Games of Fire (8 page)

Bill’s Grease Pit was a hole in the wall between
the hardware store and a floral boutique. It was a cramped little place with a spatter of round tables, worn booths and shelves with rows of gleaming trophies from Bill’s athlete days. They were his pride and joy. At first glance, the place was nothing special, but the food was to die for, literally. The Grease Pit wasn’t just a name, it was a way of life for Bill. But anyone under fifty who didn’t mind their arteries getting clogged loved it.

Sophie was the last of her group to arrive. The others sat in their habitual spot at the back, binders and books already open in front of them. Bill looked up from the grease spot he’d been trying to scrub out with a
worn rag and glowered.

“Hey Bill!” She smiled at him. “The usual, please.”

Bill Rouster, a six foot nine inch bear
, with a head full of curly black hair and hands the size of thanksgiving hams, controlled the Grease Pit with an iron fist. He wasn’t afraid to bash skulls in if things got too rowdy. No one ever dared start anything in his joint. He was usually pretty cool about most things otherwise.

He grumbled, using a sausage-sized finger to stab at the keys on the register. Sophie passed him a crumpled bill from her pocket then turned to leave, only to
come up against a wall of muscle. The person behind her wasn’t expecting it either and they both stumbled a moment, doing an awkward little dance as they tried to regain their footing.

“I’m sorry!” she said, shoving back her hair and pulling away to look into the person’s face.

Brian Fisher smiled at her, drowning her in his perfect smile. “It’s all right. I shouldn’t have been standing so close.”

Cotton-mouthed, Sophie shook her head. “Uh no, I’m pretty sure it was my fault.”

Brian chuckled. “How about we split the blame? Fifty-fifty?”

Nervous enough to start giggling like a first grader, Sophie just nodded.

“You’re in my gym class,” Brian was saying, eyes narrowed as if trying to recall.

“Biology,” she corrected. “And
Church, which isn’t a class, not really. I mean, it kind of is, because it teaches you things, but it’s not the school kind of classes where you have to you know … learn.” She had absolutely no control over her mouth it seemed, much to her horror.

He smiled. “I remember you.” His smile deepened. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”

Her heart all but leapt from her chest. It took all of her resolve not to squeal and jump up and down with elation. Brian Fisher had noticed her!

He reached out and lightly tugged on the end of a curl. “You kind of stand out with all those curls.”

Her hair wasn’t a massive riot of fuzzy curls that looked like she’d been electrocuted, not the way her grandmother’s had when she was Sophie’s age. It used to be, when she’d been younger and her hair was shorter. But once it grew out, the weight had straightened the top, leaving the ends coiled, not corkscrews like Jessie, but nice curls that started at her shoulders and cascaded downwards like a cape. On humid days, which was just about every day, it was a nightmare and no amount of weight kept the curls from turning afro around her head. But the way Brian was eyeing her, it took all of her willpower
not
to flick a strand over her shoulder the way supermodels did, and giggle.

“My
mom’s Irish!” she blurted a little too loudly. “I mean, her grandparents were Irish. She’s Canadian. Well, I guess she’s still Irish, and Hispanic ‘cause my dad’s, you know, Hispanic. I mean, his family background is Hispanic, which I guess doesn’t make my mom’s Hispanic, but I got the Irish hair from my mom, ‘cause, you know, she’s Irish and … yeah!” She gulped, trying not to pant from having said all that in a single breath, not really sure why she did, but wishing someone had punched her in the mouth to stop her.

Brian laughed, a beautiful sound that was accompanied by the back tilt of his head
, exposing the beautiful column of throat and Adam’s apple. “You’re funny,” he said finally sobering. “Sarah, right?”

“Sophie!” she answered
quickly.

“Right!” He extended his hand. “I’m Brian.”

She slipped her hand into his, trying not to marvel at how warm and firm his fingers were curling around hers. She felt an inexplicable moment of raw jealousy towards every football those hands had ever curled around.

“I know!” Heat swarmed up into her face. “I mean, I’ve seen you around, too.”

He released her hand and she fought not to pout. “I have to get back to my friends.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to a group of kids by the window booth. “But I’ll see you again?”

She had to bite her lip to keep from screaming with
fan girl delight. She bobbed her head, trying to appear cool and confident. She must have pulled it off because he smiled and moved around her.

Sophie
walked as calmly back to her table as possible, slipped into the booth and met the wide, shining eyes of her friends. “Brian Fisher talked to me!” Sophie declared breathing hard.

Lauren and Jessie high fived her, their excitement evident in their grinning faces.

“You know you’re being stupid don’t you?” Joe said, annoyance pouring through every word. “He’s going to get back with Tiffany.”

“Oh hush you!” Jessie said kindly. “This is exciting news for our Sophie!”

“Especially since this could mean we could be rubbing shoulders with the elite of Westwood High by next week!”

The elite pretty much summed up every pretty person at Westwood High, a crowd consisting mainly of cheerleaders, jocks and student body council members.
Being popular had never interested her until the year Brian Fisher moved to River Port. She still wasn’t overly anxious to join the rowdy group, but her friends were excited about it.

“Since when did you care to join the High Table?” Joe asked Lauren, rapping the end of his pencil hard on his open textbook.

Lauren scoffed. “Since Roy joined the football team!”

If their
high school had been prison, then Roy Praxton would be the go-to guy for all the contraband stuff you weren’t allowed to have. He could get anything for a fee and threw some of the wildest parties around. He was also Brian’s best friend which made him a shoo-in for the High Table. Sophie had never fancied him, but Lauren was half in love with the guy and had already picked all the names of their children.

