Track 17 #2
Parker releases both hands from the steering wheel, reaching over my lap to open the glove box and retrieve his paperwork. He hands his information to the policeman, who says he’ll just be a minute before walking off to his car.
“Now,” he says.
Panic wreaks havoc within me as I do exactly as he instructs. I reach into my bag without dipping my head and feel around for the small round container holding the illegal prescription drugs.
“Hurry up,” Parker barks, and my heart hitches. Nervousness. Fear. Anxiety. I sob silently as my hand searches blindly, my ears on fire and my vision blurry with tears.
Finally, my fingers clasp around the small container, and I pull it out, passing it quickly over the cupholders and placing it into Parker’s palm.
He grasps it tight, then shoves it into his pocket before he looks over at me, forcing mine to meet his.
“This isn’t your fault, Alana. Do you hear me?”
It doesn’t feel that way.
“No matter what happens next, this isn’t your fault. You tried to do a good thing the only way you knew how. It’s okay.”
I cry more when he grabs my hand. The cop is making his way back to us now. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”
“P, I don’t want you to get in trouble for something I did. Please—”
“Listen to me. This has nothing to do with you, okay? Derek has his own vendettas. This is not your fault,” he repeats, but there’s no way I could ever believe him.
Guilt crashes into me, layering itself into my petrified state. I can’t believe I did this. I can’t believe this is happening!
“Let’s make a new plan. Let’s just tell them, P! Let’s just tell them what happened—”
“It doesn’t work that way, Lana,” he says calmly, his eyes still forward. “This has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you, I promise.”
“Just… Just give them back. I’ll tell them what happened. I’ll tell them they’re Derek’s.”
“No. You can’t get in trouble, Alana. You’ll lose your scholarship to UT.”
“I don’t care!” My voice cracks with fear and shame. “We can figure something out!” My eyes bounce between the officer walking back to us and my brother’s blank stare. He’s not listening to me. He’s already decided this is it. “Parker—”
“The cop is going to ask me to get out of the car next. And when he does, he’s going to search me. If that happens, Lana, do not say anything. No matter what. Do you understand?”
I barely nod.
“Say it,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, P. I understand.”
He takes a jagged breath. “It’s gonna be okay, Lana Lane.”
It’s the last thing he whispers before the cop arrives at the door and asks him to step out of the vehicle.
The officer asks him a few questions to which Parker responds accordingly. My heart pounds in my ears, the flow of my blood a loud woosh. I can’t make out the exchange through my muffled sighs and sobs.
They give him a sobriety test. Recite the alphabet backwards. Stand on one foot while touching his nose. Switch. Take five steps forward and three steps back. He passes each one.
A flicker of hope calms the roaring anxiousness in my belly. They’re going to let him go, I think. I pray. I beg the Heavens above.
A second officer meets with the first, this one a bit older with a permanently fixed snarl that screams he has something to prove. A bone to pick with society and a hard-on for derelicts like us.
Officer Two tells Parker to lace his fingers behind his head as he begins to pat him down. Under each arm. Along his torso. Down one leg. Then the other.
The cop spills the contents of P’s pockets onto the hood of his car. A pack of wintermint gum. A cell phone. And an unlabeled white plastic container.
The older officer shows the bottle to the other, who shakes it before examining its contents.
“These don’t look like Tic Tacs,” I hear him mutter to his partner. Officer Two smirks while staring Parker down pridefully.
And then my brother is whisked away.
His sky-blue eyes shining red and blue with the blinding lights that will seal his fate.
The memory fades as the song comes to its end.
What’ll I do with just a photograph to tell my troubles to? When I’m alone with only dreams of you that won’t come true, what’ll I do?
I take a deep breath.
What do I do, P?
“Jeez, you still listen to that shit?” Derek asks as he enters the kitchen from the bathroom. Three whole days of this asshole, and I’m still nauseous at the sight of him.
“They’re classics,” I defend, shutting my music off.
“Classic shit.” He sucks air into his nose and spits a mouthful of phlegm into the sink as he walks past it, barefoot and shirtless.
“You’re disgusting,” I recoil.
