Losing Gabriel (5 page)

“W
here
is
he?” Sloan got into Bobby's face.

“No idea. Said he wanted to get something from the car.”

Sloan fidgeted, tugging at the tangled ends of her ponytail. Jarred was supposed to be there. They were a unit, the Anarchy Five. A reporter from the local paper was waiting for them, and Jarred had known about the prearranged interview. Sure, it was small-time, but they needed all the publicity they could get. “Stall the reporter. I'm going to look for him.”

“Sloan, let me.” Bobby held on to her wrist.

Sloan caught the panicked look on Bobby's face, went hot all over, and twisted from his grasp. “If he's out there smoking…” She let the sentence trail, menace in her tone. It felt like a rock had settled in the pit of her stomach. Without another word, she pushed through the crowd and jogged outside.

A full harvest moon lit the cold October night sky. Her breath came out in frosty puffs, making her shiver. She crossed to the packed parking lot and began to systematically tour the lines of cars, angry at herself because the band had arrived early with their equipment in two cars and she hadn't noticed where either had parked. She went up the rows, down the rows, searching for Jarred's old black Mustang, growing more irritated. What good was having a boyfriend who kept letting her down?

Moonlight glinted off tops of cars lightly filmed with frost that sparkled like diamond dust. Sloan's teeth chattered. Someday she'd go live where it was always warm. She was just about to turn back when she saw the Mustang. Windows of cars around Jarred's were clear and see-through. The Mustang's glass was covered with haze from the inside. She'd been right! He was out here getting high and with a reporter waiting in the gym for them.
The ass!
Sloan seized the passenger side door handle and jerked hard. The unlocked door flew open. “What the hell's the matter with you, Jarred?”

The haze wasn't smoke, but instead condensation from human breath. In the backseat Jarred lay panting on top of a girl, both pairs of their jeans shoved down to their ankles, their bare white skin gleaming with sweat. The blast of cold air brought Jarred upright and a scream from the girl. “Hey!” Jarred yelled, groping for his denim waistband and struggling to pull up his pants.

Sloan shot backward, the image of Jarred and the girl seared into her brain. This. Couldn't. Be. Happening. She turned and ran. Felt no cold. Saw no moon, no other cars, only the light pouring out of the gym. From far away she heard Jarred shouting her name; she was afraid she was about to heave. She made it inside. Bobby was standing just inside the door and caught her, held her. “Sloan—” His words died when he looked into her face.

“You knew?”

Bobby's expression was a mask of regret but no denial.

She suddenly felt as if she were suffocating. “How long?”

Bobby said nothing.

“I asked
how long
!”

He shifted his gaze from hers. “A while.”

A crowd had gathered in a semicircle behind him. Sloan threw up her hands and backed away from Bobby, the words
Guy Code
tumbling inside her head. “Don't touch me.”

Bobby looked stricken. “Hey, please let me—”

Just then Jarred came up behind her, gasping for breath. “Sloan!”

She whirled, checking him from head to toe. “Good to see you got your pants up. How 'bout the girl in the car? She out there waiting for the big finish?”

He glanced at the circle of onlookers; then his eyes darted back to Sloan. “Let me explain.”

She launched herself, attacking with fingernails to his face, scraping his cheek until it bled. “I hate you!”

He dodged more blows. The crowd edged closer, cheering on the fight, cell phones whipped out of pockets. “Let's go somewhere. Let's get out of here.”

“We are
over
! You hear me? O-V-E-R. And I'm gone from your band too! I don't need you! I don't need any of you!” She threw the words at Bobby, Calder, and Hal, scrunched together behind her. “All of you can go to hell!”

“Sloan, stop it! We can fix this. She's nothing. She means
nothing
.”

She whirled to face Jarred, heard teachers and chaperones burrowing through the crowd, yelling, “Move back! Step aside. Break it up.”

If the girl meant nothing, Sloan figured she must be worse than nothing. She made fists and attacked again. He ducked, tried to capture her pummeling fists, but she was too quick for him.
Nothing. Nothing.
The word rang in her ears like a litany. Suddenly she stopped swinging, stepped backward, and with a growl, placed a well-aimed kick hard into his crotch. He doubled over, sank to his knees, gagged, and cradled his junk. “You mean nothing to me!” Sloan shouted, pushed around him and darted into the night, running helter-skelter away from the crowd chanting, “Go! Go! Go!” and the unbelievable pain screaming inside her head and heart.

The zombies were anticlimactic. When they came into the gym stiff-legged and howling, people barely took notice. Everyone was still talking about Sloan and Jarred, often hunched together in small clusters over cell phones watching videos of the blowup. Lani felt sorry for the kids who'd gone to the trouble of turning themselves into the undead. Any other night they'd have been a smash hit. Just not this night.

“Bet there's ten videos up already,” Kathy said, thumbing furiously through postings on her phone. She glanced up when Lani said nothing. “What? You were here in the bleachers, but I had a front-row seat, and it was awesome. As blowups go,” Kathy amended when Lani just kept staring at her.

