So I sprinted past them, down the stairs, before my tears could fall.
I heard Daniel say something to King in an admonishing tone, but I didn’t stay to hear what. I ran until my lungs gave out, landing in the solarium.
Solarium.
It was a new word and my only safe place. Not many people came in here, so I’d sit alone and stare at the clouds, finding animals. Elephant. Unicorn. Dragon. I’d make up my own with the clouds. My favorite was the panda-roo. I stayed until the stars appeared above and my stomach growled.
I woke groggy, the stars blurry beneath the clouds. Flashing blue and red lights were blurry watercolors against the glass. I sat up straight, one side of my hair still flat from sleeping. I knew them immediately; in my short life I’d had too much interaction with police. King told me if I see the police, I hide—another rule.
I snuck outside, tiptoeing around the house.
“You’ve got the wrong guy. He’s barely fifteen,” I heard King growl. “Fifteen-year-olds don’t fight for money.” I craned my neck around the side, staying hidden and watching. Two cops plus King, Romeo, and Daniel.
“Don’t try and play us, Ayers. He’s been fighting for years. We know all about the Demon of Heaven Falls.” The cops went to grab Daniel. Shy, sweet Daniel, the only one who cared to ask what my favorite food was, was a demon? I didn’t believe it. “We can discuss all of it down at the station.”
“Bullshit. Tell me what he’s doin’ wrong?” Romeo said. “It’s just like boxin’.”
I don’t know why Daniel was about to be arrested, but it didn’t matter. Something inside me said I had to help. He was family now, even if they didn’t see me that way. So I did the only thing I could think of.
“Officer, please help!” I yelled, running into the front yard. The conversation came to a grinding halt, my gods not sure what I was up to, the officers wary.
Crap.
No—shit.
What do I say now? The officer’s eyes narrowed with each moment I stayed mute.
“I…” I swallowed. “I’m lost?” It’s not a question! “I am. I’m lost. I can’t find my parents.” I wobbled my lip, trying to be convincing.
The officer sized me up, then looked to Daniel, who he was just about to arrest.
“Please,” I begged. “Please help me.”
My gods shrugged their shoulders like What can you do?
The cops relented, warning Daniel that if it happened again there would be no discussion.
I led the cops on a wild goose chase before suddenly “realizing” where my parents lived, acting like I was some dumb, confused child.
They wanted to talk to my parents.
So I sprinted in the opposite direction, hoping they would let it go. I waited, hidden between two old Victorians, until they got in their car, driving away from Patchwork.
When I got back to Patchwork, everyone was waiting. It was one of the few times I could remember there being no music.
“Tweetie!” King jumped at the sight of me, and at first I was afraid. I thought I was going to be yelled at again, but then all three of them pulled me into a bear hug, King lifting me high above their heads.
Tweetie is 13, Flip is 18
I was late.
To meet a boy.
I had a hard time meeting boys. There was a strong reputation around Patchwork, specifically me, the only girl ever invited inside, but one boy was willing to take a chance on me.
“If he breaks your heart, I will break his face,” King called out.
“Mmhmm,” Romeo agreed, eyes never straying from a bottle of whiskey. Behind him, the murals he painted were bold, beautiful, and a little terrifying, but little yellow birds fluttered around them. A smile came to my lips, remembering the day they let me into their family. Officially.
“Have a great night.” Daniel licked his thumb and wiped something off my face. “You should probably go because he’s been outside staring at the house for thirty minutes.”
See?
Reputation.
He was waiting for me on the perimeter, as if afraid to take one step inside. When he saw me, his face fell, but I thought it was just in my mind. Nerves.
But the night only got worse.
He barely paid attention to me.
It ended outside the mall with a blow to my chest. “I know we met at the park, but I didn’t think you dressed like this all the time.” I blinked. “I thought that was just your skating clothes, you know?”
I couldn’t speak. I wished I could have. Defended myself or something, but shock had usurped my vocal cords.
