“It was...interesting,” I said thoughtfully. I grabbed the check from the counter and handed it to Dad. “Before I forget – that's for you.”
“What's this?” Dad pushed down his black frames and leaned away from the check, examining it. His peppered eyebrows rose higher and higher as he mouthed the print on the check. “Ah. This from the von Weber boy?”
“Yup. According to Miles, a friend of his was driving his car that day, and his friend just never told him about it. Well, that's his version of the events, anyway.”
“Ah, I see. Well, now, what did I tell you? I knew there must've been some kind of mix-up. Now this $5,000 can go right back into our savings account where it belongs, and we're all the better.”
The words lingering on the tip of my tongue couldn't be held back any longer.
“I'm-going-out-with-him-on-Friday-night,” I blurted, my words all strung together.
“What's that, sweetheart?”
Pushing my thumbs into my fists, I took a deep breath and repeated myself.
“I'm going out with him on Friday night.”
“Kay. Have fun.” Too lazy to wash his own glass, Dad swiped my empty one and poured himself some lemonade.
“What?” I gazed at him blankly. “Did you hear what I said?”
Dad peered down at me, his magnified eyes blinking through his ultra-thick lenses.
“My vision might be pretty bad, but my hearing is just fine, thank you.”
“So...you're not mad?”
“Why would I be? Your excellent grades have never faltered, and you're doing so much work for the school paper. You could use a break.”
“Huh. I can't believe you're actually urging your teenage daughter to go out more. You're a shame to all the other dads in the world. What would your brethren say?”
“They would say, 'Good looking out, Kendrick. It's about time she stretched her legs a bit outside of school before she turns into one of those nutty cat ladies.'” The smile on Dad's face vanished. He leaned over, and looked me dead in the eye. “Unless that's where your heart truly lies – if so, know I am all for it. You know what a progressive dad I am.”
“Ha-ha.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “I just – I feel like such a hypocrite for actually being a wee bit excited about Friday night. I mean, after all the...things I've thought-slash-said about him.”
“Some people have a change of heart.” Dad shrugged. He reached for a chocolate pudding cup from the fridge. “Don't tell your mom I had one of these.”
“Fine, but that's the only one you're allowed to have.”
“Deal. Anyway, I figured the von Weber boy would come around and do the right thing eventually. He seems like an alright kid – maybe a little misguided, but alright.”
“And why is that?”
“I saw the kid a couple of months ago when I was driving to work. He had a green light, and there were cars building up behind him, but he wasn't budging. People were honking at the kid. Some people stuck their heads out their windows to give him a piece of their mind. Then, the kid calmly got out of his car and walked to the sidewalk. There was this old man that I hadn't even noticed there, but he looked very lost and confused. The von Weber boy took him by the arm and helped him across the street.”
I felt the corners of my lips twitching again as I pictured the adorably heartwarming story in my head, but I quickly brushed it off my face before Dad could notice.
“That was cool of him, I guess.”
Next to the bathroom, the door with the Mike Jones and Three 6 Mafia posters half-hanging off of it swung open.
Ethan staggered out of his room sluggishly, wearing only his tank and boxers. Though Mom and Dad disapproved of his fully-inked sleeves, I thought his tattoos were awesome. They were beautifully detailed – the work of his friend, Raz, a rad tattoo artist. My favorite was “The Last Supper” portrait inked around his left bicep. Knee-deep in his hip-hop phase, coupled with his eyebrow ring and snake bites, he looked like a kick-ass bouncer, but a horrible date for your impressionable daughter. Truth was, Ethan had was about as dangerous as that bear in all those laundry detergent ads.
“Morning Daize. Dad.”
“Did you just get up?” Dad got up to rinse off his pudding cup in the sink before tossing it into the trashcan. “It's half-past-four.”
“I know. I was out late last night. Work.”
When I detected the dark circles and the red veins in Ethan's half-shut eyes, my heart sank.
“You've been working a lot of late nights recently.” Dad's tone was unnervingly composed, which always meant the exact opposite of what he was projecting.
