Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(90)

“Why did you ask me to come if you didn’t want me here?” I repeat my question, one hand braced on the seat, the other on the door handle. Owen is shaking his head, his eyes staring at the center of his steering wheel.

“I have no idea,” he says, his voice an eerie calm, his head shaking with a breathy laugh. When his eyes move back to me, I see everything that’s left inside him…and in a flash, it all falls away.

Owen. Is. Gone.

I slam his door shut, and turn, walking fast down the walkway to the band room, willing myself to look ahead. But I’m counting. I count every step I take that I don’t hear Owen’s truck shift—that I don’t hear his engine rev, that I don’t hear his tires squeal. I get to seventeen before I hear him disappear. I turn, only to see dust, his taillights faint as he whips around the corner.

“Goddamnit!” I yell, my stupid rebellion echoing off of the concrete walls around me. I yell because I’m alone. And I cry. I cry fast and hard, ducking into the shadows of the small outside stairwell. I hide there until the pressure of everything leaves—or at least until I’m able to hide it. All I’m left with is the sharp pain in my chest.

I avoid Willow and Jess during warm-ups, and I busy myself in a conversation with a freshman in the band, a girl I don’t think I’ve ever talked to before. She’s telling me about her dance class, and how she learned some sort of hip-hop move. She’s excited to do it with her friends at the dance tonight.

She’s so happy. Right now, right this second, I would trade places with her.

I didn’t want to go to this dance before, not really at least. And now, I really don’t want to go. But I don’t want to go home either. I’m caught in hell.

It’s the last game of the year, which means we don’t have to wear uniforms. They’re all being cleaned for competition next week, so I get to keep my hair up, to stay in my stupid flirty outfit—the one I wore hoping Owen would see me and change his mind, that he’d want to go with me.

Stupid girl. I’m such a stupid girl.

This is the same guy who put on a performance every day at lunch with a different girl, the same guy who provoked me with his flirtatious threats. This is the guy who cheats death, who actually seeks it out so he can laugh at that fine line—crossing it from time to time just to prove he can, other times, erasing it completely. My lips must be moving while I talk to myself, while I laugh silently about how crazy it is to think that Owen Harper wants to go to a school dance.

“You okay?” Jess asks, his voice low. He’s trying to hide his question from Willow, and I’m glad.

“Nope,” I say honestly, sucking in a deep breath to keep the tears where they belong, the sting coming back to the corners of my eyes.

“Owen?” he asks, tapping his drumsticks along his jean-covered leg.

“Yep,” I say, watching him tap out a rhythm.

“Sorry,” he says, moving his hands over to my lap and tapping the sticks on my shoes, my feet folded up as we sit on the floor. He plays out an entire song, and it makes me smile. He’s distracting me, for a few seconds. I’ll take this.

When Willow comes over to hold her hand out and lift me to a stand, I look at Jess, my eyes flashing a warning, and he closes his eyes with a quick smile. I know he won’t say anything, and I’m going to pretend I’m fine.

I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.

I walk with Willow to the field, a few of the band parents taking care of our equipment for us tonight, pushing my xylophone down the hill. I listen while she tells me about the dances at this school, how they usually go. I let her fill every second of empty air, and when I feel the conversation start to end, I ask her another question, and she begins again.

Our team is almost winning the game, which helps keep us all excited and invested. More blank space filled. If only I drove myself…I’d shove my hand down my throat right now to make myself throw up so I could go home, play sick. But Willow’s so damned excited about this dance; I couldn’t make her miss it just to take me home.

And again—home isn’t much better.

The clock runs out, and our team actually wins. It’s our first win, so students rush the field. You would think we just earned a play-off berth rather than a record of one and nine. I turn my attention to my things, to the long dark hill of the parking lot. That’s when I notice the souped-up, lifted pickup in the distance. I see the glow of his cigarette in the dark, and the glare is just enough to spotlight the two girls standing with him—one of them leaning into him, hanging on his arm.

I keep sneaking looks at him as we file down the bleachers, and I don’t even hear Willow talking to me when she finally yanks on the sleeve of my sweater, jerking my body hard toward her.

“Where the hell are you?” she says, her eyes scrunched, her lips flat in a straight line. She follows my gaze to House in the distance, then turns to me again. “It’s just House,” she sighs.

“I know,” I say back, my eyes still on him, my response barely a response at all. I watch as a few more people join him at the end of the parking lot. It’s the regular crew. Everyone. Everyone but…

“Owen,” she says, getting my full attention.

“Where?” I ask, looking around the lot, trying to find him.

“This…you. How you’re acting,” she says. “This is about Owen.”