The Lovely Reckless(50)

I roll my eyes. “Then you’re the only person in the universe whose second-favorite smell is asphalt.”

He circles around me on his Mongoose and does a crazy trick. “Want to know why?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Not even a little bit.”

Noah flips a 360 on the back wheel. “It reminds me of riding my bike in the summer. That’s when they fill the potholes and my wheels get the best spin.”

“Whatever. I hate bikes.”

Noah grins at me. “That’s because you don’t know how to ride one.”

“I never should’ve told you!” I storm down the sidewalk, my long hair swishing behind me.

The real world starts to seep in from the corners, the way a sheet of paper burns if you hold a match at the bottom.

The rec center’s glass doors …

Dirt on the ground where there should be grass …

The images fade, taking young Frankie and young Noah with them.

“Hey, Frankie?” Noah calls out. “If you want to learn how to ride, I’ll teach you.”

I put my hands on my knees and take a deep breath. But I’m not shaking or dizzy, and my heart isn’t racing. The flashbacks are changing. This one wasn’t even about the night Noah died.

Why now?

Why this memory instead of the one I need?

I don’t want to remember random moments from our childhoods. I want to remember a specific moment from the night at the Sugar Factory.

I’m still trying to make sense of it when I walk into the room where my group meets. The kids are hanging out. I tell them it’s time to start working, and I take out my chemistry book.

Daniel points at my book. “Need any help?”

I flip it around so he can see the cover. “Are you any good at chemistry?”

Carlos laughs. “Daniel can’t even add.”

Daniel punches him in the arm, clearly embarrassed. “Shut your mouth, or I’ll do it for you.”

“All right. Let’s get to work,” I say. “Or Miss Lorraine will kick your butts, and mine.”

While the kids pretend they’re doing homework, I tackle my own. Without my overpriced science tutor to interpret the foreign language in my textbook, just copying the equations correctly feels like a win. Unfortunately, I doubt my chemistry teacher will agree.

Mom would hire me a tutor if I asked. But I’m not calling her. She’s still texting and leaving messages about the Stanford interview.

Three hours later, Sofia and I are alone, as usual. She pulls her chair next to mine, and we wrestle with our homework side by side. What I remember from eighth-grade algebra would fit on an index card, but I do my best to help her.

I’m not as lucky. After four failed attempts at solving the same chemistry equation, I shove the textbook over the edge of the desk, and it smacks against the floor. “I officially give up.”

“Shouldn’t you give an impressionable young mind a more positive example?” Marco stands in the doorway grinning, his muscular arms crossed over a chest I’ve imagined shirtless more than once. He’s the perfect combination of strong and cut without being overdeveloped—the kind of body most guys spend all day in the weight room to achieve. Marco probably doesn’t even work out.

But I’m still not happy about the way he acted after the race, even if he did say something that might mean he has feelings for me.

“Don’t give Frankie a hard time,” Sofia says as she puts away her homework. “Her science class seems really awful.”

Marco strolls over and picks up the book. “Chemistry, huh? Want some help?”

Is he joking?

Sofia slings her backpack over her shoulder. “He’s good at science.” She turns to Marco. “Can I hang out in the gym until you’re done? There’s a basketball game.”

He nods. “Don’t go anywhere else.”

“Got it,” she says and takes off down the hall.

Marco holds up my chemistry textbook. “Want me to take a look?”

“You’re serious?”

He puts the book on my desk and places a hand over his heart. “You doubt me? There’s a lot more to this package than a killer smile.”

Marco comes around to my side and glances at the top of my paper. Then he flips to the page that has been taunting me all afternoon. He skims it quickly, his brows furrowed in concentration. “This isn’t that bad.” He sits in the empty seat next to me and reaches for my pencil. He holds out his hand. “Paper?”

Handing him the paper, I rack my brain for a smart-ass comment—until he starts writing.

“It’s not as complicated as it looks. You’re just balancing equations.” He points at the directions at the top of the page. “You need to end up with the same number of atoms on both sides.”

I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. “How do you know all that?”

Marco copies the first problem, which I had solved incorrectly. “I took AP Chemistry last year.” He stops writing and studies me. “Let me guess—you assumed I was stupid because I’m from the Downs?”

“I didn’t expect you to be in AP classes because you got suspended the first day we met.” I don’t want him to know that Chief mentioned anything to me.