Spiked (Blocked #3)

by Jennifer Lane

  I peeled off my shirt and got a new one from the drawer. As I slipped it on, I asked, “Hey, what’s the name of your band? You never told me.”

  “Witch,” Fitch said.

  I lowered my chin and peered up at them. “Weston, Itch, and Fitch. You seriously combined your names?”

  “Don’t be a hater,” Itch said. “It’s tough coming up with a band name.”

  Especially when weed’s killed all your brain cells. “Did Weston go back to Cincinnati?”

  “He had to get back to work.” Fitch frowned at Escuincle, who glared at him from the bed. He picked up one of the framed photos on my bookshelf. “Hey, is this you with the vice president’s kids?”

  “No, PQ’s kids. Uh, Paula Quinlen, Secretary of State. Where does Weston work?” I couldn’t imagine him holding down a job.

  “He’s a bartender,” Itch said.

  I squinted. “Don’t you have to be twenty-one to do that?”

  “He’s twenty-five, actually. Killin’ it reaching the life goals.” Itch darted around me to grab my notebook from the mattress.

  “Hey!” Feeling like Fitch trying to get his hat back, I lunged for the notebook. Itch held it high, but I caught a corner in my grasp. I tugged, but Itch held tight. “Give it to me, klepto.”

  “Easy, Ramirez.” His tone was light, but his grip was strong, and I didn’t want my notebook to rip. “If you want to be part of this band, we need to see what you got.”

  I let go in an instant.

  He turned to one page and read aloud:

  When I was five

  My world turned sour

  From too much sweetness

  In my blood

  When I was five

  Not my finest hour

  Alone in my tower

  A sugar flood

  Didn’t think I had

  A reason to hope

  A reason to plan

  To become a man

  Till I met you

  The room was quiet. They’d flayed my heart open before them, and I was dying to know if they’d stab it.

  Fitch broke the silence. “That’s really sweet, Mateo.”

  Itch sniffed and pretended to wipe a tear. “So sweet,” he cooed.

  My eyes narrowed.

  “Just playin’ with ya,” Itch added.

  My shoulders lowered, but I was still nervous about their opinion.

  “Dude. You got it bad for her,” Itch said. “Who is it?”

  “It’s…you know.” I reached out to pet my cat. “No one who’d be into me. Just a girl in my imagination.”

  “Uh-huh.” Itch eyed me, then flipped to the front of the notebook. “How many songs have you written?”

  “Around fifty.”

  His gaze snapped up, and Fitch sucked in a breath.

  “Fifty?” Fitch asked. He marched over next to Itch. “What’s that one?” He pointed to the page.

  Itch read:

  Hey, chica! Where did you go?

  Don’t wanna fly this thing solo

  But you’re running away like a track star

  The distance between us, it’s too far

  “Have you recorded any of these?” Fitch asked.

  “A couple of years ago.” I shrugged. “The quality’s not great.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Itch said.

  My hands shook as I opened my laptop and searched for “Hey, Chica!” on my songwriting software. What would they think of this one? The Latin beat filled the room.

  Itch’s foot tapped along. “Love what you did with the guitar riff. I gotta try that.” He knelt by my guitar case. “May I?”

  I hesitated. “Just be careful.”

  “Of course.” He unclasped the case and slung the strap over his shoulder.

  “I’ll be right back.” Fitch dashed out of the room. When he returned a minute later, he held two wooden spoons.

  Itch leaned back and put his hands over his face. “Don’t spank me, Mama! I’ll be good, I promise.”

  “You deserve to get your ass beat, son,” Fitch said. But instead of attacking his roommate with the spoons, he scuttled into the bathroom off my bedroom and emerged with an empty cleaning bucket.

  “Resourceful, isn’t he?” Itch said.

  Resourceful at what? But when Fitch flipped the bucket over on my desk and tapped it with a spoon handle, his makeshift drum set materialized.

  “Let’s do this,” Itch said. He gestured to my keyboard. “Count me in.”

  Evidently Escuincle had determined that Fitch wasn’t too much of a threat, because he returned to his blanket. I sat on the bed and readied to play the melody. Tingles of excitement zinged up my spine. We were about to play my music. Live. I prayed it didn’t sound like shit.

