by M. H. Soars
“Yes, sure. But aren’t your parents expecting you? Won’t they be worried?”
“I’ll tell them I’m at Larissa’s.”
Owen seems unsure and I regret asking. I don’t want to come across as needy or pushy. “Listen, it’s not a big deal if you say no. I would normally just head to Larissa’s for real, but she’ll react worse than my folks if she knows I got jumped.”
“I don’t mind. Really. The thing is my parents aren’t home. I just want to be upfront about it.”
“And you think I would care because...”
“Well, I don’t know.” Pink colors Owen’s cheeks and embarrassment is a look that suits him well. Drat, Kimberly! Stop noticing Owen’s looks.
“Trust me, hanging out with you for a couple of hours at your place sans parents’ supervision won’t damage my reputation further. It’s already in the dirt.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you really?”
“Yes, I am.” He seems offended for a second, then a slow smirk curls the corner of his lips. “I got all the praise, but none of the fun.”
“Well, you can imagine how I feel,” I mumble.
Owen squints his eyes at me, then he grins wider. “Wait a second. Did you just imply you wanted to reap the benefits, too?”
It’s hard to keep a straight face, but I do it anyway. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Whitfield. By the way, your mother’s cake must have melted by now.”
He turns in the direction of the main street. “Fuck!”
* * *
Owen offers to drive, but it’s easier if we both take our cars. Less hassle and I’m not frazzled to the point of being unable to conduct a vehicle. Now that the fear has dissipated, I’m effing pissed. All Alex has done with his warning is motivating me more.
I follow my savior and realize after a couple of minutes that he’s going the same way I do when I go home. Owen drives past my house and then turns right, followed by an immediate left before stopping in front of a two-story colonial house. He lives a block away from me and I never knew.
The outside light is on, but inside the house it’s total darkness. I park behind Owen’s car and follow him to the front steps of his cute home. There’s a wrap-around porch with a couple of rocking chairs and a small end table between them. The front garden is immaculate, but oddly enough, I don’t see any flowers, just perfectly landscaped bushes and trees. Owen unlocks the door and walks in, turning on the foyer light before gesturing for me to come in as well. He heads toward the open kitchen and I do the same. My eyes roam everywhere. The foyer opens into a spacious living room to my right, and the open kitchen is straight ahead. The walls are covered with picture frames and I wish I could examine them without being obvious. Maybe another time.
Owen places the box in his hands on the counter and opens the lid.
“How’s the cake?” I ask.
“Not too bad. The decoration is still intact.” He grimaces and I suppress a laugh. Now is not the time to mock him.
He closes the lid again and practically shoves the box into the freezer.
I continue my perusal of the space and notice several shopping bags filled with pink decoration stuff, sitting in a corner of the dining room adjacent to the kitchen.
“Baby shower tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Most of my mother’s friends work on the weekends. I’m helping setting up the décor after school then I’m out of here.”
“Let me guess? Too much pink?” I can’t help the smirk on my lips.
“You have no idea. I’ve been tasked to buy all the stuff for the party. All those shop clerks and their customers think I’m about to be a daddy.”
“Oh, poor you. Look at it as practice for when you finally knock Leah up.”
Owen’s spine goes rigid and his face turns as white as a piece of paper. “Don’t even joke about that.”
My heart gives a painful lurch, protesting the picture I just painted. I don’t want Owen impregnating any girl, and not because of the consequences of becoming a teen parent. I simply can’t bear the thought of Owen being tied to Leah like that forever.
I make a motion to retrieve my laptop, an automatic action on my part, only to realize that I no longer have my bag. My stomach sinks. I’m still paying for the bloody thing.
“Are you hungry?” Owen asks.
“Not really. Can I use your computer?”
“Sure, let me grab a snack first. I’m starving.”
He gets a bag of chips and a couple of sodas and then we head to his room. The staircase wall is also covered with family pictures, several of them of Owen in different age stages. When we reach the landing, the decoration on the walls changes. The smooth surface lining the corridor has several black and white comic book art prints hanging from it, but I don’t recognize any of the characters.
I stop by one with a vivid fight scene and I’m mesmerized by the talent of the artist. The drawing is so sharp that it seems the characters are about to jump out of the paper. The little scribbled signature at the bottom has an O and W discernible. I turn to Owen, who is standing in front of an open door.
“Did you draw this?”
“Yup.”
I thread slowly in his direction, without taking my eyes off his artwork. “They’re amazing. I had no idea.” The few pictures he posted on Facebook were good, but nothing close to the masterpieces in front of me.
“You had no idea this meathead here had any talent besides chasing after a ball?”
I whip my face to him, shame making my cheeks heat up. “I only know what you let people see, Owen.”
He holds my gaze and his jaw is clenched tight. Did I say something that upset him? Nevertheless, I feel the change in the air, the subliminal but intense electric charge. My heart decides now is the time to run a marathon. Maybe coming here was a huge mistake.
“Are you going to let me use your computer or what?”
