The Lovely Reckless(16)
It’s like listening to someone speaking a foreign language. “Thanks. I need the help, and you’re a great teacher.”
“My brother taught me. He knows everything about cars, and he’s really patient.”
Daniel leans over his desk and checks out my book again. “Are you gonna start racing now, Frankie?”
“I’m not exactly Danica Patrick. I just want to pass Shop.” I laugh, hoping to impress them by mentioning the female NASCAR driver. I’m not about to tell them that I read about her in a fashion magazine.
The other kids smirk and trade glances. I’m definitely missing something.
“He’s talking about street racing,” Sofia whispers, filling in the blanks.
Ugh … how did I miss that? I’ve heard about the illegal street races in the Downs, but I’ve never given them much thought. Nobody I know has ever been to one. My friends from the Heights avoid the Downs like it’s a nuclear waste site. “Is that a big thing around here?”
Sofia leans toward me, and her dark waves fall over one shoulder, covering her scars. “For lots of people, it’s the only thing.”
*
By seven o’clock, Sofia is the only kid left in the room.
“My brother should be here any minute. He comes straight from work.” She watches the door. “I’m not allowed to walk home alone. He’s super strict.”
“I don’t mind waiting. Does he keep an eye on you after you leave the rec center?”
She shoves her books inside her backpack. “And the rest of the time. My mom died of cancer when I was nine, and my dad’s not around…” She pauses. “Much.”
“I’m sorry.”
Sofia smiles, and it lights up her whole face. “At least I have my brother.”
Someone knocks on the window, and the door opens.
Marco Leone walks in and my heart slams against my chest.
What’s he doing here?
“Hey, Sopaipilla, how was school?” His gentle tone sounds unrecognizable—it’s not the one that belonged to the fierce fighter in the quad or the cocky guy in the school office. He lifts Sofia’s backpack off her shoulder.
“It was good,” she says. “And this afternoon, I taught Frankie about engine blocks.”
The side of his mouth tips up. “Who’s Frankie? A boy at school?”
I bite my lip, and my throat turns to sandpaper.
Sofia laughs and wheels her brother around. “No, silly.”
Our eyes meet, and his go wide. It’s the third time I’ve seen Marco up close—at least when I wasn’t terrified—and he gets better-looking every time.
I give him a tiny wave. “Hi.”
Sofia seems to sense the awkwardness between us. “Do you know each other?” She frowns and puts a hand on her hip. “Marco, you didn’t…”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” He rubs his hands over his face.
My cheeks heat up when I realize she thinks we hooked up … or something.
Sofia turns to me. “But you guys do know each other, right?”
“No,” I say at the same time Marco says, “Yes.”
I shrug. “Sort of.”
“Are you positive you didn’t mess around with her?” Sofia whispers to her brother a little too loudly.
Now my cheeks are on fire.
Marco flashes me a dangerous smile. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember.”
CHAPTER 8
HIGHWAY RUNNERS
When I get home, there’s a note from Dad and a pizza box on the kitchen counter. He’s investigating a “big case” with his partner, Tyson. He’s really sorry.
Whatever.
I have no idea what makes a case big or small, unless it’s related to the value of the stolen car. What I do know is that the investigation requires him to work lots of nights, a fact that makes me so happy I almost feel guilty.
Almost.
Cujo sits next to the table staring at the pizza box. I’m actually hungry, so I flip it open. Spinach and mushrooms. This has to be a joke. I hold up a slice. Vegetables do not belong on pizza. Dad knows this. Cujo tracks the slice as I drop it back into the box.
The dog follows me around the apartment like a furry bodyguard. He’s probably the only reason Dad didn’t hire a babysitter to stay with me at night. If Cujo wants spinach-and-mushroom pizza, I’ll give it to him. I put a slice in his food bowl, and he scarfs it down.
My cell rings and Mom’s face pops up on the screen. I haven’t spoken to her since she dropped me off at Dad’s, and today isn’t going to be the day I do. I let the phone ring, and seconds after it stops, I get a text.
Are you ignoring my calls? I have
something important to tell you.
Maybe she wants to apologize.
what?
I would prefer to tell you on the
phone.
Mom can text her apology. I’m still hurt—about the way she dumped me here like she didn’t care, the disappointed looks she has given me for months now, and the fact that she cares more about the girl I was than the one I am now. But I’m not ready to tell her any of that.
i’m studying. u want me to do
well right?
Richard has a meeting with one of