Chapter 3 – ELLIE
ELLIE
Age Thirteen
The quadratic equation stares back at me from my math textbook like it's as tired of me as I am of it. X squared plus whatever equals who gives a shit. I tap my pencil against the paper, leaving little graphite dots that look like bullet holes through my homework.
Summer's almost here. Two more weeks of this academic torture and I'll be free to spend every waking moment with my boys, except—
I glance at my broken bike leaning against the wall, its chain hanging loose like it's given up. The derailleur's ruined beyond even Tank's ability to fix it, and the whole frame's a Frankenstein's monster of spare parts the guys scavenged for me anyway.
Mom barely has enough for rent this month, let alone bike parts. Which means I'll be stuck walking everywhere while the guys ride circles around me, literally and figuratively. Sure, Tank would let me ride on the back of his bike, but it's not the same.
Thunk.
A rock hits my window hard enough to make me jump. Then another. Thunk. Thunk.
I slide off my bed and peer through the grimy glass. All four of them stand in the dying light below, looking up at me with matching grins that spell trouble in four different flavors.
"What the hell?" I push open the window and lean out. "Use the door like normal people."
"Where's the fun in that, Princess?" Kade calls up, his voice carrying even more mischief than usual. At fourteen, he's shot up like a weed soaked in Miracle-Gro. His brown hair's gotten darker, almost black in this light, and there's something harder about his gray eyes now.
“Come on, we’ve got a surprise,” Jinx adds, bouncing on the toes of his hand-me-down sneakers like an overgrown puppy.
His hair's grown out past his shoulders now, golden waves that catch the last rays of sun.
Even though he's the shortest of the bunch, he's already a couple of inches taller than me.
The girls at school are starting to do double takes whenever they see him in the hall, and for no reason whatsoever, I have to swallow down a feral growl every single time.
Tank stands behind them, a mountain that keeps growing.
He's already taller than Kyle, which gives me a sick sort of satisfaction every time that asshole has to look up at him.
His bandana's solid black today, and his dark eyes crinkle at the corners when he sees me looking.
The scars on his face somehow seem to take up more space, despite his best attempts to keep them covered with his hair.
I'm pretty sure he'd just wear a ski mask to school if he was allowed.
He still hasn't let me see him without his mask, but I feel like he understands me better than anyone. I'm really good at sign language now. Kade helps, and he's a surprisingly patient teacher—most of the time.
Cyrus pushes his glasses up his nose. New ones with black frames that make him look older, more serious. "Sometime tonight would be nice. Before someone calls the cops on us for loitering."
"Someone's already called the cops on us three times this month," Kade says cheerfully. "What's one more?"
I roll my eyes but I'm already swinging one leg over the windowsill. The drop's not far, maybe three feet, but Tank moves forward anyway, arms raised to catch me if I fall. Always my protector, even from gravity and my own klutzy feet.
I land in a crouch, gravel biting into my palms. "This better be good. I've got a test tomorrow."
"Fuck your test," Kade says, already walking toward the RV. "This is better."
The familiar smell of rust and old leather hits me as we pile into our fortress.
Everything's the same. The torn couch, the stack of comics Cyrus swears he's organizing, the first aid kit that's seen more use than any kids' should.
But there's something different about the way they're all watching me tonight.
Like the excitement is going to make them explode if they wait too long.
"Close your eyes," Jinx demands.
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, Princess." Kade's voice goes uncharacteristically soft in that way that makes my heart do weird things lately. "Trust us."
I hate when he uses that voice. Makes me want to do stupid things like actually trust teenage boys, which everyone knows is a terrible life choice. But these aren't just any teenage boys. They're mine.
I close my eyes.
There's shuffling, whispered arguments—"No, turn it this way," "You're gonna scratch it, dumbass," "Both of you shut up"—and then the telltale squeak of wheels.
"Okay," Jinx says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. "Open."
A bike. But not just any bike. A brand new bike that looks like it rolled out of my dreams.
Pink. Bright, obnoxious, perfect pink that practically glows in the dim light of the RV. White handlebars with sparkly ribbon woven into the leather, a gleaming chain, and rainbow spokes.
"It's… pink," I breathe, at a loss for coherent thoughts, never mind words.
