Chapter 6 Gianna
Gianna
FOUR YEARS AGO
I land in the passenger seat of Ryker’s glossy black Ford Raptor with a yelp.
Ryker closes my door and darts across the front of the truck before planting himself behind the wheel, his own door closing with a thud that shakes the cabin.
Fear and excitement stir in my stomach between the aches of laughing so much.
The clicks of our seatbelts and rushed breaths fill the air.
No, wait. My breaths. It’s just my heavy breathing I can hear. Peeking at Ryker next to me, he looks completely unaffected by our sprint through the halls.
I try to calm myself by inhaling through my nose, but the truck smells like him, only a thousand times more potent, and it’s like I’m sitting in a permanent Ryker hug. It’s intoxicating and warm and safe.
His eyes meet mine, glittering with that spark of mischief. A small pang of envy shoots through me. I wish I could see things the way he does.
‘Ready?’ He flashes his perfectly white teeth, stealing my breath. It’s criminal how devastating he looks.
I swallow down a sudden burst of nerves. All I can manage in response is a quick nod.
With a press of a button, the truck rumbles to life and Ryker drives out of the grounds. The stereo suddenly blasts, making me jump. The infamous ‘Money for Nothing’ guitar riff by Dire Straits fills the cab.
Ryker winks at me when he sees my grimace. ‘You gotta love the classics, Gianna.’
Reaching over, he cranks the volume impossibly louder, singing at the top of his lungs about microwave ovens and colour TVs.
I’ve always been nervous about singing. I won’t even do it in the shower, but right now, I don’t care.
I bust out in song with him, both of us laughing and belting out the lyrics like we’re at a concert.
‘Where are we going?’ I yell over the music.
He lowers the volume and flicks his attention between me and the road. ‘I’ve known you since you were a baby and you’ve always been like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Wondering what’s next,’ he says, throwing me a glance. ‘Every camping trip we’ve ever been on, you always ask what we’ll be doing before we even get there. When we get ice cream, you google what flavours they have before we leave. Or when—’
‘Alright, I get it! I like to be organised.’
‘That’s my point. You need to enjoy, Gianna. Take a back seat and see what life will give you. It’s good to plan things, but say yes to the scenic route and all the detours along the way. It’s where the fun shit happens. You get me?’
‘Yeah,’ I mumble, ‘I guess so.’
I turn, watching the trees pass by in a blur. Booker Bay is beautiful, with water that shimmers under the sun and sea spray that hits your face. But what would the world give me? What do I have to be excited about?
‘I meant it, you know. About Lucifer’s Dream …’ Ryker speaks slowly, breaking me from my reverie. ‘If you’re not busy tomorrow night, we should go.’
I chew on the side of my mouth while I play with the rings on my right hand. The moonstone ring Monique bought me for Christmas last year has a sliver of blue shining through the middle of it. Would it be awkward? Would Jace be mad? What about Monique?
‘I know you usually go with Monique,’ he offers, sneaking into my mind. ‘She can come too. Renny, Tyler and Jace could come along. We can all go together.’
‘Don’t you have The Prank on tomorrow night?’
‘Yeah, but we can head to the carnival afterward.’ His eyes glimmer like the opalescent blue in my ring.
I bite down my doubts. ‘Yeah, okay. It’ll be fun, but we all have to dress up. All of us,’ I warn. ‘Monique would be mortified if she was the only one in costume.’
He smiles. ‘She’s a good friend, Monz.’
‘The best,’ I say, because words will never cut it.
Words will never explain how many times she’s picked me up after finding me crying on my bedroom floor.
When we lost Pa, she brought over trays of food and bags of snacks and just sat with me all night long.
It didn’t matter what time it was – if I called, she answered, and she wouldn’t hang up until I fell asleep.
She’s there for the lows just as much as she is the highs.
She believes in me, not just my art, but anything I want to do.
There’s never any judgement or doubt. Just unconditional love and support.
She’s my best friend, ever since she plopped down next to me in kindergarten and said she liked my hair.
‘Which is why we can’t disappoint her,’ I continue. ‘We all need costumes.’
‘Hmm, costumes,’ he muses. ‘You’re the artist, think you could help?’
My chest swells. ‘Absolutely.’
There’s something about Lucifer’s Dream that makes it more exciting than any other holiday. Maybe it’s because you can be anything. For one night, you can put on a mask and do anything you want.
