I unwrap the shirt, show him the panda.
He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “What the fuck?”
“My girlfriend’s.”
I’m shocked that I said it, but I keep my face on lockdown.
“That right?”
“Yeah.”
He takes the bear from me, and I let him. “He does look dirty.”
“I need it cleaned today. So I can get it back to her. It’s actually her sister’s, and her sister’s sick.”
“Oh, so like…a little kid.”
“Yep.” I don’t know how old her sister actually is. I forgot to ask..
“So you expect some charity?”
“What?”
His bushy eyebrows waggle. “Gonna pay me?”
“I can pay.”
“Nah, you’re good for it.” He smirks. “Or maybe I’ll take it outta your old man this month, yeah? He’s still got that debt.”
“I think you’ll do what you want to.”
Our eyes catch, and his are hard. I make mine harder. For the longest moment, he holds my gaze. I know the script here: It’s my role to back down. When I don’t, he laughs. “You’ve got some weird eyes, Bowsie.”
Yeah, yeah. Blue eyes. Super crazy shit. Clean the damn bear.
“I’ll clean the bear for you.” He pulls the glass door open and tosses the panda toward Zoe, one of the assistant managers. Then he turns to me with a hard grin. “I’ve got something you can do for me, too.”Twelve and a half hours later, Tony’s girlfriend LeighAnn slams the brakes on her Porsche so hard the tires squeal, and I swing the passenger door open and hop out.
Fuck!
I run like the wind and lunge into the train car just before the doors shut. Jane in Pink has her head bowed; she’s chewing. She lifts her chin, and her eyes swing to my face. I swipe a hand back through my hair, realizing I don’t have my backpack.
Fuck!
I give her falafel a long, hungry look, then exhale and sit down. What I do have is a clean bear wrapped in my sweatshirt from yesterday. I give the bear a stupid little grin and then I flex my legs. Same boxers, same jeans, same shoes from yesterday, but I’ve got on a fresh shirt.
Diamond’s favor involved getting dye off stolen Benjis. I spent the entire night rubbing my hands raw on some chemical-soaked sponges and ended up back at the dry cleaners. I got Pandy back, plus some undershirt someone had left in their clothes. My shirt had been stained.
Without a book to read as we ride underneath Brooklyn, I think about my brother, Soren. He answered the phone when I called last night around eight. Told me Mom and Dad were sleeping.
“You mean Dad is passed out?” I asked.
“Well, yes.”
Sometimes my younger brother’s not so good at subtext, but he knew what I was thinking.
“Everything is fine here, Luca.”
I look down at the bear again, sending up a prayer to the patron saint of misunderstood sixth graders. My little bro is super smart, but he’s got what my mom calls peculiarities. He gets these mood swings sometimes. If he’s pissed off enough, he’ll just bolt from school. For some reason, Dad’s been more tolerant of that stuff lately. He even lets Soren come to the shop and help him with stocking and sweeping.
I tell myself they had an okay night despite my absence, and everyone will have an okay day today. Diamond wouldn’t approach my dad for money on behalf of the Arnoldis. Not now that he’s hitting me up for these “favors”—and maybe not at all.
I didn’t get a second of shut-eye last night, so I’m yawning by the time I have to transfer from the F to the C. There I fall asleep, waking with the train’s vibrations and the mechanized voice over the speaker system as we pull into Chambers. I smirk, realizing I’m clutching Pandy to my chest like he’s mine.
My girlfriend. I snort as I step off the train, but I head toward the tennis courts with a bounce in my stride. I end up arriving early, and I sit under one of the trees and watch the curb. But Elise never shows.
I’m ten minutes late to homeroom.EliseI find him at the center of the track at lunchtime. I’m not sure how, but when I couldn’t find him in the cafeteria, I knew he would be here.
I can tell before I’m even close—he’s sleeping. He’s got Pandy in the crook of one arm; his other rests palm up in the grass. His long legs, clad in black jeans, are relaxed, his dark sneakers tilted slightly outward in sleep. His cheek rests against his shoulder.
He looks like the patron saint of high school athletes. Something about his messy black hair and those gemstone blue eyes, the hard jawline and strong nose…that creamy skin. He’s always stood out to me. His name sounds Italian, but I think he looks Irish.
I stand over him with my arms folded, wondering which of my besties squealed. Not that many people know I run at lunch on Thursdays.