I stood up.
Fuck this guy.
I was almost at her back when Tweetie slapped his arms out of the way and poured her beer on his pants.
“The fuck?” He jumped back. It looked like he peed himself.
“Oops,” she said, and the guy ran off to go clean off his pants. I paused. Tweetie definitely didn’t need a man saving her. If anything, the man needed someone to save him.
I inched back, about to melt into the party again, when she moved to let someone pass. We collided, so close our sneakers kissed. The music whirled and waltzed, our eyes locked. I wore the same get-up as when I dragged her from Heaven’s Court, and I saw her working it out.
Time to bounce.
I was on my heel when someone knocked into her. She fell tipsy into me. My hand came to her lower back, steadying her, and her palms landed on my chest.
“Hi,” she said.
“Uh…” I knew I should move. “Hey,” I finished.
“I met someone tonight,” she said, voice quiet. “He wore the same mask. Had the same eyes too.”
My hand tightened a fraction of an inch on her back.
Then I sprang off her like fire.
“Wait—” she called, as I wove through the crowd, disappearing.
This was a goddamn nightmare.
I lost Tweetie somewhere around the kitchen. After lying low for thirty, I grabbed a beer, then climbed upstairs to hide like a coward. I slammed the door to my room and slid down the wood, rubbing my temples. I just needed a few minutes to collect myself.
Now I understood what Daniel meant.
The danger.
There were so many things I wanted to say to her. Do to her.
The sounds of vomiting interrupted my thoughts, coming from my closet.
I stood up, knocked on the door. “Hey asshole this isn’t a bathroom.”
A muffled sorry followed, then Tweetie stumbled out, grasping the doorframe. She was so fucking shitfaced, barely standing. I grimaced at what she’d left in my closet. She tried to walk again and tripped.
“Woah, there, drunko.” I gently caught her elbow and set her down on the floor. She placed her head in her hands, then opened one eye to study me.
I should’ve let her go now that she was on the floor, but this was the first time we’d really looked at one another. Even still, there was a layer of fabric between us. Her eyes were deep, blue pools of diamond. I could count the cuts in the irises.
Her lips parted. “Hey…you. Were you running from me?”
I dropped her. Coughed. Stared forward.
“Were you chasing me?” I countered. There was a breath.
“Maybe,” she whispered. “Why did you run?”
The way you make me feel is terrifying.
I never did respond.
Minutes dragged in a silence I shouldn’t have found so comfortable, all too aware that the only thing separating her body from mine was a thin slice of air.
Then her head fell on my shoulder. My entire body tensed.
“Is this okay?” she mumbled.
It’s perfect.
I opened my beer on my belt like I’d been doing since the first day I had a drink. She lifted her eyes and they were filled with awe like the very first day we met.
I drank, hoping a buzz could numb the effect of her.
“Thasss so cool,” she slurred.
My lips twitched. “You sound a little drunk.”
She made a face. “You sound a little sober.” A smile came to my lips, but I quickly wiped it away.
Another pause. I eyed my beer, wondering if being tipsy was really the best idea, but being sober wasn’t working either.
“You should go back to the party,” I said after a minute.
“It’s funny, all I’ve ever wanted was to be let inside that party—the real party—and now I just want to be upstairs. Here.”
A jagged breath. “You should really go back downstairs.”
“They don’t want me—really don’t want me.” She sighed. “Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?”
Yes. Every day.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here. I live here, but I’m always on the outside. No one will touch me because they think I’m on the inside. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Guys don’t date girls who also wear their pants, you know?”
My voice was frozen. Is that what she thought? Objectively, I could see it, but to me, she was stunning.
“Sorry.” She wiped her nose. “You don’t even know me and I’m unloading all my shit.” I stared at the top of her blonde head, her small nose just barely peeking out. That was all I wanted, to know her beyond the years of separation. She sat up from my shoulder and I had the insane urge to tell her to go back.
She looked at me like she could see me through my mask, blue eyes slimming just a bit. “Who are you?”
Eighteen
Chip: When a piece breaks off the deck.
TWEETIE
“Who are you?” I repeated when he didn’t respond. My gods hadn’t told me a single thing about the mysterious stranger who’d dragged me back home. They simply acted like nothing happened. Like I hadn’t followed them to the richest neighborhood. Like they hadn’t beat someone to a pulp in his own home.
“We’ll know if you leave,” was all King had said, before shutting the door, leaving me feeling less like a rebel and more like a little girl.
I was speechless. Actually speechless. After everything I’d seen, I was supposed to go back to the dark? To a bedtime? Another party I’m not invited to, another party I have to just listen to. Like the mysterious stranger, I’m not allowed to know the truth of it.
But sitting next to this boy, an insane seed of an idea took root inside me. I waited for his response, to water it and see if it could grow.
“Tweetie—” he started, just as the door burst open.
“Whoops.” Penelope drunkenly stumbled in. “Didn’t know the room was occupied. Oh.” Her eyes settled on me. “Hey, Yoko.”
Look, it’s the Yoko of Patchwork House. Finally out for a real party.
