Chapter Two
I start walking to my car at the sound of the aggressive hollers, high-pitched shrieking and glass breaking. Just hearing the violence sets my nerves on edge. I flinch at every loud noise. I want to shrink in on myself and disappear. I’m not made for conflict.
A cherry-red glow slows my pace.
Jaz is lying on her hood against her windshield, smoking. She parts her red lips to let the smoke drift out in a lazy haze.
“Where’s Darcy?” I ask her, knowing one can’t be far from the other.
“Peeing.”
“Here!” I hear within the dark of the trees. The rustling of leaves and snap of branches follow as she fumbles up the slight incline. “Where ya going, Sadie?”
“There’s a fight,” I answer just as a girl’s cry chases us down the driveway.
“Dumbass boys. Can’t play nice.” Jaz slips off the hood of the car with grace and stomps the light out of the cigarette. “Guess that’s it then, huh? Going anywhere else?”
“Not planning on it.”
The girls enter the car and have it running in a matter of seconds. Jaz rolls down her window. “Text us if you do. Get out soon.”
She eases out of the driveway and races away.
I unlock my car door and enter in time to hear, “Cops are coming!” The faint whir of sirens drifts through the trees.
Those three words are like a fire alarm. The house explodes with movement. People rush out of every door and even a few windows, scrambling to reach a vehicle. Any vehicle.
Which is how I end up with four bodies diving into my car while I’m mid-three-point turn.
“Hey, Sadie,” Livvy greets me breathlessly from the passenger side. I’m about to tell her to get out when three more bodies plow into the back seat.
A text lights up my screen from Danika: GO.
I peel out of the driveway as headlights flood the dark.
“Where am I dropping you?” I ask Livvy since she’s the only one I know. The girl and two guys in the back are juniors. I recognize their faces, but can’t remember their names. She looks to them, questioning. They shrug.
I pull to the side as two police cars race by.
They got here fast. Which means someone called them from the party—probably when the Greenfield players arrived.
My guess is that it was Ryder so his place wouldn’t get destroyed in the fight.
It’s not a very big house, and there were a lot of people in there.
I don’t envy his cleanup or whatever his parents are going to do to him once the cops call them.
“My place,” she says. I nod.
Livvy lives on my street, so I’m pretty sure her jumping into my car was strategic. The others just followed because she’s still carrying a case of hard lemonade.
“Why were you leaving your friends behind?” she asks, like we talk all the time. She’s lived on my street my entire life, and this may be the most she’s ever said to me. She only ever started talking to me when Oren and Danika started dating because she and Oren are close.
“They’re okay,” I assure her.
“Sure,” she says like she’s not convinced that’s true.
I eye her faux pink fur coat and black leather boots and the lollipop she’s twirling in her mouth.
Livvy pulls down the visor and squeezes eye drops into each eye to soothe her bloodshot eyes.
Twenty minutes later, I flop on my bed with a dramatic sigh. Danika texted she was home and would call me tomorrow. So, I call the one person who I know will answer, no matter what time it is.
“How is he?” I ask as soon as Collin answers.
“I’m fine. Thanks for the love.”
“I know you’re fine.” I can’t hide my anxiety, knowing that Jonathan was probably in the middle of whatever happened inside Ryder’s house.
“It’s not guaranteed. You know that.”
I blow out an impatient breath. “Collin! C’mon. Is Jonathan okay?”
“He’s fine. Didn’t even throw a punch. It was too tight in there. Just words and shoving. He dropped me off a few minutes ago and is probably home by now. But you’d know that if you called him.”
“I can’t.” I did consider it, but then my stomach did a few somersaults, and I knew Collin was the better choice. He’s always been easier to talk to.
“Why am I the in-between? We’re all friends here. Why do I have to be the one sending messages between you two like we’re in sixth grade?”
“I don’t want to make it awkward.”
“Can it be any more awkward?”
Awkward is actually an understatement. I yank at the hair wrapped around my finger with a disgruntled breath. “I know. Sorry.”
“Something needs to give because you’re both driving me crazy.”
“He talks to you about me? What does he say?” I hold my breath in anticipation.
“Not going there. So, stop.”
“Fine.” I roll onto my stomach and stare up at the pictures of the three of us taped to my vanity mirror. “See you at Clara’s at ten?”
“Of course. Nite.”
I’m the first to arrive at the coffee shop and sit in our corner table in front of the window. The restaurant is buzzing with order dings, raised mugs to request more coffee and families chattering at their tables.
Within a minute, Collin and Jonathan are in their seats at the white-and-gold-speckled laminated table. Collin raises a hand to greet Clara, who is behind the counter, collecting payment from a customer.
“Good morning, sunshine,” she calls to him. “You’re a day early.”
“Aren’t you lucky?” Collin hollers back, making her laugh.
We usually meet at Clara’s every Sunday at ten. It’s become a ritual since middle school with very few exceptions. This week being one of them because I have to spend the day with my family tomorrow—not optional.
Jonathan has a nasty gash on his lower lip that I can’t stop looking at. I shoot Collin a look when he sits down. He gives me wide, confused eyes.
“I didn’t think you got into it with anyone last night,” Collin says at my silent insistence—stepping on his foot under the table.
“It’s from an elbow when we were leaving. During the mad panic when the cops were coming.”
“Oh.” Collin tries to look convinced, like maybe he remembers it happening. But I can still see the skepticism in the narrow of his eyes.
“Where’d you end up going?” Jonathan asks me.
“Home.”
“Which you’d know if you actually answered your texts,” Collin scolds.
Jonathan looks confused, then examines his messages. “Right. Sorry.”
I shrug, trying to play it off—unable to speak because that would definitely give away the tightness in my throat.
