I flip the coin. Shit. It’s heads.
“Two out of three,” I whisper to myself, flipping the coin again. And then again. Until I get what I want.
Chapter Three
“Cherry or grape?” Dillon is gazing down at me, one corner of his mouth curled up. I’m sitting on the curb on the outer edge of the skate park. I’ve learned not to hang out near the stairwells and railings because the boarders will come bombing through there to do tricks, whether I’m in the way or not. So I skulk on the sidelines like some kind of pathetic-girlfriend type. Even though Dillon isn’t exactly my boyfriend.
I’m not sure what we are. All I know is that he’s tall and lean, he’s hot as hell, and he switches between giving me laser-focus attention and ignoring me completely. Right now he’s got his dark eyes fixed on me. I can’t tell where his pupils end and his irises start. He’s offering me my choice of lollipop.
Trouble is, I can’t decide which flavor I want, and he’s looking at me like I’m some kind of curious specimen. I swear he’s doing this on purpose. He’ll make a terrific shrink one day.
I pull out my coin and flip for it. “Heads I choose cherry,” I say. When it lands heads up, his smile deepens.
“Here you go. Cherry,” he says, his voice low, his cool gaze never breaking contact.
I swallow. “Thanks,” I say, unwrapping the candy. I’m acutely aware of him watching me as I put the lollipop in my mouth. If I were Aggie, I’d look straight at him while I do this. She’s bold that way with guys. I’m not. Being me, being Ester, I shove it into my mouth as fast as possible and look at my feet. I’m all bravery during a poker game, but when it comes to Dillon I’m hopeless.
“So what’s with the coin, sugar?” Dillon asks as he sits down on his skateboard next to me. He kind of rolls toward me a bit and reaches his arm around my side to keep from smashing into my hip. I flinch a little but am pleased when he doesn’t let go. I’m still reeling a little bit from him calling me “sugar.”
“Um,” I say, finding my courage. “Sugar?”
“No, Chigurgh,” he says and spells it out.
“Huh?”
“The Coen brothers movie?”
“What?”
“You know, that movie about the total psycho who goes around flipping coins, making people choose heads or tails and then killing them with, like, an air-gun thing? You have better hair though,” he adds, sucking on his own lollipop with lips that are criminally full.
“I don’t…watch many movies,”I say.
“Yeah, I can tell.” That crooked smile again.
I must look offended, because he’s quick to apologize. “Hey,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean you’re so smart and young. You’re, like, this really studious kid, you know.”
Kid. Great. “So, what, you’re ultra-mature?” I ask, my voice betraying just how irritated I am by the whole “kid” comment.
“I am three years older than you,” he says.
“Yeah, and you get everywhere on a skateboard.”
“It’s better for the environment than your jalopy over there,” he says, jerking his head toward the old Volkswagen Rabbit Aggie and I share. The hair on his forehead flops forward, and I nearly die.
“Jalopy?” I tease. “What are you, a hundred years old?”
He laughs. “Good one, babe.”
Babe. He’s never called me that.
He gets up and takes a sudden run on the rails, nailing it. As he skates past, I see two guys in tracksuits walk by the stairs, heading toward the pedestrian overpass.
When I flipped my coin deciding to come here, I was kidding myself that it was to see Dillon. Really, it’s to see them. As hot as Dillon is, and as much as I hate my boring classes, the allure of an illegal poker game is stronger.
I grab my backpack and walk over. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Dillon is focused on landing a trick. I don’t want him to see me talking to these guys, so I hurry after them under the overpass.
One of the tracksuit guys, John Jr., nods at me, his shaved head glistening with sweat. He always looks like he’s been up late partying, hungover as hell. Maybe he is. Owning an after-hours club probably has its drawbacks.
His brother, Big Steve, who’s actually quite short, shorter than me, turns and gives me a sly smile. His shoulders are about as wide as he is tall, and he’s clearly skipping leg day. He has the physique of a walking triangle, and I can’t help but try to calculate his angles in my mind. According to my math, he shouldn’t even be able to stand up. How does he not tip over? He’s a marvel of modern trigonometry.
