I regain my footing and notice kids circling us, waiting for a fight. I ignore them. “I’m the douchebag?! You fucked up my plan! It worked perfectly! I kissed her on the ferris wheel, for fuck’s sake! If you hadn’t told her, everything would’ve been fine!”
“You kissed her?”
“Yeah, I fuckin kissed her!” I want to be kicking his ass right now, but he’s my best friend. “A better question is, who the fuck told you about my plan? Was it Bates? It had to’ve been Bates. That fuckin tool doesn’t know how to keep his fuckin mouth shut.” As pissed as I am at Hansen, I’d rather be pissed at Ben Bates than him. Ryan has always been there for me. He was there for me the time I… I block the thought. I can’t think about that shit right now.
“You fucking kissed her?” Hansen says, missing everything I just said.
That’s when I figure it out. I’m suddenly so mad I can’t think straight. He fuckin likes her. The idea of my best friend liking the one girl I want more than any other on this planet and then he goes and sabotages the one shot I had with her after four fuckin years makes me want to murder him and everyone in sight. “You like her, don’t you?” My words are angry fists and elbows.
Hansen doesn’t answer. He just stares at me.
I get right in his face. “Tell me you don’t. TELL ME YOU DON’T FUCKIN LIKE HER!!” I need for him not to like her. If he does, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. My world is collapsing around me.
He bumps my chest with his. “Fuck you, man. I don’t have to tell you shit.”
I smash my palm into his shoulder. “TELL ME YOU DON’T FUCKIN LIKE HER!!”
Hansen shakes his head like I’m shit. He backs up a step, not because he’s afraid, but because he’s figured it all out. “Why do you care, Connor? I thought you hated Electra. All you do is treat her like shit. Why? Why are you so obsessed with her?”
Losing it. “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HER!!”
He snorts a hateful laugh. “Bullshit. You’ve liked Electra since you saw her freshman year. All you ever talk about is Electra. No matter how many girls you fuck, you talk about Electra. I’m sick of fucking hearing you whine about Electra and then I have to watch you treat her like shit. She doesn’t deserve it, man. You had your shot. For four years, I held back because you said she was off limits. Now I know why. If you couldn’t have her, you didn’t want anyone to get her. Guess what? I’m sick of watching you fuck it all up. She deserves someone who won’t treat her like shit. She deserves someone who isn’t a piece of shit like you, Connor. I don’t even know why I’m friends with you. You’re a loser. I hope you end up drunk in a ditch somewhere because that’s where you’re headed. Good luck with your life, dumbfuck.”
All the fight has gone out of me. I’m so confused I think I’m going to die. My whole world stopped making sense the second Electra Warmoth walked away. Now my whole world is imploding around me as my best and only true friend gives me the blow off.
“Now if you’ll fucking excuse me,” Hansen says, “I’m going to find her and apologize for your sorry fucking ass.”
My heart stops. Fear drowns me.
Ryan Hansen is a great guy. If anyone has a shot with Electra Warmoth, it’s him. Fuck. I’m going to die.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
CONNOR
Desperation floods my veins. I sprint after Hansen, who is almost at his car in the school parking lot. “Where the fuck are you going!” I shove him into the back fender of the primer gray ’72 Camaro his dad helped him restore last summer. The one I helped him restore. I was at his house with him and his dad every fuckin day. Their house was the only place I could go where I wasn’t miserable. Right now I hate Ryan and his dad and his house and his fuckin car more than I’ve ever hated anything.
Ryan recovers, leaning over the trunk of the Camaro. He elbows me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me.
I shouldn’t have drunk any of that whiskey.
He spins around and clocks me in the chin.
I fall on my ass.
“Stay there, you piece of shit,” Ryan growls.
I stare at him.
This is the saddest night of my entire life.
No, it’s the second saddest…
I’m about to fall to pieces.