What am I doing? What are we doing? This is beyond awkward. And it shouldn’t be awkward. It has never been awkward between us. Okay, not never. But not like this. Not like it has the past six weeks. He barely looks at me now.
“I really am sorry.” A foot nudges mine under the table, directing me to meet his dark eyes, heavy with apology. “My dad was up when I got home, and it was… well, it wasn’t great. I have to inventory the garage today because he’s convinced I left the door unlocked.”
“Seriously. Why is Hal so paranoid?” Collin asks.
“He really thinks someone’s going to randomly drive down your mile-long driveway just in case the garage door happens to be unlocked so they can steal tools that, you know, won’t make any noise while dragging them out of your garage? I don’t understand his brain.”
Jonathan’s dad has always gotten upset about the strangest things.
We’ve never been able to make sense of it.
Someone somewhere is out to get him in one way or another.
Whether it’s poaching his customers, stealing his tools, or stripping parts from his construction sites.
And Jonathan is always the one to have to put his warped brain back into perspective.
If he’s not the one being blamed in some way.
“The regular for you three?” Clara asks, not bothering with her order sheet since we’ve been getting the same thing every Saturday morning for the past two years. That’s about as long as our breakfast favorite lasts until we switch it up. So, maybe I’m ready for a change.
“I’ll actually have the lemon waffle with a side of scrambled eggs and avocado and a celery juice.”
Everyone stares at me. Including Clara.
“What? My palate has matured.”
“Into a forty-year-old woman?!” Collin declares.
“Fine,” Clara responds, having to write this down. “Boys?”
“My regular normal breakfast platter, please,” Collin requests with emphasis, still eyeing me like he doesn’t recognize me.
It’s not like it’s that much different than my regular.
Granted, the lemon was once chocolate chips, and the avocado has switched with the bacon.
And I’ve never actually had celery juice, but I read it’s really good for you, so why not?
It’s probably much better for me than the peanut butter and chocolate milkshake with whipped cream I usually order.
“I’ll just have a coffee,” Jonathan requests.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Collin asks, voicing our suspicions once again.
“I already ate. My mom made breakfast this morning, and I couldn’t say no.”
“So? You’re always hungry. You can probably eat breakfast three times and still be hungry.”
Jonathan looks to Clara, who’s growing impatient by the second.
“Just coffee. Thanks.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Collin looks genuinely concerned.
He’s right; Jonathan always eats, no matter when. Maybe… he doesn’t want to order anything so he can leave as soon as possible and won’t have to continue sitting across from me.
Why am I having these paranoid thoughts? We’re fine. We’ll always be fine. No matter what. Even if he can barely look at me. Or speak to me. Or text me. I mean… we’re fine.
I collapse back against the chair.
No, we’re not. And it’s about time I fixed this, before I really do lose my mind.
“Looks like you found trouble again.” Officer Pratt seems to appear out of nowhere, looming over Jonathan. “You didn’t happen to be at that party on Floyd Lane last night, Jonathan?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonathan flashes him a glance, then sits back with his arms crossed.
Officer Pratt plants his hands on the table so he’s within inches of Jonathan’s face. Jonathan stares straight ahead, over my shoulder. I glare at Officer Pratt, hoping he can feel the penetration of my stare like laser beams. I’m pretty useless, I know.
“We’re investigating an assault. A member of the Greenfield football team, who happened to be at the party last night, ended up with a broken arm.” He pauses for a reaction that he doesn’t get. “Who gave you the fat lip?”
“I did,” Collin confesses. “Wrestling over the gaming remote.”
Officer Pratt eyes him like he’s only now realizing he exists.
“I don’t believe you.” His attention falls back to Jonathan.
“If I discover it was you, you’ll be finding yourself in the back of my car…
again. And this time, you can’t rely on any technicalities to set you free.
Especially since soon, someone’s daddy won’t be defending anyone. ”
He stands and tips his hat to me.
“You may want to reconsider your company, Ms. Prescott. Don’t think affiliating with criminals will help your father’s chances.”
“Reggie, leave these kids alone. Your coffee’s waiting for you at the counter.”
Officer Pratt smiles politely at Clara and saunters over to pick up his to-go cup before leaving.
“What’s he talking about?” Collin asks.
“I thought you said he didn’t get in a fight,” I add, arms crossed. It’s not like Collin to lie to me. He tells me the truth, no matter what. That’s our thing. Even if what we have to say might hurt, we promise to always be honest.
They’re both looking at me.
“What?” Then it hits me. “Oh. Yeah. Guess my dad’s running for district attorney.”
Their eyes widen.
“I just found out yesterday.” I look between their shocked faces. You’d think I’d just told them we’re moving across the country. “What’s the big deal?”
“Um, one… where are we going to get a defense lawyer who charges in mowed lawns and painted fences? And two… your mother won’t let you within ten feet of us once he starts campaigning.”
“Well… don’t do anything stupid that requires a defense attorney. Hello? And my mother knows it’s a losing battle.”
Jonathan hasn’t added to the conversation. Not good. Which means he really thinks my dad running for this position will affect our relationship. And that’s the last thing I want him believing.
Which brings us back to the extremely obvious awkwardness.
“I’ve gotta get going. I’ll meet you at the garage once I’m done inventorying my dad’s stuff.” He actually looks at me. “Will you be there?”
“For a little while. I have to meet Danika this afternoon to work on the costumes. Then I have studio time.”
He nods and walks away.
“What the hell was that?” Collin asks, reading the situation perfectly. “He didn’t even take his coffee. His dad must be in extra prick mode.”
Or maybe I’m illiterate when it comes to reading Jonathan Reeves.