Chapter Eleven #2
Then she got up on the toes of her Adidas and they were
making out again.
Eventually, she had to get back to work.
And so did he.
But before she folded into her car, she caught sight of the
Bronco that was sitting out in the forecourt. It was running, they’d sent it
off to be painted earlier that week, it looked shiny and new and shit-hot, and
they were going to list it on their website for sale soon.
Studying it, she said, “You’re so freaking right. That
Bronco is boss. Maybe tomorrow I’ll come by and take it for a test drive? Would
that be cool?”
It was then, already knowing he was falling for this woman,
it cemented that he was falling for this woman.
“You bet,” he replied.
Part of their getting-to-know-you time had been learning she
got by with the store and wasn’t destitute, but most anything she wanted
(usually vacations and getaways), she had to save for. Whereas, his ma socking
money away for him and Dutch, and both of them getting their brother’s cut of
what came in from Ride, these things meant Jag was comfortable (and then some).
So he knew she couldn’t afford the price tag on that truck.
But he could.
In other words, maybe they wouldn’t be listing it on their
website soon.
She folded in her car, which was nothing exciting. She’d
stuck with Honda, and it was a solid ride, probably got great gas mileage. But
it was seriously not Archie.
She’d kill it in that Bronco.
She blew him a kiss as she drove away.
This meant he was smiling when he got a chin jerk from Dog
as he headed back into the garage.
Approval.
He already knew that.
He got a shit-eating grin from Shy.
Again, approval.
And again, he knew that.
He joined Joker at the car they were now working on.
Joker said nothing.
“So?” Jagger pushed.
Joke looked to him. “You already know she’s the shit, you
don’t need me to confirm it.”
Jag tilted his head to stretch his neck and felt something
pop.
Joke heard it.
“Your mom’s gonna dig her, man,” Joker went on.
He focused on his friend.
“I got—” He cut himself off.
“You got what?” Joker prompted when Jagger didn’t say more.
Jag coughed when he didn’t need to and said, “Nothin’. She
wants to test drive the Bronco. Tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Joker said, bending back over the engine, nodding
distractedly, head back in the engine. “She’s the shit.”
They got about an hour’s worth of work done before Jagger
got a string of texts.
The first from his mom.
The last one was not, and that was the one that spurred him
to action.
The ones from his mom started with, So, you’re blowing
your mother off but your girl has lunch with your brothers?
He suspected it was Dog’s big mouth that caused that. No
doubt Dog told Sheila, and then Sheila got right on with his mom.
Even if he meant to reply, which he didn’t, not until he
figured out what to say, she shot off another text before he could.
Tack’s been in touch.
Shit.
Tack told her Jag had reached out, then canceled.
His mother wasn’t stupid. They were close. Even not being
around him, she’d sense something was up.
The next was, I get when it’s new and you want it all to
yourself.
Okay, that was a good excuse, and maybe actually part of why
he was hoarding time with Archie.
Then came the next, But I sense that isn’t it. Word is,
you’ve known this girl over a decade.
Not exactly.
But still…
I don’t know what’s happening with you. The next
began. And went on with, What I hope you know is the path is always clear
to me.
He was about to text back, I know and then some
words about how she could chill (even though he knew she’d never chill, at
least he could try) when he got a text from Archie.
Shit is real, baby. Mal came in and he’s being a little
dick. Something has gone down. He won’t talk. I think I need you.
He had no idea why she would need him.
He just saw that she needed him.
So to that, he texted back.
Be there in twenty.
Then he got on his bike.
Jag parked at the back of S.I.L., hoofed it around
the side of the building and went in, almost immediately hearing a whistle.
He looked right, saw Joany up behind the cash register,
ringing someone up.
She jerked her head toward the bookshelves.
Jag nodded, even though he didn’t know if she was directing
him to Archie or Mal, and scanning for either, he moved that way.
He didn’t have to find Archie, she found him, coming quickly
out of the homewares section with Fabe at her side.
Jag had met Fabe. A very tall, skinny Black dude with a fade
at the sides of his head, twists at the top, a bent toward electronic music and
a vibe that Jag couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Bjork was playing, and Jag wouldn’t put it past Archie to
throw that on. Joany, no way in fuck. Fabe, definitely.
Fabe seemed like a pretty laidback guy, usually.
Now he looked pissed.
Shit.
“Hey, honey,” Jag greeted Archie. Then to Fabe, “Yo, dude.”
“Yo,” Fabe bit off.
Archie gave Fabe an I’m sorry look then turned to
Jag.
“Okay, well, we’ve had a bit of a name-calling incident.”
Archie explained Fabe’s attitude and the I’m sorry look.
