Anyone But You Part 11
"Add it to my tab," I said through a mouthful of kraut.
He snorted. "Like you'll ever settle up."
"Speaking of," I began, "I need to borrow some money. I've got a date." I punctuated this sentence by cramming the remainder of the Big-n-Juicy into my mouth.
"With who? The girl from the pool?"
"Her name's Sarah," I said. I filled him in on most of the details. "Don't tell Sea, okay?"
"Why not?"
"For some reason Sea hates her. I mean, hates her. And she doesn't need any more stress, especially not now."
Jesse nodded. "I hear you."
"We're doing dinner and a movie. Forty should cover it, right?"
"Cut me a break," he replied. "I'm already a little light on cash this month." That raised my eyebrow. Jesse was never light on anything. But when I asked him why, all he'd say was "It's nothing. Forget I said anything."
Of course, this made me lay into him even more. "Saying 'it's nothing' means that there's an 'it' to begin with. So what's up?"
"Why do you care?" he asked. "It's my money."
Then I remembered. Waiting to get into the Olive Garden. Sea dragging Jesse off for a private chat. Question was, what was so important that she'd had to go to Jess for a loan? More than that, what was so important that Jesse had actually said yes?
"That's right," I bluffed. "Sea told me she was going to ask you for a little loan."
He rolled his eyes. "Nice try, genius. Why don't you use those brilliant detective skills to, I don't know, get a job?"
"Let me get this straight: when it comes to Sea, you're the Bank of Jesse, but when it comes to me, the teller is closed?"
A couple of pint-sized dorks came into the store and made a beeline for the magazine rack. Jesse eyed them suspiciously, but to me he said, "It's different. She actually intends to pay me back."
"With what money?"
"Well, Christopher," he said dryly, "our little girl has grown up. She's decided it's time she got her act together and entered the working world. Now that I think about it, you could take a lesson from her. I mean, really. What are you going to do when your partner in slackerdom starts working at the skate shop and leaves you eating her dust?"
I didn't know what he was talking about, and that p.i.s.sed me off far more than his refusal to float me the forty. Now I was determined to find Sea, make her tell me what was going on if nothing else. As if he could read my mind, Jesse said, "Did you check the park yet?"
"What?"
"The park," he repeated. "That kiddie park, with the merry-go-round? You might find Seattle there."
"Why would she be at the park?"
"Because," Jesse said patiently, "that's where she met that Scott guy."
"Yeah, but I just saw him. He said she went there to get her skateboard and that's it. I don't think she's talking to him, either."
Jesse frowned. "You should check the park anyway. I don't know what's going on between her and Scott, but if she met him at the park, it means she's been hanging out there, right?"
"Good point."
"Seriously, Critter," he continued. "You need to find her. I don't care what she says, she's got to be wigged that Frank is back in town. h.e.l.l, I barely slept last night."
"Yeah. Me too."
Just before I reached the door, Jesse called out, "Will thirty hold you? I should be home by four. I can give it to you then."
Once again, he'd come through for me. "Thanks, dude. You rock."
"Just . . . go find her."
"Will do."
seattle.
Swinging Low.
I'd been "hiding out" on the swing set for what felt like a really long time when I saw him heading into the park. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and his lips were curled slightly in a soft, friendly smile. I hated to admit it, but I was glad to see him coming toward me.
Scott.
"How did you know where I was?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Educated guess?"
A normal girl would've had the right response on the tip of her tongue. Something smart and flirty that didn't sound like she was trying too hard. Of course, I'd never been a normal girl. That meant I said absolutely nothing. I was nearly suffocating on the silence when he tossed me a bone: "You want a push?"
"Huh?"
"On the swing," he said. "You want a push?"
"Nah," I said. "I'm okay."
"C'mon, you know you want it."
Scott slipped behind me. When he grasped the bottom of the chain, his knuckles brushed my b.u.t.t and made my heart beat extra fast. He stepped back, pulling me with him, and then gave me a mighty shove. Before I rebounded, he'd run clear under me and out to the other side. I pumped my legs a few times before I started to feel self-conscious, what with Scott staring at me the whole time.
When the swing slowed, I jumped off and landed all of six inches from his feet.
"Why did you stop?" he asked.
"You know why."
I wasn't talking about the swing, though. One look into his steel blue eyes let me know that he wasn't either.
"We don't have to stop," he said softly, moving even closer to me. Without another word, he pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped them around my face. Our noses were almost touching when I heard him say, "Open your eyes."
"Why?"
"I want to kiss you," Scott said. "But only if your eyes are open."
My heart thumped hard in my chest. If I did what he asked, I'd be opening more than my eyes. And yet I couldn't stop them; they opened like they had a mind of their own.
"Better," he said.
