Blest Page 4

  Jim blushed, fumbling with the bag before realizing he had nowhere to put it. “No, it’s because of—”

  Gunner held up his hand. “Sorry, I was just teasing you. I know it was Shane. Pranks are so middle school. That kind of prank, at least.” He stretched his back, his broad chest flexing against his tight Polo shirt. “I talked to him. I don’t think he’ll do that kind of thing again.” He cracked a smile. “Your groceries are safe.”

  Jim smiled uneasily and ran a hand through his hair. There was an intensity to Gunner that made him nervous, like Gunner was analyzing him continuously, picking him apart. “Good. Um . . . are you guys still having your party?”

  “Yeah, it’s going to be sweet. Claire wanted me to come get you. She’s waiting out in the parking lot.” Gunner jerked his head and strode down the hall. Jim looked after him, curious, before running to catch up. He watched the students clear a way for Gunner as he cut down the center of the corridor, high-fiving some guys and nodding at others. How did Gunner make more friends in a day than Jim had in a year? In ten years? Gunner turned and backed his way through the exit door, winking at Jim. The afternoon sun sparkled on his dark hair. “Wait until you see our ride.”

  “Our ride? What, like, a car?” The moment the words left his mouth, Jim remembered Claire talking about Gunner’s birthday present.

  Gunner laughed. “Yeah, a car. My mom got me a Range Rover for my birthday, and I sweet-talked her into letting me drive it today. We’d better not get into an accident or I’m screwed, since it’s not actually legal for me to drive today. But I mean, why do I need a license to sit in a chair and move a wheel around?”

  The back parking lot of Pearlton High School stretched across a downhill slope, crammed with dented cars and hand-me-down trucks that roared to life as kids filtered through the spaces and tried to get away from school as fast as possible. At the back of the lot, Jim could see the Range Rover in question, gleaming like a black pearl amid everyone else’s lesser vehicles.

  “What, uh . . . what does your mom do, exactly?” Jim asked softly.

  “You mean, why did I get a Range Rover for my sixteenth birthday?” Gunner smiled. “She’s actually a nurse. But I think our dad, before he left, you know . . .” He cleared his throat. “I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course, sorry,” Jim said quickly, hearing the grinding gears in Gunner’s voice, as if he had seen some emotional topic on the horizon and veered away before he had to face it. “So . . . how do you like Pearlton so far? You’re hanging out with, like . . . Shane . . . that’s cool, right?”

  Gunner nodded. “Yeah, Shane’s cool.” He noticed Jim’s expression and chuckled, shaking his head. “Just be confident around him, man, and you’ll be fine.”

  “But I’m not confident,” Jim mumbled as they got to the car. He saw Claire leaning against the Range Rover, tapping into her phone.

  Gunner stopped, looking him up and down. Jim saw a flicker of something in his eyes. “No one is. That’s the secret to being confident—if you act confident, everyone thinks you are. And that’s the same thing.” Gunner strode up to Claire and pulled the key to the Range Rover from his pocket. “Yo, twin, let Jim get the front. He needs some wind in his face.”

  Jim looked at Claire and she smiled at him. He smiled back, a little uncertain how to act around her, especially with Gunner right there. It didn’t turn out to be a problem. As soon as Jim slipped into the passenger seat of the Range Rover, he couldn’t think of anything except how this could be the last car ride of his life.

  Gunner peeled out of the driveway and roared out onto the streets, doing about fifty miles an hour through the suburbs. He illegally passed a school bus, two trucks, and a car before they had even gone under the tunnel. They passed through the tunnel so fast that Jim didn’t even have time to react.

  “See?” Gunner asked, his voice raised over the wind roaring from his open window. “You do everything fast enough and you can’t be scared of anything, right?”

  “Don’t pay attention to him,” Claire said from the backseat, gripping the side of Jim’s headrest as Gunner’s sharp turns hurtled them left and right. Jim could see her face from the corner of his eye, her dark brown hair flying.