“What’s up, Essssssssie?” he hisses, drawing out my name in a way that I think he thinks is cute. He’s always looking me up and down. John Jr. told me once that I could get a bigger stake in the game if I let Big Steve take me out. I politely declined, saying I was busy with school. My guy preferences run much more along the tall rectangular spectrum.
I peek around the corner to glance over at the skate bowl. Dillon is sitting on his board at the ledge, chewing gum and talking to a couple friends. I watch his jaw clench and imagine what it would be like to just walk over there and kiss him the way I want to.
“Who’s that guy you’re eyeballing?” John Jr. asks in his typically flat monotone.
“He’s in my class,” I say. “I’m going to ask him for his notes.” Lying is coming easier and easier these days. It just rolls off my tongue.
John Jr. seems to accept this with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Meh,” he says. “What good is school for a girl like you, huh? You should just come work for us. With your…skills.”
Big Steve laughs, leering at me. “Yeah, good one. Her skills.”
John Jr. rolls his eyes. “Math skills, Stevo, math. This girl’s outta your league.”
“Speaking of which,” I say. “You guys have a game going tonight?”
John Jr. nods, his gaze landing on another beat-up car that has pulled up to the curb. It’s a kind of sunset-tan color, somehow even uglier than my green VW.
I’m guessing it’s someone looking for the bad party drugs Big Steve likes to deal on the side.
“Can I get in on that game?” I ask. Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.
John Jr. sighs. “Kid, you can’t afford this one.”
My pulse quickens. A challenge. Just how big is this game? I play it cool. “How do you know what I can afford?”
John Jr. cocks an eyebrow at me and chuckles. “All right. A thousand to buy in. After that, it’s sudden death. No credit. You run out of cash and you’re out, understand?”
I nod. Wow, that’s a lot.
“So what’s it going to be?” he asks.
I should run away, back to campus, to Aggie, tell her everything, ask for her help. I should definitely, positively, not try to get a stake in this game. No, nope, uh-uh.
I sigh and reach for my lucky coin.
Chapter Four
This Italian restaurant I’m sitting in, Rosso’s, just off campus, is the closest thing to home cooking Aggie and I have. With our parents and extended family a three-hour drive away, we might as well be stranded on the moon. Italian families like ours bond over big meals, and the food can’t be just okay. It has to be incredible. I yearn for my mom’s ziti, and Aggie hungers for our dad’s secret-recipe spaghetti with basil. The next best thing is Rosso’s and the kindly older Italian couple who run the place.
I’m waiting for Aggie to get off work at the nearby coffee shop. I watch for her through the rain-speckled window facing the street. Every time I look up, I see my reflection staring back at me.
Fall here isn’t some red-leaved, pumpkin-patched, cozy hot-chocolate commercial. It’s a dreary, gray, rainy slog of a place. I watch people walk by. Every one of them seems to move with a purpose, like they’ve got somewhere or someone important to get to. Every person I see has a nicely coordinated outfit with appropriate outerwear. When they get wherever they’re going, they’ll be snug an
d dry and safe and perfect. The opposite of me, I think.
I shrug off the damp hoodie I’ve been using as a jacket and feel the cold squish of my wet socks through my Vans. One more thing I couldn’t budget for—rain gear. Man, when your life is falling apart, it’s so obvious how much other people are winning at things compared to you.
Just as I’m thinking about taking off, I see another face beside my own in the window. But this face is smiling. And dry. Because this face belongs to Aggie, and she’s wearing Gore-Tex.
I fiddle with my lucky coin as she hustles in, bringing the smell of rain and wet asphalt and clean hair with her.
“Hey,” she says, flopping down. “You order already?”
“Uh, no,” I say. “I didn’t know what you wanted.”
