Anyone But You Part 4

It was almost six when I heard the screen door slam. I blew my nose into an already snotted-up paper towel and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. The bedroom door swung open; I was surprised to see Jesse standing there.

"Hey," he said, doing a back flop onto his bed. "How was the pool?"

"Don't know," I said. "Didn't stay."

"Oh?"

"Long story."

Jesse turned onto his side, so that he was facing me. "So where's Critter?"

"I left him there."

"At the pool?"

I nodded.

"Didn't you guys take the car?"

I nodded again.

Jesse bolted upright. "You drove? What the h.e.l.l were you thinking?"

"You don't understand," I said. "He was being . . . I don't know. Mean."

"Oh, okay," he said, all sarcastic. "Yeah, I'm sure the cops would've accepted that instead of a driver's license. 'Sorry, officer, but my s.h.i.t-head brother wasn't being very nice, so you see I simply had to take the car.' "

I didn't say anything, because it wouldn't have done any good. Once Jess got rolling with his dad routine, there was no stopping him.

"And what if you'd gotten into an accident, huh? You think Layla needs to get that call? Or worse, what if you'd just ended up in her ER? And forget about how much it would've cost to fix the G.o.dd.a.m.ned car."

"Will you shut up?" I yelled. "Nothing happened."

Jesse shook his head in that disappointed-parent sort of way. "You're so stupid sometimes," he said. "One of these days you're gonna get your a.s.s in some serious trouble."

I didn't feel like being lectured, so I stomped out of the room, down the stairs, and smack into Critter.

"Great," I said. "You wanna yell at me, too?"

"Dude, what's gotten into you?" he replied. "You're acting like a psycho."

"That's it?" I shrilled. "That's all you can say?"

He pressed his hand against my forehead. "Did your fever come back? Seriously, Sea, something is so not right."

I howled in frustration. Literally howled, a million decibels, square in Critter's face. Then I kneed him in the b.a.l.l.s, grabbed my skateboard, and stormed right out the front door.

These Are the People in My Neighborhood.

One problem with being best friends with your two faux brothers was that when you were p.i.s.sed at both of them, there was no one you could vent to about it. Sometimes we hung out with other people, but the truth was we hated most of them. The only company we really enjoyed was each other's.

I threw my board onto the driveway and pushed off, coasting on the incline and popping from the curb onto flat ground. Instant exhilaration. I loved the sound my chewed-up wheels made as they spun across the asphalt.

Where to go? That was the question. Since I didn't have money, I couldn't bus down to the skate park. And it was too hot to haul tail down to Community Plaza, especially since the shopping center didn't even have any good ramps. There was always the generic, cheesy-a.s.s playground toward the back end of our neighborhood. Its main feature was a cherry red metal merry-go-round that required the man power of at least two kids to get it moving at anything over a sluggish pace. Other than that, all the park had to offer were a semi-functional swing set and a teeter that didn't totter. Well, those and the fact that it was usually pretty quiet during the day. It wasn't until well after dark that the stoners co-opted the park for themselves.

The sun had almost set, but the temperature hadn't dropped much, and I was steaming by the time I got there. The wet air, thick like milk, made everything feel damp and moldy. I wanted to peel my skin off; that's how gross it was.

The merry-go-round came into view, and the fire inside me flared when I saw the neighborhood a.s.shole, Russ Louten, sprawled on one of the sections. Russ was Critter's age, but a soph.o.m.ore like me, and mostly I tried to avoid him and his super-baked crowd. Sitting in an adjoining section was some really tall guy I didn't recognize. I thought about turning back, but ignoring Russ Louten seemed infinitely more doable than dealing with the c.r.a.p I'd left at home.

"Hey there, pretty lady," Russ called out. He was leaning back against the core of the merry-go-round, his legs spread as wide as possible, his left hand lazily scratching his stomach. I acted like I hadn't heard him and stamped over to the swing set.

Russ turned toward his friend and whispered something. He started cackling, but the tall guy nodded solemnly. Then Russ shouted, "What, you too good to talk to me now?"

"When did I ever talk to you, Russ?" I shot back. I leaned my board up against a pole and plopped heavily into the one working swing, smug and superior, then wham! The seat snapped off its hinge, dumping my a.s.s onto the dirt. Hard.

"Ooh, s.h.i.t!" Russ screeched. "Yo, Aiken, you been packing on the pounds?" Ignoring his cackle, I struggled to stand, leaving my last bit of dignity in a cloud of dust. As I brushed the filth off my baggy black pants, I heard the tall guy call out, "You okay there?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just fine."

"Come over here," Russ commanded. "I want to introduce you to someone."

The tall guy offered a stoic smile and wave. He was wearing a Matrix-style trench coat-even in this heat-and something about that made me want to know who he was. I tucked my board under one arm and sauntered over, trying to look as disinterested as possible.