Ryan gets in the Camaro and revs the engine before backing out of the space. He rolls his window down. “You should sit there until you sober up and figure out why you’re such a complete idiot, Connor. I’m telling you as a friend. Why would you be such a dick to someone you like? You need help, man. Get some counseling or something. If you don’t, you’re gonna ruin every relationship in your life.” He drives off.
Speechless, I choke on his exhaust, staring at the back of his car.
All I can think is he’s going to steal Electra from me. I stumble to my feet, already running for my motorcycle. I hop on and start the engine, not bothering with my helmet.
If Ryan gets to her first, I’m going to lose it.
His car is way down at the end of the street when I catch air coming out of the parking lot. My bike wobbles when I hit the ground. I almost lay it down, but manage to recover. I’ve ridden drunk before. I’ll be fine. I twist the throttle and rocket after Ryan. I catch him at a stoplight and pull up on his left, between his Camaro and an SUV.
He rolls his window down. “You should park your bike and walk home, dumbass. You’re drunk.”
“You should turn around and go home, dumbass. You don’t even know where she lives.” I sound like I’m twelve.
“Janice Wang told me.”
“Who’s Janice Wang?”
Ryan shakes his head. “How can you spend so much fucking time obsessing about a girl and you don’t even know who her friends are?”
I panic. “How do you know so much about her? Have you been stalking her? Have you been following her home like a stalker? Are you a fuckin stalker, Hansen? A creeper? A fuckin—”
The car behind him is honking. The light must’ve already turned green.
“Janice told me, dickhead. I asked her tonight after I told her about your genius plan and how I needed to apologize for you, you fucking lunatic. Go home.” His Camaro rumbles as he eases up to the speed limit.
I crank my throttle until I catch up and pace beside his window. “Turn around, man!” I yell over the wind.
“Get the fuck off the road! You’re drunk and riding without a helmet! Park somewhere until you sober up, you fucking idiot!” He floors it and turns onto the freeway onramp.
I kick my bike into second and goose the throttle. My engine screams. I swing left as the Camaro cuts into the apex of the turn on the right. I clear 60 as I whip through the curve, planning on beating him through it so I can get in front of him and slow down, forcing him to stop. Me and Ryan have watched every Fast and the Furious movie multiple times. We both drive like street racers whenever we get in a car. It’s a dick thing. Now it’s worse. There’s pussy on the line.
The Camaro fades left as it begins to exit the turn. I’m in Ryan’s blind spot when I realize the racing line he’s cutting leaves no room for error. Too bad I’m the error he didn’t plan on. He’s going to fade all the way left, using every inch of available asphalt at the end of the turn. He’ll cut it as close to the cement guard rail as he can. The only problem is there isn’t enough room between his car and the rail for me and my bike. Not only am I in his blind spot, my foot peg is nearly scraping the ground as I lean way over.
I’m invisible.
It’s too late to do anything. I’m already committed to the turn. If I have to change my line at the last second and stand the bike up too soon or brake suddenly, I’ll lose the front end and high side. My bike will flip over and I’ll fly through the air and land on the freeway at 60 miles an hour.
Without a helmet.
Or Ryan’s 3,500 pound Camaro will crush me against the guard rail.
Only one way out of this without dying.
I honk the bike’s nasally horn and hope Ryan
hears me with his window rolled down.
He does.
I will regret my actions for the rest of my life.
The Camaro wheels to the right and I squirt past through the narrow gap. I manage to get the bike back to standing. Tires screech behind me. The Camaro swerves wildly right then left, the front bumper scraping against the cement guard rail. The car’s nose dives as it cuts back to the right and loses the rear end.
It starts to spin.
The whole time I’m hissing under my breath, “Shit, shit, shit…”
The car glides sideways and 360s on the pavement before sliding right up the safety wedge at the start of the right side guardrail. Sparks explode in an orange spray as the car’s frame scrapes across the top. The car slides balanced for a second before tipping off to the right. It spirals down the slope of the dirt shoulder like a football before slamming to a stop against the cement culvert pipe at the end of the ditch. A huge cloud of dirt billows into the air.