In the movies women are always talking about how a good kiss left them weak in the knees. I'd always thought it was a stupid thing to say-until that moment. The last time Scott had kissed me, I was wearing little more than a turquoise bra, but it was the whole kissing-with-our-eyes-open thing that really made me feel naked.
I don't know what made me pull away from a kiss that good. Maybe I could feel we were being watched. Because when I broke the kiss and turned, Critter was standing there staring at us, not even a pool-length away. Our eyes locked for only a split second, but it was long enough for me to feel like I was caught doing something wrong. He shook his head in disgust, turned, and walked away.
"Was that your brother?" Scott asked.
I nodded.
"He came by earlier. Looking for you."
It didn't surprise me. "I told you he would."
"Yeah, but you still haven't told me why."
I chewed on my top lip, wondering how much I should say, or if I should say anything at all. This was family business, and Scott wasn't family. Telling him about my deadbeat dad would feel even more personal than that kiss.
"Never mind," Scott said, interrupting my thoughts. "You'll tell me when you're ready." He held out his hand, but I didn't take it, not right away. He waited patiently, and then, still holding it out, he said, "We haven't got all day."
"What do you mean?"
"We've got plans, remember?" His voice was light, happy. "Let's go build you a new skateboard."
Kinetic Connection.
We took Russ's mom's car-a white Ford Escort with her name, Amy, airbrushed in purple on the license plate frame-up 202 North to this small shopping center near the Pennsylvania state line. Sandwiched between the India Grille and a blinds store was Kinetic Skateboarding-a pretty lame name for a skate shop, but at least it was cool inside. The front end held rack after rack of sneakers, T-shirts, and hats. The right and back walls sported decks of every size and color. My eyes zeroed in on this wicked lime green Popwar model with flickery white flames screened over it. Such a beauty. Scott saw me drooling and whispered, "Look but don't touch."
"Meanie."
He headed up to the counter and asked for Brannon, who was the owner or manager or something. The guy who came out from the back looked way too prep to be a good skater, but then again, Scott didn't look so punk himself, and he knew tons.
Scott introduced himself and said, "My buddy Oakland was supposed to give you a call about a favor I needed."
"Right, right," Brannon said. "You're the kid from Seattle."
"That's me."
They did some weird guy handshake thing I couldn't follow. Then Brannon said, "I've got your stuff in the back," and disappeared through a door situated between two racks of decks. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the money Jesse had left me.
"There's fifty," I said. "It's all I could get."
Scott took the bills and said, "Go get some grip tape. Shorty's Black Magic."
When I got back, Brannon was showing Scott the deck he'd gotten from the back room. It was completely blank, without even a base coat of paint on it. "We don't usually sell without a logo," Brannon said, "but Oak told me you needed cheap."
"Take a look," Scott said, handing me the deck. "It's shorter than your old one and a little less wide, which should help you with your tricks. Plus, it's seven-ply, instead of five, so it should give you tons more pop."
I ran my hand along the smooth Canadian maple. My Kryptonics was only the second skateboard I'd owned, and I'd bought it used at the Farmer's Market two summers before. I'd never had the luxury of owning a virgin deck, let alone one I'd made myself.
We left the deck on the counter while Scott took me around the store, pulling the rest of the stuff he thought I should buy. "I think we should go with the Venture trucks. The Superlights only last about a year, but they're going to give you what you want, and you can always upgrade later." To that he added the wheels-Spitfire Cla.s.sics in a green and black swirl that were small and hard and absolutely perfect.
What wasn't perfect was the price tag on this little shopping excursion: $82.97. Scott shook his head and said, "No can do. We only have fifty," but Brannon didn't want to budge. "C'mon," Scott said, "can't you help out a friend of a friend?"
They went back and forth for a bit and eventually Brannon came down to seventy, grumbling about how he was losing money on the deal. Thank G.o.d Delaware doesn't have any sales tax.
Scott said, "How about I kick in ten of my own? That would give you sixty."
"Sixty?" Brannon said. "What have you been smoking?"
Scott chuckled. "What's an extra ten bucks between friends?"
"You," Brannon said, "are no friend of mine." He sighed. "Okay, okay. Sixty. But you tell Oakland we're square-no, you tell him that he owes me now."
Watching Scott negotiate on my behalf was sort of hot, even though I wasn't totally comfortable with him putting in any of his own money. As Brannon rang up the purchase, I whispered, "I'll pay you back."
"No biggie."
The store had this really rank smell-like sweat and sawdust and burnt sugar all rolled into one-and I got a big whiff as we headed out the door. I must've made a face, because Scott said, "It's curry."
"What's curry?"
"What you're smelling. It's from the Indian place next door."
"Is that, like, some kind of animal?"
He laughed. "It's a spice. You've never eaten curry before?"
"No."
"Then you're in for a treat."