“Yeah, well, tough.”
“Guys,” I sighed, literally stepping between them. The tension in the room was suffocating. “Can we not do this right now?”
Dad took one more long look at Ethan before turning back to me. His toothy grin returned. He gestured to my bedroom door, smiling.
“You're right, sweetheart. Why don't you go into your room? There's some mail for you on the bed. Your mother wanted to be here when you opened it, but she didn't want you to wait.”
Curious, I strode into my room. Sure enough, there was a thick white envelope sitting on my bohemian sheets. My heart thudded against my chest as I ripped off the envelope. I extracted the letter packed along with packets and pamphlets.
My eyes zipped across the words of the letter, my jaw loosening on its own accord. A soundless gasp was all that came out of my mouth. As soon as I found my words again, I whirled towards my doorway breathlessly.
“Dad! Ethan! Oh my god!”
Both of them came at once at my call. There was a knowing smile on their faces, as if they knew what I was about to tell them. I waved the letter in their faces before lunging at them with open arms.
“I – I got in to Northwestern! The Medill School of Journalism is giving me a full scholarship! Oh my god.”
“That's awesome, Daize,” said Ethan, rubbing his knuckles against my head.
“I knew you could do it, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you.” Dad kissed me on the forehead before breaking away from me hastily. “Alright, I need to go now or I'll be late for my meeting. Make sure to call your mother.”
“I have to go too,” said Ethan vaguely. “Some business I need to take care of.”
“Alright, I'll see you guys later.”
I closed the door and fell back on my bed. All sensation had effectively been stripped from my body. If there was another surprise in store for me today, I'm pretty sure I would have a heart attack.
Chapter Four: Daisy
“I swear, every single person in my family is a freaking psychopath.”
Honey gazed into the mirror on her locker door. She angled her head from side to side, obsessing over the placement of her bangs under the fold of her favorite orange beanie. Satisfied, she slammed her locker door, shutting out the view of her Evanescence posters and her black-and-white Polaroids of random shadowy objects.
I pulled out my Calculus book and took out two pens from my hanging stationary holder before closing my locker door.
“Hmm?”
“My aunt was over at my house again last night. Let me tell you – when she's around, it's like God's testing me. She went on and on about her daughter, perfect little Pauline, with her perfect, clear skin, and her stupid harp recitals. You know I've got like, black belts in five kinds of martial arts, right? Not that it ever comes up in conversation at the Zhang household. And well, you know me – I had to make a scene, and I was once again sent to my room without dinner.”
“Five black belts, huh? That's impressive. Funny, I've known you for almost 7 years now and I don't think I remember you ever mentioning that.”
“Must have slipped my mind,” said Honey without missing a beat. “With all the shit that's happened to me in the past, it's hard to keep track of anything anymore.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But anyway, so my aunt was just like – 'Honey, why y
ou no have boyfriend yet? Pauline have many suitors always come visit her.'” Honey scrunched up a sour face as she did a mocking impression of her aunt's thick accent. “God, I can's stand her. But she is my mother's sister, after all. Frankly, I feel sorry for Pauline, now that I think about it. You know she locks Pauline up in a dog's cage when she messes up during harp practice, right? That woman is pure evil.”
“Whoa. Which aunt is this again?”
“Aunt Ji-Mei.”
“Ji-Mei?” I frowned, unable to hold my tongue. “Wasn't she the one who fell in a coma when she had that skiing accident a couple of days ago?”
“Huh?” said Honey tonelessly. She twirled the back of her skull earring. “Oh, no. That was my other Aunt – Aunt Zhi-Yi. You must have heard me wrong.”
“Oh, okay,” I said simply, not prying any further. I cleared my throat, eager to change the subject. “So what topic did you end up choosing for that Creative Writing essay?”
“I wrote about that summer when I was 13, visiting my grandparents in Shenzhen. Saw this horrible, fiery pile-up of cars, trucks – there was even this bus that was flipped over. Seeing all that blood and carnage at such a young age really molded me to who I am today, you know?”
