Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (33 page)

* * *

I stupidly did
n’
t turn on the lights when I walked inside my apartment, savoring the darkness, the peace and quiet. 

Releasing myself slowly, fearfully from my
en pointe
position, I jump in a tight glissade and hit the entry wa
y’
s light switch.  Then in the next instant, I dive headlong for my backpack.  Landing on the floor, I grab my shiv and come up, ready as always to fight. 

“
Come out
,”
I say, gritting my teeth.
 “I’
m going to cut you bad if you do
n’
t
.
”

He says nothing, just stares out at me from the murk of my still darkened living room.  A few seconds later, when my eyes adjust, I recognize him.
 “
Stoke!  Ho
w’
d you get in
!
” 

Fear jabs deep into my gut, but I fight it, arguing with myself. 
This is Stoke, Alaina.  He would
n’
t hurt you.  Put away your shiv. 

“
I made a copy of your key for myself.  Thought you would
n’
t mind
,”
he says. 

Stok
e’
s smiling, smirking actually, but he stays put on my couch.  Tha
t’
s good; otherwise, I might carve him into pieces and stuff him down my garbage disposal.  My neck and shoulder muscles screaming, I calm my silly terrified thoughts. 

“
Really?  You thought that, huh
?
”
 
My brai
n’
s racing ahead to tomorrow morning. 
I’
ll demand the buildin
g’
s super change my door locks.
 “
Why would you make a copy of my key?  I never gave you permission
.
”

His smirk turns pouty.
 “
I thought it would be good, in case you have an emergency
.
”

“
What kind of emergency would I have that
I’
d need
you
?  My brother takes care of me
.
”

“
Yeah
?
”
 
Stok
e’
s suddenly off the couch before I can say shut
up
.
 “
So where is this badass brother?  I could have been an intruder.  A murderer
.
”  

Stok
e’
s right.  Robin is
n’
t here, has
n’
t been since Monday, but I refuse to admit to Stoke I ca
n’
t find my brother.
 “
I get your point, Stoke, but when h
e’
s here, he takes care of m
e
—”

H
e’
s beside me in a flash, grabbing my arm.
 “
H
e’
s
never
here.  He
never
takes care of you.  Who do you think yo
u’
re kidding
?
”

My apartmen
t’
s a tiny two bedroom with one bath, and a pass-through between my kitchen and living room. 
I’
m standing inside my entry, my back to the outside hallway.  I could easily bust out of here, but facing Stoke down just got important. 
I’
m pissed h
e’
s here, pissed h
e’
s made himself a key, pissed h
e’
s attacking Robin.  I
t’
s now a matter of principle to deal with him once and for all.  Besides, what would Berta Colby say if she learned
I’
d given in to my fear and turned and ran? 

“
Stoke
,”
I say, jerking my arm free
,“
I warned you never to lay a hand on me again
.
”
 
Putting my good foot forward, I brace my body with my crippled left foot.
 “
You do
n’
t listen, do you
?
”

Looking amused
I’
d take a threatening stance, he swipes at his head like ther
e’
s a fly buzzin
g‘
round up there.  Then with a puzzled look, he stops.
 “
Alaina, are you
afraid
of me
?
”

“
No
.
”
 
I keep my feet wide apart, my breathing steady, even though my hear
t’
s pounding.  

“
Oh, I
get
it
!
”
 
He cocks his hands on his hips.
 “
This is about what happened back at my place, is
n’
t it?  Did I frighten you?  I said I was sorry
.
” 

I shrink back when he reaches for me, pleased by his hurt look.  

“
I am
so
sorry, Alaina. 
I—
do
n’
t know why I acted like that.  But if you want me to leave, I will.  I do
n’
t want to frighten you
.
” 

I exhale.  I
am
acting paranoid.  Wha
t’
s wrong with me?  This is my friend, and
I’
m acting like h
e’
s a serial killer.  Feeling like a complete heel, all I can think to say is
,“
Wher
e’
s your ugly scarf
?
” 

“
Mus
t’
ve lost it
,”
he says.
 “
Look, I only came over to make sure you made it home safely, not to scare yo
u
—” 

His apologetic look deepens, making me feel worse.  Hands in the pockets of his black corduroy floods, he steps past me into my kitchen.
 “
Before I go, I wanted to give you something.  Le
t’
s call it a treat from a friend
.
”

I frown.  H
e’
s getting it: I do
n’
t want him here unless h
e’
s invited.  H
e’
s even brought me a treat.  Have I been too rough on Stoke?  Ther
e’
s something wrong with him, apart from his hugeass mouth and those . . . teeth that have never seen braces.  Yet I ca
n’
t stay mad at him. 

