by B K Stevens
Davis let him come, then stepped to the side, reaching up with his left hand to grab the man’s outstretched arm. He stopped the man’s right leg with his left foot, used the man’s own weight to knock him off balance, and pulled him forward, grabbing him behind the head, still holding his leg solid, dropping him to the pavement. When the man fell, groaning, Davis held him down and punched him in the face, quick and hard. The man gasped, rolling into a ball, holding his face in his hands. I saw blood flowing between his fingers. Davis jumped up and went into a lazy stance again, waiting to see if the man wanted more.
Craig let go of my arm, thrusting his fist into the air and cheering. We can go, I thought. But the man with the short black beard stood in front of me.
“Hey,” he said. “Where’s your money? You two haven’t placed a bet.”
Damn. “We don’t want to bet. We’re leaving right now. We—”
He moved in close. “You can’t watch and not bet. Where’s your money?”
“We don’t have any. I’m sorry, but—”
Out of nowhere, his right fist headed straight at me. I put both fists in front of my face, kept my elbows in, didn’t close my eyes, didn’t pull my head back, watched him, took a few punches to my arms. When he pulled his arm back for another punch, I reached underneath, trapping his fist with my left arm. Then I moved forward, striking him twice in the face with my elbow, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling his head down, kneeing him in the stomach. I spun around and threw him to the ground.
I grabbed Berk’s arm. “Run like hell,” I said, and we ran back across the parking lot. Behind us, I heard people clapping and cheering, maybe for Bobby Davis, maybe for me. The flashlight fell out of my pocket, but no way was I stopping to pick it up.
We reached the car. Nobody seemed to be chasing us, but I didn’t wait to make sure. I jammed the key into the ignition and didn’t slow down to the speed limit until we were a mile away.
Berk collapsed against the seat. “Oh, man. That was the block Aaron taught us. And you did it like it was nothing!”
“It just came to me,” I said, still trying to catch my breath. “I’ve been practicing—every morning, every night.”
“Oh, man,” Berk said again, and burst out laughing. He raised a fist. “Kadima!”
I started laughing, too, and we both shouted “kadima!” until we were almost hoarse, until the tension lifted and we felt normal again. My arms felt sore, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was that I’d done the block exactly right, I’d done it for real, and I’d thrown that guy. For the first time in my life, someone had actually attacked me, and I’d won. I felt almost high.
And I felt hungry—we both felt really, really hungry. I pulled into the drive-through at a Wendy’s, we got cheeseburgers and Cokes, and we hit the interstate.
“That was stupid,” I said. “That was seriously stupid. We could’ve got killed.”
“But we didn’t.” Berk’s voice bristled with excitement again. “And we found out Davis is practically a professional fighter. He must make money by fighting in this club. It looks like it’s a regular thing, with rules and everything, and Davis is the star. No way he should’ve competed as a first-degree black belt. We should tell Lieutenant Hill all this tomorrow.”
“Maybe we should wait. We don’t have any ideas about what the motive might’ve been. The interviews might help us figure that out. Let’s get those done, pull all our information together, and then think about going to the police.”
“I guess.” Berk hesitated. “Matt, do you think that guy from Kelly’s will tell Davis about us? Do you think somebody came after us and wrote down your license plate number?”
The last part hadn’t occurred to me. Damn, I thought. My mother’s license plate number. What if someone had written it down? What if fight clubs have people who write down numbers for all cars parked nearby, in case somebody doesn’t make good on a bet? Tonight might’ve been even dumber than I’d thought.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but we can’t be sure the danger’s over just because we got away. We’ve gotta watch for signs of trouble. And from now on, we’ve gotta be more careful.”
Berk nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Good,” I said, but felt uneasy. On Sunday, the last time we drove home from Richmond, we’d all promised to be really, really careful from then on. And tonight, Berk and I had rushed ahead and done something really, really stupid.
