This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel) (4 page)

She was left to wait side by side with Monique in the two Chairs of Judgment in front of Mr. Malone’s desk. Sam imagined Principal Malone calling Brad at that very moment, and the look on his face when he would walk in and see her like this.

“Don’t say anything and you’ll get the portfolio back,” Monique whispered. “I’d really hate for someone innocent and powerless like Amy’s sister to suffer.”

Sam pretended she didn’t hear. Yet the awful truth dawned. If her parents’ dying when she was just five hadn’t already taught Sam that life wasn’t fair, this moment drove that hard lesson home. There would be no justice for the crime. At least not now, and not for her.

The rest of what happened was a blur. Brad showed up, and his concern soon faded to an uneasy disappointment that lingered for months.

When Mr. Malone asked why she did it, she refused to answer. Monique said Sam was jealous about Reggie Reid not wanting to date her, and Sam didn’t bother correcting her.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Principal Malone said, “but the rules are very clear about physical altercations. I’m going to have to suspend you.” He looked over at Monique, who wore a smug grin. “
Both
of you.”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Brad asked as he drove her home. As predicted, he’d waited until they were in the car to lose his cool. She could tell all through the painful meeting, he looked like he was about to pop a gasket. He’d been called away from one of his three jobs to get her at school and he was royally pissed. “I thought I taught you better.”

Sam had tried her best not to cry, but now she couldn’t seem to stop.

The crying probably made Brad calm down a bit, because his voice took on a gentle edge. “Is there something else going on that you’re not telling me? Does this girl have it out for you? Why would she want your artwork?”

What could she say? Brad would take the truth right back to the principal, and he had no idea how dangerous these people were, that they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. Better to let him think it was a catfight for now until she could figure out what to do.

One late fall evening, about a month after she’d served her two-day suspension, Sam hadn’t wanted to leave her house. It was cold and cloudy and they were predicting an early November snow, but it had been weeks since she’d gone anywhere and Jess had insisted they meet for ice cream before the Dairy Flip closed for the season.
Don’t let them see you defeated
, she’d said.
Hold your chin high
. It had been hard, but she’d gone.

She’d even made it out of the house without Brad seeing her heavy black eyeliner, her big, mean, black ankle boots, and her newly dyed black hair.
The new you
, Sam had told herself without an inkling of joy, just of irony. She was on her own now, in every way. Even her oldest brother and her grandmother treated her like she was one step away from delinquency, and that hurt more than anything. So she’d reinvented herself. It was either that or be bullied to death, and she would not give the people who enjoyed tormenting her the satisfaction.

Samantha, Badass Version, approached the block that housed the Dairy Flip. She saw a group of kids gathered around the picnic tables. Jess must have invited some of the so-called indie kids—the few people who’d been nice to her since The Incident. They were mostly students in Sam’s advanced art class, all rejects for one reason or another like herself. Kids who wore eccentric clothing, did weird stuff like pierce their noses, and read Keats on their lunch breaks. Melvin Boyd wrote plays. Tonya Simpson and Bette Arnold wrote vampire fiction. And Tommy Alder played the ukulele.

As she got closer, she saw that Jess was nowhere in sight, and the kids were not their friends but the Clubbers. Sam halted at the corner. She would just turn around and head home. Jess must have gotten sidetracked, and there was no way she was going anywhere near them by herself. She might have adopted a brave new persona, but she wasn’t crazy.

“You’re looking very badass, Samantha,” a voice from behind her said. She turned to see the face of her tormentor, who really would be beautiful if she wasn’t the devil incarnate.

“Nice dye job, too,” Monique said, flipping her lustrous hair back in that way she had. A million years ago, Sam had wanted to imitate that, like all the other girls. It seemed the ultimate phony gesture now.

Samantha pretended to be preoccupied with something on her phone, but frankly she only saw her terrified expression reflecting on the surface. Her heart was beating so loud she didn’t even hear what Monique had just said.

Monique was joined by her best friend Loraine, and three big guys. Football players, Reggie leading the pack.
Shit
. She scanned the city street for her friend. Where was Jess? It was getting late and it wasn’t like her to bail.

A text lit up her phone. From Jess. Relief doused her fear, knowing she wouldn’t be alone much longer.

My dad’s pissed and says I can’t go anywhere until I clean my room.

Oh,
fire truck
.

Sam looked around the Dairy Flip. The last customer left with ice cream and the server yanked down the metal roller blind with a train-on-the-tracks clickety-clack. The rest of the shops on Main Street were dim, shut down for the night. A minute later the giant ice cream cone sign out front flickered off, making the immediate area fade into shadow.

They were all looking at her, inching closer. Reggie was conferring with his shorter, stockier friend, Rod Stevens. They were both giving her the eye, looking her up and down like they liked what they saw.
Assholes.
The prickle at the back of her neck migrated forward to become a throbbing pulse.

Calm down
, she told herself. What could they possibly do to her now? They’d taken away everything that had meant anything to her. All she had left was . . . her personal safety.

At least she still had her cell. Surely she’d get a hold of one of her brothers, who could be here in a minute to walk her home. She’d just call . . .

She started to punch in a number, but Rod walked quickly toward her and clipped her shoulder. She fell onto the gravel, her phone clattering into the street, tiny stones piercing the flesh of her palm. The posse moved closer.

