Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (15 page)

This was life. This was adventure.

This was what it felt like to be a lemon drop.

My exhilaration lasted all the way to the first S
TOP
sign, where I frantically pounded Wes on the back and begged to get off. He slowed to a stop at the corner and rested the weight of the bike on one leg as I slid off the side. My legs trembled at the knees, and I hoped my baggy pajama pants covered their obvious knocking. My mind raced faster than his tires had, and I couldn’t believe what I’d actually done. I pulled the helmet from my head. “I’m sorry, I just—”

Wes shook his head. “Don’t sweat it, PK. I honestly didn’t even expect you to get on in the first place.”

Somehow, his saying that just made me feel worse instead of better.

I tried to calm my breathing, tried to identify the panic that had coaxed me back onto the safety of the street. The foreign thrill of rebellion. The anxiety over breaking the rules. The fleeting thought of my dad finding my bed empty.

The fear of falling.

I met Wes’s steady gaze, and my heart thudded painfully. So much for falling. I was about to crash-land in a heap bigger than the one in English class.

And with much more dire consequences.

“Maybe I could try again.” My voice sounded small, timid, and I didn’t even believe myself. Wes didn’t either. He shot me a look, half contempt, half pity, and it turned my stomach. What did he see when he looked at me—the girl next door? The girl without a life? The girl with the conservative wardrobe? What did he think?

More importantly, when would I stop caring so much?

I tried to lift my chin, tried to act as if his approval or disapproval of my choices meant nothing to me. But my head felt heavier than the helmet still locked in my grip, too many what-ifs weighing it down. “I’m sorry.”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “You apologize too much.”

I bit my tongue before I could say “sorry” again. Wes reached out, and my heart skittered before I realized he just wanted his helmet back. I handed it to him, our fingers brushing. The electricity that passed between us did nothing to curb my nerves, and I just wanted to sit on the street and cry.

Why couldn’t I be that girl? His girl? What was holding me back? The thought of hurting my dad, yeah. I didn’t want to do that. But was that really it? I obviously possessed enough moxie to get on the bike in the first place. Not enough to stay on, but something in me had been strong enough to climb aboard.

Then weak enough to bail.

I shook my head, my conflicting thoughts forming a headache in my temples. I felt like I was morphing into one of
those girls
right there on the street in front of my house, turning into a person that cared more about what a guy thought about her than she did herself. When did I equate not taking risks with weakness? That wasn’t me.

At this rate, I’d be heading inside to turn all my sweaters into belly shirts. All I needed was some bubble gum to pop.

“You gonna be okay?” Wes’s voice broke through the cacophony in my head. He sounded impatient now, like he just wanted to leave. Like I’d had my chance.

And blown it.

“I’d give you a ride back to your house, but, you know …” His voice trailed off as he gestured to the motorcycle in silent explanation.

“Right. No, of course. I’m fine.” My heart screamed
liar
, but I wasn’t going to turn further into someone I wasn’t. The last thing I wanted—or that Wes wanted to see—was for me to shrivel up even more. Wounded pride fought for domain over potent embarrassment, and I straightened my shoulders in an attempt to look controlled. Together. Unaffected.

I’d have been able to pull off “aloof” a whole lot better if I hadn’t been wearing pajamas and house boots.

Wes brushed his knuckles against my cheek, and the gentle touch was almost my undoing. “Hey, I tried.” His fingers lingered for a moment. I closed my eyes, and then they were gone, replaced by a gust of cold air. He revved the engine again and called over the noise. “See ya, PK.” He roared away, his parting words sounding more like a final benediction than a casual good-bye.

I stood on the street, hugging my arms across my chest. The wind teased my hair, gently now instead of the wild whipping it’d doled out when I was on the bike. Weird how I missed that already. I watched Wes turn the corner at the next block and felt something break inside me as his image faded into the night.

There weren’t enough mochas in the world to drown this ache.

I
’d dodged a bullet.

That was the mantra that kept playing in my head Friday morning at school as I went through the routine of attending classes, taking notes, and trying to scrounge up interest in my bland, undersalted lunch. Last night with Wes had been a war scene, and I’d emerged unscathed. Anything could have happened had I stayed on that motorcycle, and I didn’t just mean physical injuries from a potential wreck. I had no business on that death machine, and as much as it pained me to admit it, I had no business with Wes. He was out of my head. Out of my heart. Done. Over.

Gone.

“I know that chicken isn’t exactly appealing, but I promise it’s already dead.” Luke slid into the chair across from me in the cafeteria and grinned.

“Huh?” I stared at him, so lost in my thoughts I’d almost forgotten where I was. I shook my head to clear it, realizing for the first time I had been sitting completely alone. I normally ate with Marta, but she was out this afternoon for a dentist appointment.

Luke took a sip of milk from his carton and motioned to the fisted grip I had on my fork. I followed his gaze from my silverware to the multiple stab marks I’d made in the gravy-covered fowl on my tray and winced. “Busted.”

“Bad day?” He started to cut into his own chicken then pushed it aside and went for his Jell-O cup. Smart man.

I twisted the lid off my bottled Coke. “No worse than others. But I think I’m paranoid.”

“What about?” He spooned a scoop of red Jell-O into his mouth and looked at me as if he had nothing better to do than hear my conspiracy theories. Sort of a refreshing notion, after my conversation with Dad at breakfast had consisted of deep conversation such as “pass the pepper,” “isn’t that enough salt already?” and “here’s your napkin.” I guess that was partially my fault, though. I hadn’t exactly tried to talk to Dad about Wes. What was I supposed to say?
Uh, remember the movie
Grease
2? Just call me Cool Rider
. No thanks.

