Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  Now I quickly looked from Flip. Anywhere else. At the shivering, crystal chandelier made uneasy by the music, the portraits spray-painted on the wall.

  Four murals, three to represent my gods, a fourth sprung from my dreams, an amalgam of everything Patchwork stood for. Wild and handsome, eyes like chocolate pearls, arrogant even in the painting—and he wasn’t real. That’s what I’d been told.

  Flip leaned against the fourth, back to the purple paint and—oh no!

  He stood up, coming over, grin growing. I moved like a chicken without its head, left and right, as Flip arrived, smiling his ridiculous, heart-popping grin.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  I looked at my baggy shirt and pants, then gave Flip a look. “Right.”

  “Don’t believe me?”

  I mumbled into my beer. “I think you’re a really smooth talker.”

  “It’s not all talk.”

  I hiccupped, almost spilling my drink, and wiped the foam off my mouth, glaring. “What’s your game? I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  The grin vanished. “You’re not a game to me. I’m into you. I’m way into you.” I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t think I’d ever hear those words—much less from someone like Flip.

  So I gaped.

  “You’re into me, too, though,” he added with a wolfish grin. I still couldn’t speak, not even to refute what he’d just said. His grin widened. “I’m also straight to the point.”

  He kept smiling to himself like he’d just won something huge, then left. But he leaned against the same wall, getting comfortable, like he was prepared to stay there all night, watching me. I let out a ragged breath.

  You don’t date boys like him, my brain said.

  But he wasn’t just anyone. He was Flip. I used to write sonnets in my diary to his eight pack, form entire fantasies around his Adonis belt. I wondered what it would feel like to be touched by his calloused hands. Kissed by his thick, full lips.

  And now they were here in the flesh.

  Saying things like he was into me.

  “Did I see you hanging around Flip?” I startled at the sudden voice. Then inwardly groaned.

  Patchwork Girls.

  In the history of Patchwork house, they’d only ever let one girl stay—me—but that didn’t mean they didn’t let women and girls inside, girls who clung to them like horny barnacles. I’d practically grown up with them, so you could say they were like stepsisters to me. They loved me the way Cinderella’s stepsisters loved her.

  The unofficial Patchwork House emblem hung from a thin bracelet almost all the Patchwork Girls wore, a cross between the anarchy symbol and an A-plus grade. It was more than a piece of jewelry too. Wearing it meant you would do anything for Patchwork, but it also meant Patchwork would be there for you.

  Daniel had dealt with more drunk dads and abusive boyfriends than anyone.

  Which explained why he was a Patchwork Girl favorite.

  This girl was the same who’d gaped at me like a fish on the porch. I went back to my beer. Best not to interact with them. Still, she was undeterred.

  “We never made a big deal about you before”—I nearly choked on my beer—“but you can’t do this. You can’t have Flip too.”

  I frowned. “Flip isn’t a Rebel God.” She gave me the same look she had on the porch, almost like you’d give a toddler you really, really wished you could slap. Instinctively, I moved away.

  She sighed through her nostrils. “Flip is everyone’s boyfriend. Stay away.”

  It was my turn to scoff.

  Flip was obviously fucking with me. No one like him would go for someone like me.

  She walked away, climbed all over Flip, replaced his empty beer with a full one. And, as if to make a point, she shot me a smile. My stomach sank. So I refilled my own beer.

  FLIP

  I liked making Tweetie stutter. Her lips, when she licked them like she wasn’t sure of my motives, but her body didn’t care. Her eyes, when she kept flickering back to me as the party groaned into the night.

  Words, eyes, thoughts—throughout the night, Tweetie stuttered over me.

  I tapped my beer, looking down the glass neck to the lone drops as if they would spring to life just as the record player changed songs. It went from wild, upbeat punk to the melancholy, heart-wrenching sound of Romeo’s true vocals. All night The Imperialists played, but this one was different, significant.