“Not as disgusting as your music taste. You and Parker were always listening to that stuff. Got Jamie in on it, too. Elvis, and all that weird shit. Horrible.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“How is Jamie, by the way?” I ask with a taunting bite.
I know Jamie can’t possibly be well, and I’m sure it’s killing Derek to see how much P’s absence has affected her.
They were one in the same, Parker and Jamie.
Kindred spirits through and through. Where there is no Parker, there is no Jamie. Everyone knows it. Even Derek.
He peers over at me with a stern gaze. “Never mind Jamie,” he huffs. “I need to talk to you about another favor.”
“You mean allowing your cigarette-stained ass to ruin my secondhand couch isn’t enough of a favor already?” He rolls his eyes. “Being blackmailed. Stalked. All that, and you still need more?” I rest my chin in my hand as I lean over the counter, watching him.
“So anywayyy, I have a couple of…things I need to get rid of.”
“What kind of things?”
“Nothing fancy.” He shrugs. “Just some addy’s.” I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to do anything. Just introduce me to some of your college friends. You know, like old times.” His lips curve into a devilish grin, and I scowl at the sight of it. It’s the only time I’ve ever hated dimples.
“First of all, I’m not some sixteen-year-old kid you can manipulate into helping you sell drugs anymore. And second, I am in no way introducing you to people. I’m literally praying no one even sees you near me, let alone connects you to me.”
“Well, that’s gonna be kind of hard seeing as you will be personally escorting me on all your college adventures.”
“Yeahhh, no.” I purse my lips and scrunch my nose at him, grabbing my purse off the counter before shooting him a disapproving look.
“You know, you keep saying no like you have a choice.”
I flatten my expression, grabbing my buzzing phone from my bag.
JAKE: We need to talk.
“Shit,” I breathe.
I haven’t spoken to Jake in days. My newfound…inconvenience has made me a complete ghost to the outside world.
My mind whips to the night at Donn’s. To the closet where my body said more than it should have. To the powerful grip his strong hands had around my waist, my back, my hair. My mind volleys between my want to tell him everything and my fear of what would happen if I did.
Derek breaks through my thoughts with a smirk. “Boy troubles?”
“No.”
“No?” He leans over, reading my message upside down. “Then who is Jake, and why do you need to talk?”
“He’s a classmate.” I click my phone to lock the screen. “He wants to talk about homework.”
“Just a classmate?” His brows raise, a new twist to his lips appearing. “Why’d you get all flush, then?”
“Ugh,” I grunt. “Stop watching me, you creep.”
“Hey, maybe your boyfriend wants some addy’s. Or some of his friends. You should ask him over ‘homework,’” he says with air quotes as he plops down onto my couch again. I’m going to burn it when he leaves.
I sigh dramatically, as if I could not possibly be more bored with Derek and his endeavors.
“Still saying no, huh?” He links his hands behind his head. “Hmm. Wonder what Parker will think of that.”
“Do you really think I believe you’ll set Parker up again? Please,” I scoff. “And how do you think Jamie would feel about that? You think if something else happened to her precious P, she’d forgive you? I’m sure she’s already not too happy with you.”
His silence tells me I’m on to something, however much of a sliver it may be.
His cold stare sends a shiver down my spine, but I set my body firm in place, not wavering if only to show an inkling of strength. He stands from the couch and takes slow steps toward me until he’s a foot away, looking down the bridge of his nose at me. His voice is absolutely sinister.
“A few extra years won’t hurt either of them. Don’t underestimate me, princess. I really fucking hate that.”
I want to gulp, but I refuse to let him see my fear. “Whatever,” I say instead, rolling my eyes and feigning any sense of confidence when all I feel is earth-shattering anxiety. I turn and make my way to the door.
“Where the hell you goin’?” he calls after me.
“Work! You know, where normal people go to make money?”
“Ha,” he huffs. “Sucker.”
He walks to my living room and falls onto my couch again like he owns the place, legs sprawled out, already reaching for the remote as if this is just any other day for him.
I let the door slam shut behind me, wishing with every cell in my body I could shut out my past just the same—close the door for good on all the painful reminders of why a guy like Jake could never be real for a mess of a girl like me.