I skid to a stop on the side of the freeway and jump off my bike, leaving it to fall over on its side. At four in the morning, the freeway is eerily empty. I run along the patterned concrete wall. I can’t see Ryan’s car in the ditch until I clear the wall. I stop, grabbing the guardrail. It’s a steep drop down to his car. I vault over the edge and slide down the slope, my boots kicking up dirt.
POOMPH!!
A cloud of flame billows up from beneath the car which lies on its left side. It leans so far over the roof rests against the slope. I would pull Ryan out the driver’s window, but it’s buried in the dirt.
“Ryan!” I shout, not sure what to do.
Flames flicker inside the engine compartment, glowing out from the gaps in the twisted metal. The front windshield is a shattered spiderweb dripping with golden dewdrops of firelight. I can’t see inside the car.
I don’t even bother calling 911. There isn’t time.
I climb on top of the car, which at this angle is the car’s right side. I whip out my knife and slam the butt into the passenger side window glass.
The flames in the engine are getting bigger.
I have to get him out.
“I’m gonna kick the window out! Cover your eyes!” I don’t even know if he can hear me. I stomp the shattered glass with my boot heel. The window folds in a crumpled sheet of glass and plastic laminate, hanging inside the car. I don’t want it falling on Ryan’s face but I don’t want to slice my fingers open pulling it out. I hesitate for a second before ripping off my leather jacket. I stick my hands in the sleeves like I’m putting it on backward and grab the window glass through the leather. I tear the glass back and fold it over the car door.
POOMPH!!
Another burst of flame.
Ryan screams.
“Fuck, man! I’ll get you out! Hold on a second!” I drop my jacket and lean through the window to see how he’s lying.
Face first in a puddle of burning gasoline.
Fuck.
I lean through the passenger window up to my waist and grab his arm with both hands. When I pull, I start to fall into the car. I don’t have any leverage. I need to hook my legs around something but there’s nothing behind me except air.
Ryan screams again.
“Pull your face out of the flames, god damn it!”
He just screams.
—scream-scream-scream-scream—
I lower myself feet first into the car and grab my jacket. I pull on his arm again, trying to stand him up. He moans. He’s caught on something. The seatbelt. I whip out my knife and flick the blade open so I can slice it off. It takes me forever to find the belt. I try to reposition Ryan, but it’s so tight it won’t let go.
The whole time, Ryan’s face is cooking in the fire.
By the time I find the belt, the flames are up to my elbows. I can feel the heat hot on my face. I narrow my eyes. I’m not going to have any eyebrows or eyelashes at this rate.
I reach down to get a good grip on Ryan’s face so I can lift him up. I hope his neck isn’t broken. As soon as I start to lift, I feel flames burning the skin on my hands. I don’t care. I pull him to his feet. There’s almost no room inside the sideways car. The heat is burning through my leather boots and baking my jeans. “Stand the fuck up!”
Ryan groans and slumps against me. At least his face is out of the fire.
We lean against the sideways bucket seat backs.
The passenger window is as high as the top of my head.
“Can you stand up?”
He groans.
“I have to do a pull up to get out of here. Then I’ll pull you out, okay?”
He groans again. His face is a glistening charred mess.
I lean him against the seats. If he can’t stand up and he sinks to his feet, I won’t be able to reach him.
“Stand the fuck up, Hansen!”
He groans a little more strongly.
I grab the door frame and heave myself out of the car. I lean in and hold my arm out for Ryan. “Grab my hand, Ryan!”
His head lolls against his chest. He’s starting to sit down. The flames are up to his waist. I can’t even reach him this far away.
“STAND UP GOD DAMN IT, OR I WILL KICK YOUR FUCKIN ASS!!”
He lifts his head like it weighs a million pounds. His eyes look like boiled eggs shining out of a blackened chicken sandwich. He struggles back to his feet. But he just stares at me.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. He just slammed his Camaro into a cement wall. I’m surprised he’s even alive. But I know one thing. I don’t want my best friend dead.