“
I bought us a pizza
,”
he says. 

I’
m a long way from forgiving him for scaring hell out of me, but when I spy the big square LaRos
a’
s box sitting on the counter, I squeak
,“
Stoke, I love you
!
”
 
Stuffing my shiv into my hoodie pocket, I lunge for the pizza.
 “I’
m starving
.
”

“
Wai
t
—” 

He clamps the pizza bo
x’
s lid shut, covering my hand with his. 

“
Do
n’t
—”
 
I jerk my hand back. 

“
Just messing with you
,”
he laughs.  Letting my hand go, h
e’
s back to being the playful clown, my friend. 

I dip my finger into the melted cheese topping and tomato sauce, lick it off my finger.
 “
Mmm
,”
I say.
 “
Heaven
.
”

“
If you think tha
t’
s heave
n
”
—
Stoke pulls a grocery bag from my freeze
r
—
“
wait
.
”

I instantly recognize the ice cream tu
b’
s famous logo.
 “
Graete
r’
s
!
”
 
Reaching for the ice cream, I stop.
 “
Wha
t’
s that
?
”
 
Ther
e’
s another bag stuffed inside the freezer, wrapped in black plastic. 
Hmmm.
  I frown.  I do
n’
t like black plastic.  Berta Colby covered our windows with it when she and m
y“
uncle
s”
did dope.  In my crim textbooks, killers use it to dispose of bodies. 

“
I
t’
s just more ice cream
,”
Stoke says.
 “
Chill
.
”

“
Tha
t’
s a lot of ice cream
.
”
 
I stare at the black garbage bag clogging my freezer.
 “
You really know how to apologize. 
C’
mon, what other flavors did you bring
?
” 

“
Not yet
,”
he says, stopping me as I dive for the black garbage bag.  Digging for my ice cream scoop in the silverware drawer, he stuffs the bag with the Graete
r’
s ice cream back inside my freezer, in front of the black garbage bag.
 “
Le
t’
s do pizza first
,”
he says
,“
then dessert
.
”

Arm-in-arm we do the happy dance, circling in my little retro Seventies kitchen with its avocado green countertop and appliances.
 “
Is it mint chocolate chip
?
”

“
Yeah
,”
he says, his gaze big and hopeful.
 “
Your favorite.  I thought w
e’
d pig out on pizza and ice cream tonight, and have fun and work on finding An
g’
s killer.  That is, if you still want me to stay and help
.
”    

Drunk on dreams of pizza and mint chocolate chip ice cream, I stop dancing, recalling the fact An
g’
s dead, images of her mangled shoulder flashing through my brain.
 “
Stoke
,”
I say, unwilling to invite him to stay the night
,“I’
ve got to get my GPA back u
p
—”

“
Yeah, I know
,“
me, too
.
”
 
He snaps his fingers.
 “
Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you.  W
e’
ve got another crim quiz coming up
.
”

“
Nooooo
.
”

“
Yeah
,”
he says.
 “
I can stay and help you study if yo
u’
d like
.
”

I know wha
t’
ll happen if I let Stoke stay.  W
e’
ll toss our crim books in the living room floor and gorge on pizza, then ice cream.  While we do that, w
e’
ll make our best guess at figuring out who murdered Ang.  Then before we know it, w
e’
ll crash.  And, finally, against my wishes, Stoke will have spent another night in my apartment. 
I’
ll also have missed filling in for Ang at Oma
r’
s tonight and probably get fired.

The thought of trying to sleep with him crashed on my couch gives me the courage I need.
 “
I forgot. 
I’
ve decided to work at Oma
r’
s tonight
,”
I say.
 “
I need rest, Stoke, so I ca
n’
t stay u
p—
again.  Not now.  When w
e’
re done eating, you have to leave
.
”