Maybe this time we’d learned our lesson. Maybe, this time, we’d stick to our promise, and we’d stop taking stupid chances. Or maybe not.
But I wasn’t really focused on that now. Instead, I was focused on a possible explanation for why Davis killed Coach. Just hours ago, that explanation had seemed like a joke. Now, it didn’t seem so funny.
Fourteen
The minute I saw Suzette, I knew I should’ve worn a tie.
Mom had wanted me to, but I’d said no, Suzette would probably wear jeans, and that’s what I’d wear, too. Mom ruled out jeans, I ruled out the tie, and we finally compromised on dress slacks and a long-sleeved shirt. No tie.
Mom seemed more excited than I was, maybe because I’d never gone on an official date before and she saw this as some kind of step in growing up. I’d gone out with a girl last fall, but mostly we’d just hung out, without deciding in advance what we’d do. That ended—no major trauma on either side. Since then, sometimes I’d get talking to a girl at a party or whatever, and we’d spend the evening together, maybe get something to eat. It never got intense or long-term, and that was okay with me.
Tonight definitely counted as an official date. I’d hoped Suzette would watch for me and come out when I pulled into the driveway, but no, I had to go to the front door and ring the bell. Mr. Link answered, saying Suzette was upstairs and asking if I’d like to wait in the living room.
No, actually, I wouldn’t like that. I’d rather wait in the car. But Mom had said if he asked, I had to say yes. The date hadn’t even started, and already it was awkward. I followed him into the living room feeling like I’d gotten caught in a time warp and it was 1950 again.
I sat in this spindly wooden chair, wondering if it was an antique, while Mr. Link fired out questions about basketball. Like Mr. Quinn, Mr. Link was in Ridgecrest High’s first graduating class, and they still come to every game together, sitting in the front row, second-guessing every play we make. It felt uncomfortable to sit in his living room while he grilled me about what I thought of this player or that player, or of our chances against this team or that team next year. When he asked what I thought of my chances of becoming captain next year, things moved from uncomfortable to weird. Finally, we heard someone on the stairs, and he glanced up. “Guess who’s ready. You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
He was right. Suzette walked down the stairs slowly, like she was a queen on her way to get crowned. She wore a sleeveless dark blue dress, really low cut, and silver shoes with heels so high you wouldn’t have thought anyone could walk in them. Over her arm, she carried a sparkly blue-and-silver shawl. Her hair looked like soft gold. Damn, I thought. And I almost wore jeans.
“Hello, Matt.” She handed her phone to her father. “Take a picture of us, Daddy? Take a few, so I can post the best one on Facebook.” She latched onto my arm and broke out a smile too big for me to match.
He must’ve taken a dozen pictures, with Suzette adjusting her pose each time. Finally, he gave her phone back and shook my hand. “Take good care of my little girl. Did you say goodbye to your mother, sweetheart?”
Suzette grimaced. “She’s in her room. I figured she’s asleep. Again. Goodbye, Daddy.” She handed me her shawl.
At first I thought she wanted me to carry it for her, not that it was heavy. At the last possible second, just before I would’ve made a total idiot of myself, it hit me: She wants me to help her put it on. That’s one of those things guys do on re
al dates.
I tried to find the middle, then held it up so she could back into it. She shrugged it down so the tops of her arms still showed, and we finally, finally left the house.
As I was backing out of the driveway, I sneaked another glance at her. She hardly even looked like Suzette. She looked like a model or an actress, so perfect and delicate she might shatter. I didn’t know how to talk to her. “You look amazing,” I said.
“Thank you.” She turned to me with another melt-your-shoes smile before settling back. “Oh, my God. My mom was such a pain. She totally didn’t want me to wear this dress. All day, she was like, ‘Won’t you be cold?’ and, ‘Shouldn’t you save that for Aunt Amy’s wedding?’ Finally Dad told her to give it a rest, and she started crying, saying she had a headache and thought she was getting sick. So he got her to take a pill. I mean, God! All that drama over nothing!”