I wore the clothes my Rebel Gods gave me. A lot of them were hand-me-downs or stuff they found at Goodwill. I knew I didn’t dress “girly.” I was thankful they took me in, clothed me, fed me, taught me. If it wasn’t for them, I would be on the street.
I was sure if I told them I wanted different clothes, they would find them for me, but to be honest, I didn’t want any. I liked these clothes. I liked the fit. It felt like me. I assumed, as fellow skaters, we were on the same page.
“I need someone prettier.” He patted me on the shoulder.
I nodded dumbly again.
When I skated home, I was stunned—zombified. I need someone prettier, replaying on a loop. So I didn’t notice the boy on the sidewalk. We collided, him falling flat on his ass, me flying off my board, landing opposite him.
FLIP
“Sorry,” Tweetie said, reaching for her board. “I’m so sorry.”
It had been almost three full years since I’d seen Tweetie. King and I didn’t talk about her when we met at the gates to Heaven’s Court. We didn’t talk about how the reason we were standing next to the giant black metal was because of Tweetie. We just accepted it as our new norm.
So when she crashed into me one Saturday night in the town square, I nearly didn’t recognize her.
Damn, I was happy to see she’d stuck with skating, though.
She was taller now, but not by much. A large, baby blue shirt hung to her knees, and there was sadness in her eyes.
Tears.
Why was she crying? A month had passed since the anniversary of the accident. A few leaves still clung to trees, and the ground was always wet with rain. Was it still on her mind? Maybe, like me, she never stopped thinking about it. It was her father, after all. She probably had good memories of him, and I’d ripped away any chance to form more.
“Sorry,” she said again, righting her board and not giving me another look as she skated toward Patchwork, curving around the gothic, sweeping clock tower in the center of our square. I waited until she disappeared into the silver mist completely, and even longer still.
Tweetie was the only thing on my mind as I headed back to Heaven’s Court. How often did she cry? How badly had I messed up her life? I couldn’t get the image out of my head.
Bizzy was in her room, hunched over her desk, studying. Bizzy was wild, could give Romeo a run for his money. She was perpetually grounded—still didn’t stop her from sneaking out every night. She was smart though, so smart schools didn’t know what to do with her. For some reason she didn’t want people to know it, either.
I tossed the bag of tampons she asked me to buy her on her desk.
She mumbled her thanks, focused on studying.
I lingered.
“So, you’re kind of a kid,” I said.
She sat up straight, a red indent above her eye from resting her face against a spiral notebook. “Excuse you, I’m older than you.”
“We’re the same age.”
“I have a few months,” she said with a satisfied smirk. “Also, see exhibit A—most definitely not kid-like.” She gestured at her chest and when I grimaced, threw a study-book at me.
“Don’t talk to me about that,” I said. “You’re like a sister to me.”
She laughed. “My boobs are awesome. Many boys in my grade—”
I kicked off the door. “This was a mistake. I should’ve known to bring
some cloves of garlic with me before I entered your lair.” Cue another book, this one I ducked, before coming in to sit on the edge of her fluffy, plush ivory bed. Her room was fit for a fairytale princess with glittery pink curtains and a gauzy canopy bed. Funny, because if Bizzy was in a fairytale, she’d be the prince.
“What’s bothering you, little bro?” She smiled, calling me by her affectionate nickname. I might never believe her parents loved me, but with the absence of Daniel, King, and Romeo, I needed someone. With King gone, she did too.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m worried about someone.”
“Is that code for girl?” She waggled her eyebrows. I made a face at the thought and she threw up her hands. “Okay, Jesus. Never mind.”
“It’s a kid. Her parents are dead. I want…” To make everything go back to before. To give her her life back. To just fucking fix it. “She’s helpless. I want to help her. I don’t know what to do.”
Bizzy kicked fuzzy socks up on her desk, gray eyes narrowing.
For a moment, she looked like King.