  I met Romeo the same night I met King and Daniel, the very first night we stayed in Patchwork, when we coincidentally happened to all be on the run from the cops. We didn’t know that night would lead to a revolution. We were just kids drunk on too much whiskey and weed, while Romeo serenaded us with what would become this song, his hit. It was King who saw what we could be.

  My eyes landed on King, and by serendipity, his on me. For once the look wasn’t coated in years of shit.

  Then all at once, yellow curls and baby blue eyes blocked my view—Tweetie, and she was drunk. Her pale cheeks rosy, eyes hazy. Fuck. I’d only ever gotten into trouble when Tweetie was drunk.

  I sat up from the wall.

  “Have you been staring at me?” Tweetie asked.

  “Yes,” I said easily.

  She blinked, eyelids stuttering. “Why are you so honest?” She tilted her head, looking at me like I was a foggy window. The black of her pupils nearly swallowed the blue in her eyes. “I don’t get you.”

  I shrugged.

  Tweetie might think I was playing a game, but my only goal was her. I’d lived the past years in a shadow of my own dishonesty. Any honesty I could offer her, I would.

  “You…need a refill,” she said, finishing the sentence like that wasn’t how she planned to from the start. I looked at my bottle, pretending I was surprised to find it empty. I could’ve gotten a refill, or I could’ve stayed on the wall, making her stutter. She chewed the inside of her cheek and I wondered what thoughts made her pick at her pinky nail while watching me like a wolf.

  “So, what happened with that girl you were with?”

  “Who?” I asked, genuinely not remembering.

  She rolled her eyes. “Brunette. Pretty.” Ah, now I knew who she was talking about. A Patchwork Girl who came over earlier. But I only had eyes for Tweetie.

  Then I saw it, the furrow in her brow, the tightness in her jaw.

  She was jealous.

  Was that why she’d come to me?

  A grin broke my cheeks.

  “Oh her, now I remember. I should probably go find her.” Tweetie’s eyelids fluttered rapidly, eyes darting back and forth, working through some kind of internal dilemma. Like a fucking snail, I moved away from her, pretending to head toward whatever-her-name-was.

  All at once Tweetie grabbed my belt, yanking me close. I threw my hands up, letting her. She grabbed an unopened beer from a nearby table and put the bottle to my buckle. I was frozen with a stupid grin as her small hands rubbed against my jeans, working the cap off.

  “Here.” She handed it to me.

  “Take this.” I instantly handed the beer to the first random person passing by, then grabbed another bottle.

  She blinked, mouth parting. “You just wasted that one.” Tweetie was always so damn adorable when drunk.

  I leaned forward. “I don’t see it that way.” I handed her the bottle. She shook her head with a shy smile but placed it to my buckle.

  “Where’d you learn that trick?” I asked, taking the beer. Her fingers lingered at my buckle, ghosting over the denim, blurry gaze locked with mine, lips parted. Then all at once her blue depths focused, realizing she was still touching me.

  She sprang off. “A—a boy.”

  “A boy, huh?” I asked with the glass to my lips. “A cute boy?” I took a long drag from my beer, watching as her hands went to tame unseen flyways, patting down her shirt, her hat. Anything.

  I grinned.

  She cleared her throat. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I’m
just trying to size up my competition, Tweetie.”

  “Who says you’re even in competition?” My laugh was coarse and real, nearly spilling my beer. The confident way she’d stuck out her chin was so fucking cute. Once again I got lost in her, the party melting away.

  Then an asshole ruined it.

  “Tweetie.” King’s voice was low and determined behind her. “I need to talk with you.”

  “Of course you do,” I said into my beer. He came to stand beside her. Tweetie looked between King and me, unsure.

  TWEETIE

  King grabbed my hand and tugged me one way.

  Flip grabbed my elbow and pulled me the other.

  King squeezed my hand and said tenderly, “Come on Tweetie, let’s bail.” To my left, Flip scoffed. King's eyes hardened. I was never graced with that look, it was something he reserved for enemies. Still, it never failed to put a shiver in my spine.

