Out of Play

by Jolene Perry

  “Tomorrow’s our chat day, okay? We can talk about anything you want. Maybe you’ll have thought of something for you that’s like Troy’s trees were for him.”

  Yeah fucking right. Instead of letting those words out, I nod. Gary stays for a few more minutes before he tells me goodnight and leaves. Once he’s gone, I pick up my cell phone and make a quick call to Maryanne. Maybe if I have her get me some stuff, I won’t have to take my anxiety meds at all.

  The rest of the night is spent trying to sleep, going outside and chain-smoking the cigarettes I hate, and wondering if Penny has drowned any of her friends yet. When I finally do fall asleep, I dream about climbing trees.

  …

  I’m standing on the porch the next morning, dreading my talk with Gary later, when I see lights going on and off in the big house. I figure it must be Penny getting ready for school. I probably slept a total of three hours last night. Every time I fell into a deep sleep, something forced my dry eyes open. They’re burning today. Each time I blink, it’s like someone rubbing sandpaper over them.

  Soon, Penny runs outside and starts up her monster truck before heading back in the house. It’s bizarre. I could never leave my car running in L.A. like that, or it would be gone. Or my motorcycle. Damn, I miss that, too. I have this friend Ryan I used to go riding with before things got crazy busy. Those were good times. Is that when things were easier? The question popping into my head pisses me off.

  The truck. It’s something I don’t mind thinking about. Just like with her friends last night, the lack of security is new to me. This town is almost like one of those shows you see on TV that don’t seem real. Where nothing bad happens, everyone is finish-each-other’s-sentences kind of friends. I almost expect everything to be black and white. Like it takes place in the fifties or something.

  Her truck continues to warm up, and I have the biggest urge to drive off in it. I don’t know if it’s just to teach her a lesson or if I hope I can run away and not come back.

  When she comes out again, she’s all bundled up and scraping the windows. Her hair is hidden under a hat and another screwed up urge hits me. This time I want to take the hat off so I can see her hair. It’s such a killer color.

  “Hey!” she yells to me and waves. I’m still kind of pissed off about last night so I don’t do anything back. Penny shakes her head at me before climbing in the truck and pulling away. Her hand shoots out the window and she flips me off before she’s gone.

  I can’t help but chuckle. That girl is no joke.

  …

  “You have something hanging out of your lip.”

  The old man smirks at me. He’s got long gray hair and a long gray beard, and I am pretty sure if there are bodies in the freezers, he’s the one who put them there.

  “Thanks for letting me know.” Penny left about twenty minutes ago, and I still haven’t managed to leave the porch. I really don’t want to be a jerk to some old man, but I’m not in the best mood, either. I look away from him.

  The old guy laughs. “I’m giving you a hard time, Rookie. It’s nice. Think I could get one?” My head snaps his way, and he winks at me. It’s crazy, but I don’t doubt this guy for a second. He would totally get his lip pierced.

  “Got any plans today?” he asks me.

  “Nope.” I pull out another cigarette and light it.

  “You afraid to get your hands dirty?”

  “Huh?”

  “Nah, I don’t think you are.” He laughs again. “Know anything about cars?” He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “Yeah. A little.” A lot, actually.

  “Wanna work on one with me?” This guy is all huge eyes, crazy beard, and twitchy movements. It’s like he’s high on something, though I highly doubt he is.

  My body perks up a little, suddenly not tired anymore. If he wants me to work on the Corvette I saw the other day, the answer is hell yes. Actually, I’d pretty much jump at the chance to work on any car. My hands itch to keep busy. “I guess.”

  He holds his hand out to me. “I’m Gramps.”

  “Bishop.” I shake his hand and then follow him. He leads me to the Corvette. Without Penny here, I get the chance to admire it even more. It’s buffed smooth but mottled gray, primed and ready for paint. I’m almost positive it’s a 1975. It’s—

  “A beauty, isn’t she?” Gramps says. He sounds like a kid he’s so excited.

  “She’s awesome. I love cars like this.” And I can’t believe I actually get to work on her. Not just because she’s incredible, but because I have the time to.

