Threat (10 page)

I try to rev the engine but it comes out more like a whimpering purr
than a roar, getting more and more faint each time. Seriously, what
the hell? I've only had this baby for a couple of months and I take
damn good care of her. She's my only form of transportation.

I look at the dash and realize the problem—it's out of water,
even though I just filled it the day before. It must be the heat. Or
a leak.

I place my palm against my face, expelling an agitated sigh. “Shit.”
I can already feel the heat pounding down on us.

Leah is looking at me and at my bike like she knows something is
wrong. Well it's pretty damn obvious at this point, isn't it?

Before she can open her mouth I point my finger at her. “Don't
you say a fucking word.”

“Why are you being so hostile towards me for no reason?”

“I don't want to deal with your shit, that's why.”

“God, I didn't even say anything.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“So I can't even ask what's wrong? Is your bike broken or
something?”

“No, it's not fucking broken, it's just… overheated.”

Her face looks even tighter now and her eyes are like two huge dinner
plates. “What the hell does that mean? Are we stranded out
here?!”

“Would you calm down? You're not helping. No, we're not
stranded. I'm just going to need to call roadside assistance or
something.”

She whines and wipes her brow. “It's hot. Like crazy hot.”

“You don't fucking say. Or do you think you're standing under a
different sun than I am?”

“So we have to stand out here and wait in the heat for God
knows how long before someone comes to get us?”

I stand up, surveying the area with my arms out. “Do you see
anything out here? Anything buildings, stores? Hell, farmland?”
There's nothing surrounding us right now except desert and mountains
for miles. “No? Then I can't do anything about it.”

“Ugh, great. You see? I told you taking your stupid ass bike
was a dumb idea.”

I clench my fists. “And I think I’d rather be eaten alive
by vultures than spend another minute out here with you.”

“Be my guest,” she says.

I start to pace across the road with my head in my hands. My bike
breaking down isn't even the worst part of this; it's Leah and her
fucking mouth. I don’t stress easily. Hell, I don’t
stress at all. But she knows how to push every single one of my
buttons.

“Maybe you should call some—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.

She winces at my sharp words. I watch her wrap her arms around
herself, her eyes downcast. I just want her to keep quiet but her
reaction makes me feel a pang of something I don’t quite
understand.

Whatever. Fuck it. If she thinks I came on too strong, she brought it
on her own damn self.

When I whip out my cellphone the first thing I notice is that I only
have one bar, and barely that. That's the absolute
last
thing
I need right now. I pull up my AAA app instead—it appears to
work, thank God. It immediately shows where we are on the map, and
the nearest service station isn't for a good three miles. I hit the
request help button, which redirects to a screen that seems to load
for ages. And then I'm hit with the one message I do not want to see.

There is currently no service available in your area.

I would fucking scream out loud but Miss Priss would only have
something to say about it. So I scream internally instead.

I hit that God damned button over and over again, the each one taking
longer to load than the one before, and every single one of them
giving me that same bullshit message.

There is currently no service available in your area.

I turn back toward Leah, but she doesn't even look at me. She just
sits perched on the edge of my bike, head down, tracing lines in the
road with the toe of her shoe.

“Can I use your phone?” I ask.

She reaches into her purse, pulls out her cell, and shoves it at me,
avoiding eye contact the entire time.

“Thanks,” I mutter, taking it from her.

Of course it's just our luck that her phone isn't getting any service
either.

I rub my brows with my fingertips, and then run my hands through my
hair, realizing our options are running thin.

“All right, so they won't send anyone out this far and I can’t
get any reception to call anyone,” I explain to her as she
ignores me. “There's a service station a few miles up. You can
stay here while I go for help.”

Her head almost immediately shoots up; she looks alarmed. “You're
just going to leave me here?”

“It's a long walk. I didn't think you'd want to come. Plus it's
hot as hell.”