"Yeah, well." Kade wrinkles his nose like the color physically offends him. "We know you're obsessed with that stupid color—"
Tank's elbow catches him in the ribs hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Kade doubles over, wheezing.
"What he means," Cyrus says dryly, "is we thought you'd like it."
"I love it." The words come out choked, and shit, I'm crying. Actually crying over a stupid bike. But it's not just the bike. "How did you—" I freeze, awe turning to confusion turning to panic. "Wait, did you guys steal this?!"
"No," Kade snaps with a scowl, clearly insulted, like he didn't just steal a handful of candy bars in front of me at the gas station yesterday.
The fact that one of them was a white chocolate Reese's didn't matter.
And scarfing it down after doesn't count as endorsement of his crime, I just didn't see any reason in it going to waste.
"We didn't fucking steal it. We bought it. " He's still rubbing his side.
Cyrus shrugs. "Wasn't a big deal. We pooled our cash, bought the parts, Tank did all the mechanical stuff. Even added some tune-ups."
"Before you whine about how we can't afford it, business has been good," Kade interjects, and I have to snap my mouth shut because that's exactly what I was going to say, and I hate proving him right.
"Business," Jinx snorts. "You mean your protection racket."
Kade flips him off without looking. "It's a legitimate business model."
"It's extortion," Cyrus adds helpfully. "And it's profitable."
"Damn right it is," Kade says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tattered jeans, the ones with all the chains hanging off them. "Mrs. Cove hasn't had her garden gnomes fucked with in three weeks. That's a new record."
"Besides, it's not like it's new," Jinx says, earning a glare from Kade. "What? It's not."
"We put a lot of work into it," Kade grumbles. "And the tires are new. Tank and I fixed it up, and Jinx put on the stupid paint and girly shit."
"I ordered the parts," Cyrus adds. "Kade doesn't even know how to use a credit card online."
"I know how to use your mom's credit card," Kade shoots back.
"My mom's dead, idiot."
Their bickering fades into the background as I run my hands over the handlebars, the seat, the frame.
Jinx is right. At first glance, the bike looked brand new, but then I see the logo.
A Gershin. A real brand, not the cheap shit you get at a big box store.
There's no way any of us could afford this new, even if they were running a protection racket on the north end of town.
And they not only fixed it up but customized it, all for me.
"Thank you," I say, looking at each of them. "Really. This is..."
"Sappy?" Kade suggests. He's being a smartass, as usual, but I hear the note of anxiousness in his voice he tries so hard to hide behind his battered jackets and bravado.
"Perfect," I finish. "It's perfect."
"Good." He claps his hands together. "Now can we actually ride? I didn't spend two hours arguing with that dickhead at the bike shop just to stand around crying about it."
We pour out of the RV into the cooling evening air. I swing my leg over my new bike, and it feels like flying. The chain doesn't skip, the brakes don't squeal, and the whole thing moves like it's been dipped in oil.
We ride through the trailer park in our usual formation with Kade in front because he has to lead everything, me in the middle with Tank riding slightly to my right like a massive guardian, and Cyrus and Jinx in the back.
The wind whips my hair back, and for a moment, everything's perfect.
No broken homes, no absent fathers, no Sheri and her crew of bullies. Just us, the way it's supposed to be.
The perfection lasts about ten minutes.
"What the hell is that?" Jinx slows his bike, pointing toward the cluster of sheds behind the Hendricks' trailer.
Reese Thomas and his crew of mouth-breathing assholes stand in a circle, throwing rocks at something in the weeds. Sheri sits on an overturned bucket nearby, reading a pop magazine like she's above it all but still choosing to witness whatever cruelty they're inflicting now.
"My territory, my problem," Kade mutters, already turning his bike toward them.
He takes his self-appointed role as trailer park mob boss seriously, even if half the residents think he's just playing pretend.
The other half pay him five bucks a week to keep their garden gnomes safe, so who's the real winner here?
"Stay put," he tells me as he climbs off his bike.
I roll my eyes and follow anyway. Like I'm going to miss whatever showdown's about to happen. The boy gives orders like I actually listen to them.
"Gentlemen," Kade calls out in that fake-friendly voice that means someone's about to get their ass kicked. "And Sheri, Wicked Bitch of the South End. What's the entertainment this evening?"