Owen doesn’t reply, just disappears inside his room and I don’t know if I should follow or not. When he doesn’t come back into the hallway, I venture in.
The only source of illumination in the room is coming from the lamp on his nightstand, making the space feel too intimate. Owen is sitting by his computer desk with his back to me. I take that opportunity to quickly scan his bedroom. There is a huge X-Men poster above his twin bed and several smaller ones scattered over the other walls. With the lack of enough light, I can’t say if his artwork is in the mix too.
There are few shelves with trophies, books, and picture frames above his desk, and to my right, another door that leads to the bathroom.
Owen swivels on his chair and stands up. “Computer is all yours.”
He jumps on the bed with his bag of chips, resting his back against the headboard. He crosses his long legs leisurely and smiles at me. “You look tired, Kimmy. There’s room for you next to me.”
I lose my ability to speak for a moment and I know I’m in trouble. Again he starts with the flirtation. Is he the type of guy who will hit on anyone wearing a skirt? He has a freaking girlfriend for crying out loud. His behavior should put me off. I never cared for players before—I know some girls can’t get enough of a bad boy. But my body is seriously considering Owen’s invitation. What’s wrong with me? I do not make out with guys that are taken.
“I wonder what Leah would think about that.”
My comment wipes the smile right off his mug. I sit down and bring the internet browser up. My laptop has online backup, so any new file is automatically uploaded to the cloud. I never bothered to set up a password for my laptop. Maybe I’ll be lucky and whoever stole it will save something worth checking.
“What are you doing?” Owen asks from his bed.
“Checking something.”
“Very informative.”
I login into my account and orga
nize my computer files by most recent date. And what do you know, there’s a brand new video file, saved twenty minutes ago. I click on it and I’m surprised as my assailant’s ugly mug appears on the screen. The stupid sod made a video of himself.
“What are you watching?”
“Shhh.”
I hear Owen move and then he’s behind me.
“Don’t shh me in my own room, girl. What are you watching. Porn?”
I glance in his direction and my gaze collides with his. Owen is bent down, bringing his face to the same level as mine, too close for comfort. His eyes drop to my mouth and I think he’s about to kiss me. I face the computer again.
The guy who robbed me is busy making funny faces at the screen and singing Shakira off key.
“Who’s that moron?” Owen asks.
“The guy who took my laptop tonight.”
“What?” Owen’s voice changes from mere curiosity to downright anger.
“I backup my laptop files online. This video was saved twenty minutes ago. The thief decided to play with my video camera.”
“He’s bright.”
“No kidding.”
A new voice appears in the background and our not so smart criminal leaves the desk without turning off the camera. Thank God for all the half brained creatures of this world. We are left staring at a bare wall for a couple of minutes, but we can still hear far away voices. I turn up the volume.
We listen to the conversation in the background. In the beginning, whoever is speaking is too far from the laptop’s mic, and we can only hear broken pieces of it. After a minute, the voices move closer, and they become loud and clear.
“Did she have the USB stick?”
“Yeah, it was in her bag.”
“Can you tell if she was able to access the files?”
“She didn’t save anything in her hard drive, so my guess is no.”
“Your guess? That’s not good enough.”
“I scared her good, man. I doubt she’ll continue poking around.”
The thief reappears on the screen. Then the proof I was waiting for lands on my lap. Alex Martin joins his friend on the frame. I hear Owen’s sharp intake of breath.
“Have you checked her browser history?” he says.
“Yeah. She was all over your social media profiles. And check this out, she was also looking into your ex-girlfriend’s Facebook page.”
For a guy that absent minded, he sure knows how to poke around in the computer. He might not be as stupid as he seems after all. I’m lucky the light on my laptop camera doesn’t light up when it’s on. I’m sure he would have noticed otherwise.
Then what he said clicks in my brain. Crap. Alicia. I need to warn her. Alex stares hard at the computer screen and grinds his jaw.
“Alicia knows nothing. We’ll stick to the original plan. After homecoming dance, we’ll move the load. Is your contact in San Diego good to go?”
“You know it, boss.”
Alex’s accomplice closes the laptop, ending the video. Slowly, I swivel my chair in Owen’s direction. He moves backward and sits on the edge of his bed, head bent and hidden between his hands.
“I’m sorry, Owen.”
He glances up and stares into my eyes. He looks so broken and upset, that when I sit next to him and put my arm around his shoulder to comfort him, it doesn’t feel wrong.
“We need to tell the police,” he says.
“We can’t.”
Owen’s body stiffens next to mine. “Why not? Alex is a criminal. He sent his thug to scare you, hurt you. If I wasn’t there, what else could have happened?”
The way he says all that with so much conviction makes me want to hug him and never let go. But I don’t.
“That video doesn’t prove Alex stole the computers from school.”
“So what?”
“Owen, if I don’t get the proof, Lorenzo will take the fall for it.”
“I don’t like where you’re going with this.”
“I need to follow Alex after homecoming dance.”