She shrugs a shoulder, turning away from me. “If you don't want
me to go, it's fine,” she says. But I know she doesn't mean it.

I sigh. “I just don't want you to nag me, OK? I don’t
need to hear any more 'I told you so's', or bitching or whining. It's
not going to help at this point.”

“Alright, fine,” she mumbles, lips pursed.

We start down the dust covered road. There's nothing in sight behind
or in front of us but endless desert. Three whole fucking miles, in
this heat. It has to be over one hundred and it's unbearable. I’m
used to working up a sweat but not under conditions like this. This
isn't even safe, but I'd never admit it to Leah.

I look down at her and see her cheeks are already starting to turn
red. She looks fucking miserable, and now
I
feel like an ass for putting her through this. I don't know why I
feel bad for her when she goes out of her fucking way just to get
under my skin. “You're quiet,” I say to her, as if I
don't know why.

She keeps her head down and shrugs. “I figured you wanted it
that way.”

“Look, I...shouldn't have snapped at you back there.”
God, that was hard. And it's as close to an apology I'll let myself
muster.

She looks up at me, quickly flashing me a tight smile and then
looking away.

Silence falls between us again. How far have we walked? It feels like
a mile, but it's probably only one hundred feet.

“Are we there yet?” she asks jokingly and I can't help
but chuckle.

I pull out my phone, and wait for it to slowly load the map. “Not
even close.”

“Well we have some time on our hands so... truth.”

I grin from ear to ear. “So now you like this game, huh?”

“I tolerate it.”

“All right, so you pick truth. Hm...”

“Just don't call me a bitch again.”

I shake my head. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Her head snaps toward me and she gives me a curious glance. “Really,
you can ask me anything in the world and that's your question?”

“Too invasive?”

She throws her head back and laughs. “It's... a hell of a lot
more tame than I was expecting, that's all.”

“I’m sure I can come up with something more prying.”

“I'll take it,” she says. “Although, I kinda
already am grown.”

“True. So what do you see yourself doing in four years, when
you graduate?”

“Probably going to grad school.”

“Right. And after that.”

She breathes deep, her eyes turned toward the sky like she's
pondering something. “I don't really know,” she answers
uneasily.

Now that's not the answer I was expecting.

“Seriously?”

She nods. “I mean, I'm only eighteen, and I'm expected to
choose a path for the next, what, fifty years of my life? It's pretty
daunting.”

“You, Miss Twenty-year Plan, are the last person I'd expect to
hear that from.”

“And you're the only one I've admitted that to,” she
adds. “I mean, I already have my majors picked out.”

“Majors? Plural, as in two?”

“Yep, double major in English and Women's studies.”

My entire face twists. “
Women's
studies? You can
actually study women in college?”

She giggles. “Don't get too excited! It's more of the study of
sociology, how the world treats women.”

“Wait, are you one of those...”

Her brow arches. “One of those what?”

I cringe. “Feminists?”

Her whole face goes blank. “Yes?” she replies awkwardly.

“Okay, so
now
I understand why you hate me. It's because
I'm a guy.”

She scoffs. “I don't hate men! Well, not
all
men,”
she replies pointedly.

“Touché.”

“That actually leads into my question for you. So you better
pick truth.”

“There aren't many choices out here, now are there?”

She shakes her head. “Sure aren't,” she says, stifling a
laugh.

I stroke my chin for a moment. “Hm… truth.”

“I want to know why you made it your life's mission to destroy
me.”

“Why did I want to destroy you? Gosh, there were just so many
reasons, Parker.”

“Such as?”

“It was just so easy, with that giant backpack of yours—”

“It was a normal sized backpack.”

“It was
huge
. And you practically carried it on your
neck. And then there were the glasses, and the clothes.” It was
the perfect trifecta of nerdiness.

Now, she looks offended. “What was wrong with my clothes?”

“Everything. You were just an easy target, that's all. I had to
take it. It was nothing personal.”

