Authors: Katie Klein
He reaches across the console
and
pinches
my side, tickling me into submission. “Say it!”
I can hear the smile in his voice, even as
I
squeal
and
squirm
away from
him, grabbing his cold fingers
and holding them tightly in mine, laughing.
“No
!”
I don’t let go right away. I hold on
to him
until the car i
s completely still
except for my
thundering heartbeat and
accelerated
breathing
.
W
e remain intertwined,
heat passing between us.
W
hen I final
ly realize
what
’
s happening
,
I release him and
jerk
my
hand back.
“You should g
et out more often,” he says
, quieter
. “You need to live a little. You’re too safe.”
“What’s s
o bad about being safe?” I ask
, feigning offense.
“N
othing, but you’re missing out on a lot don’t you think?”
I gaze
at the stars through the windshield
of my car
.
Though our ride b
arely lasted twenty minutes, I
climbed off the bike with my fingers frozen and unable to feel my toes. It was amazing, actually, riding through town . . . the roads empty and traffic lights blinking red and yellow.
Most everyone was at home. M
any were asleep, or approaching it, and I could imagine
the grumbles as we drove by,
the sound
of the engine roaring past,
fading. It’
s like we were the
only ones left—awake and alive
.
The parking lot i
s
vacant
. Ev
en the neon Papa Guido’s sign is shut off for the night. We a
re really, and truly, alone.
I let go of a sigh.
“My family thinks I
’m a control freak,” I confess
.
Parker
positions his hands closer to t
h
e vents, warming them. He looks
over at me,
eyebrows knitting together
. “Why?”
“I’m just, kind of obsessive, I guess.”
“About what?”
“Harvard, my schoolwork, m
y causes.” I shift
in my seat. T
he dry air parch
es
my throat
, leaving my mouth dry and sticky
. I
turn
the heater down a notch.
“
I mean, you saw it. I went ballistic because I forgot one meeting.
”
“
That was you going ballistic?
”
I toss him a dirty look.
“There are worse thi
ngs to obsess about,” he points
out.
I swallow
hard
. “Yeah, but you’re so right, you know? I’m boring . . . and predictable. And yes, I’m safe. Everyone and everything around me is safe. My decisions are completely calculated.”
“That’s not entirely true. Because tonight—that was pretty unpredictable. I didn’t think you’d go for it. Peer pressure and all.”
“Yeah,
well,
I shouldn’t have,” I tell
him
, expression serious
. “If my parents fi
nd out I rode around town on the back
of a motorcycle with you they’ll freak out. I’ll
be grounded forever.”
The moment I say
the
m aloud, I immediately regret
the words. I bit
e
into my lower lip, wishing I could take them back, gathering them, and tu
cking them neatly back inside.
What is it about Parker Whalen
that makes me so
direc
t?
He pauses
only a beat before asking:
“What are they more concerned about? Me or the motorcycle?”
Our eyes me
e
t. “Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
And here we go again
.
I breathe a sigh.
“You. But that’s because I don’t think they know you
ride a motorcycle,” I explain
. “And because they don’t know you
, obviously
.”
He turns
his head away, nodding.
“You know, people say an awful lot about you behind your back. I wish you’d at least come out
and clear up some of the rumors. T
hey’re annoying.”
“People be
lieve what they want to believe. T
hat’s not something you can change, whether you want to or not.”
I roll
my eyes. “Yeah, well, you thought you knew me, and you didn’t.”
“I do k
now you. You’re safe and boring
.”
“Tonight I was unpredictable.”
He
gives a rogue smile
. “We all have our moments.”
I laugh
curtly
,
and
my heart flips nervously because I’m here, and I’m with Parker, and we’re alone, and I’m
feeling
things I don’t think I’m supposed to be feeling
.
I turn
in my seat, facing him. “Come on, Parker. Who
are
you?”
“What do you mean?”
he asks, eyes narrowing. T
he
shift
is slight, but it changes his entire demeanor. It’s like I’ve made him nervous
or something, c
aught him off guard.
I shrug casually.
“I
just
wanna
know who you are.”
“Why
?”
“Because I feel so tran
sparent around you,” I confess
. “I feel like you
have me all figured
out. L
ike you
know everything about me and it drives me insane. And forgive me, but the only thing I know about you I had to sneak around to find out. Just give me something to go on. Anything.”
