by Kami Garcia
I focus on Video Game Girl leaning through the window of a black muscle car.
When I pull up next to the car, Cruz gets out and Video Game Girl snaps to attention. As she steps away from the car, I see the driver.
Ortiz from Shop class grins at me. “You sure about this, Frankie? I don’t wanna take your money.”
“I’m sure.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He pats the dashboard. “My girl needs a racing clutch.”
Cruz steps away from the car and joins the crowd. Video Game Girl follows the same sequence she did when I raced before—she checks in with the drivers, issues instructions, and stands in her designated spot.
We flash our headlights to signal we’re ready.
My movements feel more natural this time as my feet exert the ideal amount of pressure on the pedals to hold the GT-R at five thousand RPMs. I keep my hand on the gearshift, eyes on the road, and ears tuned to the engine. I focus on the gold bangles on Video Game Girl’s wrists, waiting for her arms to drop.
The second they do, I let out the clutch and hit the gas. The engine guns, and when I hear the RPMs reach the magic number, I shift.
Second gear …
Third …
Ortiz pulls ahead, and his engine roars.
Fourth …
Fifth …
Sixth …
His taillights fly ahead of me, as if Cruz’s car is moving in slow motion and Ortiz is driving at warp speed.
I don’t care.
Adrenaline races through my veins, and my bones thrum from the speed. In this moment, no one else controls me or my future. No one decides who I love or hate.
Ortiz crosses the finish line as I’m circling back. The headlights from the rows of cars on V Street fade, and there’s nothing but darkness—the kind I want to lose myself in.
When I make it back, Cruz runs up to the car and hops in, her forehead creased with worry. “You okay?”
“No.” My voice is a whisper.
Ortiz jogs up to Cruz’s car and taps on the roof. “Nice job, Frankie.” He winks at Cruz. “I get a warm and fuzzy feeling inside knowing that my future wife is a good teacher.”
She rolls her eyes and holds out the cash. “You’d think a guy with an imagination like yours would get better grades.”
“I feel bad taking your money, Frankie.” Ortiz stares at the bills in Cruz’s hand.
“But let me guess?” she asks. “You’ll still take it?”
“Damn straight.” He stuffs it into the pocket of his jeans and jogs toward a group of girls shouting his name. “Duty calls.”
“Did racing make you feel any better?” Cruz asks when he’s gone.
“I’m not ready to lose him.” My voice trembles.
Cruz bites her lip. “He won’t get over this, Frankie.”
“Neither will I.”
CHAPTER 34
THIS IS HOW WE BREAK
I leave the house the next morning in time to watch an angry sunrise—a yellow sky streaked with red. Dad came home after two o’clock in the morning and cracked my bedroom door to see if I was still awake. I kept my face buried in the damp pillow under my cheek and pretended to be asleep.
I texted Marco right away.
r u up?
After a few minutes the bubbles appeared on the screen.
yeah. i need to talk to you.
We agreed to meet just after sunrise—early enough that Dad would still be asleep, but late enough that I wasn’t sneaking out in the middle of the night. I left a note on the kitchen table.
Keeping my end of the deal.
Be back.
No Love, Frankie. Dad and I were way past that.
I took the bus and walked under the last red streaks in the sky, and now I’m sitting on the curb in Lot B, waiting for Marco. The first time I saw him was in this parking lot. It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like forever now that it’s about to end.
Across the street, kids in pajamas push their way out of the 7-Eleven, their parents carrying white paper bags and coffee cups. As a kid, I loved Saturday mornings. I spent most of the day in my pajamas, too.
After today I’ll hate Saturdays and angry sunrises, the sight of 7-Eleven and Lot B.
Marco pulls in a few spaces away from where I’m sitting, but he doesn’t rush over and scoop me up in his arms. He approaches me slowly, the dark circles around his eyes proof that he didn’t sleep last night, either.
My heart skips.
How am I going to break his heart and mine—and walk away?
Because you love him, you have to protect him.
Marco stops in front of me, shoulders hunched. “Did you tell your dad I was meeting you at Lex’s?”
“How can you ask me that?” The words hit me like a slap.
He drags his hands over his head and sits next to me. “I need you to answer me.”
“Of course not.” A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “I told you I love you, and you’re asking me if I sold you out to my father? It’s nice to know what you really think of me.” I turn and head toward the sidewalk.
He doesn’t trust me. Maybe he doesn’t love me, either.
My chest tightens.
“Frankie!”
Keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
Sneakers pound the street, and Marco circles around me, blocking my path. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I stop. “Sure you do.”
“You’re right. I’m thinking I am a jerk for asking you something like that. You warned me that your dad was good at his job. I guess I didn’t realize how good.” He dips his head, trying to get me to look at him. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
I nod and sit on the curb.
Marco sits next to me and takes my hand, turning it over in his. “What did your father say?”
“That I can’t see you anymore.”
He squeezes my hand. “I figured that much. We should probably stick to hanging out before school for a while. I don’t want him to catch you lying about being at Lex’s.”
This is it. Say it.
Marco touches my face, and I shatter inside. “What’s wrong? Are you still pissed at me?”