“I’m getting smoothies. Do you want a smoothie?” Fabe asked
Archie a question Jag didn’t understand since they had a soda fountain stocked
with ice cream, so who in their right mind would go and get a smoothie when
they could be sucking back a malt?
She shook her head.
Fabe looked to Jag and arched a brow.
Jag shook his head.
Fabe stormed off.
Jag turned to Archie. “What happened?”
“Fabe was trying to do a man-to-man with Mal to get him to
talk and Mal called him a poof.”
“Poof” was better than some things Mal could have called
him.
Regardless, he shouldn’t be saying shit like that at all.
Jag shouldn’t be, but he was curious.
“Is Fabe, uh…?”
Archie rolled her eyes and told him, “He’s pan.”
“He’s what?”
“He does chicks. He does dudes. He does dudes and chicks
together. He does trans. He fucks whoever he thinks is pretty. And he thinks a
lot of people are pretty.”
Well, that answered a question that hadn’t been burning in
Jag, but he had it.
“The fact remains it’s uncool to call people names,” Archie
went on. “Especially people who have been awesome with you.”
“Yeah,” Jag agreed.
“I think Mal looks up to you,” she told him. “He asked me
the other day when you were coming around again.”
That surprised Jag.
“No shit?” Jagger asked.
She shook her head. “No shit.”
“Is he in the library?”
“The what?”
“The library, your book section.”
She smiled at him. “I dig you call it that.”
“I dig you dig that, baby. But can you answer the question?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Last I saw of him, he headed in there. He
reads. This is another reason I know something is up. When he gets into his
head, he gets into it with a book. Problem with that is, we have homework time
right after school and he starts reading and doesn’t do his homework. Which is
how this all began. I asked him about his homework, he wasn’t cool with me.
Fabe waded in. And it went south from there.”
Jag drew in a breath to gain some cool at the thought that
Mal gave her shit, then he bent, touched his lips to her forehead, and made his
way to the library.
He found Mal in that mini-maze of shelves, sitting in an old
armchair, nose in a book.
He didn’t miss Jag showing, his eyes flicking Jag’s way,
then he made a point of ignoring him, shifting in the chair to send a shoulder
Jag’s way.
Jag tamped down his annoyance and evened out his voice when
he said, “Soda fountain, bud. Now.”
“I don’t want nothin’,” Mal
mumbled, not meeting Jag’s eyes.
“I didn’t ask,” Jagger replied. “Let’s go.”
There was more belligerence in it when Mal turned fully to
him and snapped, “I told you, don’t want nothin’.”
“Ass to a stool, I’m making you a malt.”
“I don’t got money for a malt,” Mal retorted.
“I’m buying,” Jag offered.
“That’d be awesome, if I wanted something. But…I…do…not.”
“So sit with me while I have a cherry Coke.”
With that, Mal lost it.
“Why can’t you just fuck off?” he bit.
And Jag immediately leaned over him, it was threatening, and
he meant it to be, but it was the wrong call.
Mal lurched back into the seat, his eyes widening in fear.
Okay, where did that response come from?
Jag eased back an inch physically as well as with his
attitude and again modulated his voice when he said, “I give a shit. I was at
work, Arch texted, and I jumped on my bike to listen to what you might have to
say. You don’t have anything to say, all right. But I’m havin’
a cherry Coke and I’m makin’ you a malt or whatever
you want and we’re gonna just be. But we’re doing it together. You with a guy
who cares and me there to listen if you decide to talk. So, will you go to the
soda fountain with me?”
Mal took a minute with that before he nodded.
Jagger straightened, and Mal slithered out of the chair.
They walked together to the fountain, or Jagger walked, Mal
slunk.
He didn’t miss Archie watching them, Joany standing beside
her.
Archie looked worried. Joany looked irritated (and worried).
They were part of Mal’s village.
And so was Fabe.
Mal just needed to get that.
That and the fact that you didn’t shit in your village.
“Hop up,” he muttered when they got to the fountain.
Mal hoisted himself up on a stool.
Jagger went behind the counter. “What do you want?”
“Chocolate shake, made with syrup, not chocolate ice cream.”
That was specific for a kid who didn’t want anything.
Jag didn’t comment on that.
He put his hands to his hips and stared at the stuff behind
the counter, primarily the old-fashioned three-rod shake machine, then he
looked at Mal. “Do you know how to work any of this shit?”
Mal stared at him open mouthed a second, then he cracked a
smile.
Okay, the smile was good.
But Jag didn’t comment on that either.
Out of nowhere, Archie ordered, “Sit down, you goof, I’ll
make your stuff.”
Jag watched Mal clam up completely in the face of Archie.
He then gave her a look.
She mouthed, “I’ll hurry.”