He
adjusts positions
, making himself more comfortable in the cramped c
ab
of my tiny Civic
.
“Like what?”
“Like. . . .” I trail
off, thinking. “What’s your favorite color?”
He snorts
. “That is so elementary. I have to be defined by a color?”
“Yes.”
He rolls his eyes and exhales slowly. Then he pauses
for a few mo
ments, thinking,
fidgeting with the
worn
cuff of his jacket slee
ve. “Black,” he finally answers
.
“I
could’ve guessed that.”
“So why didn’t you?”
he asks
, casting a sideways glance
.
“Because I wanted to hear it from
you
.
Where are you from?” I continue
.
He hesi
tates
a moment before answering. “Michigan,
”
he mutters.
“Why are you here?”
“Does anyone really know
why they’re here?” he counters
.
“Parker.”
He sighs
. “
It’s
,
um.
. . .
It’s kind of a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Okay. Well. I’m
,
um, here because
my parents got divorced. I lived with my mom for a while. But a few years ago she started dating this guy . . . total asshole. There were some
problems
. . . and they sent me to live with my dad, who I hadn’t seen in years, and who didn’t want to deal with me.”
A pang of sadness twists in my chest, but I can’t stop. I have
to keep askin
g questions as long as Parker i
s open to answering them. Based
on previous experience, he can
slip
away from me at any moment. T
here a
re n
ever any guarantees with Parker. N
o
reason to believe he’ll
ever open up like this again.
I
have
to know the truth.
“W
ere yo
u kicked out of school?” I ask
.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was caught with
some guys, and there was
marijuana
in the car
.”
“So those rumors are true?
About the drugs
?”
“Which rumor?”
“
Y
ou had a drug problem.”
He shrugs
. “I did drugs occasionally. I didn’t see it as a problem, real
ly. I mean, I wasn’t an addict
.”
He shakes
his hea
d. “I was lucky that day
. Because th
e guys I was with? We were
dealing
. And none of them ratted me out.”
I
suck
in a breath
, staring blankly into space
.
Doing drugs and selling them a
re two entirely different
things.
This i
s a game-changer.
I hesitate
, unsure if I should go on. I
f I
want
to go on.
“Why were you selling
them
?”
“The thrill. The rush. Because I was
tired of being broke. Because I
couldn’t afford a car and I needed something to drive. Why does anyone do anything?”
“Do you sell them now?” I press
.
“No.”
“Do you do them now?”
“No.”
I eye
him carefully, wonderin
g if I should believe him
. “Are you ly
ing?”
“I don’t lie,” he states
, matter of fact.
I si
t back. “That’s stupid. Everyone lies.”
“
Yeah, well, i
t’s a waste of time. The more lies you tell the more stories you have to remember.
Believe me: i
t’s easier to just be honest.”
I think
about this for a moment
before continuing
, mildly surprised, because u
ntil we started working together, I didn’t h
ave much reason to lie, either.
“Okay. So . . . what’s it like . . . living
with your dad?” I finally ask
.
He hesitates
for a moment. “It sucks. We don’t get along at all. Basically he stays in his space and I stay in mine. His mo
ods are like . . . ,” he trails
off. “I don’t know. They’re totally unpredictable. Some days he gets pissed if I’m not home. Other days he doesn’t care. Sometimes I get hassle for going out. Sometimes he doesn’t even notice. It gets confusing, actually.”
“I’m sorry,
”
I tell him. Because I am. Beca
use I don’t know what else to
say. Because
I know this doesn’t change things—that it does
n’t matter—but
it’
s the best I c
an
do
.
“Don’t be,” he replies
with a shrug. “I’m leaving in a few months
,
anyway.”
I feel an irrational pang of resentment. He sounds so sure of himself
,
so positive that, when the time com
es, he’ll be able to walk away from everything, still whole somehow
.
“Where are you going?”
“You already know
the answer to that,” he reminds
me
, a sliver of amusement in his eyes
.
I sigh and rest
my elbow on the console, closi
ng the space between us. His body spray mixes with night air. It’
s intoxicating,
sweet,
and I let myself breathe it in
. T
o be moved by it
. “‘As far away as possible’ is not a locale
, Parker
. I don’t know why you
won’t apply to college,” I muse
. “It’s the perfect out.”