  Gramps and I dig in, leaning over the engine. He tells me about some trouble they’ve been having with the engine and getting the wrong carburetor, so they’re almost at a standstill aside from some minor gaskets. I guess Penny has some huge plans for fixing her up. “This is Penny’s ride?”

  “Yep.”

  “And she works on it?”

  “Yep, but don’t let her hear you sound so surprised. She has a bit of a temper.”

  Yeah, I already made that mistake with hockey. “No shit,” accidentally slips out of my mouth. I brace myself because most old guys I know get all pissy when I curse, but Gramps just laughs.

  “She’s a tough one, my Lucky Penny.”

  She is. I kind of want to tell him, but realize it’s ridiculous. I don’t know her.

  We’re quiet for a few minutes. Gramps hands me a wrench. The first gasket is an obvious one, and the new package is resting on the edge of the engine. “What about you? What’re you into?”

  Surprisingly, it only takes me a few seconds to answer. Gary and Troy’s stupid fucking trees pop into my head. “Drums, but cars are cool. Working on them gives me something to do with my hands. I like that…keeping busy.”

  I’m not sure why I said that, but he seems to get it. I think he’d probably get a lot. He doesn’t reply, and we get to work. When he asks me questions about cars, I know all the answers. I even point out a few things to him, too. I hate to admit it, because I don’t want anything here to be cool, but it feels good.

  Troy built a tree house to keep from going crazy in this town. Maybe the car can do that for me.

  Chapter Six

  PENNY

  I pull up in the driveway, exhausted. My body feels like Jell-O after practice. I’m frustrated because the team from up north in Barrow—the ones we’re supposed to play for State Semifinals—are snowed in and our game’s been moved back a week or more. I hate postponements, but it is Barrow, and it is still winter.

  When I get out, I see Gramps and Bishop in the garage, leaning over the engine of my Corvette. I can’t believe that cocky prick has his hands on my car. I tried to be nice this morning. Well, until I flipped him off, but seriously—I was trying to be nice by waving at him, and he just stood there.

  Cocky. Prick.

  Oh. And that’s after I got him a beer, offered pizza, and he just took off while we were all hanging out. No good-night. No thanks. No nothing.

  I jump out of my car and resist the urge to run into the garage. “Hi Gramps.” I give him a kiss on the cheek as he leans out from under the hood with grease on his hands.

  “Bishop and I got all the gaskets changed out today.” Gramps pinches my nose with a grin.

  “I can change gaskets.” It comes out snappier than I meant. But really, Gramps knows how picky I am. I don’t want some amateur working on it.

  “I should take off.” Bishop grabs his coat from a stool and heads for the door.

  “Oh!” Gramps steps toward him. “Penny can take you to get drums.”

  “I can what?” I don’t want to take this guy anywhere. Especially after he messed with my car.

  “No.” Bishop shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Gramps chuckles. “But Pat doesn’t have a crush on you and might not give you the same deal Penny will get.”

  “It’s fine.” Bishop shakes his head and moves toward the door. “Thanks anyway.”

&
nbsp; I open my mouth to say see ya, but then I remember that the he had his hands on my car.

  Gramps leans over, and I almost lean away because I know right now what he’s going to say.

  “These guys are paying your mom a lot of money for two cabins and no work on your part. Grow up, be nice, and take the boy to town. Wouldn’t hurt if you were a little extra nice to Pat, too.”

  Only Gramps could talk to me like this and still make me smile. His voice is quiet but all happy. Bishop’s almost to his cabin.

  Hell.

  I jog outside. “Bishop!” I even use my best cheery voice. “I’m heading to town anyway, and I’m sure Pat can get you a deal. If you need drums, we should get you drums. You’ve got to be bored out of your mind.” Because you don’t do anything except go for walks in the snow and smoke.

  He pauses, and he flicks his gaze toward Gary’s. “Just a sec.”

  Like he did last night, he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking everywhere but at me. It’s not like I asked the guy to marry me or something.

