The Lovely Reckless(18)
“He said to turn on Second Street,” she says finally.
“We just passed it.”
She flips a U-turn and loops back. Three tough-looking men sit on the porch of a boarded-up house, smoking. “I can’t believe he came here.”
The street runs parallel to a set of train tracks rusting on the other side of a chain-link fence. Trains stopped coming through the Downs a decade ago.
“Headlights.” I point at glowing halos in the distance. “Park under a streetlight.”
“I’m not walking all the way over there.”
“If the cars racing here look anything like the ones in Lot B, the Fiat won’t exactly blend in.”
“Fine.” Lex parks next to the curb. “But if it gets stolen, Abel is buying me a new one.”
I hope that’s the least of our problems.
Lex follows me toward the lights. “He said to look for a black car with white racing stripes. I can’t remember what he called it.”
We reach the edge of the crowd and spot the main attraction—dozens of classic muscle cars, like the Camaro in Shop class, and sports cars with flashy paint jobs, lined up a row. Hoods are popped and doors hang open while music pulses from sound systems loud enough to rival the ones in most clubs. Girls dressed in everything from fitted shorts and heels to boyfriend jeans and metallic high-tops mill around between the cars or check out the engines with the guys like they’re at a car show, while the owners lounge in the driver’s seats.
At the end of the row of cars, people are standing along an empty stretch of road.
“Who’s ready to race?” a girl with straight jet-black hair that reaches past her waist shouts from the middle of the street. The combination of knee-high lace-up boots, black tank, shiny black pants, and deep red lipstick against her alabaster skin makes her look like a character from a video game.
People whistle and shout, and the atmosphere instantly changes from street party to casino floor. Bookies rush to collect bets as a midnight-blue Mustang and an iridescent-white Acura line up side by side in front of Video Game Girl. Engines rev, and a surge of energy buzzes through the crowd like an electric current.
Video Game Girl raises her arms.
The moment they drop, tires squeal and clouds of exhaust billow into the air. The whole place smells like burnt rubber and rotten eggs.
I scan the sea of unfamiliar faces, searching for Abel or a car like the one Lex described.
Off to the side of the racing strip, three guys are drinking in front of a black car parked on the grass—a car with white stripes running down the middle. A guy wearing a hooded leather jacket bends down and grabs a huge beer can. I catch a glimpse of another leather jacket—the worn black one that belonged to Abel’s dad.
“I see him.” I’m not about to point at anybody here.
“Where?” Lex pushes up on her toes as people weave in front of us and block her view.
“To my left, by the car. He’s standing between the guy who just grabbed a beer and the one with the writing tattooed on his neck.” I nudge her with my elbow when she stares too long. “Be subtle. They don’t look friendly.”
Lex stops walking, and a girl behind us bumps into me.
“Excuse you!” she snaps.
“Sorry.” I grab Lex’s arm and pull her away from the crowd. “Are you trying to get our asses kicked?”
Lex stares back at me, chin trembling. “What if your dad wasn’t working tonight and you couldn’t get out of the house? I’d be here alone right now.”
“Bullshit. I never would’ve let you come by yourself.”
“But Abel did.” Her eyes well. “He should’ve told me to bring someone. He wasn’t even worried about me.”
I take her by the shoulders. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, I do.” She swallows hard. “Because I’m here.”
“He knew you’d bring me,” I try to reassure her.
The sound of roaring engines fills the silence, and people yell and whistle near the starting line. The race must be over.
“Let’s pay these guys and get Abel. Then we’ll figure out what’s going on with him. Okay?”
Lex nods and wipes her face, even though she didn’t let a single tear fall. In elementary school, she cried all the time. Her parents traveled constantly, leaving Lex at home with a rotating team of nannies. I got used to her tears, and then one day they stopped. Crying doesn’t make you feel better, Lex told me. It’s just a different kind of miserable.
I never understood what she meant until after Noah died. I sobbed for weeks, but it didn’t dull the pain. I carry it with me. I’m not strong enough to watch anyone else I care about get hurt.
Abel hasn’t moved from his spot between the two guys, who are still hammering down beers. Not good. Assholes and alcohol don’t mix. Abel crosses and uncrosses his arms, the way he does whenever he’s nervous.
This situation could go bad really fast. People engaging in illegal activities aren’t generally fans of new faces, and I’ve suffered through enough of Dad’s what-if scenarios to recognize a potentially dangerous situation.
The guy with the black letters tattooed around his neck falls into that category. He leans casually against the driver’s-side door of the car. The curved fenders remind me of the Batmobile, but the guy with the neck ink looks more like a prison inmate than a superhero.