Chapter 15 #2
The tops were sealed tightly, and as they claimed seats at one of the patio’s empty picnic tables, the bottles opened with reassuring clicks of breaking plastic and a rush of carbonation.
“Top back on whenever you’re not drinking,” Jules reminded Hobbit, who nodded.
And there they sat, until Belle arrived and immediately joined the line for the keg.
Despite the autumn nip in the air, her costume—and Jules was certain she’d chosen it carefully for the role she was playing here—was a very short pair of cut-off jeans with a black crop top T.
Her shapely legs were around two miles long.
Of course, the clunky black boots she wore on her feet added to the whole Daisy-Mae effect.
“Watch her with your peripherals,” Hobbit told Jules now, his voice soft so that no one would overhear them.
“It’s a stage-acting thing. When you’re in a play, you can’t look directly at the person you’re about to bump into, for example, but you can pay attention to what’s happening at the edges of your vision.
So right now, to everyone else, it looks like I’m looking at you, but I’m really watching Belle. ”
Jules stared back at Hobbit, trying to do the same. “Okay,” he said. Yes, there she was.
“Although you might want to smile,” Hobbit suggested.
Jules laughed. “Was I making an I’m concentrating face?”
“Mmm,” Hobbit said. “Little bit. Much better now.”
Jules realized that he could do two things at once. Watch Belle, yes with his peripherals, and smile at Hobbit. “I don’t want to pretend you’re David,” he said.
“It’s another acting technique,” Hobbit explained, “that I thought might—”
“Yeah,” Jules said. “But no. Thanks. I really don’t have to pretend to enjoy your company.”
“Well, my character is totally in love with you, and you just completely made his night,” Hobbit said.
A big burst of laughter from over near the keg made them both glance up and over, and yeah, Belle was in the thick of a crowd that appeared to be growing. And shit, okay, the soccer team was out there now, getting refills.
Jules took a deep breath and smiled at Hobbit, keeping both his face and his entire body relaxed.
“The soccer jocks that are here.” He’d been meaning to ask Hobbit about this, since they’d gotten that sneer from Rodney in the living room.
“I’m still so new and don’t really know them. .. Are they all local, or...?”
Hobbit gave them another glance. “Not this group. At least three of these guys aren’t from our school.”
“Yeah, I figured that you’d... know them well enough to...”
“I don’t know if they’re necessarily from Ottersfield,” Hobbit said. “But Belle’s talking to them right now, so... I’m sure she’s finding that out.”
Jules risked another glance, and yes, she most certainly was talking to the entire group of them.
He found himself looking over toward the thicket of mountain laurel and other still-green bushes behind which Tom was lurking.
If this was hard for him, what was it like for Tom?
Or for Shelly, who was quite possibly watching a replay of the crime that she’d survived.
“Peas and carrots, peas and carrots, peas and carrots,” Hobbit leaned in slightly to Jules. “That’s what you mouth on stage when you’re in the chorus, in a crowd scene, when it’s supposed to look like you’re talking to the person sitting next to you.”
Because, yeah, sitting here silently could out them as the guard-dogs that they in fact were. Jules made himself laugh as he leaned forward, too, and brushed a piece of a leaf off of Hobbit’s sleeve.
Across the yard, Belle laughed, too, long and hard—the forced laughter of a girl desperate to have fun.
She really was remarkably good at this.
“Peas and carrots, huh?” Jules said. Or they could just have a conversation. “So you know how to shoot. Guns.”
“I’m a Clark,” Hobbit said. “Firearms training starts at an early age. I’m pretty good at it—marksmanship. I’m not so good at the killing-Bambi thing, though.”
“Yikes,” Jules said. “Your family really goes hunting?”
“Yup. Throwing up in Dad’s truck was one surefire way to never get invited back to that party, which was fine with me,” Hobbit told him. “Although I’m sure the I’m gay—” he gave jazz hands “—announcement played into the decision. Okay, what is she doing?”
Jules turned, because yes, holy ignore-the-rules-Batman, Belle was making a beeline for the back door into the house. Some girl was with her, hustling her forward. “Who is that?” he asked, already standing up to follow them both.
“Mindy,” Hobbit said. “Or Mandy or... She’s in band. Flute player. Junior class.”
Jules was halfway across the yard when he realized that Rodney and his many idiots were heading directly toward the table where Hobbit was still sitting. Oh, crap, that wasn’t good. He looked back at Hobbit who was clearly bracing for the incoming abuse—definitely verbal and possibly physical.