Owen turns his body to mine, and I let my arm drop from his shoulder. He narrows his eyes, and the way his lips become nothing but a thin line tells me he’s pissed.
“You’re crazy if you think I’ll let you tail after Alex by yourself.”
I stand suddenly, putting my hands on my hips as I stare down at Owen. Now I’m annoyed too. “Let me? What makes you think you can dic—”
“Will you shut up for a minute?” Owen stands up as well and places his hands on my upper arms. “I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 17
Friday, September 15th, 2006
Owen
I promised Kimberly I would keep my mouth shut and pretend everything was all right, but keeping my promise was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Every time I looked into Alex’s face, the urge to beat the shit out of him was overwhelming.
During the week, I spent most of my free time with Kimberly, using our English assignment as an excuse. But the truth was I enjoyed spending time with her. She was smart, sarcastic, and funny, qualities I admired in most people. The fact that she was gorgeous was just a bonus.
Leah wasn’t happy with my lack of attention. Several times she complained that I was a sucky boyfriend. Any other week she would have broken up with me already, but the homecoming dance was a big deal for her, so she put up with my absenteeism.
One afternoon, at Kimberly’s house, Leah had blown up my phone with text messages every five seconds. It got so irritating that I shut the damn thing off. Kimberly asked me why I was still dating Leah if she annoyed me so much. I didn’t have a good answer for her. Honestly, I was done with the relationship, and had come to that conclusion at Alex’s party the week before. But contrary to what Kimberly probably thought of me, I wasn’t a douchebag. I was part of the homecoming dance court and so was Leah. Breaking up with her now would be a mean thing to do. Plus, it would give me more of a headache than it was worth.
I’m sitting in the locker room with my team mates just before the biggest game of the season while all of these thoughts are running through my head. Coach is giving his usual speech, but I’m only half listening to it. I’m more concerned with what will happen after the game. I glance at Alex and he seems to be in deep concentration. If I didn’t know what he planned to do tonight, I might believe he was psyching himself up for the next three hours.
Pep talk over, we stand up and shuffle out of the locker room, like a big school of fish. We emerge on the green field, the Friday night lights almost blinding, the roar of the crowd deafening. Despite my worries, a jolt of adrenaline shoots through my veins and for the first ten minutes of the game, I believe I will be able to focus on the plays, and push my worries to the back of my mind.
But when I miss an easy pass Alex throws at me, that’s when my determination slips, and my anger toward my team captain comes back with a vengeance. We huddle and Alex yells at me.
“What’s the matter with you, Whitfield? Get your head in the game!”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from hitting him. We go back to formation, and this time I don’t miss the play. I score a brilliant touchdown. The crowd roars and I look in the bleachers’ direction, trying to spot Kimberly. She promised she would be here.
I take my seat and drink some water, searching the crowd when I should be paying attention to the game. I finally see Kimberly next to her parents and siblings. I feel a lurch in my chest when she glances my way and gives me two thumbs up. I give her a crooked smile in return and she lowers her gaze. When I shift my focus I see something that changes my mood in an instant. The guy who attacked Kimberly last Sunday is also here. I stand up suddenly, ready to do something stupid, when I hear my name being yelled. I turn and coach is looking at me with a pissed off glare.
“Get your ass
back there, Whitfield.” He points to the field.
I jog to where my team mates are waiting for me and Alex singles me out again. “What is the matter with you tonight?”
“Nothing. Let’s get this shit over with.”
Alex calls the play and we all get into position, but my head is back in the bleachers. I’m glad that Kimberly is not alone, but I can’t stop worrying. The game starts and I don’t move until it’s too late. My two-seconds-delayed reaction messes up the play and Alex ends up getting sacked.
After that, I make mistake after mistake and we lose the game with a final score of 7-35. Guilt crawls up my chest as my team mates give me disappointed glances. It’s not their fault I couldn’t shut off my worries. No one says anything, though. That’s the coach’s job. On my walk of shame back to the locker room, Leah intercepts me.
“You played like shit today, Owen. You embarrassed me.”
I stare at her like she’s speaking under water. It takes a moment for my brain to register her words.
“I embarrassed you? Fuck off, Leah.”
Her dolled up eyes become as round as saucers and she places a manicured hand over her chest. “I can’t believe you said that. You’re such a jerk.”
“And you’re such a bitch. I guess we’re even.”
She slaps my face hard and I gotta say, it’s not a pleasant feeling. I narrow my eyes at her and say something she’s definitely not expecting. “Thank you.”
“What?”
“Thank you for making this easier for me.”
“Making what easier, Owen?”
“To end this.” I point at me and then at her. “Whatever the hell this was.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” Her voice rises to a shriek.
“You can bet you pretty ponytail I am.”
“You can’t break up with me on the evening of homecoming dance. I forbid you.”
“Watch me.”
I walk around her while she screams insults at me, and if I have to guess, stomps hard on the grass. It sucked that we lost against Wild Hogs, but this moment made up for it.