Lex pushed me into her pool once when the heater was broken. She didn’t know, and it was April, only a month after it had stopped snowing. When I hit the water, it knocked the air out of my lungs, and my legs felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds. For the first few seconds, the cold stabbed at my skin like bee stings. Then my skin went numb. I still couldn’t catch my breath, but I didn’t feel cold.
I feel the same way now.
“We can’t see each other anymore.” I can’t look at him.
“You mean outside of school, until things settle down with your dad? Right?”
“I mean at all.” My vision blurs, and tears threaten to spill over. “My dad is a cop, and you are a car thief. This will never work out.”
Marco slides around and kneels in front of me, cradling my face in his hands. His dark eyes find mine, the weight of what’s happening bearing down on him.
My mind flashes to the night I knelt in a different parking lot with my heart breaking. This time I’m not the one kneeling, but my heart is breaking all over again.
“You don’t mean that, Frankie. You’re scared. I get it. But you love me, right?” The pain in his voice pulls the loose thread holding me together, and I can’t stop the tears.
Inside, I’m coming apart. “It doesn’t matter if I love you.”
“Bullshit.” He wipes my tears with his thumbs, but they keep falling. “It’s the only thing that matters.” He presses his lips against mine, and my heart doesn’t shatter—it explodes like a bomb inside me, destroying every shred of happiness.
I pull back and scramble to my feet. “I can’t do this. I won’t let my dad use me to bust you. And I can’t let my dad lose his job. He’s still my father. It’s better if we end things now, or it will only hurt even more when it doesn�
��t work out later.”
Marco stands, his eyes trained on me. “How could it hurt more than this?”
“I’m—” I choke back a sob. “I’m not trying to hurt you. This isn’t easy for me, either.”
Tears pool in his eyes. “Then don’t do it.” It’s a whisper. “I can’t lose you. Don’t give up on us. I’m begging you.”
When Lex pushed me into the pool, my limbs went numb, but they kept thrashing. My body never gave up. Lex pulled me out before it got to that point.
This time there’s no one to pull me out, and the numbness spreads like an infection.
“I’m sorry.” My voice sounds hoarse. “I have to go.”
“Don’t do this, Angel.”
I turn away and head across the parking lot before I fall apart.
If I make it to the bus stop, I’ll be okay.
“Frankie!” Marco calls after me. “I thought our love was the always kind.”
I freeze, tears streaming down my face. I want to tell him about the deal with Dad, and I almost turn around. Then the look on my father’s face flashes through my mind—the one that said he would destroy Marco if I went back on my word.
A promise like that from my dad … it was the always kind, too.
“Frankie?” he calls out again.
I finally understand what Marco meant.… The sky does look different in the Downs. I want to tell him that we can still see the same stars if I tell him about the stars in my sky and he tells me about the ones in his. But I can’t say that now. I swallow the thought along with all the other things I want to say.
Instead of answering him, I run.
* * *
After riding on a smelly bus with a bunch of strangers, I make it home and find Tyson’s Crown Vic parked next to Dad’s Tahoe.
I fumble with the house keys, exhausted and defeated.
Cujo’s ears perk when I walk in, and Dad and Tyson look up from the papers spread across the coffee table.
“What happened?” Dad asks, without a hint of empathy.
“You lost the right to ask me questions like that when you destroyed my life. My note said it all.”
“You didn’t have to go see him.” My father crosses his arms. “Your cell phone works.”
It does. And I want hurl it at his head.
Tyson leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and scowls at Dad. “Take it easy, Jimmy.”
“I held up my end of your warped little deal, and I have nothing else to say to you. So leave me alone.”
Dad watches me from where he’s sitting on the fake-leather sofa. “Don’t try to turn this around. I told you to stay away from that boy. I’m sorry you’re hurting, but you wouldn’t be in this situation if you had listened to me.”
“Is that what you believe?” I laugh, the sound bitter and razor-sharp. “I’m in this situation because you emotionally blackmailed me. If you’re going to throw it in my face, at least be honest.”
“Your dad is just looking out for you, Frankie.” Tyson gives me a halfhearted smile. “We don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I march over to the sofa and stand across from my dad, the coffee table between us. “In case it’s not perfectly clear, you failed. Because I am hurt, and it’s your fault.” Angry tears streak down my face. “You’re supposed to be this badass undercover cop, but instead of looking for the guy who is blackmailing Marco into stealing cars, you went after the victim.”
Tyson stares at the carpet like he wants to bolt.
“Marco was fifteen when his father went to prison, and some lowlife showed up and said he was responsible for his dad’s debt.” Thinking about the story makes me cry harder. “He had two options: pay the guy or watch his little sister get dragged away to foster care. I told you all this, and it didn’t even matter to you.”
Tyson’s head snaps up, and he gives Dad an incredulous look. Did Tyson know the whole story? Or did Dad leave out some of the details?
“Because he could’ve gone to the police,” Dad says.