“
And when she’s queen, Sophie’s going to hook a sister up, ain’t ya?” Lauren was saying in her best southern drawl.

Sophie laughed, shaking her head. “And here I thought we were friends because we both had the same Hello Kitty lunchbox in kindergarten.”

Lauren flicked a dainty wrist. “A girl needs more than a lunchbox nowadays.”

Bill arrived at their table
then, a large, round tray propped on his hairy forearm. Everyone but Joe received a brimming plate of burgers and fries. He threw himself deeper into the history paper he was writing.

Sophie nudged her plate of fries closer to
him. He pretended not to notice, but she nudged harder, until it hit his forearm, nearly upending on his open textbook.

“I can’t eat all of this
by myself,” she told him as she did every time.

There
were three things Joe hated more than his father, being pitied was one of them. The other two were his childhood and, more recently, Spencer. But it was never pity on her part. She had never pitied anyone, but she disliked that Joe always went along with their plans knowing he wouldn’t be able to afford a simple plate of burgers and fries. He was the sole supporter in his family and any money he did get went into supporting his mother. How could she fault him for that, or even let it bother her. He was a great friend and that’s all she cared about.

“Liar,” he muttered,
grudgingly taking a fry, and bit into it. “I’ve seen you and fries. You practically eat them by the truckload.”

Sophie
laughed, opening her mouth to respond when Lauren jumped in.

“Well, don’t look now, but I think Mr. Fisher is trying to get your attention!”

Sophie turned her head over her shoulder and sure enough, Brian was waving her over. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She turned back to her friends, her eyes wide with barely suppressed excitement and terror.

“What do I say?”

“Talk more about your Irish grandmamma,” Lauren teased, earning a playful scowl from Sophie.

“Go!” Jessie said.

Bottom lip caught between her teeth, Sophie slid out of the booth. She tugged at the hem of her sweater nervously before starting over. Brian rose out of his seat when she reached his table. The others at the booth ceased their discussion and watched her curiously. Sophie ignored them, focusing completely on Brian.

“Hey!” she said.

He smiled. “Roy’s parents are out of town and we’re having a party there Friday. Want to come?”

There were several seconds of confusion as Sophie tried to decipher his question. It was said simply and in English, but she couldn’t figure out why he was asking her
, or if he was even serious. It honestly made no sense. Why would Brian Fisher be asking her to a party?

“I’m sorry?”

Brian chuckled. “Did I talk too fast?”

Blushing, Sophie shook her head. “No, I
’m just not sure I heard you right.”

“Well,” he said evenly. “Roy
…” He pointed to the handsome boy in question, bent over a slice of pizza. “Is having a party Friday night at his house. I would like for you to come.”

She’d never really met Roy, never said two words to him, but they shared History together
and she felt like she practically knew him because of Lauren, but going to his party just seemed weird considering that’s all they shared. “Roy’s fine with it,” Brian said, misunderstanding her hesitation. “I already talked to him and the others. You’d be my guest.”

“Oh!” Sophie glanced at her friends. Jessie gave her two thumbs up and Lauren motioned for her to turn back around. Joe
looked like someone was forcing him to chew nails. His fury was a razor sharp blade carving the air. The elated feeling melted into one of guilt as she faced Brian once more. “I can’t. My friends …”

“They can come,” Brian said at once.

“Brian!” a cute brunette hissed, shooting Sophie the stink-eye. “You can’t just invite random people!”

Brian barely gave her a glance. “It’s a party! The more people the better, right?” The question was aimed at Roy
, who nodded in agreement around a mouthful of pizza, satisfying Brian. “Awesome. So, you and your friends are invited. Do you have a cell? I’ll text you the address.”

Sophie fished into the pocket of her jeans and passed him her phone. His fingers
danced with quick, agile movements across the keys. He dug his own phone out of his pocket and did the same. A moment later, he returned her phone.

“There. You have my number now and I have yours. I’ll send you that text later tonight.”

She had Brian Fisher’s number. She had Brian Fisher’s number! Beaming and feeling like she could fly, Sophie all but skipped back to her table.

“Well?” Jessie said even before Sophie was fully
within reach.

Sophie held up her phone, a grin splitting her face in two. “Anyone up for a party this Friday?”

“I already have a dress,” Sophie insisted, poking cautiously at a bright pink sequin number with giant red and green rhinestones spiraling in a floral design down the left side. “These look like I’m hitting the stage at a drag show convention in Las Vegas.”

Lauren rolled her dark eyes heavenward, her glossy lips moving
in what may have been a prayer for patience. Sophie ignored her, moving to the next rack holding a wide assortment of what looked like a flock of chickens had gone rampant through a paint factory. Each feathery dress was a wide range of colors and smelled of fresh paint. Sophie quickly moved away before the fumes did something funny to her brain, like forced her to buy something so horrendous.

“You need to look nice for Friday!” Jessie said calmly from a rack of very simple sundresses. Sophie had already been through that rack, but everything reminded her of the
‘30s with their mute colors and white collars.

“I can look nice in—”

“In the single dress you own?” Lauren came to stand next to her, her dancer’s body moving fluidly.

Sophie
winced. “I don’t own just one!”

Lauren blinked her big eyes. “You’re going to wear your church dress to the party?”

Sophie threw up her hands. “I don’t like dresses! They’re impractical! You have to be careful how you sit and stand and you always have guys staring at your legs and trying to lift the skirt—”

“Really?” Jessie joined them. “I love dresses and that’s never happened to me.”

“Troy Hailey did it once in the second grade,” Lauren answered for Sophie.

“In front of the whole class!” Sophie exclaimed, needing to drive her point home. “They all laughed!”