I thought about Cassie’s headache. “Does she get sick a lot?”
“She thinks she does. It’s mostly to get attention. Plus she’d been drinking, as usual. But let’s not talk about her.” Suzette sighed. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?”
“I guess.” I looked around, trying to see if there was anything special about the night. Our weather’s generally okay, except if it gets really hot or rains really hard. But it never gets too hot this early in April, and it wasn’t raining. The night was pretty much what you’d expect.
When we got to Olive Garden, I walked around to open Suzette’s door, since I figured she’d expect me to. Inside, while we talked about the menu, I liked looking across the table at her and then glancing around the room, thinking about how she looked prettier than the other girls there. Sometimes, when she focused on the menu, I let my glance slide down and rest on the pale crescents of breast showing against the dark blue of her dress. I didn’t stare, but it was hard not to look. It made me uncomfortable, but in a way I enjoyed it.
I didn’t have to work at keeping conversation going, because Suzette always had something she wanted to say. She told stories about how her friend Ashley had a huge crush on Derrick, about how her mother tried to make a soufflé and got hysterical when it collapsed.
By the time our dinners arrived, Suzette slowed down, and I figured I should take a turn. It’d be fun to tell her about the fight club, especially about how I’d thrown that guy, but Berk and I had agreed not to tell anyone except Graciana and Joseph. We didn’t want talk getting around. And Suzette told me about Ashley’s crush on Derrick, even though Ashley probably wouldn’t want me to know. I’d better not trust her to keep quiet about last night.
Instead, I said something about basketball. Suzette said she was sure I’d be captain next year, and I said some people thought Tyler Mitchell would be better. That got her going. She said her dad doesn’t think Tyler’s much of a player, and Megan sits behind him in math and says he smells, and Ashley saw him at a party and thought he was drunk because he acted so weird. I stuck up for Tyler, even though he does hog the ball, but the stories about the things he did at the party were pretty funny. We were both laughing when the waitress brought the check. Suzette hesitated, then reached for her purse.
Before I’d left the house, my father slipped me fifty dollars. “Let’s not mention this to Mom,” he’d said, “but if you don’t want Suzette to use her gift card, if you’d rather pay for dinner, go ahead.”
I hesitated, too, then made up my mind. “I’ll get this,” I said, picking up the check. It sounded cool, like a line from a movie.
Suzette’s face lit up. “If you insist.”
I wondered if that’d make Facebook: “Matt insisted on paying for dinner.” Fine. I’d been half-embarrassed about the gift card—Dad was right about that. And Mom still doesn’t understand how Facebook works, so it shouldn’t be a problem.
We got to the theater late, had to park near the back of the lot, and hurried in, Suzette tottering on those narrow heels. The movie had some funny lines, but when someone pointed a gun at the hero, he just gave up, even though he was close enough to take it away. Suzette covered her face with her hands and huddled against my chest. She couldn’t really have been scared—it was only twenty minutes into the movie, the actor playing the hero had top billing, no way would he get killed so soon—so I figured it was a cue and put my arm around her. She cuddled against me for the rest of the movie. I won’t pretend it didn’t feel good.
After the movie ended, she wanted to comb her hair and took a long time, so we were about the last people to leave the theater. As we walked out, we were both quiet, probably both wondering what came next. Well, we hadn’t had dessert, and I had some money left.
“You want ice cream?” I asked. “Barney’s is still open.”
“Or we could go to my house.” She gave me a sly little smile. “We’ve got plenty of ice cream, and we’ve got a really nice family room in the basement.”
That sounded interesting. “Okay,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulder again. Then I spotted the car.
My mom’s car, parked near the back of the lot, both headlights smashed, the windshield shattered, looking like someone had pounded it with a baseball bat. And right in the middle of the hood sat my mom’s plastic flashlight, the one that fell out of my pocket at the fight club in Richmond.