  Flip leaned forward, lips so close to my ear I could feel their warmth.

  It felt indecent to do it in public.

  “I’d like to finish the conversation we started in your bedroom.” My lips parted and I whipped my head to the side, eyes wide. He said it loud enough that I knew King heard.

  What should I say?

  It’s not what it sounds like.

  I was only half naked.

  He’d only said things I’d dreamed of hearing.

  King's hand clenched on mine.

  “I, um…” I swallowed, staring straight ahead so I didn’t have to look at either of them. “I’m going to go with King for a bit.” Flip’s hand clenched on my elbow. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t let go, then all at once, he was gone.

  I missed him almost instantly, a thought I immediately shook off—because that was crazy. Still, I barely tilted my neck to see my elbow. His fingerprints left a red memory.

  I followed King to the bathroom, needing a quiet place to talk. Except the moments it took either of us to say anything stretched on like taffy.

  “Is this Romeo? The music, I mean. Daniel said something about him being on the radio.” What an amazing thing. I wished I could hug Romeo. I always knew his voice was once in a lifetime, and now the world did too.

  “I thought you didn’t date skaters,” King said.

  I snapped my head up. “I don’t.”

  It was still so awkward between us.

  He never apologized.

  I was never able to really hate him.

  “This isn’t about me, Tweetie. You can’t trust him.” A stare lingered between us. I loved King. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t. Our trust was stained glass, warped and colored with intention.

  “It’s not fair when you call me that,” I whispered, calling me by the nickname I earned when I was a kid. He smiled, but like smoke in the wind, it was gone instantly.

  “Stay away from him.” He stepped to me, all muscle and imposing silver eyes.

  I met him, chin tilting back to match his granite stare. “Maybe I will if you tell me why. What’s going on between you and him?”

  After a minute, he exhaled, tangled his hands through his hair.

  “Look, you’re not a kid. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

  And with that, he tore open the door, doing what King always did when it got too hard—he left.

  FLIP

  Arms folded, I sank into the couch, eyes locked on the bathroom door. Tweetie had been with King for too long. It was like history repeating itself.

  Watching from the sidelines.

  Letting her go.

  Something nudged my shoulder and I moved farther away from the two people sucking face to my left, hugging the edge. Then the door opened, slamming against the wall. King exited without Tweetie, tearing through the party, marching upstairs.

  Another nudge.

  “What?” My voice was harsh, eyes glued to the door. Tweetie still hadn’t come out.

  “I, um…um…um…” At the nearly hyperventilating voice, I tore my eyes away. It was a kid, no older than thirteen. The same who’d interrupted Tweetie and me the other day, with spirally red hair and freckles like someone had chucked them violently at his face.

  I tried to relax, not look like the asshole I was. “What’s up?”

  “Would…would…” he stammered. “Would you sign my board?”

  I breathed, rubbed an eye. “Sure, man. Hand it over.” His eyes grew wide, face frozen, like he just realized he wasn’t wearing pants.

  He didn’t have his board. Couldn’t remember where it was. I got the feeling it took a lot out of him to come up to me. So I helped him search.

  Outside was misty and gray and it was like we were trapped in a cloud, making it harder to search, but thirty minutes later, we found it under the porch.

  I paused when he handed it to me. It was a short cruiser like most beginner boards, so it wasn’t odd that he had it, but it threw me back to years ago, to the first day I’d met Tweetie. The day had started out misty and gray like now. Even the bright green color of the board was similar.

  I have every right to be here.

  I quickly scribbled my name.

  “Thanks,” he said when I gave it back. “I know this is lame.”

  “Dude, this was the highlight of my night. You saved me from the guy going Alien on that girl’s face.” A smile broke, and with one lasting look at his newly minted deck, he dashed up the steps—where he crashed into none other than Tweetie.