  I said, “One, two, three, four…”

  My song came alive with Itch’s guitar skills and Fitch’s exotic spoon beat. The clap of the wood on the bucket almost sounded like maracas. I pictured long, toned legs, a playful smile, and curly blond hair as I sang:

  Hey, chica! Come conmigo

  And baby, why don’t we go

  Down under the bridge to the water

  With you it can only get hotter

  Fitch jumped in to harmonize each time we hit the hook, and he amazed me with his intuitive harmonies on only his first listen to the song. The guys made the song ten times better—I couldn’t wait to play all of my songs with them.

  I looked up to see Karen and Johnny in the doorway, listening. Johnny maintained his typical stoic expression, but Karen’s smile seemed wistful. Were those tears in her eyes? As we kept playing, she ducked out. I wondered what was going on with her.

  At the end of the song, I held up my hand to signal them to stop. The last notes reverberated in the room. I looked at Itch, who stared at me. Fitch grinned.

  “Fantastic,” Johnny said. “You guys sound great together.”

  “Thanks, Johnny.” I was pretty sure I was blushing. Or maybe my face was flushed from the high of playing.

  Itch shook his head. “Your voice is…”

  I held my breath.

  “So good, dude!”

  I breathed out and grinned.

  “It’s, like, smooth, but…” He punched his fist. “Commanding. You’ve got stage presence, man.”

  “He’s much better than my sorry vocals,” Fitch said. “Think we got a new backup singer for Witch.”

  I stood. “No way—your harmonies were sick, Fitch.”

  He didn’t appear to hear my compliment, though, since his attention was focused on Itch. They shared a cryptic look.

  Karen reappeared. “Want some snacks, guys?”

  “Let’s play another one,” I said.

  “Mateo, you should probably eat,” she said.

  I frowned, but Itch pushed me to the doorway. “Go. Fitch and I need to talk. We’ll meet you in there in a sec.”

  I wished they wouldn’t leave me in the dark. I followed Karen to the kitchen.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Sure. Remember to administer a bolus before you eat.”

  Nice blowoff. She’d set out carrots, triangles of pita bread, and hummus on the kitchen table. I slid the pump out of my pocket. “Two units, you think?”

  “Probably three.” She took the pump and helped me calculate how many units of insulin I needed.

  I was scooping red pepper hummus onto a carrot stick five minutes later when my boys came in.

  “Sweet kitchen,” Itch said.

  Fitch attacked the snack.

  “Actually, the whole house is amazing.” Itch scanned the open space. “When’re we moving in?”

  Fitch chuckled. “You wish.”

  Itch gestured to the swipe of hummus on the corner of Fitch’s mouth. “Can’t take you anywhere.” He turned to me. “Maybe I can come over for showers once in a while?”

  “Negative,” Karen said as she walked out of the kitchen.

  I crunched a carrot. “What were you guys talking about?”

/>   Itch pulled apart a pita. “You.” He popped a piece in his mouth.

  I tensed.

  “We want you to be part of our band,” Fitch said.

  “Really?” Butterflies fluttered in my gut.

  “Fitch.” The edge in Itch’s voice froze the butterfly wings mid-flap. Did he not agree?

  Fitch patted his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.” He nodded at me. “Welcome to the band, Mateo.”

  I couldn’t wait to tell Jessica. This would be the perfect excuse to text her, right?

  Chapter 11

  AS WE FINISHED ANOTHER PRACTICE FROM HELL—I’d managed to make all five of them since my therapy session—my brother crutched onto the deck, trailed by his athletic trainer. Why is he here? And why was he wearing a swimsuit?

  When I dragged myself out, I was relieved to see the men’s team still practicing on the other side of the pool. I kept closer tabs on the length of their practices than my own.

  “What’re you doing here?” I asked Dane.

  “He needs to burn off some energy,” said Tina, his athletic trainer. “Can he swim with you?”

  “But my practice is over.”

  “C’mon, Jess,” Dane said. “I’m going crazy without exercise.”

  “And making everyone around him crazy,” Tina added.

