Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he scanned me with hard eyes, turning in my direction again.
“So… what do you want to do then?”
“I didn’t drive. Do you think you can take me home? I’ll text my friend Kylie to let her know I’ve gotten a ride—but only if you can. If not, I can stick around. I don’t want to ruin her time or yours.” I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
His eyes fell down to my chest, lingering on my cleavage. I started to frown, but I held off.
One: Because I needed a ride from him, away from this Dark Side, and two: I kind of didn’t mind it, not that I would ever admit it.
“Fine.” He pulled out his key, unlocking the blue and black F-150. It honked twice. “Get in. I’ll let my boys know I’ll be back.”
My head bobbed. “Okay.”
I watched him turn without another word, casually making his way towards the bonfire. A few people practically jumped out of his way as he walked through the crowd, searching for his friends.
When he finally found them, I hurried to the truck.
Swinging the passenger door open, I slid across the smooth black leather, glad it actually smelled clean and not like most teenage boys’ vehicles.
He had a self-installed radio in the dashboard, and hanging from the rearview mirror was a gold chain, Mardi Gras beads, and a black rope.
The black rope was what caught my attention most. At the end of it was a heavy, blue plastic fist, with the words Dirty Dawg Pit printed on it.
Dirty Dawg Pit?
Bewildered, I sat back in my seat, staring at the fist until Drake showed up, hopping into the truck on its 28-inch rims. The jump in was smooth and effortless, as if he’d honed the routine to perfection.
When he brought the engine to life, that’s when I noticed his red knuckles, the bandaging wrapped around his right hand.
“Something happened to your hand?” I asked as casually as possible.
Before he could put the truck in Drive, he looked down at his hand, and then back up. “Got into a little brawl. Nothing major.”
“Oh. Did you beat him up?”
“Fucked him up.” He chuckled, gripping the wheel, clearly proud of his victory. His laughter had faded, but he still wore a smile as he pulled away and asked, “Where do you live?”
I gave him the address and after he plugged it into to his smart phone’s GPS, he hit the road. Each second away from The Dark Side gave me relief.
I allowed myself to calm down, pressing my back against the soft leather of the seat and focusing on the black pavement that Drake’s wheels chased.
“Don’t party often?” His voice cut through the thick silence.
“That was my first party of the year and I didn’t even attend it.”
“Hmm.” He was quiet again, and I looked down at my lap. “Why’d you transfer to public school?”
“I hated private school.”
He let out a deep grunt, one that happened to be a laugh.
“I don’t see you around Lake Lane…” My lips pressed, and I noticed his hands tighten around the wheel, those bloody knuckles somehow whitening.
I knew Drake had dropped out. I’d heard about it as soon as I transferred because I asked Kylie. She knew of him, pointed him out in her yearbook and told me she never saw him again after her sophomore year.
“Why’d you stop coming to school?”
He didn’t answer me right away. Instead he drove until it felt right to respond. “Responsibilities.”
“Like what?”
His jaw ticked, eyes hard on the road ahead of him. “Don’t worry about it.”
I studied him from my angle. His flexed jaw, pinched eyebrows, and tight lips were a dead giveaway of his aggravation. Something told me he had no choice but to drop out… or he simply just hated talking about it.
“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure it was very important. Besides, there’s always getting a GED.”
He scoffed. “Yeah.”
“Where do you work?” I asked, digging for more. It’d been years since I last saw or spoke to Drake. Eight, to be exact. I needed to know more. I needed to know what I’d missed out on in the last eight years.
He still intrigued me. I had many questions. Being with him in his truck felt like a great opportunity to ask them.
Sitting forward, I lifted the plastic blue fist hanging on the black rope and asked, “Is this a gym? A place you work?”
Reaching forward quickly, he shoved my hand away and gripped the fist with his forefinger and thumb until it stopped swinging. “Don’t touch my stuff.” Out of the corner of his eye, he looked me over, stopping at a red light.
Perhaps the look of fear that passed over my face was what made him lighten up, or maybe it was because he still remembered fifth grade, when I backed him up and even encouraged him to swing with me. He’d had a soft spot for me then, but I was sure I was testing his limits now.