  Gunner took a sharp right after the tunnel, up a wooded hill. Jim recognized the area. Lakewood Drive, the street where the richest people in Pearlton lived. Mansions sprung from the ground like huge, mutated flowers, all sorts of crazy colors and shapes. Gunner twisted up a dirt road and the Range Rover rumbled over potholes and bumps. The renowned lake of Lakewood Drive came into view, a mirror for the darkening gray sky. Gunner pulled into the driveway of a sprawling, wooden house that perched on a small hill like a sleeping dragon, all angles and big windows.

  A few other cars were already packed into the driveway. Gunner shut off the engine and jumped out like he was late for an appointment. Jim saw Julia and Erik throw open their car doors. Erik high-fived Gunner and they laughed about something.

  Jim bit his lip, wondering if coming to this party was a mistake. Wouldn’t people ask what he was doing there? How he had possibly gotten an invitation? But it was too late now. Besides, he actually wanted to be there. Gunner seemed kind of cool, in a weird way, and Claire was . . . she was Claire, and she was here. Act confident and everyone else will think you are, he reminded himself, and stepped out of the Range Rover.

  • • •

  The huge yard behind Gunner and Claire’s house was packed with at least thirty kids from school, talking and laughing, sitting on the patio or smacking a volleyball back and forth over a net. A bunch of people had packed onto the dock, where the sun glowed with some of the last summer heat, shimmering gold over the lake.

  Jim had spent most of the party walking around with Claire, listening as she greeted all the new arrivals, trying to muster up the courage to reach for her hand. His dad had called, but he had muted his phone and dropped it back into his pocket. He would tell Michael later where he’d been. Maybe his dad would even be happy to learn that Jim had gone to a party.

  He and Claire settled under a big, crooked pine by the water, eating chips and hamburgers that had been grilled by Ben, Shane’s massive friend and football co-captain. Occasionally, Jim looked over his shoulder at the house, but no one seemed to care that he was there.

  “So your mom’s at work?” he asked.

  Claire shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just know she’s coming home late. We didn’t tell her we were doing this. She would be mad if she found out . . . she doesn’t really let us have people over. It’s been tough for her, ever since our dad left when we were really young. But I don’t know why she keeps moving. It makes it hard to really . . . make friends with people, you know?”

  “Hey,” he said, “I haven’t moved anywhere my whole life and I still don’t have friends.”

  “They just don’t get you, Jim. You’re different, and it scares them.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, so he looked back out at the water, watching the waves rippling from a far-off speedboat that Gunner and Shane were driving across the lake. He could hear them whooping in the distance.

  “Let’s get in,” Claire said suddenly. She kicked off her shoes and Jim did the same, leaving them by a tree.

  He followed her to a rocky part of the shore, hanging back from the crumbly edge, which was knotted with roots and looked like it would cave in at the slightest touch. The dark, metallic surface of the lake made him uneasy.

  “Come on!” Claire said, pulling off her shirt to reveal a red bikini top underneath. She shimmied out of her shorts next, revealing a matching bottom. Jim gulped, and he suddenly couldn’t open his mouth. Claire looked back at him, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “I—I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” he stammered.

  “You’re wearing shorts,” Claire said
, and her voice softened. “What, are you afraid of water, too?”

  He laughed a little. “No, I mean . . . you don’t know what kind of creatures are in there.”

  “Creatures? Like what, dragons? Snakes? Frogs looking for revenge?” Claire walked up to him and stopped only a few inches away. He could see the freckles lightly dusting the arch of her nose, the long lashes framing her liquid chocolate eyes. He felt dizzy with her this close. “Jim, what is it? What are you really afraid of?” she asked.

  “I think—”

  Claire lunged at him, throwing him straight off the ledge into the water. Acting on instinct, Jim grabbed her arms and pulled her in with him. For a brief moment in the air, their bodies touched and she felt warm, electric against him. Then the water crashed around him, filling his ears as he went under.

  He quickly surfaced, sputtering and treading water, feeling his wet shirt cling to his body. Claire bobbed up beside him, laughing.

