Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “It’s important.”

  Still with that raised brow, he shoved it into his pocket.

  The next morning I went to the park, dressed like the kidnapper from every suburban mom’s nightmare. I had one mission: get Tweetie to compete. If she started competing, I could leave her alone.

  She would find happiness like I did and I wouldn’t have to worry I’d irrevocably damaged her life.

  Tweetie was so fucking talented too. Hers was a once-in-a-generation talent.

  She stared at the competition table for a few minutes, then left, resignation heavy in her shoulders.

  Don’t fucking do it.

  Don’t approach her.

  Let her choose.

  “You signing up?” I said. She startled at my voice, then gave my getup the once-over, before looking back at the table.

  “Maybe…someday.” It didn’t sound very convincing. Her eyes flitted beyond the table to where a bunch of morons sat on the bowl making kissy faces at her.

  I briefly wondered how wrong it would be to pummel a bunch of tweens.

  No more wrong than any of the other shit I’d done.

  “You look like you need someone beat up,” I said.

  “Are you offering?” I nodded, dead serious. She laughed, the mist and sorrow in her eyes fading. With a sigh, she got on her board, ready to head home. She was going to leave without signing up, without seriously considering how great she could be.

  “Who’s your favorite skater?” I called out.

  “Flip,” she said without hesitation. I paused, feeling the burn of the fire I was playing with.

  Still… “Flip was your age when he entered a comp.”

  “And Flip was the greatest skater in history,” she said like I was an idiot.

  “You’re just as good as him.” If not better.

  She stared at me blankly, but she’d paused. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Do you want to know a secret?” I asked, and she raised her shoulders. Sure. “Flip never thought he was any good. If you wait to do something until you’re certain, or until someone tells you to do it, it’ll be too late.”

  Tweetie folded her arms, eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

  TWEETIE

  “Who are you?” I asked again when silence stretched. My bad date was only a few feet away, laughing at me with his friends, but suddenly I didn’t so much care what they thought of me.

  This mysterious boy was taller than me, with a hood up and a bandana around his mouth, sunglasses to block out an unseen sun. I stared at him, but his dark lenses only reflected my curious eyes.

  I loved skateboarding, but enter a comp? I wasn’t that good.

  As if he sensed what I was thinking, he spoke again. “You are.”

  I focused on the table, a vision of myself I’d never dared to dream now implacable in my mind. When I looked back, the mysterious guy was gone.

  When I got home, I was still thinking of him and competing. Could I really do it? Skating was my true love, I just never dreamed it would love me back.

  When I opened my bedroom door, I dropped my board, a scream falling from my lips.

  All three of my gods sprinted, at my back in an instant.

  “What?”

  “What?”

  I turned to them, then back to my room. Romeo held a cucumber menacingly.

  “What happened to my room?” It had been repainted mint green. A pink lava lamp sat on a new nightstand next to a canopy bed. On top of the nightstand were girly magazines intermixed with my skater ones. Polaroid photos hung by clothespins across my wall: me and King at the fair I made him take me to, me and Romeo at the concert where I’d participated in my first consensual mosh, me and Daniel getting ice cream, all of us outside Patchwork after a party. It was the perfect mix of skate and teenage girl.

  And glow-in-the-dark stars dotted my ceiling.

  “Shit, she’s crying,” Romeo said.

  “We thought this would make you happy,” King said, sounding distressed.

  “I am happy.” I spun to them. They wore equal looks of uncertainty mingled with concern. I laughed and punched Daniel softly. “You guys act tough, but you’re a bunch of softies.”

  “I just broke someone’s jaw this week,” Romeo said, offended, but he smiled.

  “You’re the only one we’d ever do this shit for, Tweetie,” King said, voice hard. I understood the warning: don’t tell anybody.

  I tried to keep my hot tears at bay, knowing how it made them feel. Everyone in this town was so afraid of Patchwork, but these boys were the only ones reapplying glue to my fractured heart.

  As if sensing my trouble, Daniel wrapped his arm around my neck and rubbed my hair.

  I glanced over my shoulder at my new room. “Can I make one request?” At once, all three of their eyes narrowed.

  When I’d finished, I let them back into my room to show them.

  “What’s that?” King’s voice was low, brows drawn.

  Romeo laughed instantly, but it was a startled laugh. I couldn’t place it, it was like he knew something I didn’t. Daniel grimaced, almost like he wanted to protect me from something.

  “What?” I said, though I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “That.” King didn’t wait for my response. He shoved me aside, heading straight for what I’d spent the last hour putting up: a poster of Flip. He was doing a vert trick and he looked amazing. I’d put it above my bed so I could stare at him every night.

  “King wait!” I scrambled after him, grabbing his arms as he climbed on my bed.

  “Explain this,” King said as he peeled the edges I’d painstakingly cut out around Flip’s flexed biceps and abs.

  “What? He’s the most famous skater in history.” I tugged at King, for some reason thinking of the mysterious boy at the park.

  “Then why is he shirtless?” Daniel asked. I could hear the smirk in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” I responded, maybe a little too quickly. Was my voice too high? “It came that way. Back off. King, stop!” I pleaded, and this time he listened.

