” I could physically feel my brows pulling together. It didn’t make sense.
All at once, Flip’s smile returned, cocky and impassive.
“I was just about to leave anyway. Flip said it like I hadn’t even spoken.
He paused just outside the door, his and King’s shoulders still touching, eyes on me. We were all so close I was certain we were sharing the same breath. Flip stared at me, and as I was just about to crumble under the tension, he left.
“Knock when you need me.” Flip knocked on the frame, shooting me a smile. King’s grip on my elbow tightened, his chest following suit. I nodded awkwardly, but Flip had already continued on his way, leaving us alone in his bedroom.
I followed King out, downstairs, and all the way outside. I needed air, needed to rid myself of the feeling of Flip’s eyes still on me. The rain had stopped, but it left behind a murky fog. That’s what it was like in Heaven Falls, especially in the fall. Most days, it was hard to tell if it was rain or overflow from our town’s titular waterfall.
I casually looked through the mist, and there Flip was, watching from inside.
“Why was that room always off limits?” I asked, needing to distract myself from Flip. “I thought you guys were keeping a monster or something inside.” It was just another room.
Flip’s room.
I don’t know what I imagined meeting Flip would be like, but it wasn’t this. There was an intensity blazing behind his chocolate eyes that made me uncertain and nervous and achy.
“How do you know each other?” I rubbed my hands, blowing warm air into them. “Kind of a big thing to leave out, don’t you think?” Then again, I was only ever allowed a small, curtain-covered window into King’s life. He never wanted me to see the ugly.
King lit a joint, raising a brow. “You still into Flip?”
I tore my eyes from the house, from Flip, feeling caught. “I was never into Flip.”
King leaned back, taking a drag of his joint. “You had his posters on your wall and he was featured heavily in your diary.”
I laughed. “Big brother King never missed anything—wait, you read my diary?”
A small smile quirked his cheeks. A King smile, I liked to call it. Not a smile by any normal human standards, but compared to his usual scowl, it might as well be a Colgate grin.
I rubbed my hands again when King brought them into his tattooed ones. He blew warm air on them like he’d done thousands of times before. “I always hated when you called me that.”
“But that’s what you are to me.”
His eyes were hard. Heavy. “I know.”
FLIP
There was definitely something between her and King. He blew onto her hands, and she stared at him like he was some knight in shining armor.
I laughed into my drink.
“Tell me you’re not really staying because of her.” Daniel sidled up to me, folding wiry, dark arms. “Tell me you’re finally making a comeback.”
Tweetie smiled broadly at King, blue eyes glittering. I nearly crushed the beer in my hand.
Is this really Flip’s bedroom?
With that innocent question, reality came crashing back. I couldn�
��t stay. It was too dangerous; she already had questions I couldn’t answer. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go anyway. I was supposed to stay away.
I saw Tweetie and it got messy.
Like it always did.
“Flip?” Daniel pressed as Tweetie leaned back, laughing at some joke King must have made.
Possession. Jealousy. Emotions I shouldn’t be feeling—emotions I had no right to feel, tore through me. It was the exact same feeling as before, when she was in my fucking bedroom. Touching my things.
I liked it.
I more than fucking liked it. I wanted her over everything. On my desk. In my bed. Her hair, her clothes, her touch, I wanted Tweetie to permanently tattoo herself on my life. I knew that would only lead to ruin, but with her so close, I couldn’t think.
Tweetie laughed and shoved King.
I worked the recesses of my memory, trying to think of any time I’d heard King make a fucking joke.
I slammed my drink on the table. “I’ll be gone by morning.” Avoid her. Avoid Tweetie for the hour it would take to grab my shit. I’d managed it for two years. It wouldn’t get rid of the thoughts of her, but then, nothing would.
Daniel called after me, but I focused on the stairs. Not on the window, where Tweetie was outside with King. Not on her bright smile, or her moving closer to him. Definitely not on the way it made me want to go outside and tear them apart.
I pounded upstairs, ready to get out of here as quickly as possible, when I paused, glanced down the hallway.
Tweetie’s board lay next to her bedroom door with the rest of her things—chipped. She really needed a new deck, but I could fix hers easily. I’d done it enough times myself. One last gift from her shadow.
For as much as I’d memorized the lacy curtains and the silhouette of her body behind them, I’d never been inside Tweetie’s room. Always watching from the grass, a glass windowpane separating us. If I was leaving forever, one look inside wouldn’t hurt.
I pushed her door open with a finger.
Then sucked in a breath.
It smelled warm and fucking infuriatingly enticing. Like sunshine, like sugar. Somehow it smelled like home; there was no other way to describe it. Like coming fucking home.
Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1) Page 2