  “Listen, if you don’t want—”

  “No!” he practically shouts at me. “Just give me a minute.” Still, he looks like I’m trying to pull his teeth, not take him to get something he wants.

  Bishop turns and walks away. His hotness is seriously seeping away with his crappy attitude.

  He knocks on Gary’s door—I’m not totally buying that “Gary’s up here for business” thing—and I realize he’s asking him if he can go. So. Young enough to need permission, but old enough to not go to school?

  What’s going on with them?

  Since I’m trying to be all accommodating and want Gramps happy with me, I head to my truck and climb in the driver’s seat to wait.

  When Gary’s door closes, I start my truck and wave at Bishop to come over. He holds up a finger, runs into his cabin, and comes out wearing another hat.

  Bummer. I like his hair. Not that it matters what he does with his stupid hair.

  It’s a ten-mile drive to town on icy roads, and already close to six. I’m pretty sure the music store closes at six. That’s not good. I dial Pat as Bishop opens the door.

  “You sure this is cool?” Bishop asks, and the uncertainty in his voice makes me pause.

  “I’m on the phone with Pat. Get in.” I force my lips into a smile. Bishop frowns again. The boy’s got some serious damage. He needs to get over it. Whatever “it” is.

  He slides into the car, and I look over him again. Nice eyes. Good build. Something like fluttering hits my stomach before I snap my brain back into focus and start out of the driveway. My reaction is because Bishop is new, that’s all.

  “Penny!” Pat sounds way too excited for a simple phone call. I’m not stupid and kind of know he watches me, but I’m a girl guys watch—not a girl anyone actually asks out. It sucks because I’ve only ever kissed Mitch, and it was just the one time.

  “Penny?” he asks.

  Focus, Penny. “Hey, Pat. I’m calling for a favor.”

  “Of course you are.” He chuckles. “What do you need?”

  “There’s a guy staying in the cabins who needs a set of drums. I told him you could hook him up, but we’re just leaving my house.” I hit the gas at the end of the driveway, just to spin Bitty sideways for a bit.

  Bishop’s jaw flexes, but he doesn’t flinch. I’m impressed. I let Bitty slide back to my lane.

  “So you want me to stay at the store, is that right?”

  “We’ll just be a couple minutes. Promise.”

  He laughs. “I’ll stick around. See you in a few.”

  I flip my phone off and shove it in my pocket. “He’s open late.”

  A corner of Bishop’s mouth twitches. It’s the first emotion I’ve seen from him that doesn’t involve his scowl, and I like it enough to know I’ll be trying to make it happen again. “Of course he is.”

  …

  So. Pat only has a three hundred dollar set and a two thousand dollar one. Bishop is behind the two thousand dollar one, making me wonder what kind of computer work his uncle is into, if he’s actually into computer work at all. Pat grins from ear to ear while he watches Bishop adjust the drums. They exchanged a few whispers when Bishop sat down that made Bishop look a little sick. Later, I’ll have to ask Pat what that was about.

  Bishop’s got a behind-the-counter set of sticks that he flips as if they’re part of him. The muscles in his arms flex in a practiced rhythm as he continues to spin the sticks. I sit on a stool under a row of guitars, and he drops his baseball hat before adjusting himself on the seat.

  Suddenly, he doesn’t look sick anymore.

  Bishop’s eyes close just longer than a blink. I hold my breath in anticipation and really take him in. Slightly long hair, perfect nose, strong and muscled but not huge, just…lean. His eyes open, and I swear he’s in a different place.

  Okay. I love music as much as the next person, but I never pay attention to the drums.

  Until he starts to play.

  For the rest of my life, I will pay attention to drums. It’s unreal. The rhythm. Everything. It’s like there’s too much to take in at once. He can’t be thinking, just feeling. Pat’s grin spreads even wider as Bishop keeps playing. His hands fly so fast I can hardly see them. Every once in a while his eyes close, so lost in what he’s doing that all I can do is stare. I’m not an expert, but this guy has to be some kind of genius or something. I’m frozen on this stupid little stool made for people who play guitars, just staring at the guy. I know exactly how he feels right now. He’s in the zone behind the drums, just like I am on the ice.

