Why Me? : A Possessive High School Romance (Young Adult Version)

by Silva Hart

  “Coming up on Newark.”

  “Get off there. I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

  “You don’t have to drive all this way. I’ll get a return ticket.”

  “All right, man. You want to meet at the gym?”

  “Okay … hey, Jett?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Does Mia know?”

  “No.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “The only person I told was Lexi, and that was after she told me everything.”

  “Okay, see you in a few.”

  “Yep.”

  I fill Lexi in on what’s going on.

  “Now we have a couple hours to wait. Let’s go to my place,” she says.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, you hungry? I’ll make us something to eat.”

  That’s not exactly what I had in mind, but I am hungry. “Sure, why not?”

  We pull up to her house.

  “Mom must be at the club. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

  Nice. I can think of a few ways to pass the time. And I have a feeling that’s what Lexi is thinking too. But as soon as she opens the door, she goes straight to the kitchen.

  “You like spaghetti?”

  “Sure.” Okay, so we weren’t thinking the same thing.

  I take off my jacket and hang it on the back of a barstool at the expansive granite island. Sitting, I watch as Lexi puts on some pop music and gets two black cherry seltzer waters out of the fridge. She puts one in front of me then pops hers open and takes a swig.

  I’ve never had seltzer water. I pop mine and drink. It’s not bad, kind of like watery soda.

  Lexi gets a pot and fills it with water, then places it on the stove and adds salt. Her jeans hug her ass in the most delicious way. And, yeah, I’m getting hungrier by the minute.

  She searches through a cupboard and pulls two sauces out. “Are you in the mood for marinara or Alfredo?”

  What’s Alfredo? I don’t want to ask. It must be something fancy. “Alfredo.”

  “Ooo, I like it. A man after my own heart.”

  She dumps it into a pot. Getting a spoon out of a drawer, she dances back to the pot, pausing to use the spoon as a microphone to belt out the chorus of the song. She’s so completely in her element. I love this playful side of her.

  I get up and walk around the island to where she’s stirring the sauce. Putting my lips next to her ear, I whisper, “You want help with anything?”

  I wrap my arms around her slim waist. She turns, and we get lost in the softness of each other’s lips until the water on the stove and the sauce are at a rolling boil. Lexi puts the pasta in.

  “Looks like I’m just in time for lunch,” Lexi’s stepmom says.

  We jump and turn to find her in the doorway.

  She laughs. “Such guilty looks. What have you kids been up to?”

  Lexi’s mood shifts to considerably more subdued. The previously fun pop music now seems loud and inappropriate. She switches the channel to jazz before dolling out pasta and sauce. We eat at the island. Jocelyn eats with us. It turns out I like Alfredo. It’s boxed mac-n-cheese’s billionaire brother. I dig in, trying to ignore the awkward silence.

  After we’re done eating, Jocelyn disappears. Lexi relaxes again, and we can’t keep our hands off each other as I help her pack up the leftovers and wash the dishes.

  My phone chimes a text.

  Dair: Philly station 11:57.

  Me: Meet you there.

  Chapter 32

  “You think we’re doing the right thing going to the police?” I ask as I drive to the bus station.

  “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “I don’t know. You always hear things in the news. Like what if they don’t believe him?”

  Lexi frowns as if this never occurred to her then gets out her phone. “Hi, it’s Lexi Moore. Is George available?” She waits a couple minutes then says, “Hi, George. It’s Lexi Moore. Can you meet me at the 15th District Police Station? … Great. … Thanks.”

  “Who was that?”

  “He’s our lawyer. Daddy keeps him on retainer and told me to use him whenever I need to.”

  Dair is waiting for us when we get there. He looks tired. As we’re driving to the station, he says, “I don’t know, man. I got a bad feeling about this. I’m not sure I want to voluntarily walk into a police station.”

  “It’s okay,” Lexi says. “Daddy’s lawyer is meeting us there. You’ll be fine.”

  Dair’s mouth drops open. “You got me a lawyer? Shit just got real, man. Now I know I don’t want to go in there.”