“I volunteer with kids who come from horrible situations, like, you can’t even imagine.” I bet I could. “They have nightmares, they cry—it’s a mess.”
“Is this supposed to be helping?”
She jutted out her sharp, mocha chin. “Though she be but little, she is fierce.” At my even more confused face, Bizzy explained. “I like to think it means the smaller life tries to make you, the bigger you get. These kids are the strongest I know and they have the most beautiful souls. I think everyone in Heaven’s Court could benefit from a little heartache.” She stared off, like she was thinking of someone in particular.
“You come up with that?”
Her mouth dropped. “That’s Shakespeare.”
“Ah, more useless dead guy quotes you learned at your fancy prep school.”
“It’s your school too,” she countered. Technically. The Ayers put me in the same school as King. To save face, I think. I did horribly. Everyone had been learning shit like Latin since age three. I skipped all my classes. They donated money so I didn’t flunk out.
“Nah,” I said. “It requires a certain level of stupidity to go to that school.” Her face scrunched in frustration, and she lunged for me. I put my hand to her forehead, keeping her at a distance as she swung.
“Bizzy—oh, I can come another time.” Pip stopped short, a few feet behind me, face falling. My hand dropped and the air stilled. Three years I’d been watching, three years I was a reminder that King was there, but not speaking to her.
Pip was the easiest person to keep safe. Her parents did all the heavy lifting, keeping her sequestered like Rapunzel. She was only allowed to leave for school and to visit Bizzy. Since she didn’t go past the gates of Heaven’s Court, everyone knew not to come within a foot of her.
Lonely, I imagined.
Her room, at the top of the tallest turret of her home, almost made her look like Rapunzel too. Every time I watched her, she always stared back. Everyone in Heaven’s Court knew me now, the delinquent friend of their runaway son. Phyllis “Pip” Westwood was no exception.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll get going.”
“Remember,” Bizzy yelled at my back. “Just because she’s small and young doesn’t mean she can’t handle whatever is thrown at her.”
I was just to the stairs when an airy voice stopped me. “Wait!”
Pip had followed me, fingers inches from my shoulder. Instinctively I stepped back. I didn’t know why I couldn’t touch her, but I knew no one did. Some kind of disease. Bizzy didn’t even touch her, and if you told Bizzy not to do something, she took that as a challenge.
Her face dropped, but only a little. “I know you tell Kingston about me,” she whispered, quickly looking over her shoulder, then back at me.
Bizzy never called me out for watching Pip, so I had to assume Pip didn’t want her to know about her relationship with King. I scratched my neck, not sure what to say.
“Just…give him this.” She thrust her arm out and I scrambled against the wall. She tightened her jaw then set the paper down on the fine, plush carpet between us. She didn’t wait for my response, spinning around to go join Bizzy.
A letter. A name scrawled on the ivory envelope in feminine loops.
Kingston.
The deal was to watch Pip and stay away from Patchwork. King didn’t want to know any particulars about Pip, only wanted to know she was safe. He definitely didn’t want to know about a letter, but…I picked up the silky envelope. Earlier today had been an accident, but now I had an excuse. I could see how badly I’d messed up Tweetie, and I could figure out how to fix it.
Later that night I opened the wrought iron gate and went to Patchwork for the first time in three years.
TWEETIE
“How was it?” Daniel yelled past the neck of a girl trying to eat his own as I headed to the stairs. There was a party going on like always. I got used to the constant sound of chaos, to the point that silence became louder. I craved the sound of glass crashing, of laughter and an overzealous guitar.
“Did he try anything funny?” King added.
“Show us the neck then,” Romeo said. “Let’s see those new hickeys.” King threw something at Romeo and I tried not to let my face drop. I was pretty sure I was going to die before someone gave me a hickey.
“I had a great time,” I lied, trying to keep my tears from them. They were family but they….they struggled with tears.
“What’s wrong?” King asked, and all three of them stood, the women they were with pushed aside. Patchwork Girls never warmed to me, and I could feel their irritation like poison ivy crawling up my arms.