Monique walked into the street and kicked her phone further away. “It cost my dad a lot of money to get that suspension erased from my record. Imagine what that would have done for my career. My
life
,” she said.

Sam stood up. Brushed off her jeans. She had nothing left. They’d taken everything. Still, she wouldn’t let them see her flinch.

Reggie stepped forward. “I changed my mind. You can go out with me after all. How about now?”

“You’re disgusting,” Sam said without thinking. A mistake, because rage lit his too-perfect face, bringing to it an ugliness she’d never seen before. He reached forward and grabbed her purse strap from her shoulder, giving it a strong tug that made her fight to steady herself.

“I don’t think she’s learned her lesson at all, Monique,” Reggie said. “She needs another one.”

He gave the purse strap a harsh yank, catapulting her forward, and planted his slimy lips on hers. She pushed at him with all her might and kneed him in the balls.

Reggie doubled over, letting out a howl. She stared for a moment, stunned at what she’d done. Bad idea, because the two other boys quickly moved forward and grabbed her by the arms.

“Let me go!” she cried. She wriggled her shoulders, but they were big, meaty guys. As she struggled, one of them twisted her arm until she cried out in pain.

“You heard her,” an unfamiliar voice said, deep and low and confident.

She looked up and saw a figure emerge from the shadows. The guy from Clinker’s. He looked twice as tall as he had from across the street.

Relief flooded her system, and she knew at that instant she was safe. He had this . . .
presence
, and it made the others huddled in their stupid little group visibly cower.

His calm, steady gaze rolled over her. She tried to stand straight and not act frightened but her legs were shaking. Her hands, too. She bit her lip because she refused to break down and cry in front of these idiots. He might have asked her if she was okay, but she was too busy thanking Jesus and all the saints for the intervention.

“Spike. You know her?” Reggie asked.

Spike
? That was his name? In all the hours she’d spent imagining it, never had that particular one occurred to her. “Spike” looked calm enough to do neurosurgery as he addressed the crowd. “She’s my girlfriend,” he said. “I want you to leave her—and her friends—alone.” He aimed a spearing glance at Monique and the girls. “That means you, Monique. Time to find somebody else to pick on.”

“Look,” Monique said with her signature head toss. “She’s got it coming to her. My dad grounded me until graduation. I almost lost my Dartmouth admission. She needs to be put in her place.”

“Everything stops now,” Spike said. “You hear?”

Sam’s head was whirling. This commanding, foreboding guy had saved her. Claimed her by stamping her with the word
mine.
Just like that, her fear broke apart, an ice floe getting crunched by an icebreaker.

Reggie was the first to back off. “Come on, Monique. Let’s go get a burger and forget this. Who needs her anyway?”

Monique’s gaze still tossed daggers, but she focused it on Reggie, who had taken her hand and was tugging at it. “Come on, babe,” he said. “We have better things to do.”

“She’s no good, Spike,” Monique said. “You’ll see.”

But
Spike
, as they called him, wasn’t even looking at Monique. Or Reggie or Rod or any of the thugs. He was looking at her, with those dangerous eyes. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly, giving her the slightest nod. As if he was asking her permission to intervene.

In spite of her churning stomach, her tremulousness from being pulled from the brink of disaster, and her relief at being whole and intact, she smiled back.

Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and walked off.

Sam focused on breathing as the boy from Clinker’s led her down the street. She struggled to put one step before the other. Because he was holding her in a way that was too possessive, one she never would have tolerated from a guy she barely knew. He smelled good, like Dial soap and the cool night air. And he was warm. She liked it all—him—way too much.

He didn’t say anything for several blocks. They’d wandered away from the square, and she realized they were near the auto repair shop. She could see the bright red doors shining in the glow from a fluorescent streetlight. He slowed to a stop and looked behind them, checking to make sure they weren’t being followed.

Maybe she should have been afraid that she was alone with him in the semi-seedy part of town, but she wasn’t. She felt safe for the first time in months.

They stood a couple feet apart under the streetlight. She’d gotten a sense of how tall he was as they’d walked, but straight on she realized his height was somewhere between Brad’s, who was six feet, and Ben’s, who was six four. Nice.

He angled his head in the direction of the shop. “Do you want to come up a minute?” he asked.

He reached out and touched a curl, one of many that had gone AWOL all over her head. She should have stepped back, or run, or done
something
, but she was frozen in place, mesmerized by his gentleness and the look in his eyes that made her heart beat runaway-train fast.

“You act so tough,” he said, his voice low and a little rough, like gravel. “But you aren’t, are you?”

She stiffened. “I am tough. Look, I didn’t need you to come along and—”

He held up his hands in defense. “You did knee Reggie in the balls.”

“Yes.” She looked at him assessing her and let out a heavy sigh. It felt like she’d been holding her breath for an hour. “Okay, fine. I was barbecued chicken. They were getting ready to feast.”

“Sure looked like it.”

“Wh . . . why did you help me?”

“I don’t like watching people turn into roadkill?”

She laughed, but it came out like more of a very unsexy snort. And that made him laugh. Which was a wonderful thing, because she’d never in all those months heard him laugh. It made his eyes dance and lifted that invisible weight he seemed to always carry with him.