Aggie frowns at this obvious lie. Of course I know what she wants. She always gets the same thing—spaghetti and a starter of marinated squid. I always get the lasagna, and I usually steal a few pieces of Aggie’s appetizer.
What she doesn’t know is that I didn’t order because I’m broke. If she hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have been able to pay. And I’m not going to leave Mr. and Mrs. Rosso high and dry. They’ve been too kind to us.
“What’s wrong?” Aggie asks, her eyes skimming over me as if she can divine the truth.
I shrug. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“Ester,” she says. “What is it?”
Just then Mr. Rosso shuffles over with a basket of bread and a plate of balsamic vinegar and oil.
“How are the Tomasi twins tonight?” he says, chuckling. He says this every time we come in.
“Hi, Mr. Rosso,” Aggie says, flashing him her best grown-up-pleasing smile.
I smile too, but it’s more like forcing the corners of my mouth upward into a kind of grimace.
“The usual?” he asks.
“You bet!” says Aggie.
“Uh-huh,” I manage.
“Good,” says Mr. Rosso. “Because Mrs. Rosso already started your order.” He turns and walks away.
Aggie giggles. “So cute,” she says.
“Listen, Ag, I don’t have any cash on me. Can you cover my lasagna?”
“Sure,” she says. “I actually got some tips today.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
We eat the bread in silence until the rest of our food comes. When I bite into the lasagna, it’s so good I feel like crying.
Aggie starts telling me about some coffee-shop drama, but my mind flashes back to John Jr. and Big Steve. And the money I need to buy in. A thousand bucks. A game like this could put me back in the black for a long time.
I flip my coin and turn it over in my hand.
Aggie looks up from her spaghetti with a worried look. “What are we deciding today, Es?”
It’s so like her to know what I’m thinking. Twin Telepathy™.
“I, um, overspent some of my money.”
Aggie is shaking her head at me. “What? Don’t tell me you bought more ridiculous computer equipment.”
“You got me,” I say. It feels disgusting to look my twin in the face and lie to her.
Aggie sighs. “Are you going to be able to make tuition?”
“It could be tight,” I say. “And nothing left over for books or food or anything.”
“Ester,” she scolds.
“I know. I’ve learned my lesson. I just need some help, Ag.”
She shrugs. “Well, how much?”
“Like, a thousand,” I say quietly.
“A thousand dollars?” Aggie screeches.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s a lot. If I give it to you, then I’m going to be eating nothing but ramen next semester.”
“Yeah, I understand.”
She smiles. “But I like ramen, so…”
“So you’ll do it?”
“On one condition,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
“The car. I’m the one who takes care of it, remembers to insure it, gets the oil changed, pays for most of the gas…” She trails off.
“You want the VW?”
“I’ll still give you rides, of course,” she says. “But it’s hard for me to get to my job and get back in time to study. It would be easier for me this way. And you don’t really need it, right? You hang out on campus or stalk that skateboarder guy.”
“Dillon,” I say, and we both start laughing.
“He’s not my type,” she says. “But he is fiiiiine.”
“Oh my god, I know.”
“So it’s a deal then?” she asks.
“Deal.” I am feeling that jittery thrill again.
We dig in to the rest of our meals. Aggie returns to jabbering about work. She just loves to talk. And talk. She’s going to make a great lawyer one day.
I’m barely listening. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything until I have that thousand dollars in my account. No matter what, I won’t be leaving Rosso’s before Aggie e-transfers the funds to me. That goes without saying. You can bet on it.
Chapter Five
The e-transfer doesn’t have a hold on it. Luckily, I applied for an overdraft at my bank a few months ago, when my bank account was in better shape. I try to ignore how my hands shake as I pull the cash from the ATM.
I head to the game. It’s almost 2:00 a.m., which is when the club closes officially. I want to get there as soon as possible. For one thing, it’s making me nervous to be walking around with so much cash in my pocket.