The music stopped. I exhaled jaggedly. I didn’t need the whole to-do today. Just once I wanted to be someone normal, not “the girl the music at Patchwork stopped for.”
I ran up the stairs without another word.
“Get out!” I yelled, throwing a pillow at their three stunned faces moments later. I slammed the door then heard murmuring outside it, making out a few words.
Period?
No that was last week.
I groaned into my pillow.
“I can be upset without bleeding, you cavemen.” A soft knock this time—Daniel. I sat up, prepared for him to enter. They had a routine. Daniel was the soft approach when King was coming on too strong and demanding. Romeo was the one who let me get away with stuff. Who gave me my first drink. Together they almost made a fully functioning parent
He creaked the door open. “Hey kid…”
“It didn’t work out.” I jumped to the chase. Silence. I knew Daniel wasn’t buying it, but neither did he want to push me. I pulled my pillow to my chest, examining my room. Most definitely not girly.
“What happened?”
“I told you.”
“It’s just you and me. Anything you say stays between us.”
I glared. How stupid did he think I was? I wouldn’t fall for that again. After a minute of silence, King and Romeo appeared. Neither had the decency to look abashed at their lie. King pulled out my desk chair, sitting opposite me, staring holes into my soul and demanding I let him in.
I just couldn’t. I was absolutely mortified, and I wasn’t going to let them know I’d been rejected for being ugly.
Patchwork Girls were beautiful. Perfect lipstick and charcoal eyes. Silky hair you wanted to run your hands through. My hair was frizzy. My face round. My body, well, it was alright, because of the skateboarding. Everything else about me screamed mediocre.
“Why don’t you ever fuck girls that look like me?”
King's eyes bugged as he coughed.
Romeo slapped him on the back. “Wanna rephrase that, luv?”
I sighed and threw my head back on the pillow. “Who is your ideal girl?”
“Tall. Leggy. With a penchant for blow jobs.” I heard something fall into the wall, and I assumed they’d shoved Romeo. But the blow landed.
I rolled over on
to my stomach, smashing my face into my pillow. “It’s my fault for thinking anyone could see me as a girl.”
They lingered. King inhaled, and I knew he wanted to say something, but one by one they filed out, shutting the door with a quiet snick.
FLIP
I stared at Tweetie’s window, wondering if she was in turmoil at that very moment.
But what was I going to do? Crawl in her window? An insane part of me thought maybe…but it wasn’t like that would solve anything except maybe give her more nightmares.
“You need to encourage her to enter a competition,” I said, sensing Daniel in the dark, still watching her window. Daniel lit a joint and handed it to me. I accepted. We were two shadows lit by an orange-red flame.
She pulled back dark curtains, staring out the window as if searching for something. Her face was losing the baby fat. I couldn’t see her freckles now, but I’d seen them up close and personal when she’d collided with me.
Reckless.
I’d handed her off to King so I could stay away, but that was the problem, I couldn’t. I needed to fix what I broke. She couldn’t become like me, anchorless, unable to remember her last real smile.
Maybe if she entered a competition the sadness in her eyes would dissipate.
That had helped me.
“She writes about you in her diary,” he said, exhaling smoke. “Was Flip afraid when he skated?” That wasn’t so bad. “I want Flip to be my first kiss.” Oh. “If Flip could do it without parents, then so can I.” Shit. “And she still has nightmares, Flip. Every night.”
I paused. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So you understand how dangerous your presence is.” I tore my eyes from her window, finding Daniel’s amber ones shadowed by a fiery cigarette. “You’ve become her hope. All she ever talks about is you, how you made something of yourself without parents and how cool that is.”
My throat thickened.
“We want her to move past that day.”
“So do I.”
“Then why are you here?”
I pulled out the letter Pip gave me. Daniel lifted one inky and unimpressed brow. Couldn’t have given that to him at the gate?
Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1) Page 9