I glance down at her as we continue along the dusty road. She's
silent and her whole body is tense.

“It really hurt.”

No. No. I'm not going to let her guilt trip me. “This game is
supposed to be fun, you know?”

“An apology would be nice,” she says, waiting on one like
a puppy dog, with big eyes to match. Resisting the urge to do so is
harder than it should be.

“Yeah? And what's that going to do, make all the memories
disappear? Is that really going to make everything better?”

“Maybe not, but at least I'd know that you changed and you feel
some sort of remorse for what you did.”

“I was a kid, okay? We all do stupid shit as kids—well,
all of us except you, of course. Kids are cruel, but most of us get
over it.”

“You know people kept calling me those names even after you
left. I went up on stage to
receive
a scholarship, and you know what someone shouted out?” I remain
silent, but I bet I can guess. “Hermit. This was
two
months ago. And you know what that told me? That it doesn't matter
how much I achieve, or how many good deeds I do, I'll always be
reduced to some stupid insult that you created for me in the sixth
grade.”

Well, when she puts it like that...

I open my mouth to speak, but I stop myself when I realize the words
I’m about to say are 'I'm sorry'. No, I don't apologize. Ever.
Especially not for shit I did when I was thirteen.

She shakes her hair out, turning her face away from me again. “It's
whatever. You'll never get it. A guy like you would never be made fun
of.”

“Yeah, right, like none of the kids ever made fun of me for
being white trash or not having a dad around. Or when all the kids
found out my mom was a whore. Yeah, that was a real walk in the park,
for sure.”

She glances back up at me. “So you channeled all that anger and
you took it out on me.”

There she goes again, trying to psychoanalyze me.

“You didn't exactly help by making me feel like shit all the
time.”

She looks taken aback. “What? How?”

“You were just...so damn smart.” As much as I hate to
admit it. This damn heat is getting to me. “And you never
stopped reminding me that I was dumber than someone two grades lower
than me. Kind of like how you won't shut up about Stanford now.”

“That was only because you treated me like shit and called me
names!”

I laugh bitterly. “You don't remember, do you? Of course you
don't remember.”

“Don't remember what?” she asks, folding her arms across
her chest.

It's not a moment I want to recall, but hell, it's time we get that
giant-ass elephant out of the way. “Algebra class, the very
first day of school.”

She looks confused at first as she racks her brain, but then her face
softens.

“You were the only sixth grader in the whole middle school
advanced enough to get into that class and you were so damn proud of
yourself.”

She smirks as she recalls it. “Yeah, I was. You have to admit
it was pretty impressive.”

“That's not the point. Do you remember what you did to me?”

Her face goes blank as a canvas. “I barely even remember you in
that class.”

My lids lower. “I dropped it after one day.”

“Because?”

“Because of a certain sixth grader who showed me up each and
every time I got an answer wrong.”

“That happened like, once!”

“It happened four times over the course of forty-five minutes.
That's almost once every ten minutes!”

“Well look on the bright side, at least your math skills have
improved?” I don't reply. “It was a joke.”

“Well then me calling you hermit was a joke too.”

And now she looks officially pissed, once again. “Wait, so
you're telling me the reason you tormented me for years, spanning two
different schools, and ruining my social life... is because I was
better than you at math?”

“You were so damn smug about it, and here I was, a kid with a
learning disability who just wanted to hide it.” She doesn't
say a thing. “Let's be real, everyone already knew I was trash
and that I wouldn't amount to shit. You just drove it home, and you
made me feel worthless.”

“I'm sorry,” she says.

I wave her off. “Yeah, right.”

She stops me and takes me by the shoulders. The concern on her face
looks sincere, and I assume that means she’s a damn good liar.

“I mean it. It was a cruel thing to do, using you like that to
try and make myself look better,” she says.

I shrug. “I'm over it. Been over it.” If she thinks this
is going to get me to apologies to her she has another thing coming.