“I think I’m a rule breaker,” I say. “I mean, I did drag race.”

Isaiah chuckles. “You’re gangster for sure.”

With a silly smile plastered on my face, I retrieve my backpack from the passenger side of my car and wave at Isaiah before walking away.

Midway across the student lot, my phone rings, and I have to juggle the bagel in order to reach it before the call goes to voice mail. Quickly swallowing a piece, I answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, Rachel?” Isaiah says.

I spin around and in the distance I can spot him leaning against his car again. “Yes?”

“I called.”

Joy blossoms through me, from my toes up into the rest of my body to the point that I look down to see if I’m flying. “Yeah, you did.”

Chapter 33

Isaiah

I LEAN AGAINST THE FRAME of a ’76 Nova and listen as the guys from class shoot the shit during the last remaining minutes of school. Today, some other guys from class and I taught the freshmen how to strip the paint. With the paint job done, they continue their jacked-up conversation about some jock from school caught juicing. Life must suck when you have parents and money to blow on steroids.

I pull out my phone and reread last night’s conversation with Rachel. The two of us text. Sometimes we talk on the phone. Because of her parents and brothers, it’s hard for her to get out to see me, and I don’t want her taking a risk that’ll raise flags when we have other days that require her being out of the house.

I try not to overanalyze what’s going on with Rachel. I like her. She likes me. At some point, she’ll change her mind, but for now I’ll enjoy the ride.

In another world, she would have been the kind of girl I would have taken to dinner and a movie. I would have knocked on her front door, met her father, charmed her mother, brought flowers and done all that wooing shit that guys are supposed to do when trying to win the girl.

But all that crap means I would have lived another life. One with parents who gave a damn. One where I had a home and maybe a bed frame, maybe a room. In the span of one week, I’ve done the two things the system taught me never to do: felt too much and dreamed of a different life. Wandering thoughts and feelings lead to an impending wreck.

I shove it all away. I’ve had a past that promises no future so it’s better to stick with the present.

Last night, my remaining favors came in. I bring up Rachel’s name in a text message. It’s time for me and her to meet again.

Me: where r u

The right side of my mouth tilts up with Rachel’s immediate reply: intern in library 4 last period

Me: got the parts I need 4 your car. Come tomorrow.

Rachel: Thursday w Mom, remember?

She mentioned earlier in the week that she had plans with her mom that night.

Me: Friday, right after school.

Her: K

Because I don’t want to let her go yet: Saturday we race.

Her: :)

“Isaiah,” says Zach from the middle of the group. “You smiling?”

Yeah, guess I am. I slide my phone back into my pocket and the smile off my face. My image has kept me alive, and I play the part to perfection: badass, loyal, ready for a fight. “You staring, man?”

He raises a hand. “No offense meant. Are you taking the ASE certification next week?”

I nod and watch the second hand of the clock. Only a few more seconds until the bell.

“Some of us are worried,” Zach says. “About passing.”

I’ve failed a lot of tests in my life, but this is the one I know I can kill. The ten guys I’ve gone through the program with since my freshman year focus on me. For most of these guys, myself included, the ASE is our key to avoid becoming minimum-wage car-wash attendants. “Holden gave us a study guide.”

“We all know you’re gonna pass,” says Zach. That humming sensation that informs me something’s not right vibrates below my skin. Several of the guys glance cautiously at each other.

As if preparing for a fight, I widen my stance. “What’s this about?”

Most look away or shuffle back. Zach also averts his gaze, but he keeps talking. “You know it’s computerized, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’ll all be in the same room?”

“Yeah.”

“What if we could find a way where you could offer us assistance during the test?”

The muscles in my shoulders flex, and the guys closest to me take an interest in the equipment behind them. “I’ve carried your ass for four years, showing you the same shit with cars over and over again. I think that’s been enough assistance.”

The bell rings and everyone bolts for the door—everyone but me and Zach. Cheating on this test could cost me my certification, and I will not permit anyone to fuck up my future. His shoulders slump and I head for the exit.

“Isaiah,” he says as my arm smacks into his. “I hear you’re in debt to Eric.”

I freeze, our arms still touching. “So.”

He shrugs, but he’s anything but uncaring. “Just repeating what I heard. Wouldn’t want things to become worse.”

I shift so that we’re chest to chest and tilt my head so that I’m in his face. “Is that a threat?”

Zach wilts because the ass has always been a coward. “Not if you remember who your friends are.” He slinks toward the hallway and turns at the last minute. “And if the person you were texting was Rachel, tell her I said hi.”

Certain truths are always self-evident: on the streets there is no such thing as a friend. Zach could be playing odds right now, knowing I’m in debt to Eric and trying to ride the coattails of my fears, but Zach’s never been the creative sort.

That sick sixth sense continues to rattle around in my brain. If Zach’s become Eric’s lapdog then my life and Rachel’s life just entered another realm of complicated, because that means Eric has upped the stakes of the game.

Twenty buck says that while Rachel and I have been moving pawns, Eric just moved his rook.

Chapter 34

Rachel

IN THE SMALLEST CONFERENCE ROOM in Dad’s office, eleven women in various colored business suits and dresses fill the high-backed cushioned chairs. Mom sits at the head of the table, chatting gaily with the woman on her right. To Mom’s left, I continue to push the catered chicken Caesar salad around on my plate so Mom will believe I ate.

Dad closed the blinds—one solace in the midst of the storm. At least the employees working won’t gawk as they pass by. Mom signed me out of school for this travesty. I call it a speech. Mom calls it an introduction. Really, the few paragraphs are lies.

The women gathered around the table are the chosen few of Mom’s friends invited to help with her new volunteer position of fundraising coordinator for the Leukemia Foundation. Mom explained last night that they’ll start off with small teas, then lunches, and in a few weeks they’ll move on to a dinner. All of which she has planned for me to attend...and speak at.

“Ladies,” Mom says. “Let’s take a twenty-minute break before we start the meeting. That will give the caterers time to clean and us time to check on our families.”

They giggle, but I’m not sure over what. Some women break off into groups of two or three and whisper private gossip. Some head into the hallway to use their cells or the restroom. I stare at a crouton in my salad.

Still sitting, Mom pats my hand. “Are you ready, sweetheart? You’ll speak first.”

My lungs constrict. “Yeah.”

I memorized what she wants me to say, but the words have become a jumbled mess in my mind. Sort of like a crossword puzzle completed by someone with dyslexia.

“Meredith,” one of Mom’s friends calls from the opposite side of the room. “You have to come look at this.”

Mom flashes me a smile that reminds me why I’m torturing myself and leaves. I ate two bites of salad and the lettuce and the chicken are not agreeing in my stomach. In fact, I think they’ve declared war.