Masks … I could make masks …
I get so lost in thought that I don’t take notice of where we’re going until we’re on the outskirts of town, heading toward the old speedway. It’s a dirt track that hasn’t been used in years, not since import cars became the rage and The Lost Tropics became a thing.
Ryker pulls over on the south side of the administration building, behind a few trees.
The speedway has a chain-link fence around it, but the gate is open with one vehicle in the huge car park.
The painted sign at the entrance, though faded, still displays the words Booker Bay Speedway.
Next to the sign is a rusting Hudson Hornet with grass and weeds growing through the wheel spokes, giving the car a creepy, apocalyptic vibe.
A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. There must be at least fifty empty car bays with tufts of grass breaking through the cracks, and it makes me sad that a place that brought so much laughter has been abandoned and left to decay.
My eyes drift over to the more recent Permanently Closed sign attached to the fence. Definitely apocalyptic.
‘Ryker, the speedway is shut down.’
‘Is it?’ He waggles his brows. ‘C’mon, Little Suspect.’
He whips his door open and, before I’m even unbuckled, he’s by the passenger door, holding it open for me. Stepping out, I glare at him, placing my hands on my hips.
‘Is that seriously my name now?’ I scrunch my nose.
‘It’s either Little Suspect or Rocks. Pick.’
‘Rocks?’
‘Yeah. You’ve always got those tiny rocks with you.’ He pinches his thumb and forefinger together, forming a circle.
‘They’re crystals, Ryker!’ I correct. ‘They help with the flow of energy.’
‘Oh yeah, so they’re magic?’ He leans against the car’s doorframe, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. ‘What does the purple one you had earlier help with? The flow of sneaking into art rooms?’
‘Ha, ha.’ I mock. ‘It’s amethyst. It helps with creativity.’
‘You don’t need a rock for that. You’re already amazingly creative.’ He shakes his head before pinning me with a look that demands an answer. ‘So, which nickname is it?’
‘They’re both awful,’ I say, hoping he’ll drop it. He doesn’t. His brows rise, pressing me for an answer.
‘Ugh,’ I groan. ‘Suspect, I guess.’
‘That’s my pick too.’ He nods with approval before his eyes flick toward the old brick building. ‘Let’s go. Hope you have your purple rock with you.’
‘Why?’
‘We need its sneaking powers.’ A smile stretches across his face.
I roll my eyes. ‘It doesn’t have sneaking pow—’
My words get lost in the breeze as he suddenly pulls me behind him.
We’re on the move, passing by a white sedan and shooting through the car park until we reach the side of the building.
He glances around the corner, as though he’s searching for something.
I take a peek, feeling both intrigued and riddled with anxiety. We’re so not supposed to be here.
He pulls his phone out and the screen flashes to life. The wallpaper is a picture of him, Jace and me when we made s’mores on the beach this summer. Ryker is in the middle with his arm hooked around both our necks, an open-mouthed laugh plastered across his face.
I can’t remember what we were laughing at, but it makes me smile now.
I lean in to whisper, ‘What are we doing?’
‘Waiting.’ He glances at the door. ‘Dellenty is going to leave at 10.30 and we’ll have fifteen minutes while he goes and gets a sandwich from The Green Apple.’
‘What’s a Dellenty?’
‘Not a what.’ Strands of black brush against his forehead as he shakes his head. ‘A who. The security officer.’
My face twists. ‘How do you know all of this?’
He winks at me before tapping his phone screen. 10.29 am.
Ryker shifts, pressing a palm against my belly, holding us flush against the wall.
The warmth of his hand sinks through my sweatshirt and into my skin.
The numbers on his phone flash, changing to 10.
30 am. My ears prick up as the door of the admin building swings open and a security guard waddles his way toward the lone white sedan.
With the security guard only a few steps away, Ryker grips my wrist and rushes us toward the closing door.
We slide inside, moving so fast I think I have whiplash.
The door softly clicks closed. I place a hand over my heart as it races, threatening to burst free from my chest. When I look up, Ryker gives an exaggerated sigh, wiping the non-existent sweat from his brow.
‘Lucky you had your rock.’ He nudges my side and I swat his arm.
The room is stripped bare, but there’s no mistaking that it was once a lobby.
The walls are lined with framed pictures of cars, a ’59 Eldorado appearing multiple times.
To the left, a display case is filled with trophies and old newspaper clippings.
The fluorescent lights above us flicker and the space smells like oil and wood.
There’s a service desk in the middle, empty aside from a few stray newspaper clippings.
On the wall behind it is a large mural of a navy-blue Hudson Hornet, the same car now rusting outside.