  Half the poster was peeled, King’s entire body coiled. I waited, wondering if he would start up again. The air was so tense, and I didn’t understand why.

  King took a deep breath, then exhaled.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, pushing him off my bed. He reluctantly let me shove him to the door, but stared beyond me, a haunted look in his eyes. I quickly shook it off when I slammed the door.

  Flip would be my inspiration. My hope. My drive to do the impossible.

  So what if he looked really good shirtless?

  Ten

  Ripper: A really great skater.

  TWEETIE

  Present

  My head pounded and screamed. I rolled over in bed, instantly regretting it when the sun streamed bright and brutal against my lids. The last thing I remembered was a party…I think? I would never get used to drinking.

  And last night I drank way too much.

  I struggled for bits and pieces of my memory when—Flip.

  No, really—Flip. Or rather, a poster of him. It wasn’t the same poster I’d spent hours cutting out as a young teenager. In this, Flip was upside down, only one wickedly flexed arm between the ramp and a valley of nothing. There was one similarity though: he was still shirtless.

  Instinctively I grappled with my covers, pulling them up to my chin like his taunting paper eyes could see me.

  I’ll give you something to make you remember who you really belong to.

  My hand flew to my neck, one still keeping the blankets tightly locked as the night came back in sunbursts.

  The kiss. Oh my god. That kiss.

  Just the memory made my throat ache. I’d never felt anything like it before. He’d practically worshipped me. The clutch on my neck faded, focusing on his dark eyes above me, tracing the spot like I could resurrect the feeling of his lips.

  My door slammed open.

  “Ouch…” I
groaned, the brutal noise bringing me back to now.

  “I made breakfast!” King sounded much too happy.

  “I hate you,” I mumbled.

  “Get up, lazy—what’s that?” His tone shifted noticeably, dropping twenty degrees in temperature. The last time it had sounded like that he’d tried ripping my poster off the ceiling.

  I sat up straight and my brain flew into my skull. “What?” I tried to be nonchalant, look anywhere but the poster of Flip above me. I didn’t put it there. It’s not my fault he magically appeared sexy and shirtless above my head.

  “That.” It took a minute for the room to stop spinning, for King to stop being two people, but then I saw. His eyes narrowed on my neck.

  My hand flew to it. Had Flip really kissed me so hard he left a mark?

  I would murder him.

  Even if my body was warming slow and steady like a hot spring at the memory.

  “I’ll murder him.” King spun on his heels. I stumbled out of bed, sheets tangling around my legs and dragging after me. I stopped at a mirror, needing the confirmation.

  A small, reddish purple mark blazed bright and bold on my neck.

  “King wait! It’s not what it looks like.” Or was it?

  Air blew cool on my legs, and I realized I was only wearing a big shirt and underwear. I grasped the sheets, trying to cover my legs and not vomit at the same time.

  “I don’t know what happened.”

  “I know,” King said firmly, rage staining his gray eyes red, darting left and right, looking for his target. I swayed, and instantly King was at my side, steadying me.

  I pressed my head to his chest and his hand came to my head.

  “Shocking.” Flip’s voice, low and silky smooth like the chocolate in his eyes, was heard behind me. My heart fluttered. I wanted to look at him. I tried to lift my head, but King's hand tightened on the back of it.

  “Tweetie cries, and King comes to the rescue,” Flip continued.

  “Explain this,” King bit out, thumb pressing into the mark on my neck.

  “Easy,” Flip said, voice lazy like a slow smile. “That’s my work. Get used to it.” My heart leapt at the same moment King dropped me.

  Before I could even blink, King lunged for Flip. Flip met him in the middle, and their fists flew. King was bigger than Flip—he was bigger than almost everyone—but if Flip struggled, it didn’t show.

  My heart pounded painfully.

  They were tearing one another apart.

  Because of me.

  This wasn’t my first fistfight. Yelling wouldn’t do anything; their ears were rushing with blood and adrenaline. I sprinted to the bathroom, filling up a glass with cold water.

  “Stop!” I threw the water on them and it had the desired effect—sort of. They paused, a tangled mess of muscle and limbs, but their eyes gleamed like one pin drop would set them off.

  Daniel came running into the hall. Shirtless and in boxer briefs, dreads mussed, I’d clearly woken him up. Two Patchwork Girls came stumbling after him, but they took one look at me, exchanged an eye roll, and wandered back into his room.

  Daniel gave me a brief look then jumped between Flip and King. Daniel may have been the calmest, smallest God, but he was also the fiercest. Veins slid down his dark, lean arms and legs, evidence of his first love: street fighting. He had them split apart in no time.

  “Are we really still doing this?” Daniel asked. Blood dripped from both King and Flip’s noses, fists red, shirts slick with water. “What happened this time?” Daniel’s eyes drifted to mine.

  I pressed my hand against my neck, the kiss hot and real all over again. Suddenly it was too hot, even in the near-winter. My thighs achy, my throat dry.

  I’ll give you something to make you remember who you really belong to.

  Flip shot me a knowing smirk.