“That's horrible. Was that before or after we went to camp that summer at Lake Meade?”
“After. My grandmother was dying of uh, breast cancer, so I had to go see her last minute before it was too late. So what did you write about?”
“I –”
“Daisy.”
As Honey's eyes floated over my shoulder, her face darkened.
Heeding the strange look on her face, I turned around warily. Malcolm Radley was leaning against the locker two spaces to my right. The kid whose locker it belonged to stood around awkwardly behind Malcolm. The freshman in a loud purple sweater vest and corduroys fumbled with his fingers, reminding me of a sweaty little mouse. He had to hem his throat three times before Malcolm even realized he was standing there.
“The hell do you want, fatty?”
“I – nothing. Sorry,” the kid squeaked, scurrying off in the other direction.
“Hey, wait –” I called out uselessly after the kid as he hobbled down the stairs and out of sight. Scowling, I looked back at Malcolm. “Oh, good job.”
“What did I do?” said Malcolm, actually looking dumbfounded.
“Never mind. What do you want?”
“I just thought I'd introduce myself – I'm Malcolm Radley. I just wanted to apologize for what –”
“I know who you are. And no, I don't need or want your apology. As for Derek – you should be begging him for forgiveness for the way you humiliated him in front of everyone –”
Malcolm's nostrils flared as his eyes fell down to the floor.
“I was having a bad morning. The kid got in my way, but if it makes you feel any –”
“I don't feel any type of way. I don't waste my thoughts on things that are irrelevant. Now if you'll excuse me. Thanks for playing,” I said to him dryly as I started to turn back to Honey. “But try again next time.”
“Daisy, hold on,” said Malcolm, placing a hand gently on my shoulder. He gave me a drawn-out, meaningful look. His intense, brooding eyes were even grayer up close.
“Get your hands off of her,” Honey snarled from behind me.
Malcolm jumped back as if he'd just been jolted by an electric fence.
“That wasn't the way I wanted to kick things off with you. You want the truth? I've had a crush on you since freshman year, but I've just never worked up the courage to talk to you. Thought you were out of my league.”
“You were right,” Honey pitched in, giggling.
“What?” I snorted, squinting at him. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Do I look like I'm playing? I'd really like to take you out sometime.”
As I studied Malcolm, sweat started leaking out of my palms. He wasn't moving a muscle, and he was barely blinking. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought he was serious.
To be fair, from a purely aesthetic point of view, Malcolm Radley was a good-looking guy. His tough-guy bravado was evened out by his strikingly pretty eyes, pronounced cheekbones, and sharp chin. He never seemed to be hurting for girls, either. The hardcore rocker girls at school were drawn to him, and I'd seen him stumbling out of that pool place at 3rd Street with different older women. Though his shitty worldview and ignorant vocabulary bank repulsed me to no end, I could kind of see why some girls dug that “bad boy” look. He wore a shaved head and a silver earring, and sported a daily uniform of muscle shirts and baggy jeans. Even with the superficiality that reigns Stonewall, some girls were enticed by his “I'm-too-cool-to-care” swagger. And though he was skinnier than most of the jocks at school, he looked like he could hold his own in a fight.
“So, what do you say? You down to let me take you out tomorrow night? I could get someone to cover me.”
“I – uh, I can't.”
My pink cheeks were burning in my mortification. I haven't been asked out once all senior year – now, I'm getting two in a row. What the hell was going on?
“Why not?”
“I've – I've got plans.”
“What? Who with?”
“I – I don't think that's any of your business.”
“Alright. You wanna play hard to get? That's cool, that's cool.” His thin lips split in a smile as he nodded, as if he'd figured something out. “What about next week –”
“I – I don't think it's a good idea.” I took a deep breath to rid the tremors from my voice. “Sorry, I'm just not interested.”
“But what –”
“Everything alright here?”