  They spun, Tweetie righting them both so neither fell.

  “Sorry!” he called over his shoulder, already disappearing back into the party. Tweetie didn’t notice me at the foot of the porch, resting my back against the wood railing. She glowed beneath jewel lanterns, hazy in the fog, staring with distant eyes into the night. Something out of a fairytale—a siren.

  “Unfaithful girl,” I said, after another minute of silence.

  She gasped, head snapping to mine. “How long have you been there?” I climbed the steps one by one, hand sliding along the railing. She stammered through her words, cheeks stained pink. For all the confidence and iron eyes, it melted any time I got close, and that drove me wild.

  I stopped a step beneath her. At this height, she only had to crane her neck slightly to see into my eyes. The mist was a silver fog shrouding us both in a private world.

  She bit one side of her lip. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Someone forgot something important. I’m here to remind them.”

  “Who—” I gripped her head between my palms, shooting one searing look into her blue eyes, then jerked her to the side, exposing her neck.

  Her hands went to shove me off, but then my lips found her soft, warm skin and the fingers that would have pushed me away tangled in my shirt. Fuck, I’d wanted her skin on my lips, her taste on my tongue. Been deprived of it for two years.

  Even then, I only had a taste.

  “I’ll give you something to make you remember who you really belong to,” I said against her neck, and her body melted into mine.

  She was spring. She was light. She was forbidden fruit I promised myself I would only taste, not bruise or bite. As she trembled like I knew she would, I knew I wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t.

  Not again.

  I kissed her, followed the delicate line of her muscle, from beneath her ear to her collarbone.

  Then I sucked.

  Harshly.

  When I pulled back, her eyes were hazy. “Now everyone will know.”

  Six

  Grom: Little kid skaters.

  FLIP

  Some time ago

  Flip is 14, Tweetie is 9

  She stood in the middle of whirring skateboarders, helmet too big on her yellow curls, struggling to hold up a bright green cruiser.

  I came to such a sudden stop that I crashed in the bowl, causing Daniel and King and Romeo to follow suit, tumbling on top of me. Daniel dropped the video recorder and it skidded a few feet ahead.

  She didn’t see us, or how
we’d nearly crushed her.

  “What the shit?” King said, scratching his head.

  “Hold up,” I said, waving my hand and silencing their simultaneous what the fucks. “I wanna check something out.”

  I grabbed my board and threw it down, stopping a few inches before her. She’d pushed her helmet up, and her bright blue eyes zeroed on me. Before I could even get a word out, her face scrunched up.

  “I have every right to be here.”

  I bit back a laugh. “Yeah, you do.”

  I spent the rest of the day teaching her, despite King and Romeo yelling after me. Pussy. Even if they were joking, they didn’t get it. I knew how it felt to be on the outside, to be denied chances afforded to others.

  Everyone had a right to learn.

  Plus, she was talented, had incredible potential. She didn’t cry when she fell. If anything, it made her more determined. I found myself wanting to see just how far I could push her.

  Before I knew it, the sun was hanging on the mountains.

  Daniel, King, and Romeo came up behind me, flipping up their boards. They weren’t skaters like me. King could’ve gone pro in snowboarding if he’d wanted to, but like his past, we didn’t talk about that. Daniel got his kicks street fighting, but the how and why of that were also a no-go zone. The only thing we could talk about, the only thing that really made sense, was Romeo, the best punk rocker I’d ever met. In that world, everyone either wanted to screw you or arrest you, which worked, because Romeo was always waltzing between the two.

  “I fuckin’ hate Saturdays,” Romeo said. “Place is crawlin’ with groms and posers.”

  “Today is Thursday,” Daniel said, and Romeo shot him a look like it was up for debate.

  “Let’s bounce,” King said. I glanced down at the girl, touching her bleeding elbow with clinical interest. When she heard King, she stood up so fast the helmet fell below her eyes.

  “Bounce? As in, leave? Can I come?” she asked.