15. There’s Nothing Holding Me Back
THERE’S NOTHING HOLDING ME BACK
After the night I’ve had, all I want is to stay curled up in bed, but bird whistles sound from outside. And they aren’t from the common grackles and doves known for loitering in the trees on the property.
It’s Jase.
Either that or there’s a drunken cockatiel beneath my window whistling the Andy Griffith theme. It’s a bit pitchy, and that somehow only makes it funnier. But I’m going on three hours of sleep, and my mattress right now is my best friend.
A certain someone seems to disagree, because when I don’t get up, my phone starts playing Relient K’s “Be My Escape,” a ringtone chosen by the aforementioned male for this very reason.
“What?” I groan in answer, my face still half-buried in my pillow.
“Alexandria Florence Sharpe, you’ve got ten minutes to get your ass out here,” he says, not bothering with pleasantries.
I groan again, practically falling out of bed as I put on my glasses and drag myself over to the window. Sure enough, Jase stands there, looking perfect as usual in a fitted black tee and dark jeans. “My middle name’s Elizabeth.”
He looks at me, that lopsided grin of his turning into an all-out smile. “Good to know.”
“And you can do the whole Puss In Boots face all you want,” I counter, already anticipating his next move. “It’s not gonna work on me. I require at least five hours of sleep for it to have any effect.”
The storm that tore through the area last night continued well into the morning, and by the sounds of it, you would have thought a Roland Emmerich movie was taking place outside.
It’s almost eleven o’clock, and the sky is still a bruised gray, with only a glimpse of sunshine peeking through the dark mass of clouds.
The forecast isn’t showing any more than a few light showers to pop up throughout the day, but it doesn’t exactly look inviting out there.
Jase’s eyes narrow, that smile trying and failing to turn into a scowl. “Don’t make me come up there and get you.”
For some reason, I can’t sleep without fresh air coming into my room during the spring and summer, and Jase knows this.
But before he can move to the lattice, I close and lock my window.
“So,” he croons, “ this is how you want to play then?”
I flash him a ridiculously sugary smile. “Yeah, it’s not much of a game if I just won.”
“Ten minutes,” he warns, “or I will do something truly heinous.”
I’m about to call bullshit when my phone buzzes with a text message from Jase. Opening it, I find the two most terrifying words to ever be grouped together in all of the English language. “You wouldn’t dare…”
“Ten minutes,” is all he says before ending the call.
Thankfully, I had already washed my face and brushed my teeth when I first woke up this morning, so all I have to do is just change my clothes, swipe on deodorant, and detangle my bedhead hair.
I know for a fact that it doesn’t take me the whole of my allotted time frame, but that doesn’t stop Jase from making good on his threat.
By minute nine, I can already hear Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” coming from outside my window.
Yes, Jase is RickRolling me!
He already proved he could hack into the house’s Bluetooth stereo system, so I safely assumed he would make me listen to the infamous music video by playing it through his phone.
The song has entered the second verse by the time I get outside, but it’s not Rick Astley’s voice I hear.
It’s Jase’s.
And he isn’t necessarily singing.
No, it’s more like he’s yelling .
“Will…you…stop?” It takes me three attempts to choke out the request, because I’m laughing too damn hard.
But he just keeps going, forcing me to smother my hand over his mouth.
“Shhhh!” I hiss.
“What? I already checked. Nobody else is home,” he laughs, peeling my fingers away.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t have neighbors .”
We don’t need Mrs. Page calling my stepmom to complain about the weird boy making a ruckus beneath my window, so I grab Jase’s arm and try to drag him toward the back of the property. Try being the operative word.
He relents, laughing as we trek our way through the mess.
To no one’s surprise, the entire yard is covered in storm debris with broken branches and large twigs impeding our every step.
Unlike Jase, however, I don’t weigh enough to break the smaller bits down with my feet.
Instead, the pressure of my shoes flicks the twisted branches at odd angles, making them smack me in the legs.
We’ve barely made it halfway across the property when Jase cuts in front of me, tapping his shoulders and lowering himself enough for me to piggyback him.
Usually, I’d roll my eyes and continue on my way, but the thin scratches marring the bottom half of my calves makes the decision an easy one.