My shoulders loosened with relief at the sound of Ethan's voice. My brother crept up from behind me, slipping between Malcolm and me. But as quick as the relief came, my stomach jolted at the sight of him in the Stonewall hallways.
“Hey, Daize. 'Sup, Radley?” Ethan clenched his jaw menacingly. “So what are we all talking about?”
“Hey, E-Boy,” said Malcolm gruffly. He slipped his hands into his pockets and pivoted his feet away from us. “Nothing. I was just leaving.”
“That's what I thought. Keep walking.”
Malcolm's eyes narrowed in his silent rage as he stalked off to the boys' room. He punched open the swinging door. An exiting sophomore paled as white as a sheet as he came face-to-face with Malcolm. The kid ducked out of the way, sprinting off in the other direction.
“What was that about?” said Ethan, relaxing. “That Radley dude giving you trouble?”
“He – don't worry about it. I can take care of myself,” I brushed it off quickly. I glanced over my shoulder at Honey. “Hey, Honey? Would you mind giving us a minute? I'll catch up with you in class.”
Honey stuck out her bottom lip indignantly, but she nodded.
“I'll save you a seat. Later, Daisy. Ethan.”
“Honey,” Ethan lowered his head at her brusquely as she went ahead without me. As soon as she was out of earshot, Ethan's face lit up in his amusement. “So how is Honey? Does she still have that pet tiger living in her backyard that no one else can see for some reason?”
“Come on. She was 11.”
“I don't know, Daize. I don't get why you insist on hanging around her all the time. Like I've always said – something ain't right with her.”
“You don't get it – and you don't know what you're talking about,” I snapped defensively. Noticing the prying looks kids were starting to send my way, I exhaled deeply to calm myself. “What are you even doing here, Ethan? How'd you even get in here? You're 21, and you've never even been to Stonewall!”
“I just told the security guard, Joe – nice guy, but kinda dumb. Told him I was some teacher here for my job interview. Chatted with me about a couple of his grandkids back home in Florida. Didn't ask for my ID, nothing – so the security system here might be cause for concern, but there ya have it.”
“I don't have time f
or this, Ethan. My free period's ending in ten minutes. What are you doing here?”
“What's up with you, Daize? Chill out – you're starting to sound like...them. I was just dropping off some sick bike rims for this gamer kid. We worked out a deal on this online trading post last night – he was fixing to give me his gold-plated bike chain in return.”
As my eyes fell to Ethan's empty hands, the vein on my temple started throbbing.
“So, where's the chain at?”
“Kid's a little scatterbrained – he left it at home. I'm swinging by homeboy's house later today to pick it up.” The easy grin on Ethan's face faltered. “All we're missing now are some cuffs, a cold table, and a lamp you can shine in my face. Yo, what's with the third degree?”
“And you think Honey's dramatic. They're just a couple of questions.”
“Why don't you see for yourself – there goes the kid now.”
I looked behind me, aiming my line of vision with Ethan's. Darren Winters, a junior, was walking to his locker stationed across the hall. He was the typical gamer kid, with a mop of greasy hair and an oversized shirt that looked like he'd slept in it all night. My eyes zoomed in on the pair of green-edged platinum rims he proceeded to stuff into his locker.
But the evidence of the rims didn't put me at ease in the slightest. Apart from his obsession with his GameCube, everyone at school knew Darren Winters was a junkie. He would smoke, snort, huff, and inject himself with anything he could get his hands on. Rumor has it that his problem started when he was 11, when he got hooked to huffing aerosol products and paint cans in his garage.
Without thinking, I grabbed Ethan's wrists and yanked up the sleeves of his hoodie. I pulled his arms towards me, my eyes scouring every inch of his tatted arms. When I failed to spot any fresh needle marks or bruising, my eyes welled up with tears. Ethan pulled his arms away from me slowly, rolling his sleeves back down.
“Jesus, Daize.” Ethan's voice was gentle. “Mom and Dad already don't trust me – are you gonna start doing me like that, too? I told you guys I'm clean –”
Tackled by the King: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 25