  Dane glared at her, then looked back at me. “I hadn’t thought of swimming until Dr. Valentine mentioned it. And Tina says it’s okay as long as I don’t push off the wall with my broken foot.”

  “I’m sure your coaches won’t mind if Dane gets in,” Tina said.

  I noticed Mike erasing the whiteboard. Kathy appeared to be lecturing my teammate, Emma, who’d been late to today’s first practice after oversleeping. I didn’t envy her. I’d gotten the same stern sermon after missing Monday’s morning practice. Kathy had told me if I screwed up again, she’d tell my parents about the drug test.

  Elyse sauntered over. “You gonna introduce me to your brother?”

  “Hey.” Dane nodded at her. “I’ve seen you around. You’re a senior, right?”

  “Yep.” She squeezed water from her long, black hair as she looked up at him with a seductive smile.

  “Elyse, this is Dane,” I said. “He already has a girlfriend.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I know that, of course. Everyone in America knows that. He kissed Lucia on national TV.”

  Dane rolled his eyes.

  “But he has some friends on the team he can set me up with, right?” Elyse asked. “Volleyball guys are hot.”

  Dane raised his chin. “Yes, we are.”

  Now I was the one rolling my eyes. Then I froze in place as my breath caught. Fear tickled up my spine. The body knows the score.

  “Dane Monroe, what’s goin’ on?” Blake said from behind me. Oh God, did my brother know him?

  “Hey.” The uncertainty in Dane’s voice answered my question.

  I turned to see Blake extend his hand. “Blake Morrell.”

  As they shook hands, I noticed Blake was even taller than Dane. Though Dane currently slouched a bit over his crutches.

  “What happened to your foot, man?” Blake asked.

  “A weight got dropped on it.”

  Blake chuckled. “Ooof.”

  When Blake’s wet hand cupped my shoulder, my heart went into overdrive. My gasp drew Dane’s attention, and I tried to remember to blink. What had Dr. Valentine told me? Breathe. I felt my chest vibrate as I exhaled.

  “Do you swim as fast as your little sister?” Blake asked, squeezing my shoulder.

  Dane stared at Blake’s hand, then straightened to his full height. “I haven’t trained for ten years.”

  “Too bad. I could use some competition in the sprints.” Blake’s fingertips pulsed into my skin. I wanted him off of me. “Sure don’t get any here.”

  Elyse stepped closer to me. “So humble, Blake.” She wrapped her arm around my waist and tugged me toward her, away from him. His hand dropped off.

  Thank God. I closed my eyes. His lingering touch seemed to sting.

  “I need to get in,” Dane said. He looked at Blake. “Catch you later.” His smile seemed obligatory—the same one Mom gave when shaking the hand of a particularly odious Republican.

  “Sure. See ya, Jess, Elyse.”

  My shoulders lowered after he left.

  “What’s up with you?” Dane asked.

  I swallowed. “Nothing.”

  “Do you know him? Why’d he touch you like that?”

  My breaths picked up speed.

  “He thinks Jessica will be his next conquest, I bet,” Elyse said. “But she’s smarter than that.”

  I wished I’d been smarter than that.

  “He’s such a creep,” Elyse said.

  Dane tilted his head. “Really? Why?”

  “Ugh.” She shook her head. “I heard he slept with the entire field hockey team.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Dane said. “Can’t be true.”

  Elyse shrugged. “And when one or two of them wanted nothing to do with him, he wore them down till they said yes.”

  “Stay away from him, Jess,” Dane ordered. “You don’t want to be associated with a man ho.”

  Where were you two weeks ago, brother?

  “I agree with Dane,” Elyse said. “He’s bad news.” She hugged her body. “I’m freezing—gonna hit the showers. Have a good swim, Dane.”

  Dane nodded.

  “Let’s go, Monroe!” Tina called. She’d been chatting with my trainer, Zeke. “I don’t have all day.”

  Dane glowered at her, but he did crutch toward the blocks. He beckoned me. “Stay around and make sure I don’t drown.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “I haven’t swum in years. And I need a ride to Luz’s after this, too.”