  “No, it will be fine. Seriously. I only called him just in case.”

  “Lawyers are expensive.”

  “It won’t take that long. I got it covered. It’s no big deal.”

  In the parking lot, Dair is jittery as hell.

  “Come on,” I say. “Lexi and I will be there with you the whole time. It’s 25k, man. You’ll be able to get an apartment with Mia.”

  This convinces him, and he trails in after us. We’re no sooner through the doors when Lexi’s phone rings. “Hi, George. … Sure, I’ll be there in a sec.” Turning to us, she says, “You guys go ahead. George asked me to meet him in the parking lot.”

  Dair and I exchange glances. Should we turn around and go with her? George only asked for Lexi. What the hell is going on?

  “Let’s just wait,” I say, easing onto a hard, plastic bucket seat along the wall. Dair joins me, his knee bouncing.

  “Can I help you?” a cop asks through the barrier that’s probably bulletproof.

  “We’re just waiting for someone,” I say.

  It feels like forever before Lexi comes into the station with a bespectacled man wearing a suit. “Ready?”

  As we’re walking to the window, she whispers, “George will do the talking, okay?” Dair and I nod.

  The cop comes back to the window and looks the four of us over. We make a strange group of people.

  “This young man is stepping forward to notify you he’s the one who saved Grant Braidon Saturday night by finding him and dialing 9-1-1,” George says authoritatively.

  The cop eyes Dair. “Come with me.” He presses a buzzer, and we enter a hallway lined with doors. The cop comes out of the nearest one on our right, and we follow him a few doors down until he stops and unlocks a room. “Wait here.”

  The conference room contains only a long table surrounded by ten chairs. We sit in complete silence for about fifteen minutes, before two cops come in. One is carrying a clipboard and one is carrying a camera on a stand. They set the camera up at the end of the table so that the four of us are in the frame before they sit across from us and reel off their standard formalities.

  “I’m Officer Brady,” the trim, bald one with chiseled features says.

  “I’m Officer Yablonski,” the stout one with a nose like a potato says. “Please state your full names into the camera.”

  We each do. The camera makes me uneasy, and I’m grateful for my poker face. Lexi’s leg presses against mine under the table.

  “So which one of you came to collect the $25,000 reward?” Brady asks.

  “He didn’t come to collect the reward. He came to tell you what happened. That is what you want isn’t it?” George asks.

  “Yeah, sure, go ahead and tell us. When did you meet up with Mr. Braidon?” Yablonski asks.

  “He didn’t meet up with Mr. Braidon,” George says. “He was driving home from a school function and saw Mr. Braidon get struck. But I’ll let him tell you about it.”

  George nods at Dair who swallows hard before saying, “I … uh … was at the school talent show Saturday night then took my girl out to dinner. I’d just dropped her off at her house and was driving home when I saw Grant walking alongside the road. He was … um … kind of weaving and getting close to the traffic, so I stopped to … uh … see if he wanted a ride. That’s when he … uh … fell into the road and a truck hit him. The truck kept goin
g and more traffic was coming, so I ran and pulled him out of the street then called 9-1-1.”

  “Mm-hmm,” the cops say in unison, their arms folded across their chests.

  “It’s a lot of money, the $25,000. Isn’t it?” Brady asks.

  Why does he keep bringing that up?

  “Um … yeah … I mean, yes, sir,” Dair says.

  They proceed to quiz him on where Mia lives, where he lives, and what roads he was taking, and on and on.

  I’m starting to wonder what the hell George is doing staying silent, when he asks, “You got prints off Mr. Braidon’s phone, correct?”

  “Yes,” Yablonski says.

  “And you ran those prints, I presume?”

  “Yes, but you know how kids pass their phones around nowadays. The thing was covered. How are we supposed to know Mr. Jones here isn’t just coming forward for the $25,000 reward?”

  George’s palm slaps onto the table. Lexi and Dair about jump out of their skins.

  “To hell with the money,” George snaps. “Keep it. He doesn’t want it.”