“I feel sorry for Sloan,” Lani finally said. “I mean, he was cheating on her. She caught him at it.”

Kathy rolled her eyes. “Well, I feel sorry for Jarred. She took him down in front of everyone! She didn't have to do that. She could have pounced on him in private. I think she did it for the publicity.”

“Why would she do that? Who needs that kind of publicity? Her boyfriend is a cheating scumbag.”

“I had no idea you and Sloan were so close.” Kathy's voice held frost.

“You like Jarred and you like thinking he and Sloan are over,” Lani countered. “It's not her making me feel sorry. It's
you
and all the others. Jarred got what he deserved!”

Kathy's face flamed red. “Yeah, I do like him. So what? I think he's cool and sexy and his band doesn't need Sloan Quentin. She's just trailer trash like her mother. My mom says so. Lots of people say so.”

Her words stung because Lani had listened to other girls trash-talk Sloan, but she'd never spoken up about it, and she wasn't very proud of it either. A person couldn't help where she came from or what her family members did. “It's Sloan's voice that makes his band popular, you know.”

“Tons of good singers in the world,” Kathy threw back. “All he has to do is look for another girl singer. There's nothing so special about Sloan.” Kathy wiggled her cell phone in Lani's face. “I'm going down to compare videos.
You
can do what you want.”

Lani watched Kathy stomp down the metal bleachers and onto the gym floor, where teachers and chaperones were passing from group to group, urging kids to put away their cells and get back to the homecoming celebration. Lani pulled up her knees and rested her chin. She hadn't meant to have a fight with Kathy, but dumping the blowup all on Sloan wasn't fair.

She also revisited what she'd witnessed
after
Sloan had fled the gym. While onlookers were cheering, Lani watched Dawson say something to Paulie, grab his long coat, turn, and jog out into the night.

Like a knight in a medieval story or a childhood fairy tale, he was probably heading off to rescue Sloan Quentin. She had little doubt that he would succeed.

S
loan ran until her burning lungs and a stitch in her side forced her to walk along the shoulder of the road leading away from the high school. Stadium lights had been turned off and there was only moonlight to guide her.
Get away, far away….
She struggled to catch her breath, her throat fiery and raw. The night of her perceived triumph had turned into a night of horror and humiliation. People would definitely be talking about the band tonight. And Sloan Quentin's public meltdown would be topic One.
All Jarred's fault!
She'd known things between them had cooled, but to never have seen his betrayal coming…How could she have been so blind, so
stupid
to not have picked up on it?

She wiped away tears and began to feel the night air bite through her long-sleeved tee and skintight leather pants. With no jacket, she was freezing. She couldn't go back, though. How could she
ever
go back? She crossed her arms, shivering as night sounds settled around her. She heard a car come up behind her and the slow crunch of tires on gravel. The car pulled alongside her, and she quickened her pace. The car kept up with her. The passenger-side window glided down. A voice said, “Hey, need a lift?”

She didn't recognize the voice and didn't bother to look. “Get lost.”

“Sloan…please, I'm a friend. I won't hurt you.”

At the moment, she had no friends, but hearing him say her name made her stop. She turned and stooped to see the driver. “Who are you?”

The driver fumbled with the dome light. When it flashed on, she saw a familiar face but couldn't place it.

“Name's Dawson Berke. From school? I was the guy standing at the corner of the platform on Labor Day. You sang to me. Made my day.”

Her memory shifted gears.
The guy who looks at me in the halls but never makes eye contact.
Now she recognized him. “What do you want?”

“You look frozen, and my car's warm.” He leaned from his driver's seat and lifted the door handle, pushed open the door. “I just want to help.”

She hesitated, weighed her options. She knew she couldn't walk all the way back to the trailer park in the cold; she dreaded returning there anyway. She climbed inside, hugging herself. Dawson turned up the car's heater to full blast, letting the car idle on the shoulder of the road. She held her numb hands to the vent. He turned off the dome light. Through the windshield, moonlight flooded the interior. As feeling returned to her hands, she eyed him warily. “Thanks.”

Dawson watched her warm herself until her fingers stopped shaking. “What do you say we go get something to eat?”

“Whatever.” All she wanted was to get far away from the gym and school.

He pulled onto the road and accelerated. She kept her gaze forward, buckling her seat belt when the car dinged a warning bell insistently.

“Any major food group appeal to you? A favorite place? Doesn't matter to me.” He was pretty kicked about being close to Sloan after so many weeks of looking at her from afar. He'd been in the crowd on the sidelines in the gym and had watched the whole scene unfold. As soon as she'd split, he'd gone to his car and caught up to her walking alongside the road.

“Not the Pizza Shak. Anyplace else is okay.”