Every time I walk past someone, I think I’m about to be mugged, even though this area of town is made up of mostly hipster college students. Their monthly coffee budgets are greater than my dorm fees. I wonder what would happen if I did get robbed. You’re supposed to give up the money, let the mugger have it, but there’s no way I could do that. I’d die first.
I get to the bus stop and wait, anxiously hoping the night bus comes soon. I see that weird golden-tan car that was at the skate park. It’s idling just down the road, its headlights off. A dark figure sits inside. And I could have sworn I saw this same car drive by when I was waiting for Aggie at Rosso’s. I’m totally paranoid. Less coffee, more sleep, Ester. Get out of my brain, Aggie.
Just then a hand grabs my shoulder and I yelp, spinning around.
“Whoa!” Dillon exclaims, putting his hands up. He’s trying not to laugh. “I didn’t mean to scare you, kid.”
“What the hell, Dillon! You don’t sneak up on girls. Not at night. Not at the freaking bus stop. Not when—” I stop before I reveal too much. I keep that to myself.
He gives me a soft smile. “I am really sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You forgive me?” When he says this last part, he dips his head lower, his hair flops forward (oh my god, that dark hair), and he kind of bites his lip. I’m done for. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. “You’re forgiven,” I say. “But on probation,” I add, and he laughs. “What are you doing out here so late?”
“I was out with some guys from my psych lab. Real fun time,” he says. “What are you doing here?” he asks. “Jalopy break down?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Aggie needs it more right now. So I gave it up.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice of you,” he says.
If he only knew.
“Bonus for me,” he continues. “I run into you just when I was thinking about you.”
“You were thinking about me?” My heart starts thumping harder.
“Yeah, I was hoping we could hang. You want to go grab a very, very late night? Or just, you know, chill at my place?” He stares into my eyes, and his gaze feels like it has all the gravity of the earth behind it. He has pinned me to this point in space.
Food with Dillon, hanging with Dillon—anything with Dillon—sounds amazing. But the weight of the money in my pocket, and the call of the poker game, is too much to resist.
“I’d love to,” I say, already mentally kicking myself for tur
ning him down, “but I just have somewhere to be.”
“At this ungodly hour?” he asks. “Another fella? Who is this mystery beau?”
I laugh. “How could I be interested in another guy when I have this handsome old-timer here with me?”
“You jest,” he says. “But I’m timeless. And…” He trails off. “Es, I want to go on a real date with you. I like it when we hang out. A date would be cool.”
“So you want to bring me a corsage and meet my dad?” I tease, like what he just said is no big deal. Oh my god.
“Yep, afraid so. I’m traditional that way, being 104 years old or whatever.”
“Um…” I’m speechless for a second. I can hear Aggie’s voice in my mind: Answer him, Es. Dillon is staring down at me, standing so close, chewing on that bottom lip.
“Yes!” I practically shout, then quickly try to regain whatever sense of cool I had.
Dillon grins. “Cool. You like hockey?”
Not really, no. “Um, yeah? Doesn’t everyone?”
“I have tickets for tomorrow’s game. We can grab a bite to eat after, if you want,” he suggests.
“Okay,” I say. “Or we can…chill.” My heart pounds. I can’t believe I just said that. Essie would be proud.
He laughs. “Great.”
“Great.”
I hear the bus rumbling down the street, and I turn to step toward the curb, but Dillon reaches out and grabs my hand. He pulls me closer to him. As the bus glides in beside us, he leans down and gives me a kiss. Not on the lips, not on the cheek, but right on my neck, just below my left ear. My legs almost go out from under me.
“Your bus is here,” he whispers as the doors hiss open.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Okay. Um, bye.”
“Bye,” he says, keeping his eyes locked on me as I fumble for change and try to step up onto the bus without looking as flustered as I feel inside.
I grab a seat near the front of the bus and look out the window, past my own reflection, to see that Dillon is watching me. He’s waiting for the bus to leave. How could I have known this rascal of a guy would also be kind of a gentleman?
Double or Nothing Page 2