  “Gee, thanks,” he said, splashing her playfully. “I was just thinking, ‘Man, wearing a dry shirt is cool, but I wish my shirt could be soaking wet.’”

  “You’re welcome,” Claire said, back-paddling away from the shore. “But look how easy it was to overcome your fear. You just did it, instead of stressing about it.”

  Jim thought about that for a second. “I guess.”

  Claire paddled out to a dock floating about ten feet away from shore, where kids were lying in the fading sunlight. He followed. They held onto the edge of the mossy wood slats. No one else bothered them. Jim stared at Claire, watching the way the setting sun glittered off her wet hair and sparkled on her skin.

  “What?” she asked suddenly. “Do I have something on my face?”

  He blinked. “No, sorry. I just . . . I think this is the first time I’ve laughed since my mom . . .” No, he thought furiously, don’t lose it. Happiness was such a slippery thing, so easily destroyed by something cold and hard. He couldn’t let himself think about that train ride. He already had to relive the feeling every day on the bus, when it drove through the tunnel and it got pitch-black, like another tornado was coming to sweep her up and take her away from him for good.

  “Look, storm clouds!” Someone shouted from the docks.

  Claire ignored the noise. “Jim,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  He managed to smile. “No one does.” Really, he thought, even he didn’t really know what had happened. Every time he tried to ask his dad about that train ride, Michael shut down. Jim wasn’t sure how much of it was even real, whether it was more dream or more imagining. The disappearing man, laughing? Was he real?

  A low rumble of thunder echoed across the water, and everyone on the dock squealed. “Dude, let’s get out of here!” Erik hollered, as they all started back to shore. At the other end of the lake, a huge, black storm cloud was blooming, unfurling like smoke in the sky.

  A motor rumbled close as Shane and Gunner pulled up to the dock on Shane’s speedboat. Shane cut the engine when they got close, drifting to them. Jim noticed that when Shane saw Jim and Claire together, his eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything.

  “You dopes, you want to get electrocuted out here?” Gunner called. “Get in!”

  Claire and Jim quickly climbed into the boat and Shane drove them back to shore. Everyone piled out, splashing up and onto the grass. Another boom of thunder sounded in the sky, and a flash of lightning lit up the darkness. Claire and Jim grabbed their shoes by the tree and raced inside after the crowd. Everyone else was shivering and laughing in the living room. Jim headed for them, but Claire yanked him by the wrist, jerking him in the opposite direction.

  She led him through the kitchen, up a wooden staircase, and to the second floor, where there was a soft padded rug in the hall that they left wet and dripping. Jim’s heart pounded in his chest. She pushed open a door, to a room with a messy bed and bare walls, with boxes still standing in piles in the corner.

  “Claire—” Why had she brought him here?

  “Sit.” She directed him to a wooden chair in front of a desk and pushed him into it.

  He dropped down onto the chair. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking past her to the window outside. Rain broke across the sky, falling in sheets, leaving streaks on the windowpane. Everything outside turned black. All he could see was his reflection, glowing orange on the glass. Abruptly, Claire hit the lights. Jim went blind.

  “Claire!” he said, startled. The familiar suffocating feeling was creeping up in his chest.

  “We did the water, so now let’s do the dark.” Her voice came from somewhere nearby. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m right here.”

  Jim felt his panic rising, like he was drowning. “You don’t understand, I can’t help it!”

  “What can’t you help?”

  The train flashed across the back of his mind again, the howling of the wind outside and the screaming. He couldn’t tell what was the past and what was the present. Wasn’t it all really the same thing, when it was all in your head?

  “Just breathe.” Claire’s warm hand found his, and he held onto it tight. Her breath tickled his ear. “Let your guard down.”

  “My guard down?” Jim snapped. He wanted to jump right out of the chair and throw open the door, where he could see a sliver of orange light peeking in from the hallway. What was Claire talking about? Keeping your guard up was the only thing that kept him safe. He had let his guard down around her and look what that had gotten him.