Penelope had said the same thing when I’d come down the stairs, staring at me like I was a piece of art, memorizing my different contours, objectifying the parts she didn’t agree with. I didn’t understand what it meant, but it hurt all the same.
The boy sprang up, pushing past Penelope in a flash.
“What is wrong with you?” I snapped. I ran after him, catching him at the bottom of the stairs. I held on to his elbow. “Why do you keep running?”
He’d called me Tweetie.
It was entirely possible he knew of me. A lot of people knew of me. Or maybe he was exactly who I thought he was.
“Do you know me?” I asked, just as whispers started up I instinctively thought were about me.
“That’s a Rebel God,” they whispered.
I dropped the boy, filled with a new worry. Were my gods back? Suddenly he grabbed my hand.
“Want to hear a story?”
Uh, no. I want to know who you are. I want to know if you’re the boy I think you are. His eyes were earnest, fervent. More whispers surrounded us, rustling leaves on the wind. I lifted my head, trying to see who they were talking about.
His grip tightened. “Come on.” Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to say yes.
I nodded.
He wove us through the party while my heart beat too loud. King held my hand—all of my gods had held my hand. This was nothing.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
We stopped inside the kitchen. It was busy with people drinking and laughing and flirting. All I saw was him.
He grabbed a paper from a drawer, I hoped to write down his number, but then he slid next to me. Our shoulders touched again, the party and its noise faded away.
“My grandmother was Taiwanese, but she only spoke Japanese because of the Japanese occupation,” he said, folding the paper. “I speak Mandarin, but could never talk to
her, as I don’t know Japanese. So this is how we talked.”
He handed me a beautifully folded paper crane.
“A bird for my bird.”
He laughed.
He had a nice laugh. Like everything else about him, his skin, the color of his eyes, his voice…it was silky. I didn’t quite understand why he was laughing or what he meant by a bird for my bird but the paper crane was beautiful and I liked the way the small bird looked in his big, veiny hands. So I took it.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here.” I twirled the bird. Most everyone at Patchwork was a regular in one way or another. Though occasionally you got a wanderer. “But you look so familiar.”
“You haven’t seen me here,” he said firmly. “This isn’t my world.”
“I’m starting to think this isn’t my world either,” I said quietly. “But if this isn’t my world, then what is?” I wondered where he came from, where he belonged. I’d only ever known the Patchwork life. Our eyes locked, and it looked like he had something he really needed to say.
“That’s a Rebel God,” someone said, awe washing their voice. The same thing they’d said out in the living room.
“That’s the lost Rebel God,” another said. My brows dipped as nerves tangled my chest. Where were the guys everyone was talking about?
All at once the boy’s back straightened and he gave me his hand. “Let’s go.”
I stared at his outstretched hand. “Now where are we going?” He ever so slightly crooked his finger, motioning for me to come. He wasn’t going to tell me. I either went with him or stayed. At a party where no one wanted me, or in my bedroom, locked away once again.
The whole room had that blurry, headlamps-on-a-highway feel. I was still very tipsy.
It probably wasn’t the best idea to go somewhere alone with a stranger.
“Lead the way,” I said.
We went outside and he tossed me a board. I don’t know how he knew I skated; maybe he guessed it by the way I dressed.
“Are you a skater?” He shrugged. A gush of warmth I had no right to feel drenched my stomach. Rule number one, after all. “Are you going to ride with all that on?” I gestured to his getup. Another shrug, like Yeah.
“Well, grab a board.”
“I don’t feel like skating. Tonight I’ll…bike.” He grabbed one of the many littered across the grass.
I dropped the board, testing it beneath my feet. “Do you have a park in mind?”
“We’re not going to a park.” At my face, he clarified, “Street.”
I’d never skated street before.
The idea thrilled me.
“I’ve never done that.” Flip was my favorite skater, and he skated street. He introduced the style into competitive skating.
It was dangerous.
It was illegal.
All reasons the guys wouldn’t let me do it.
“Well,” he said, “let’s change that.”
We carved through the median, cars on either side of us, their headlights bright in the night. I lead the way, but when I looked over my shoulder, he was always there. Following.
We stopped a few blocks from Patchwork, and I threw my head back on a sigh. I felt weightless. Every single care gone, disappearing into the cloudy, starry sky.
“So what does the bird mean?” I reached into my pocket, edges pricking my fingers.
Something flitted across his face, but it was gone in an instant. “If I fold a thousand your wish will come true.” Another pause passed between us. I twirled the crane in my fingers.
“Did you have a wish in mind when you made this?”
“Yeah.” His eyes were so intense I almost looked away. Like meteors falling from the sky. “I wish someday me and my girl can be together.”
“Oh.” I deflated. “I bet she’s pretty.”
“Beautiful.” He was talking about his girlfriend, so why was he looking at me like that? Filled with some desire I couldn’t place.
I cleared my throat, hopped back on my board, and we rode out.
It was so thrilling. Rules went out the window. Cars were so close they blew back my hair. Their angry honks only made me laugh.