Fifteen
I grabbed Suzette’s hand and headed back to the theater, as fast as she could move on those spindly heels. She talked the whole time, mostly “Oh, my God!” and “I’m so scared!” I kept looking around, expecting Bobby Davis to step out of a shadow, but he’d obviously gone. Assuming it was Davis. But I felt pretty sure.
When we got back to the theater, I called my dad. He didn’t yell about the car or blame me for one second. He was so nice he made me feel guilty, since I was to blame. This happened because of something I’d done.
“I’m glad you didn’t drive it in that shape,” he said. “I’ll come right away and get the car towed. You can call the police.”
“Do we have to?” If we called the police, would I have to tell them about Richmond? “I mean, what’re the chances they’ll catch the guy?”
“Not good. But the insurance company will ask if we filed a police report.”
Damn, I thought, but made the call. Then we stood by the popcorn machine, waiting. Suzette texted friend after friend with thrilling little hints about our adventure while I stared into the parking lot. I can’t lie, I decided, but if their questions leave me room to maneuver, I don’t need to tell the full truth yet.
That ended up being easy. The squad car showed up minutes after my dad did. The two young cops seemed to see it as no big deal—some kids got drunk, smashed some glass, giggled, and walked away. Not much chance of catching them, no one got hurt, and insurance would cover most of the damages, so why waste much time on questions?
They asked if I knew who did it, and I could honestly say no—I didn’t know, not for sure. When they asked if anyone at school was bullying me, I could say no again. They asked if there was anything else I wanted to tell them—it was really easy to say “no” to that. One cop kept staring at Suzette. She noticed, smiled, and shrugged her shawl down another inch. The other cop mostly yawned. Five minutes, tops, and they took off.
“I’ll wait for the tow truck,” Dad said. “You can drive Suzette home and come back for me. I’m sorry your evening’s been cut short.”
“It’s okay.” Frankly, I felt relieved. Nice as Suzette looked, good as it’d felt when she nestled against me, I was ready for the date to end. In lots of ways, she’d been awful sweet tonight. In other ways, I felt like I’d been playing a role in some script she’d worked out in advance. And ever since we’d seen the car, I’d focused on figuring things out, not on her. That probably meant I didn’t have special feelings for her yet, and that meant I didn’t have any business going to her family room for ice cream and whatever. Time to take a break and get my head clear.
>
I walked her to her front door, and she gazed into my eyes with a wistful smile. “Can’t you come in for a few minutes?”
“My dad’s waiting. Thanks for tonight. I’m sorry it got messed up at the end.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She moved closer. “Call me?”
“Absolutely.” She seemed to expect me to kiss her, so I pulled her close. I felt her slim, perfect body press against mine, felt the softness of her lips, smelled the sweetness of her hair, felt something surge through me as she went limp, not holding back at all. God, I thought. I’d wanted to kiss her ever since I’d seen her walk downstairs in that dress, and now I’d done it, and it felt overwhelming. It was hard to let her go, to feel that sweet, yielding firmness step away from my arms.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said. “For sure.”
When Dad and I got home, Mom was fine about the car, even though it’s hers and she’d have to do without it until things got fixed. These days, I drive it more than she does anyhow. I should be more grateful to her for that, I thought, listening to her and Dad talk about how they’d manage with one car. They stayed cheerful and practical, not getting dramatic, not saying anything to make me feel guilty. So naturally, I felt guilty as hell.
As soon as I could, I went to my room and called Berk. At first, he sounded cautious—did he think I’d called to brag? When I told him about the car, he got excited. He’d probably been worrying about whether I was making out with Suzette. Now, he could switch to worrying about whether Davis was hunting him down. Chances are, he’d rather worry about that. We traded questions. How had Davis found my car? Would he be satisfied now? Were we in danger? We didn’t come up with anything definite, except that he’d text Graciana and Joseph about getting together tomorrow. Finally, he asked how the date went.
“Okay,” I said. “Dinner was good, and the movie was funny.”