  “Just turn on the lights,” he said, his voice strained as he tried to keep calm. “And—”

  Claire’s mouth landed on his and his head exploded with all the force of a rocket ship blasting into orbit. Suddenly, the only thing he could think about was how warm her lips were, and the way she was breathing, slowly bringing him back to reality. Bringing some other kind of light to the pitch-black room. His fear dissolved and he returned the kiss, cupping her face in his hands and bringing her closer.

  A flash of lightning turned the room white, like an old, over-exposed photograph, lighting Claire with a silver glow. A pain shot through his spine like a spike. He pulled back from Claire and cried out, falling backward in the chair. The pain didn’t stop when he hit the floor. It got worse. He writhed back and forth, jerking like a puppet with broken strings. It felt like his skin was going to burst open, like his body was on fire. Claire flicked on the lights, her face pale.

  “Jim, Jim, what’s wrong?” Her voice was an echo from faraway, some other universe.

  The last thing Jim saw was one more flash of lightning against the windowpane, as blinding as the sun.

  4

  Jim woke up to the sour stench of stale beer, his head bouncing back and forth on his chest. He groaned and looked down at his feet, where there were two half-eaten Big Macs bouncing around in boxes. A seatbelt kept him locked in place, but the car bounced every few seconds, sending little aftershocks of pain through his back.

  He already knew where he was from the smell. “Dad?” he asked, craning his head to look at Michael. His vision was blurry, so he squeezed his eyes open and closed. Questions flooded through him. “How . . . how’d I get here? Why . . .” He rubbed his back. “What happened?”

  Michael hunched over the steering wheel, his face grim. He wore a faded flannel shirt and his eyes had dark circles under them. Outside, the rain pounded the windows and the windshield wipers sliced back and forth in overdrive. “What did I say to do after school, Jim?” he asked quietly.

  Jim closed his eyes, wincing. Leave it to Michael Blest to kick you while you were already down. His head felt like it had broken into shards. Every time he twisted his neck, something sliced into him. He wondered if this was what every first kiss felt like. Was he just doomed never to be happy? Where was Claire? How had he gotten here?

  “Jim.”

  “I saw your text, b
ut I got invited to a party.” Jim gasped as a fresh wave of pain coursed through his body.

  “I know you did. Looks like you had a lot of fun, huh?”

  “Dad, I didn’t drink, if that’s what you—”

  “I know that!” Michael snapped. “It’s worse than that, Jim. A lot worse.”

  “Worse? What do you mean, worse?”

  His dad didn’t answer. He drove on through the darkness in silence, the rain pounding the windshield. After about ten minutes, the entrance to Pearlton High School came into view, the streetlights quivering in the steady rain.

  Jim squinted at the dull brick building as it emerged from the gloom. “Why are we here? Don’t I need to see a doctor?”

  The truck roared to a halt at the back entrance of the school, in the same parking lot where Jim had gotten into Gunner’s Range Rover a few hours earlier. He pressed his forehead against the cool window. “Dad . . . what the . . .” His breath misted on the windowpane.

  “It’s time,” Michael said gruffly. He threw open the truck door and hopped out.

  Jim thought about staying inside, curling up against the spider of agony crawling across his back, but knew his dad would grab him and haul him out of the truck. Michael was in one of those moods. He hoped this wasn’t some drunken escapade, like the time his dad had tried to steal all the angels from everyone’s lawns on Christmas and made Jim come. “No one knows anything about angels!” his dad had shouted over and over, dragging the statues into the street.

  Jim unbuckled his seatbelt and stumbled out onto the pavement, standing on shaky legs in the cold rain. The prickle of water felt good on his feverish skin. His dad grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the backdoor of the school. Someone had already opened the door, a short man who was a little hunched. Like a hermit crab.

  “Jim and Michael Blest!” Mr. Webb called through the rain. “Right on time!”

  Gritting his teeth against the shooting pain in his back, Jim followed his dad and Mr. Webb into the hall, looking around the eerily empty school, the trees and field and track all gray in the rainy night. This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare. He had been kissing Claire. He had been in her room and feeling happier than he had ever felt. And now . . . now . . . this night had taken an extreme turn for the worse.