We stopped at the top of Devil’s Hill. I’d avoided this hill my entire life. Street style didn’t kill my father, but the way the guys kept it from me, I often wondered if they thought it did.
In my memories, it was so big, so winding and scary. But now, it was just like any other hill.
I’d carved bigger ramps.
“Let’s go back,” he said, some kind of fear tearing apart the serenity in his voice. I threw a look over my shoulder, then back at the hill. The wintery night air was bewitching; tranquil and just the right temperature. The stars behind the clouds fuzzy and blending into endless black.
Maybe the boy at my side was the one who’d dragged me back to Patchwork.
Or maybe he was just someone who knew exactly what I needed.
“You think I can’t skate this?” I asked, then I flashed him a smile, and dove.
FLIP
With a cheeky smile, Tweetie tore down Devil’s Hill, the past colliding with the present. Her laughter then swirling with her laughter now, the image of her curls floating on the wind cracking to reveal her windblown ones right before I pushed her into the street.
Tweetie reached the bottom, tossing her head to the side and giving me a look. Why hadn’t I joined her?
I took a breath and dove.
“See, not so scary,” she teased when I reached the bottom. One foot on her board, the other steadying herself on the street. She was beautiful, so damn beautiful, and that was the problem.
“Yeah…”
Then it happened, so fast I didn’t have time to think. I heard it behind us, gravel crunching and slicing through the air. I grabbed Tweetie, pulled her to me, spun us in an embrace.
It was nothing. Not even a car, just someone on a bike. But in my head, I heard the earsplitting crash.
Go. Get out of here!
“Hey.” Tweetie’s soft, gentle voice pulled me out of the memory. Her blue eyes were pinched in concern, but she didn’t press. My heartbeats were painful against my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “How did you know this would help?”
Another slam against my ribcage.
Another breath too loud in my ears.
“You didn’t need a party,” I said, voice rocky and uneven. “You needed this. You can be dealing with the worst shit in the world and a good ride will fix it.” I couldn’t let her go, even though I knew I should. I held her tighter, like any moment she could be ripped from my hands and tossed back into the road.
Snowflakes started to fall, landing heavy and soft on her cheeks and eyelashes.
Distracting.
Too pretty.
“Is that what you do when you’re dealing with something heavy?” she asked. “Skate?”
That’s what I used to do.
Now I just let it pile on and on.
The bandana was muggy and humid, but the air outside was cold. Snow landing icy on the fingers holding her tighter.
“I’m going to take the bandana off now,” she whispered, grasping the edge. Danger, a voice in my head warned. But the few stars above were a glittery, secret shelter. Maybe if it happened here, it didn’t count.
I caught her hands just as she revealed my nose.
“Why?” Her lips were just a thread’s width from mine. “Why can’t I see who you are?”
How ironic that Tweetie asked this question when the answer was the very hill we were on.
She blinked, wet lashes settling on round cheeks before coming back to mine.
Hazy.
I swallowed, jaw tight. “Let’s head back.” I stepped back, tugging the bandana up.
We didn’t talk the entire way back. Once outside Patchwork Tweetie tossed the random board I’d handed her into the pile on the grass. I did the same with the bike.
She didn’t go inside, and
I didn’t leave. I knew I wanted to prolong this moment, but I wasn’t sure what Tweetie was thinking.
“I wanted to kiss you,” she said. “I’m not normally like this but, I don’t know, I really wanted to kiss you.” She laughed, nervous and a little self-deprecating, like she couldn’t believe what she’d said.
Her eyes were on the ground. Snow landed, but it was too warm to stick, melting into the grass.
My throat stopped working.
Her bracelet was in my pocket, a reminder of how messed up it was to feel anything other than fraternal care for her. But man, did I want to hear her say that again. It was all I could think about now. I really wanted to kiss you.
Her eyes flashed to mine like she knew, then she stepped closer. This time I wasn’t sure I could resist. Her hands settled on my chest, light.
“You should go inside.” My voice was raw. She stood on her tiptoes, sliding her hands up my chest. Icy fingers came back to the bandana, but her breath was steamy and warm.
I focused on her perfect pink lips. All I wanted to know was what she tasted like. God help me.
Then Tweetie was yanked from me. Dragged far, far back by the collar. Dragged up the steps with such force she stumbled.
King.
“What?” she yelled, elbowing him and forcing him to drop her. “What is the big deal?” Daniel and Romeo stood on the perimeter of the porch, watching.
“What part of stay in your fucking room went over your head?” King asked, voice low and unamused. “You don’t fucking think. You really don’t fucking think.”
That cut her to the core, I saw it in the pain that flashed through her blue eyes.
“Well you hurt people,” she shot back, jaw clenched. I wondered if she was holding back tears.
“He knew the rules,” King said, and Daniel and Romeo nodded in agreement. “Everyone knows the rules.”
“Which are?”
“We’ll fuck up anybody who even makes you think about crying and everyone in this town knows it. Deal with it.”
Her mouth dropped, and then King dragged her toward the door again, clearly done with debating.
Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1) Page 17