“GRAB MY FUCKIN HAND, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!! GRAB IT RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!!!” If he doesn’t take my arm, I can’t get him out of the car.
POOMPH!!
Another puff of flames pops up from the dirt near the back wheel.
“THE FUCKIN TANK IS GOING TO BLOW, DUMBASS!! GIMME YOUR ARM!!”
He stares at me like he doesn’t understand.
I start to weep. “Damn it, Hansen! I can’t lose you, you dumbshit! Gimme your fuckin arm!”
He stares at me blankly.
I think he’s giving up. “Please, man. Gimme your arm. I’m begging you.” I’m crying full tilt now. “Please…”
He closes his eyes.
“No! Wake the fuck up!”
His arm slowly rises, his torn up face tightening with effort.
“That’s it! Lift it! Gimme your arm, man! I’ve got it! Come on! There!” I grip it above the elbow and at the wrist. Then I squat down, my boots balanced on the edge of the window frame and I fuckin lift with everything I have. He weighs a fuckin ton. That shit about dead weight is totally true. I’m gonna pop a hernia lifting him. My head pounds, my teeth clench, but the second I have him out up to his waist, I fall back, pulling him as I go.
He drops against the car door.
For a crazy second, I nearly tumble back off the top of the tipped over car but Ryan’s weight pulls me back and I lean to the side and drape him over the door. I drop to the ground and pull him over the edge. He falls against me and we drop to the dirt, him all over me. I roll him off and grab him by both wrists and drag him as far down the ditch away from the Camaro as I can get us.
When I lower him into the dirt, the gas tank blows.
I shield Ryan with my back, kneeling over him.
Flames shoot up in a huge greasy cloud of black smoke. Now would be a good time to call 911. But my phone is in my leather jacket and it’s somewhere in the burning car.
Ryan groans.
I look down at his messed up face. I don’t even recognize him in the faint orange glow of the flames. His crispy skin is peeling off in flakes and there’s blood everywhere. But he’s not dead. “I left my jacket in your car, you fucknut.” I chuckle and smear tears from my face. “You owe me a new one.”
His face crackles into a smile, “You owe me a new car, fucknut.” His words come out all garbled and he coughs hard and wheezy, his red and black eyelids clamping shut fr
om the pain.
Chapter 15
ELECTRA
PRESENT DAY.
“What happened then?” I ask, still standing on the bright summery North Valley High School field with Connor. “Was Ryan okay?”
Connor is squatting on the grass, twisting a blade he plucked during the story around his finger. The blade of grass is so tight, it makes the tip of his finger blood red. He drops the blade and stands up slowly. “I need to show you something. Come on.” He starts walking across the field without looking back.
“Wait, Connor!” I jog on my toes so my two inch heels don’t sink into the grass.
He stops, looking at me, his face forlorn.
I’ve never seen Connor looking like this. Then again, before last week, the last time I ever saw him was before Ryan Hansen crashed his Camaro. I can’t imagine what Connor has been through over the past seven years. While this recent revelation paints Connor in a whole new light, I can only wonder what happened to Ryan. Maybe I’ll never find out.
We walk toward the parking lot in front of the school and climb in my car. Then it hits me.
We’re going to a graveyard. My stomach sinks.
Connor directs me to a random suburban neighborhood a few miles from the school.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Connor climbs out of the car without answering. He waits for me on the sidewalk. “Try not to say anything about his face.”
“Whose face?” I ask as I follow him up the cement path leading to a modest two-story house.
On the front step, Connor knocks on the door but thumbs the latch before anybody answers and sticks his head inside. He hollers, “Anybody here?” He steps inside.
I reluctantly follow, feeling like an intruder.
A woman old enough to be my or Connor’s mom comes walking out of the kitchen with a pair of gardening gloves in one hand. Is this Connor’s house? I’ve never met his parents. I have no idea.
“Oh, hello, Connor,” the woman smiles.
Cover Model Page 19