Jules stopped short and Hobbit gave him a strong look that could only be described as What the hell are you doing?!
Go, Hobbit mouthed, glancing pointedly over at the brush where Tom, Shelly, and Sadie were hiding, right before he smiled grimly up at Rodney and the team.
Yes, he was right. Tom and the Esses would come to Hob’s rescue, if need be, while Belle was in the house alone. But shit.
Jules ran for the backdoor, pushing his way inside just in time to see Belle somehow cutting the long line and going inside the little powder room as the girl who’d been in there came out. Whatever Belle had told the girls who were waiting impatiently to pee, he could only guess.
She was, after all, Belle.
Although how and why had she forgotten about their code? Was she already impaired? What if she went into the bathroom and passed out? How long should he wait before he went over there and pounded on the door?
Five minutes?
Ten?
It had only been about thirty seconds so far.
As Jules sweated and waited, he tried not to be obvious about it, moving through the noisy crowd to the sink and the open window above it that looked out into the backyard. His mouth had gone dry and his heart was racing as he gazed out the window and watched the bathroom door with his peripherals.
The scene out the window wasn’t helping to lower his blood pressure.
Rodney and his boys—there were around twelve of them—were encircling Hobbit, who was still sitting there, staunchly manning his post. Some of the idiots milled about, clearly bored, but most of them surrounded the younger boy, a few even sitting on the table above him, leaning in close, laughing at his discomfort.
Hobbit had his arms crossed and the look on his face was pure whatever. But he was, Jules noted, watching the back door for Belle and Jules’s return.
God, he wanted to go out there and... do what? Punch Rodney in his smirking face? Mr. Harrison would not approve—although, shit, maybe he would. Because enough was enough.
But okay. Jules would try not-punching first. He’d make sure Belle was okay, then he’d go out and hold out his hand to Hobbit. He’d pull him up and out of his seat and away from Rodney’s relentless bullshit.
Bullshit that would no doubt follow them.
At which point he’d then punch Rodney in the freaking face.
But then, as Jules watched—one eye on that still-closed bathroom door—three minutes and counting according to the clock on the microwave—Topher and Joey appeared.
They greeted Hobbit—freaking Joey even reached out and shook his hand—before sitting down on either side of him and yes!
Rodney and his boys slunk away, retreating back to the keg.
Across the kitchen, the bathroom door finally opened and Belle exploded out. “Thank you so much,” she effusively told the line of girls.
Mindy or Mandy or whatever her name was, was back, and she handed Belle a dark blue sweatshirt. “Oh, my God, thank you!” Belle tied it around her waist and gave the girl a big hug.
Which was when, over Mindy or Mandy’s shoulder, Belle caught sight of Jules standing there, no doubt looking rattled as hell.
“Oh, shit,” she said, and as she straightened up, she started to sing. “Kiss today goodbye and point me toward tomorrow...!”
She did a little dance toward the back door, mouthing a quick sorry to Jules before she pushed open the screen and went back out into the night.
Jules’s knees felt weak as he rejoined Hobbit, Joey, and Topher at the picnic table. His heart was still racing, and his mouth tasted like shit, so he grabbed his Dr. Pepper and took a long slug of both caffeine and sugar.
Belle was laughing with the soccer jocks, over at the keg, and Topher was watching her. “Did Tom really break up with her?” he asked. “I mean, really?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Hobbit lied artfully, shooting Jules a questioning look.
He shook his head as he met Hobbit’s eyes, shrugging slightly. He had no idea what had just happened, but he allowed himself to take advantage of Belle being the topic of conversation to look directly over at her.
She seemed okay.
She’d wrapped the sweatshirt she’d borrowed from Mindy-Mandy around her waist. But if she was cold enough to borrow it, why hadn’t she put it on?
It was longer than her shorts and with her back to them, as she refilled her cup at the keg, it made her look as if she weren’t wearing any pants at all and. ..
Ohhhh, shit.
Jules’s friend Georgie back at his old school was always having what she’d called menstrual accidents.
Her period came irregularly, and the flow was often ridiculously heavy.
When it took her by surprise, she’d bleed clear through her jeans—which was as nasty as it sounded, and would prompt a panicked rush to the nearest bathroom.
Since it happened pretty constantly, Jules had learned to adapt. He’d kept an extra sweatshirt in his locker expressly to lend to her whenever she stuck her head out of the girls’ room to psst at him. She’d wear it the same way Belle was wearing Mindy-Mandy’s—tied around her waist.