I do as he asks and hop on, letting him carry me across the yard and into the section of the forest backing my property.
On any other day, there would be enough room to walk upright without any obstructions, but the storm has knocked some branches loose.
Jase has to bend and maneuver every which way to prevent us from taking twigs and leaves to the face.
At long last, we emerge on the other side, but he doesn’t set me down.
Like everywhere else, the sidewalk is covered in the same debris.
Thankfully, everybody who isn’t already at work is probably at home sleeping, because the cars on the street are far and few, allowing us to walk on the branch-free shoulder.
The longer we walk, the more the sun breaks through the cloud coverage.
And it’s getting hot out here. Oppressively hot.
It’s the kind of hot that smothers you in the face and makes you feel like you’re not getting enough oxygen.
Nothing looks better right now than the burger joint on the street corner, the displays in the window showcasing tall glasses of ice-filled Coke and vanilla sundaes dripping with chocolate.
Jase and I anticipate the blessed air conditioning will wash over us as we step through the front doors, but we’re met with temperatures only a few degrees cooler than outside. Also, none of the lights are on.
Sure enough, we’re informed that they lost power from the storms. Unless we’re paying with cash and ordering off a very limited menu, all of which contains room-temperature food, we’re pretty much out of luck.
And it’s the same story everywhere else remotely interesting around town.
The only places that have electricity are all of the fancy schmancy boutiques and restaurants on the north end.
Funny how that works. My house lost electricity at around two this morning, but it was already back on by nine.
However, we’re hearing from the people on the south end that there was a total blackout at eight o’clock last night, and they still don’t have anything yet despite making up a much larger portion of people locally affected.
It seems even the electric company caters to the elites.
Never in my life have I been so relieved to hear the tinkling music of an ice cream truck. As expected, it’s flooded with customers the moment it comes to a stop, and Jase manages to get to the front of the line, resurfacing a few minutes later with two ice cream cones and even a couple of sodas.
“You’re a godsend,” I practically moan, relishing both the taste and temperature.
Same as always, I don’t have any money on me.
It’s not that I don’t have any, period. It’s just all “safely” deposited in a bank account that my stepmom oversees.
I haven’t been physically given my allowance since Dad married Blythe, and anytime I get physical cash from the holidays or my birthday, she immediately confiscates it and puts it away.
I have a card to the account, so I technically have access to everything, but if I buy anything she considers frivolous, I’m in trouble.
It’s her way of teaching me “responsible” spending.
Every purchase must be run past her first before.
There’s no paper trail you can follow after that; therefore, it must mean “you’re up to no good. ”
Again, Derek and Vanessa have never been placed under this kind of scrutiny, but who am I to argue?
If not for the cone and soda in my hands, my fingers would be curling into fists at the very thought.
Every day that I talk to Jase, the more he points out that these kinds of restrictions aren ’ t normal behavior.
Blythe is flat-out micromanaging me for absolutely no reason, other than the fact that she can.
I’m not some delinquent with failing grades and a drug problem.
Yet, I’m essentially a prisoner with restricted privileges.
“I promise to pay you back,” I say. Somehow.
But he won’t hear of it.
“I don’t want your pity—”
“But I’m already throwing a party, and it’s no fun when it’s only for one.” He chuckles, giving me a playful nudge. “Seriously, you’re the farthest thing from a charity case, Birdie. Not to mention, I’m the one who dragged you out here in this hellscape. The least I could do is cover the expenses.”
Since neither of us wants to collapse from heat stroke walking all over town, Jase calls any prospective businesses where we can cool off, to no avail.
The theater, mall, and even library still don’t have power, and any public pools are far on the south side.
Plus, they’ll be crowded as all get-out.
Jase doesn’t seem thrilled by the prospect, but we head over to the hockey arena not far from the school.
Blessedly cool air rushes out at us when we reach the front doors just as someone exits the building, but sure enough, we’re informed the rink is closed before we can even make it inside.
To make matters worse, Jase groans under his breath when he realizes who’s locking the doors.
Coach Strickland. Jase begins to backpedal, taking me with him, but it’s too late. He’s been spotted.