  Dair really needs to work on his poker face.

  “How many of the prints on the phone were in blood?” George asks.

  Both sets of cop lips simultaneously thin. Brady slowly opens a manilla folder and browses the sheets inside. “Looks here like we do have a match of bloody prints from the phone with a match of a Mr. Dairyl Jones.” He shuts the folder and leans forward toward Dair. “Why were your prints bloody, Mr. Jones?”

  Dair goes ashen. He looks as if he’s about to faint. George steps in. “Was there any blood at the scene?”

  Brady’s jaw clenches. “Yes.”

  “Enough to show that Mr. Braidon was dragged to safety before further harm could be done to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “So wouldn’t the answer to your question be clear, Officer Brady? Mr. Jones had just dragged Mr. Braidon from the middle of the road to safety then called 9-1-1. Naturally, his hands likely had some blood on them from the heroic rescue he performed.”

  “Why did you run?” Brady asks.

  Dair gulps. “I …”

  “Given how I’ve been witness to Mr. Jones’ treatment during this interrogation when he, as a responsible citizen, is merely stepping forward to offer peace of mind to the poor parents of the injured Mr. Braidon, I have to say I don’t blame him, officer,” George says. “If you’d like me to wager a guess as to the reason behind Mr. Jones’ actions Saturday night upon seeing multiple police cars bearing down on him, I’d have to say it likely had something to do with …” Here, George recites the names of half a dozen black men who recently died while in police custody.

  As he lists, the officers’ body language shifts and they stare at the table.

  “Now, if that will be all, officers, we kindly request to be excused,” George finishes.

  I don’t know about Dair and Lexi, but I feel like jumping up and applauding George right there on the spot. The officers let us leave, and we exit the building.

  “Holy crap,” Dair says, bending over and placing both hands on his knees. “Holy fucking shit.”

  Lexi and I exchange glances. The three of us let him collect himself for a minute before we continue to the parking lot.

  “Thanks,” I say, extending my hand to George.

  George takes it in his smooth, manicured hand. “Any time.” He turns to Dair. “As for the reward money, the parents offered that. It’s not up to the police whether you get it or not. I’ll reach out to them and let them know your statement is waiting for them here and inform them of your address. I expect you’ll receive the check shortly.”

  “Thanks, man,” Dair says, shaking his hand. “I don’t know what I would have done without you in there.”

  “Happy to help.” He then shakes Lexi’s hand with a parting, “Miss Moore,” gets into his silver Mercedes and leaves.

  We get into the Mustang. Dair’s eyes are still rolling around in shock and disbelief. “Oh, man. I owe you my life, Lexi. Jett, marry this girl.”

  Lexi laughs.

  After we drop Dair off at his foster home, we hold hands on the way to her house.

  “You want to come in?” she asks when we pull up to her door.

  It’s tempting until I remember Jocelyn lurking in there. “Nah, it’s been a weird day.”

  “Yeah it has.”

  “Thanks for what you did. I mean it. I don’t know why you did it, but thank you.”

  “You really have no idea, huh?” her tone is teasing.

  “To help Dair and Mia stay together?”

  She smacks my arm. “I swear, Jett Dixon, you are so stubborn.”

  Yeah, One-Eyed Mike said the same thing. But what am I being stubborn about now?

  She sighs at my confusion. “You think maybe I might like you a little and that’s why I did it?”

  Okay, so she likes my body. I get that. But is that worth a lawyer bill of what I can only imagine will turn out to be a couple thousand dollars?

  She shakes her head at my silence and pulls me to her. “You’re lucky you’re gorgeous,” she whispers before pressing her lips to mine.

  The next day in English class, Mrs. Kroft gives me strange looks all class period. When the bell rings, she asks me to stay after class. What the hell does she want? It better not be me again because she’s not getting it.

  I go to her desk as the other kids file out. Some students in her next class are already trickling in. One glance at her face and my stomach clenches.

  “We’ve got a problem,” she hisses as she pretends to show me something on a worksheet.

  Whatever problem she has doesn’t involve me.

