Roadside Assistance (5 page)

After Spanish, I headed toward the cafeteria. Choosing a table in the back corner, I emptied my turkey sandwich, apple, and bottle of water from my lunch bag and, needing something to do, fetched my journal from my bag. Taking a bite of my sandwich, I began to write.

Tuesday, August 23

Dear Mom,

First day of school has been pretty uneventful. While the high school population is about half the size of my old one, the people seem to be the same. I made a friend in English class, a girl named Chelsea. She seems really nice. Her best friend moved away last year, so I think she may be a kindred spirit. But she’s not Megan.

I keep wishing I could talk to you and tell you how scared I am to be alone. I used to feel so sure of myself because I knew I could always go to you and get your advice. Now I’m flying solo, and I can’t stop thinking about how much I miss our old garage. When I was out there working on a project, I felt like I could solve all of the problems in the world. Sometimes I would pray out loud, and I could almost feel God answering me, and

“Hey,” someone said. “Is this seat taken?”

My heart leapt into my throat at the sound of the voice. My first reaction was to slam my journal shut. Glancing up, I found Chelsea grinning at me while holding a bright-orange lunch tray balancing a burger, fries smothered in ketchup, a piece of chocolate cake, and a bottle of water. Quite the healthy meal.

“Oh,” I said. “Hey.” I pushed an errant curl behind my ear, hoping to appear casual despite my pounding heart.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She nodded toward the chair across from me. “So, can I sit here?”

“Oh, yeah.” I shoved my journal into my bag. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” She lowered herself into the chair.

Movement behind her drew my eyes to Whitney’s table. A tall jock with sandy blond hair walked up to where she was sitting, leaned down to her, and kissed her. It wasn’t a short kiss either. It was a long, meaningful kiss.

My eyes widened and my mouth gaped as I processed the sight.

Chelsea followed my gaze and gave a knowing smile. “Oh, you’ve spotted the homecoming king and queen.”

“Who?” I asked.

She jerked a thumb toward Whitney’s table. “Whitney Richards and Chad Davis.”

“Chad,” I said, lifting my water bottle. “Huh.”

“I guess the rumors aren’t true,” Chelsea said, drowning a fry in the pool of ketchup on the plate. “They didn’t break up over the summer.”

“I guess not.” I bit into my sandwich. “So Whitney has a boyfriend,” I grumbled. “Imagine that.”

“You know her?” Chelsea stuck a fry into her mouth.

“You could say that.” I took a long drink. “She’s my cousin.”

“Really?” Chelsea’s eyes were wide. “I had no idea.”

“What do you mean?” I batted my eyelashes and flipped a curl off my shoulder. “You don’t see the family resemblance?” I glanced down at my shirt. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot my cheerleading uniform and matching hair bow today.”

Chelsea laughed, and I chuckled along with her.

“You’re a hoot,” Chelsea said. She pulled her wallet from an overstuffed, colorful quilted bag that looked homemade. “Want to see a photograph of my twins?”

“Your twins?” I studied her.

She held out a wallet-sized photograph of two boys dressed in matching red sweaters and grinning while sitting in front of a background that showed Santa. Their red hair and smile matched hers. From my limited knowledge of kids, I guessed they were about three years old.

“They’re adorable,” I said, handing her the photograph.

“Yeah.” She studied the photograph. “Everyone thought I’d resent them, but honestly, they’re a blessing. We had a fun summer together. I miss them.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to piece her story together. “So you babysit them.”

“As often as I can.” She slipped the photograph back into her wallet and dropped the wallet into the bag.

I knew I’d missed something, but I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t listening to her in gym. “What are their names again?” I asked, hoping to piece the story together with leading questions.

“Justin and Jason Jr., after my stepdad.” She bit into her greasy cheeseburger.

I almost choked on my sandwich. “After your stepdad?”

“Yeah. My stepdad always wanted to have a junior, so my mom caved.”

“Oh! They’re your brothers.”

She gasped and threw a fry at me. “Of course they are. Did you think they were mine?”

I laughed so hard that my eyes watered, and it felt like some of the weight on my shoulders magically lifted.

Laughing as well, she shook her head. “Good grief. I don’t even want to imagine what you were thinking about me.”