“Couple of places over by the freeway. Chicken, chili, burgers, sandwiches, coffeehouse.” He rattled off the fast-food eateries from memory. He knew them all because on the nights his dad was tied up at the hospital or when he didn't stay at Paulie's for supper, he ate at one of the franchises. “I know. Waffles! I like breakfast at night. How about you?”

Dawson's offer of food reminded her that she hadn't eaten before the concert. Performance jitters. “Okay.”

The warmth of the car and Dawson's kindness were thawing Sloan from the outside in. She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes, not wanting to think. Or to feel.

Minutes later, Dawson swung the car into the Waffle Palace parking lot. When they got out of the warm car, he pulled his long coat from the backseat and settled it over her shoulders. Once inside the brightly lit restaurant, he saw there were few customers, so they had their choice of seating. He guided her to a booth in a far back corner. The smell of frying bacon mingled with freshly brewed coffee and warm maple syrup. A waitress gave them a smile and a couple of menus. “Hey, y'all. Coffee?”

Dawson agreed for both of them as they slid into opposite sides of the booth. Over coffee, they both ordered waffles. Sloan slumped against the faux-leather bench, stealing glances at her rescuer. He wasn't bad-looking, with tousled black hair and eyes so dark they looked black. The cold had given his cheeks a rosy glow. He was tall and lean, not muscular like Jarred— She straightened, irked at herself for making the comparison.

Dawson realized he'd have to do the heavy lifting when it came to conversation. She looked whipped, still pretty, but totally wiped out. He told her she had an amazing singing voice, watched her shrug off his praise. He fumbled for another topic and settled on asking, “You grow up in Windemere?”
Dumb question, Berke!

“Born and raised. But you're not a local, are you?”

“What gave me away? Be honest.”

For the first time, a smile flitted across her mouth. “You talk funny.”

That made him smile. Everyone pegged him as an outsider. His accent was definitely not from Tennessee. He told her about moving from Baltimore when his dad took a new job.

The food arrived. She slathered her pecan waffle with butter and syrup and dug in, then looked up to see him watching her. A sideways glance at the window next to the booth, darkened by the night, flashed back her reflection. She looked awful. “Your name's different too. Dawson,” she said.

“It was my mother's maiden name—Katherine Dawson. I couldn't be a Kathy, so…” He grinned. “How about Sloan? Family name?”

She stiffened. Last thing she wanted to talk about was
her
family. Sloan set down the fork, deciding to get the main issue into the open. “I guess you saw what happened tonight in the gym.”

Dawson pushed back into the booth, where a torn spot in the red vinyl snagged at his sweater. “Yes, but it seems like he deserved what you gave him. I mean, if you caught him with another girl doing the deed. Not cool.”

She pushed her plate aside. “You got a phone?” He said he did. “Why don't you pull up the videos? I know they've posted by now,” she said, sounding edgy and bitter.

It hadn't crossed his mind, but he knew instantly she was likely correct. He took out his phone, went to a video posting site, and launched a video called “Revenge of the girlfriend/Windemere High.” He handed her the phone and she watched, the tinny sounds of her yelling loud enough for them both to hear. She winced seeing herself deliver the kick that had put Jarred on his knees. At the same time, she saw “the end” of her and Jarred forever. And her dreams of a future with the band. He'd never forgive her. She fought for composure as she handed Dawson his phone.

It struck him then that when he'd picked her up, she'd had nothing with her—no jacket or purse—and if she was kin to anything female, there was always a purse. “Um…did you leave anything at the gym? I could take you back—”

“No.” Wild horses couldn't have dragged her back to the gym. She reached into the front pocket of her pants, slid out a lipstick. “Nothing's important.” Maybe Bobby would retrieve her phone and purse from Jarred's car. Unless Jarred found her stuff first. He'd destroy it. She had no idea how she would replace her cell phone. Her mother would go ballistic when Sloan told her she'd lost it, and even saying it had been stolen wouldn't save Sloan from LaDonna's tirade. Sloan knew she'd have to replace it herself.

Dawson eyed a clock on the wall, realizing he was pushing against the edge of his one a.m. curfew. He signaled the waitress for the check, and while he paid it, Sloan went to the restroom. Her mirror image was brutal, showing the dark circles of mascara streaked under her eyes. She washed her face, dried off with a scratchy paper towel, smoothed her hair, and retied the leather cord holding it back. She walked with Dawson to the car, and he started the engine and the heater. He turned to her. “Where to? I'll take you home.”

His words hit Sloan with glacial gravity. She was supposed to have spent the night with Jarred because his parents had gone to Gatlinburg for the weekend. They'd planned their “sleepover” weeks before. A long night together, in each other's arms.
His cheating arms,
she reminded herself. She couldn't go home either. Her mother was at the trailer with a man Sloan thought was creepy…the way he looked at Sloan, like she was candy for the taking. She shivered. Tears welled in her eyes. “I…I…don't know….” She turned and stared at Dawson, unnerved and panicked. “I…I have no place to go tonight.”