Tyson looks over at Dad. “A fifteen-year-old living on his own in the Downs? If he narced to the cops, he would’ve ended up in the river, and you know it.” He pulls up his sleeve, exposing the black burns branded into the brown skin on his forearm. “This is the kind of shit that happens when the wrong people see you talking to the cops. It doesn’t matter if you were only giving them directions. You’ve worked in the Downs for a long time, man. But living there when you’re a kid is different.”
“We’re talking about my daughter,” Dad says through gritted teeth.
Tyson nods, but he doesn’t back down. He’s the only guy I know who isn’t intimidated by Dad. “I was there when Frankie was born. You think I’d let anything happen to her?” Tyson lowers his voice. “Let’s talk about this later.”
“Are we done here?” I ask.
“I’m trying to protect you,” Dad says. “One day you’ll understand.”
I laugh. “Protect me? You’ve hurt me more than anyone. You made me give up the guy I love—and I did it. And I’ll stay away from him because you’ll ruin his life unless I act like the daughter you want—instead of the person I really am. You want to control me and you succeeded. Congratulations, Dad. Now you’re just like Mom.”
Tyson shoves his hands in his pockets and examines the carpet. Dad’s forehead furrows, as if I’m not making sense.
But for the first time, everything I’m doing makes perfect sense.
“I never asked you to pretend to be someone you’re not,” Dad says.
“You can tell yourself that, but we both know the truth. You haven’t trusted me since the DUI. I made a mistake. But mistakes aren’t allowed in Jimmy Devereux’s world, are they? You told me trust has to be earned, and maybe I haven’t done enough to earn yours. But you broke my trust when you followed me around and took pictures of my friends. And you haven’t earned mine back yet, either.”
* * *
I stay buried under the covers for the rest of the weekend. Dad knocks on my door a few times, but I pretend I’m asleep. I e-mail Abel and Lex and tell them Dad confiscated my phone for the weekend because I came home late on Friday night. I’m not ready to talk about what happened yet.
Marco texts me nineteen times, and every single message breaks my heart open wider.
i love you, frankie. the always kind.
please don’t walk away.
frankie, are you there?
i can’t lose you.
I read the texts over and over, even though I’m torturing myself. Why does this hurt so much? I realize it’s because Marco and I work, and my life was finally starting to work for the first time since Noah died.
Letting go of Marco isn’t the same as losing Noah.
Noah is gone forever. When his head hit the ground the last time, he never opened his eyes again. It wasn’t my fault, but I feel guilty for being the one who is still here.
But Marco’s pain is 100 percent my fault. I caused it.
I promised not to hurt him, and I did it anyway.
The reasons don’t matter if I’m the only one of us who knows them.
CHAPTER 35
THE WRONG REASONS
On Monday morning, I slide a note under my door to tell Dad I am staying home sick. Then I text Lex to let her know I don’t need a ride, and I turn off my phone. Reading Marco’s texts hurt too much. When I make the mistake of turning it back on a few hours later, there are dozens of texts from Lex.
cruz said u broke up with marco????
what the hell is going on!?
are u there?
don’t ignore me francesca devereux!!!
marco looks like shit … he’s
following me around like a stalker
plz text & tell me if ur ok
I sent one text before I turn off my phone again.
i’ll explain when i see u.
promise.
just not ready to talk yet.
Dad resorts to leaving my me
als in the hallway. Cujo has eaten most of them by the time I open my door, but he did leave the mac and cheese.
I leave Dad another note on Tuesday morning, identical to Monday’s note. I can’t play the sick card much longer, but I’m still not ready to see Marco. Because I have to do more than just face him. I have to lie to Marco about the reason I broke up with him.
On Wednesday morning, I finally drag myself out of bed, take a shower, and text Lex to let her know I need a ride. When I emerge from the hallway, Dad is camped out at the kitchen table with his eyes glued on the doorway, as if he was waiting for me to come out. The shower probably gave me away.
Dad sees me and his gaze drops to the sagging newspaper he’s holding. “Are you feeling okay?”
I keep walking, without acknowledging my father or his pathetic attempt at making peace. I haven’t spoken to him in four days, and I’m not breaking my streak now. I shut the apartment door behind me without saying a word.
Outside, Lex watches me from behind the wheel of the Fiat like she’s driving a getaway car.
“Are you ready to tell me what happened?” she asks as I slip into the passenger seat. “You look like you haven’t slept at all.”
Lex pulls away from the curb, and I do a double take. She looks awful. Her choppy blond hair always has a sexy slept-in style, but today it literally looks slept in—like she hasn’t brushed it in days. The shadows around her eyes rival mine.
“You look tired, too. Did you and Abel have another fight?”
She stops at a red light and takes a swig of the canned energy drink in her cup holder. “That would require knowing where he is.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?” I’m not launching into the details about what happened with Marco until I find out what’s going on with Abel.
“Monday.” She sounds worried instead of annoyed. We both know Abel can’t go more than twenty-four hours without talking to her. “I’ve called and texted him a dozen times. I told him that I was freaking out, and I asked him to text me back so I’d know he wasn’t in a car accident or something. But he still hasn’t called.”
“Did you get in touch with his mom?” The odds of tracking down Abel’s mother between parties, boyfriends, and her “Tommy Ryder’s widow” appearances are worse than my odds when I raced Ortiz.