  I groaned. “You’re such a pain in the ass. Will your foot heal, already?”

  “No shit. I’m ready to pitch these suckers into the deep end.” He gripped his crutches.

  “Don’t do it. I’m not getting them from the bottom.”

  He handed them to me and gestured for the goggles in my hand. “Can I borrow those?”

  I grumbled but handed them over. “Want my cap too, to protect your pretty blond hair?”

  “Too unmanly.” Perched on one foot, he dove into the water with hardly a splash and emerged from a perfect streamline. His freestyle looked a little rough at first, but then he eased into a rhythm. He dragged his injured foot, though even without a kick, he only needed about ten strokes to reach the opposite end. After four lengths of the pool, he clutched the gutter and looked up at me. “Christ,” he panted. “I’m so out of shape.”

  “You don’t look bad, actually.” I set his crutches down on the deck and sat on the starting block. “Keep going.”

  He frowned before pushing off with one foot. His long, powerful strokes mesmerized me. I didn’t notice my coach, Kathy, standing next to me until she spoke.

  “Your brother, right?” She watched him push off at the opposite end.

  I nodded.

  “I didn’t know he was a swimmer.”

  “He quit when we were kids.”

  “Do you play volleyball, too?”

  “I tried.” I remembered my flailing limbs when I’d played in seventh grade. “But I’m too uncoordinated.”

  She laughed. “Swimmers aren’t so good on land.”

  We watched Dane for another minute or so, and she said, “Great fly set today.”

  I smiled. “Thanks. It was tough.”

  “You were up for the challenge, though. Your energy was better.”

  I nodded, and she patted my shoulder as she walked away. Now that she mentioned it, I had slept better the past two nights. Nightmares hadn’t woken me up in a panic.

  After Dane finished, I got dressed and walked to retrieve his sweet Beemer. Mom had said I could also get a BMW next year when I was allowed to have a car on campus. I drove to the turnaround near the pool, and Dane settled int
o the passenger seat.

  “Why couldn’t Dad drive you to Lucia’s?” I asked.

  “Oh fuck, forgot to tell you. Dad texted me while you were at practice. He’s heading to DC.”

  “What?” My stomach sank. “He was gonna take me to dinner tonight.”

  “Sorry. Mom says she needs him for something.” Dane looked at his phone. “Dad’s plane probably hasn’t left yet. Let’s call him.” He pressed a button on his phone, and I heard ringing through the hands-free connection in his car.

  Dad answered. “Dane, did you talk to Jessie?”

  “I’m here, Dad.” My voice quivered, and I swallowed. How pathetic was I that I didn’t want my dad to go? I needed to get my shit together and act like an adult.

  “Aw, Jessie, sorry I have to leave. But your mother called—she needs me.” Urgency laced his voice. “That stupid Ashton’s trying to cut the NEA budget again. Last time I was able to rally the art world to get him to stop.”

  Terry Ashton was a Republican senator my mom hated. Their budget battles were epic. I felt Dane’s eyes on the side of my face, so I tried to put on a brave front. “That’s okay.”

  “Honestly, I got to see you and Dane only about five minutes a day, anyway,” Dad continued. “Your schedules are insane.”

  Dane snorted. “Welcome to the life of a student-athlete.”

  “But no matter how busy you get, we want to hear from you. Your mom wants you to call her, Jessie.”

  I gulped. I’d been avoiding Mom’s calls, responding later with brief texts instead. I didn’t want her psychologist skills to detect what had happened.

  “They’re telling me the plane’s ready.” Dad was likely flying on Grandpa’s private jet. “I better go.” His voice lowered. “Really great to see you both. I’m…sorry I haven’t been around more. I’m so proud of you.”

  He made me want to cry. He shouldn’t have been proud of me.

  “Dane, I hope your foot heals quickly. You’ll be back out there soon.”

  I glanced at Dane and saw his jaw tick. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “And Jessie, hang in there. Freshman year’s tough, but you’re doing great.”

  My throat burned.

  “Well…” Dad paused. “Good-bye.”

  “Bye,” Dane and I said together.

  Dane shook his head after the call ended. “Fucker doesn’t know how to say I love you.”