  “The janitor saw us.”

  I exhale an exasperated sigh. “So? It’s our word against his.”

  “He took pictures of us with his phone.”

  Shit. Yeah, that’s a problem. “Who’s he sent them to?”

  “He says to no one so far. It’s the ‘so far’ part that’s the issue. He’s asking for money.”

  Seriously? I run my hands through my hair. “I’ll take care of it.”

  She gives me a relieved smile. “Thanks, Jett. Keep me posted.”

  I nod and leave. What the hell kind of asshole is this guy? Rather than go to third period, I scan the halls and bathrooms but don’t find him anywhere. Passing the cafeteria, I spot him sweeping the polished floor. He’s wearing earbuds. The cord ends at his right, back pocket.

  I wait until he passes and is heading in the other direction, his head down, intent on his task. Quietly approaching him from behind, I reach into his pocket and snatch the phone out, which also yanks the earbuds out of his ears. He turns in surprise and anger but stops short when he sees it’s me towering over him. I have a good five inches over him, not to mention youth and pure brawn.

  “You can’t just take people’s stuff,” he sputters.

  “Exactly, which is why you’re deleting any pictures you took of Mrs. Kroft.”

  He snorts.

  “That’s the easy way. The other way leaves you without a phone.” I dangle the phone perilously between my thumb and forefinger, letting him imagine what will happen if it slips from my grasp and lands on the smooth, hard floor.

  His face twists in a grimace.

  “Everything okay in here?” a man’s voice calls out.

  We both start. It’s the gym teacher. He can be a total tool. “Uh … yeah,” I say, using the janitor’s body to shield my hands from his approach as I quickly slide the back cover-plate off, pop both the Sim and memory cards out, and snap the plate back on. “I found this phone and was looking for the owner. The janitor says it’s his.” I don’t even know the janitor’s name.

  The janitor gives a friendly wave. “Yeah, it’s mine. We’re good. No issues here.”

  The teacher gives a wave and veers off into the gym across the hall. I slide the cards into my pocket and hand the phone back. The janitor looks surprised. His relief at having his phone bac
k turns to anger as he presses buttons and gets only a black screen.

  “Hey, you took the cards out,” he says, sliding the back off.

  “Yeah. Who knows what other kinds of pictures you’ve taken. Do you go into the girls’ locker room when no one’s looking?”

  He shakes his head so vigorously that I know I’ve hit on the truth.

  “You have the keys to everything. You can go anywhere. What else have you taken pictures of, you pervert?”

  He’s as white as an angel’s robe. “Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up. They’re trembling ever so slightly. “Just do me a favor and destroy the cards.”

  “Why should I do you any favors?” I snarl.

  He’s pleading now. “You and Mrs. Kroft won’t hear another word from me. I promise.”

  Chapter 33

  During lunch, I swing by Mrs. Kroft’s room. She’s eating a tuna salad sandwich at her desk, while hunched over grading papers. She looks defeated and older. I’m standing next to her before she realizes I’m in the room.

  “Oh, hi,” she says, flushing and smoothing an errant strand of hair.

  “I took care of it. You won’t hear from him again.”

  “So soon? Wow. Thank you, Jett.” She gives a half-nervous, half-apologetic smile. “What did he say?”

  “Not much. I got the cards out of his phone and gave it back to him.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Pretty much. There wasn’t a whole lot to say about it.”

  Her forehead wrinkles in concern. Her eyes hold skepticism. She can be skeptical all she wants. I know I took care of it and that he won’t do it again. Those two things are all that matter.

  After school is over, I drift. The only thing in front of me this evening is yet another workout and cleaning up around the gym. I wander and find myself at the baseball dugout Anna and I hid in to smoke during lunch. Practice is in session and kids joke and push each other around the dugout. I continue on.

  Some kids are running a relay race around the track while others stretch and warm-up on the football field. The cheerleaders stand in a chattering group along one side in front of the bleachers. It’s not hard to spot Lexi. As soon as I do, my shoulders, which I hadn’t realized were hunched around my ears, relax.