"Seattle Aiken, as I live and breathe," Russ said, a slimy grin oozing across his ugly freckled face, "this is my cousin, Scooter. Scooter's visiting from your name-sake, aren't you, Scooter?"

"Scooter?" I said. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Sadly, no," Scooter said. "But n.o.body calls me Scooter anymore. Just Scott."

"Huh."

Russ reached out for my board, but I jumped backward before he could touch it. He made a face and said, "Jesus, I wasn't going to take it." I mumbled an apology and he rolled his eyes. "All's I was going to say is that Scooter's into that skater c.r.a.p, too."

"Yeah?" I said. "What kind of ride you got?"

"Darkstar deck," he said. "Thunder trucks. They've got great control."

"What kind of wheels?" I asked Scott.

"Spitfire Daggers."

"Nice."

A grin broke across his face. "I like to think so." He nodded toward my board. "What do you have there?"

"An old Kryptonics. It's pretty much lost its pop. Element put out this Fiberlight deck I've been eyeing, but I don't have the cash."

"You don't have to break the bank," Scott said. "Get a blank deck and build it yourself. If you run into the right deals, you could have a new complete for around sixty bucks."

"You build your own?"

"You know it."

"Sick," I said, impressed.

"I could help you," he offered. "Russ, your dad's got a drill, right?" Russ nodded, clearly bored by all the skate talk. To me Scott said, "I'm here for the summer. I can teach you how to build a board, deck up."

"That'd be awesome."

Scott flashed me another grin and looked away. He had this strong jawline, all angles. And his skin was so clear, the kind that usually belonged to airbrushed underwear models. When he turned back, I saw his eyes, large as quarters and steely blue. They were framed by the longest lashes I'd ever seen, on a girl or a boy.

"This place is tired," Russ said, hopping off the merry-go-round. "Let's bail."

Scott nodded, still solemn, still staring right at me. I let my eyes fall to his lips, a deep wine color and so so plump.

Russ jutted his chin at me. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Scott said, c.o.c.king his head. "You should come with us."

"Where to?"

Russ shrugged. "Does it matter?"

And then it hit me: "We should go to my place."

"My kind of girl," Russ purred, reaching down to muss my hair.

I swatted his hand away. "You wish."

Russ turned to Scott and stage-whispered, "I forgot. Seattle doesn't like boys. She's hard-core butch."

"I so am not."

"You got proof?"

I jammed my hands onto my hips. "What kind of proof do you need?"

He grabbed his crotch. "I got your proof right here."

Scott punched Russ in the arm. "Show some respect."

"Screw you, then," Russ shot back, scowling and rubbing his arm. "I'm out of here, man."

"I'll catch up with you later," Scott yelled to Russ.

I smiled. "Then I guess it's just you and me."

There's a Boy in My Bedroom.

They'd locked me out. It took about six rings of the doorbell before Jesse let me in. I stormed by him, my board in one hand and Scott's hand in the other, dragging Scott through the house without bothering to introduce him. We went upstairs into my room, where I found Critter rooting through a stash of Jesse's magazines.

"Out," I said. He looked at me, eyes wide in surprise. "I said get out!"

The surprise turned to anger, and Critter sprung up and thundered out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Better," I said. I plopped onto my bed, kicked off my shoes. Scott towered over me. "Why don't you sit down?" He squatted on the floor. "I meant here," I said, patting the mattress beside me. With a shy smile, Scooter scooted up next to me.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

Now that I had him there, I wasn't sure what to do with him. After a short uncomfortable silence, I asked, "So how long have you been skating?"

"Almost six years," Scott replied. "Since I was twelve."

I grinned. "I got you beat."

"Really?"

"Yeah," I said. "I started when I was eight."

"Impressive."

I shrugged. "My brother-the one I just kicked out-Critter was the one who wanted to be a skater. He got a board for his tenth birthday-you know, like the kind you'd get at Toys "R" Us? Only he couldn't do more than glide a couple feet on asphalt before wiping out, so he gave it to me. I was popping ollies within a week."

"You're a natural."

I shrugged again. "I just like it, is all."

"So what else do you like?" he asked, nudging my shoulder with his. Was he coming on to me? Before I could figure it out, Scott bent over and picked up a book off the carpet. It was Biology Made Simple-the first of about a dozen texts Layla had brought home for me and Critter, to get us ready for summer school. As if we'd waste our time reading that c.r.a.p.

"Give me that!" I s.n.a.t.c.hed the book out of Scott's hands and threw it across the room, where it landed on Mount Saint Laundry-Jesse's nickname for the pile of clothes I let acc.u.mulate before actually washing any of them.

"You act like it's p.o.r.n!" Scott said, laughing. "There's nothing wrong with being into science."

I could feel my face turning red. "It's not like that."