  I whipped my hand from my neck, looking anywhere but his burning, arrogant stare.

  “It won’t happen again,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. “And nothing else happened. It was only this, King.”

  “You sure about that?” Flip said, drawing my eyes back.

  Cue my heart stopping.

  Did something else happen? Or was he talking about the poster?

  Then Flip’s eyes traveled me, down my body, scorching. I realized my legs were still bare and scrambled to cover as much as I could, but he still looked at me, at the thin white sheets like he could see through them.

  Then his eyes met mine.

  “What else did you do?”

  Flip laughed. “Why are you so certain it was me?”

  I felt myself turn beet red. King lunged and Daniel released Flip to use both hands to keep King away. My mind darted with the possibilities.

  I scratched my head, thinking back to the party, to twenty-four hours ago.

  What had I done?

  “Did I say something embarrassing?” I asked Flip. He shook his head, smirk growing. “Did I…” I could barely imagine it, let alone get the words out. “Throw up on you?” It came out in a wince. Another shake of his head, another smirk.

  I dragged a hand down my face.

  It was torture, and Flip was enjoying it.

  “You’re an asshole,” King said.

  Flip redirected a bored glare to King. “I don’t think an asshole would spend hours on top of her in bed.” I coughed my startled breath. Flip shot me a grin before locking glares back with King. It took one heart-stopping second for me to realize what the hell he was talking about.

  The poster.

  How could he make something so innocuous sound so lewd? I was frozen, my mouth parted in an explanation I couldn’t give.

  “Someone is going to start talking. Now.” Daniel shot all three of us looks.

  Flip and King stared at each other like lions about to fight over a carcass. Only Daniel’s outstretched arms between them kept them from starting up again.

  I didn’t know where to begin explaining. It took everything I had not to press a hand to the hickey on my neck again.

  “Why don’t you ask sexual predator over here,” King muttered.

  Flip laughed. “You would know.” And then King and Flip were at each other again, Daniel pressing palms to their chest.

  “Everyone just shut. Up. You all were always so awful when it came to boys.” Tears branded my lids, so I ran to my room and slammed my door before they fell. I slid down the door, wiped my eyes, and reached for a pillow off the bed to crush to my chest.

  No one asked me if I wanted Flip to kiss me. It was just decided he shouldn’t.

  The past came spiraling back, full speed.

  Sun shone bright, warming my knees and painting my walls in white gold. Flip’s new poster was aglow. Part of me thought he was just trying to get under King’s skin. I hadn’t done anything last night. I hoped not, at least, because if I had done something, it was somehow worse than throwing up on him.

  Through the wood, I heard muffled voices, and then someone tried to push in through the door. Reluctantly I stood up, allowing him entry. I sat on my bed as King pulled out my desk chair, sitting opposite me. It was almost like years ago, but King had never come to me with bloody hands over his dark jeans.

  “You okay?”

  “Peachy,” I snapped. He raised a brow. “Sorry.” Another minute passed.

  “Is there something going between you and Flip?”

  I don’t know.

  Maybe.

  “No.” It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one. It really felt like he knew me. When he watched me, it was like there were years of history between us I was forgetting.

  “What’s going on between you and Flip?” I countered.

  “Long story.” King scratched his nail. The morning leaked in through the cracks in the door. I could picture kids with their hands in cereal boxes, fighting over who got the toy at the bottom, while older kids slept off hangovers. I sighed, leaning against the wall.

  We were two old friends having spotted e
ach other at the train station. Everyone whirred around us, but we paused, unsure if we should get on our trains and go, or take the first step closer. We were never really good at talking out our feelings, but somehow we needed to have this conversation.

  Why I left.

  Why I came back.

  “You said you would never come back,” King said softly, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it over the sound of a cereal fight starting up.

  That hurt.

  Maybe I said I wouldn’t come back, but I always thought there would be a place for me.

  I rubbed my heather bedspread. “We said a lot of things we didn’t mean.”

  FLIP

  Daniel stared holes through my skull.

  I pressed a raw steak to my eye. “What?”

  “You jacked up?” he asked. I narrowed my free eye. Daniel threw up his hands. “Why else would you act like a complete lunatic?”

  “No one did an intervention when Romeo went off the deep end.”

  “He’s touring with a pop star.”

  “Exactly.”

  Silence passed. Me on the floor, Daniel sitting backward on my desk chair, arms over the back.

  “It was your idea in the first place, Flip.”

  It was King's idea, but I stood by and let it happen, which was just as bad, if not worse.

  “Flip—”

  “You had eight years with her! It’s my turn.” I was just as surprised by the escalation in my voice as he was. Didn’t even realize I’d stood up. That I was breathing so hard my lungs hurt. That I gripped the steak until the red juices ran down my wrist.

  Daniel’s eyes widened. I never raised my voice. Didn’t see the point in it.

  But something about Tweetie had always turned me upside down.

  I took a deep breath, sat back on the floor, against my bed.

  I waved a hand, signaling I was fine for him to continue.

  “Have you forgotten why you asked us to watch her? Have you forgotten what led to that?” No, I could never forget. It was scarred into every bone, every organ, every memory of my being.