  The rhythm stops, and the room feels empty and flat, like I do when someone knocks the wind out of me. And I now understand why girls think guys who are in bands are hot. Watching the guy work, his head lost in what he’s doing, and something so amazing coming out of it? Hot.

  He’s sweating when he stands up, his hair sticking to his forehead a little bit. “I’ll take ‘em.”

  And then, Bishop actually smiles.

  Pat moves to the register, and Bishop follows. He writes up a slip, and Bishop shifts his weight back and forth a few times, glancing over his shoulder at me. He went from happy to twitchy in about three seconds.

  I move for the door, ready to be home. “I’ll back up the truck.”

  Bishop snatches his credit card off the counter, but it slips from his fingers and drops to the floor.

  You’d think he’d be more relaxed after drumming, but when I lean down to pick it up, Bishop half-falls onto the credit card, snatching it just before I grasp the edge.

  I stare at him just long enough for us to both know that was odd. He breaks eye contact first without a word and shoves his card back into his wallet with shaky hands.

  Something weird is definitely going on.

  …

  We pull out of the music store lot with a two thousand dollar set of drums in the bed of my truck. How can a guy my age just hand over a credit card for two thousand bucks?

  Bishop’s gone quiet, staring out the window, his leg bouncing.

  “You’re not like…in some kind of weird trouble or anything, are you?” I ask.

  Bishop’s brows go up, and he’s looking at me a little like I’m crazy, but there’s unease there, too. I think. “Weird trouble?”

  I start to ask about his card and his twitchiness, but as the words begin to form in my head, it sounds kind of stupid. “Never mind.”

  He slumps a little lower in the seat.

  I reach out to poke him, but stop because I don’t look for ways to touch guys who aren’t Mitch. And anyway, I just made the mood in the car strange, when it should be fine. “Looks like you found yourself a fan back there.”

  Bishop pulls his hat down another inch. “He just appreciates mad talent.”

  I snort even though I can’t even argue with his talent remark. My stomach rumbles, it’s black outside, and I still have stuff to do. And I can’t get the picture of Bishop playing drums o
ut of my head. He’s definitely a puzzle. Who’s his uncle? Does he have rich parents? Is he some kind of prodigy? If he was in a band, he wouldn’t be here, but if he’s not, wouldn’t his talent be wasted? Or maybe it’s just a sideline to who he really is.

  Or maybe I’m spending too much time thinking about a puzzle that really isn’t one.

  “You’ve played a while?” I ask, wondering if he’ll volunteer any info without me tossing out another stupid question like weird trouble.

  He nods. “A while.”

  Frustration bubbles inside me at how perfectly vague he’s being. “You in school? Homeschool or something?”

  “Homeschooled. Graduated.” He sounds bored, but his jaw is tight as he stares out the window.

  I guess I really won’t get any info from him. Fine. I’m not fishing…at least not to his face. I’ll try Mom for information next. If we ever end up being home at the same time, anyway. I wonder again if money is tighter than I think it is because she’s been doing nothing but work for weeks now.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  Bishop stops flipping his sticks just long enough to check his watch. “Seven.”

  “Cool. Jeremy’s working the window at McDonald’s, which means my food’s free. I gotta stop. You want something?”

  He pushes a strand of brown hair out of his face, showing off his eyes. He’s got a nice profile. Masculine. And after hearing him play, he’s a lot more than the guy with a crap attitude.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says, and shakes his head.

  “What?” Only I know what. And I might be showing off a little, but it’s been a long time since I asked a favor of Jeremy, and I showed him how to change his oil without making fun of him. I figure he owes me.

  “You have a way to get everything you want. You’re, like, Miss Alaska or something. It’s sort of ridiculous.” For once, there’s no attitude in his voice. The guy is still lighter from just a few minutes on the drums. I actually get that—it’s why I play hockey. And ride snowmachines. And dirt bikes.

  “If you compare me to a beauty queen again, forget the tampon, I’ll use one of your drumsticks.” I grin and bat my eyelashes. “And I get what I want because I’m nice to everyone.”