I fidgeted with the lid from my bottle. “Have people been talking about me?”

“You mean, more than usual?” Luke grinned.

“I’m serious. It mostly seems like people from Ms. Hawthorne’s class. Earlier this morning I came up on two girls from English, and they shut up as soon as I got near. Then they walked away before I could even ask for a pen.”

“You
ran out of pens? Ms. Prepared?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I have pens.
They
ran out of ink. Quit avoiding my question.”

“Since you insist, there has been some—how should I put it—general discontent about Ms. Hawthorne letting you off the homework hook yesterday.” Luke shifted in his seat. “Not from me, of course.”

“Of course.” I rolled my eyes at him.

“Just seems odd since she came down so hard on Austin recently for the same thing—though that wasn’t his first time to miss an assignment.”

I nodded slowly, remembering Austin’s indirect “teacher’s pet” comment. Great. “So people think she’s playing favorites with me?”

Luke shrugged. “It’s high school, Addison. Everything has to be equal, or people get worked up whether they really care or not.” He lifted his chin and lowered his lashes, taking on a mock regal form. “And trust me, I don’t care because I do my homework.” He sniffed. “Unlike others.”

“Cut it out.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “It was one time. Maybe that’s why Ms. Hawthorne gave me a break.”

“Maybe.” Luke looked quickly back down at his tray.

Too quickly. I frowned. “What are you not telling me?”

He all but whistled with fake innocence. “Nothing.”

“This fork can stab your arm as easily as it did my chicken.” I wiggled it in front of him. “Talk.”

“Fine, but not because I’m scared of your cutlery.” Luke leaned forward, bracing his arms on either side of his tray. His sandy-blond hair fell across his forehead. He looked over his shoulder then lowered his voice even though there didn’t appear to be any fellow students within hearing distance. “I’ll tell you because if these rumors were about me, I’d want to know.”

My stomach tightened into a hard ball. “Rumors?” So I wasn’t paranoid. I knew it. Of all the things I ever got to be right about, it had to be this. Perfect. No wonder I had been sitting alone when Luke came up.

“Word in the hallway is that your dad and Ms. Hawthorne looked pretty cozy during the open house the other week.”

I laughed. “Is that all? That’s ridiculous. They’re old friends, catching up. Apparently they went to school together or something.” I sat back, relieved. That was hardly noteworthy of being labeled a teacher’s pet. I took a long sip of Coke.

Luke hesitated then slowly reached across the table and took my fork off my plate. What was he doing—?

“They were also seen ‘catching up’ at Got Beans last weekend.”

I sprayed Coke across Luke’s tray. “That’s impossible.”

He blinked at me and made a show of wiping his napkin across his damp forearms. “Then a modern miracle occurred because apparently several of Austin’s buddies from our class went there to study together for that big test coming up and saw them laughing over some lattes.”

“My dad would never go on a date and not tell me.” But the words sounded hollow even to my own ears. I normally knew Dad’s schedule better than I knew the U.S. states in alphabetical order, but with all the time I’d spent at school, after hours working on the talent-show preparations—or stalking Wes at Got Beans—it was actually very possible for him to have squeezed in a life without my knowing it.

But why the secrecy? My stomach turned. Dad would think nothing of having coffee with an old friend on the weekend, taking a much-needed break from sermon preparations. He’d done it before, though it was usually with a deacon. If this coffee date—no, not date,
meeting—was
not a big deal, then why didn’t he mention it to me? Or did he just not mention it because it wasn’t a big deal? My head swam, and I pushed my fingers against my temples.

“Just don’t shoot the messenger, okay?” Luke handed my fork back.

I started to say something sarcastic then realized he was still dripping and slid some napkins his way. “Looks like you already bore the brunt of my surprise.”

“Next time I have news, I’ll bring an umbrella.” He smiled, and when I didn’t return it, he reached across the table and touched my hand. “You all right?”

I nodded then shook my head instead. Tears burned the back of my throat and I coughed, embarrassed at the sudden emotion. Even if Dad really did have coffee with Ms. Hawthorne, why did it bother me? She was my teacher, so yeah that sort of sucked, but it went deeper than that. Dad had never dated. I always figured it was because he kept my mom on such a pedestal—where she belonged.

Was she losing her place?

Luke’s hand gently squeezed my fingers. “It was just coffee, Addison.”

“I know.” For now. I forced a smile at Luke, took in his steady, sympathetic eyes, his brow pinched in concern. I lowered my gaze and stared at the place where our hands met, wishing Luke’s touch sent even half the shiver up my arm that Wes’s did. Yet all the contact did was remind me how much Luke wasn’t Wes.

The emotion built in my chest, and fresh tears crowded my eyes. Wes. My dad dating. It was too much. I pulled my hand away and stood so fast my chair tipped backward. “I’ve got to go.” Now, before I cried in the middle of the cafeteria and gave everyone even more gossip for the ugly mill. I tossed my trash onto my tray, my vision blurring.

Luke held out his hand, the one I’d just let go of. “Stop, I’ve got it. Go on.” He nodded his head toward the cafeteria door. His compassionate expression hinted that he understood I needed to be alone to process.

I nodded my thanks, still not trusting my voice, and bolted for the girls’ room. Once again, Luke was my hero, the knight in shining armor coming to my rescue.

And all I could think about was the dark villain breaking my heart.