Made You Up(39)

My salvation came a few seconds later.

“Milesie!” Celia squealed.

“What are you doing, Hendricks?” Miles’s feet—shiny shoes and all—came into view. He always walked like that, heel-toe-push, like he’d knock over anyone who got in his way.

“Oh, nothing. Just hanging out. You?”

Now they were both planted right in front of the van.

“Nothing,” he replied. His voice was low and sharp. “Just wondering why you’re running around the parking lot, screaming your head off.”

Celia hesitated. “No reason. I have to get going. But I’ll see you tomorrow!”

She hurried off, and a moment later an engine started up.

Miles was still there. I held my breath—if he’d move, I could go get Erwin and leave. I wanted him to find me under this van about as much as I wanted Celia to. He couldn’t see me like this.

But then he walked to the van’s front bumper, kneeled down, and peered underneath. “Having fun?” he asked.

I let out a gust of breath and set my forehead against the asphalt. What an *.

“Running from crazy people is always fun,” I replied.

Miles helped me out from under the van. As I brushed myself off, he asked, “So what was she chasing you for?”

“That depends,” I said, bringing up the picture of Celia spray-painting Britney’s car on my camera. I showed it to him. Please be there. Please be there. “What do you see?”

He pushed his glasses up and stared at it for a moment. “I see Celia getting angry about her cheerleading position and taking it out on Britney Carver’s car with some offensively bright paint.”

I almost hugged him. “Oh, good.”

“Are you going to tell Britney?” he asked.

“Why? Do you think she’d believe me?”

“With this evidence? Sure. But good luck getting to her with Celia around.”

“I’ll probably give these to Mr. Gunthrie or someone on Monday.”

“Give them to Claude.”

“Why?”

“He’ll give them to his dad, and he’ll make sure everyone knows about it.”

“That seems excessively mean.”

“Celia was prepared to beat you to a bloody pulp a few minutes ago,” he pointed out.

I made a mental note to go to the newspaper room Monday morning and give Claude the pictures.

Miles and I walked back up to the school. The crickets and cicadas had faded for the year, leaving the night quiet and undisturbed. Miles’s truck was parked against the curb, near Erwin’s bushes. The light outside the school’s front entrance illuminated the whole front walk. I grabbed Erwin’s handlebars.

The front half of my bike slipped free of the bush.

Only the front half.

Someone had cut my bike in half. It had been rusting away in the middle, but I was positive I’d get at least another semester out of the poor thing. Anger welled up in my chest.

Someone cut my bike in half.

Pressure built up behind my eyes. I had no transportation.

My mother would call me careless for letting this happen. She’d give me a lecture about respecting my possessions, even though I’d heard it a thousand times before. I wiped my eyes on the back of my sleeve and forced the knot back down my throat.

Dad had bought me Erwin. Brought Erwin all the way from Egypt. He was basically an artifact, and one of the few things I had from Dad that I knew for sure was real. He was priceless.

And now he was broken.

I grabbed the back half and rounded on Miles, who still stood a few feet behind me, looking mildly surprised. “Did you do this?” I asked.

“No.”

“Right.” I grabbed my bag from the bench and started down the sidewalk.

“You’re going to walk home?”

“Yep.”

“Great plan.” He planted himself in front of me. “I can’t let you. Not in the dark.”

“Well that’s too bad, isn’t it?” I wondered when he’d decided to become a white knight. “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

“And I won’t ask for yours,” he retorted. “I will throw you in my truck.”

“And I will scream rape,” I replied evenly.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t cut your bike in half. I swear.”

“Why should I believe you? You’re kind of notorious for being a lying, thieving bastard.” He shrugged.