“I was wondering.” I wiped my eyes with my napkin and then finished my sandwich. “They’re adorable, and it’s really cool that you love them so much.”

“How could I not?” Chelsea chewed another fry.

Behind her, I spotted Zander standing by Whitney’s table. He pulled a chair up to the table, straddled it backward, and snatched a fry off another guy’s plate. The guy said something to Zander, and he leaned his head back, laughing.

“Do you know him?” I asked, nodding toward Zander.

“Which one?” Chelsea asked, turning around.

“The guy straddling the chair.” Biting into the crisp golden delicious apple, I pretended I didn’t know his name just to see what information she would share about him.

“Zander Stewart,” she said, snatching another fry. “He’s a senior. Cute, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows.

I nodded. “What’s he like?”

“He seems nice from what little I know of him. He used to play football, but he tore up his knee pretty bad last year and had to have surgery.” She wiped her hands and opened her bottle of water. “That ruined his football career. He’s not like Andrew but he’s just as hot. If not hotter.”

“Who’s Andrew?”

“His older brother. He goes to the university now.” She sipped the water. “He dated my sister for a while. They both graduated together four years ago. My sister was a cheerleader and all that, and he was captain of the football team. They were similar to the king and queen over there.”

“Huh.” I watched Zander steal a few more fries from his friend’s plate while he grinned, listening to a story one of the other guys was telling. “Did your sister tell you anything interesting about the family?”

Chelsea shrugged. “Not too much. I just know that Andrew is following in their dad’s footsteps. He’s premed.”

“Their dad’s a doctor?”

“Yeah, a surgeon, I think.” Chelsea bit into the burger and then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You like him?” I shook my head. “I don’t even know him.” She grinned. “He makes for nice eye candy.”

We both laughed.

She pulled a cell phone from her purse. “You need to give me your number.”

“Oh.” I wiped my hands and cleared my throat. The stupid cell phone issue had come up again. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

“Seriously?” She lifted her eyebrows.

“I don’t like being tied down to technology.” I sipped the water, hoping I sounded convincing. In all honesty, I missed
the convenience of having a cell phone, but I knew it wasn’t a priority right now since Dad was out of work.

“Really.” She took a bite of her chocolate cake and then glanced at her watch. “How is it that lunch goes by so quickly and classes move at a snail’s pace?”

“Because lunch is fun,” I said with a smile. “Thanks for sitting with me.”

She grinned. “You’re welcome. Same time tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

The bell blasted through the conversations in the cafeteria, and we both stood.

“Have a good afternoon,” she said, balancing her bags on her arm and her tray in her hand.

“You too.” As she walked away, I smiled, thankful to have at least one friend at Cameronville High.

chapter three

A
fter school, I was leaning against the Honda when Whitney approached.

“Hey,” she said, pushing her ponytail off her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a cheerleading meeting and I can’t miss it.”

“Oh.” I stood up and adjusted my bag on my shoulder. Glancing across the parking lot, I spotted a line of yellow school buses. “I’ll just take the bus home. Which one goes to your neighborhood?”

“Oh no.” She yanked the keys from her Coach shoulder bag. “Here.” She held them out and the wad of key chains jingled. “Just pick me up at five.”

I studied the keys as if they were foreign objects. There was no way I was going to drive her car. I’d be lost for days in this town. “Well, I don’t think —”

“Don’t be silly, Em. I know you can drive.” She grabbed my hand and slapped the keys into my palm, like a surgical nurse handing a scalpel to a doctor. “Just pick me up.”

“I don’t even know how to get to your house, Whitney. I’d be driving in circles around town like some idiot tourist.” I handed her the keys. “I’ll take the bus and be perfectly fine. Which one is it?”

She turned and pointed to the green Jeep, and my stomach clenched. “Zander’s still here. I’ll just ask him to —”

“No,” I said with more force than I intended. “I’ll take the bus.”

She laughed. “Zander is harmless, probably the most harmless guy at Cameronville High. Trust me.”

What does that mean?
“I don’t care if he’s a priest, I’m not going to get in the car with him. I don’t even know him.” In all honesty, I knew that if I got an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach that overcame me every time I imagined speaking to him, I’d likely pass out the moment I got into his car. But I wasn’t about to admit that to Whitney. “Just tell me the bus number.”

She threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine. It’s 176, but I don’t want to hear it if you get hit on by freshmen or pelted with spitballs.”

“Thanks. See you later.” I jogged across the parking lot and hopped onto the bus.

By the time the bus reached my stop, I’d been offered phone numbers from four freshmen and actually had several spitballs lodged in my curls. I walked around to the back of the house and saw that the U-Haul trailer was gone and the Suburban was backed up to the detached garage. My dad must’ve made a trip to town today. I entered the house through the back door and found Logan sitting at the table chewing an apple while leafing through
Hot Rod Magazine.

“Hey,” I said, dropping my bag onto the chair next to him. “How was school?”

He shrugged. “Okay. We’re supposed to read for forty-five minutes every night.” He made a face accompanied by gagging noises.

I snickered, crossing to the counter. “Reading’s not so bad. It makes you smarter.” I swiped a pear from the bowl on the counter and took a bite, savoring the sweet juice.

“I’d rather read stuff like this article on this awesome
restored Barracuda.” With a toothy grin, he held up the magazine, displaying a deep orange 1970 model.

Leaning back against the counter, I nodded. “Is that what you want to build someday?”

“Yeah. Someday.” He flipped the page and then looked at me again. “Do you like Plymouths?”

“Sure.” I shrugged. “They’re pretty cool.”

He grinned. “You prefer Chevys, right?”

I laughed, taking another bite of the pear. “Am I that transparent?”

“All you and Tyler talked about when I visited you was Chevys, so yeah, you are.”

I ignored his reference to Tyler. “It’s in the Curtis blood, I guess. My dad loved his Mustangs, but he preferred to race Chevys.”

“I would love to race, but I probably never will,” Logan said. “Dad says I should concentrate on school and think of cars as a hobby.”

I bit back my frown, the comment Whitney made in the car this morning echoing through my mind. “That’s a good idea. School’s important.” I nodded toward the magazine. “Is that the newest issue?”

“It came today. Want to see it?”

“Thanks.” I pushed off the counter. “When you’re done. I have a ton of homework.”

Just as I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, Darlene emerged from the laundry. “Emily! How was your day?” Her eyes moved to my shorts and she sucked in a breath. “What on earth happened to your shorts?”

I glanced down at the spot. “I had a run in with cream cheese this morning in the car.” I shrugged. “No biggie.”

She studied my curls. “And what is stuck in your hair, dear?”

I reached up and pulled a few pieces of paper from my locks. “Oh, probably spitballs from the bus.”

She looked confused. “The bus?”

I nodded. “Yup, the bus was my mode of transportation this afternoon.”

“Hmm. Well, take those shorts off and I’ll treat them right away.” She flitted across the kitchen to the sink, where she added dish soap and pushed on the hot water. “I have this fabulous stain remover pen that works wonders. It got ketchup out of one of Logan’s white shirts last week.”

“I’ll bring them down in a bit. Thanks.” I gathered up my bag and water and started for the stairs.

“Wait,” she called, catching up to me. “You didn’t tell me how your day went.”

“It was good. Oh, Whitney had to stay for some cheerleader meeting.”

“Right.” Darlene smiled. “I’m glad you had a good day.” Her brow furrowed. “Let me know if you want me to help you straighten your hair. You could pull it up in a cute clip tomorrow if you’d like. And I bet Whitney has a cute dress you could borrow too. You could even think about wearing a little bit of makeup.”

“Thanks,” I said with a tight smile. “I’ll think about it.” Did the woman sit around all day and think of ways to criticize me? And for a second there I’d thought she was actually interested in me. Groaning, I trotted up the stairs and dumped my bag in my room before tapping on my dad’s door.

“Come in,” he called.

I pushed the door open, and it creaked in response. The room over the garage was T shaped. At the top of the T was a love seat in front of a flat-screen television, and behind the love seat sat a computer desk and chair. A double bed, two bureaus, and nightstand were in the long part of the room.

My dad sat at the computer desk staring at his résumé displayed on the screen in front of him. He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Hey, Baby Doll. How was your day?”