Chapter Thirteen
VICTOR
So yeah, I totally lost it last night at the game. When my dad kept yelling at me from the stands and I knew that Monika could hear his rants, it pissed me off so much that I couldn't control my anger. I took it out on the other team, on Dieter, on my friends...
Control is the only thing I have left. And now I'm losing it.
This morning, I'm about to leave the house when mi papa stops me in the hallway. "You're a moron, Victor," he says.
"Thanks, Dad."
Leave it to Papa to constantly remind me that I'm not even close to meeting his expectations as a son.
"I'm late for work," I say, expecting him to fling another insult because that's what he does best.
Papa hates where I work. He also thinks that football and being a jock, two things that define me, are a waste of time. He goes to the game for exposure and to fake everyone into thinking he's a supportive father. Truth is, he'd rather me join the Future Entrepreneurs of America. The fact that I didn't try to get a prestigious internship at a Fortune 500 company this past summer irks him. He'd never brag that his son is an All-State high school football player who works at an auto body shop getting his hands dirty and making crap money.
He wags a finger in my face. "Do you know what Jack Weigel's son did this past summer? He worked for a banking firm downtown."
"Besides playin' football two times a day this summer, I've had a job."
He shakes his head in disappointment. "You call going to that run-down body shop a job?"
"Si."
"Don't delude yourself. Working at the body shop is a hobby at best, Victor. How much does Isa pay you?" Papa asks. "Minimum wage?"
I shrug. "Sometimes less."
"You want to make minimum wage the rest of your life?" he asks, disgust laced in his voice. "I'll tell you what. I'll build you a choza in our backyard so you can live in it and get a taste of what it feels like to live on minimum wage."
"She's familia," I say, and hope to leave it at that. It's hard, because my veins are starting to fire up and my body is getting rigid. As much as I tell myself that his words mean nothing to me, my body reacts uncontrollably.
"Isa is trash," he spits out, his top lip curling.
Stay in control.
I walk past him and step out of the house into the fresh air.
I drive the old rusty motorcycle Isa gave me as payment last summer when I worked for her. It's not long before I cross the tracks and head to Fairfield, the same town as our rival school. I ride through the streets, completely aware that it's enemy territory but acting like I don't give a shit. Well, I actually don't give a shit. If someone wants to come at me, I'm game. Let's just say I've never backed down from a fight. I may have even started a couple.
Or more than a couple, but who's counting.
It's not that I like to use my fists, but I'm used to it. When I was younger, I would cower in fear when someone picked on me. One day I was at my cousin's wedding, and mi papa pulled me aside after some pendejo at the wedding pushed me. Papa grabbed my shirt and told me I needed to toughen up if I ever wanted to be a real man.
After a while, he stopped being my hero.
And I became an asshole.
"You're late," Isa says to me as soon as I step in the shop.
"So fire me." I slip into my blue work coveralls hanging on the wall by the back office.
She whips a dirty rag at me. "You know I can't fire you, pendejo. You're the only one who'll work for a hot meal, a couple of bucks for gas, and a beat up ol' motorcycle that ain't worth the price of gas you put in it."
Isa looks tough with her hair pulled into a tight ponytail and coveralls that were definitely made for a dude twice her size. That, on top of the Latino Blood gang tattoos she got when she was in high school, makes her look like one tough Latina.
I've got to give Isa props, though. She didn't know shit about cars before Enrique, the guy who previously owned the place, died in some sort of gang warfare. Supposedly he was shot execution-style right behind the front desk of the body shop. In his will, he left the place to Isa. He also left her the debt on the place. Instead of selling it, she's been determined to learn everything she can about being a mechanic to keep this place running.
Two cars are on the racks. One is an '82 Mustang needing new brakes, and the other is a beat-up old F150 that needs an engine rebuild.
"Here," she says, handing me the work orders for the cars. "Start with the Mustang, 'cause that's a fast turnaround and I can use the cash." She pauses and then adds, "I'm behind four hundred bucks on this month's mortgage payment."
"Maybe stop givin' me a couple of bucks for gas," I tell her as I walk over to the tool chest and pull out what I need. I'll work for free and she knows it. Being at the auto shop is where I want to be whether I get paid or not. It's my escape. "Or sell the place and move on."
"I can't do that," she says, pushing her shoulders back as if that'll make her look and act tougher. "I need to keep this place open. For me."
And for Enrique, but she won't admit it.
"Don't stress," I tell her. "I'll put fliers around town and drum up business."
Her harsh features soften just a little. "You're too good to me, Vic. I don't deserve you."
Deserve me? "Hell, Isa, I'm an asshole."
"I know. But you're the nicest asshole I've ever come across. Now get back to work," she says as she playfully punches me in the stomach.
I work on the Mustang while Isa starts taking inventory. It would be sweet if this car was repainted and the inside was detailed and restored. Once upon a time, this car would've turned heads. Not now. Well, now it turns heads because it looks like a pile of junk, not because it's a cool car.
I finish with the Mustang and get working on the F150. The engine rebuild won't be a piece of cake, but it's right up my alley. When I'm working on cars, I can escape the rest of my life. I feel more at home in the auto body shop than at my own house.
"Hello! Anyone here?" I hear someone call out.
I look at the entrance and see Bernie, a mechanic who helps Isa at the shop a few days a week. The dude has been in love with my cousin since he started working here, but she pushes him away. I've got to give him credit because he's got the cojones to keep coming back for more of her verbal assaults.
"I thought I fired you." Isa growls the words as if she's a feral animal. "Get out of here."
Bernie, a thirty-something dude whose hair is brushed neatly to the side and is the walking definition of a nerd, walks over to Isa. "You fired me because I asked you out."
"Exactly."
Bernie holds his hands up. "That's irrational, Isa."
"No." Isa walks toward the front desk, putting a barrier between her and Bernie. "What's irrational is you wanting to ask me out. It's never gonna happen."
"Why not?"
She glances up at him. "Because I don't date."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Okay, let me put it this way." She slams her hands on the desk. "I don't date nerds. Now get out."
Bernie, who you'd think would be a pushover, ignores her. He walks over to a car on the lift and starts looking at the paperwork while whistling. He starts working on the car.
I have to say their interaction is pretty damn entertaining.
"You want me to call the cops?" Isa calls out angrily.
"Go ahead," he says.
"Don't test me, dork."
Bernie stops whistling. "Did I ever tell you that you're sexy when you're being obstinate?"
"Fuck you," Isa says while flipping him the finger. She storms upstairs to her private apartment.
"You're asking for nothin' but trouble," I tell Bernie.
Bernie shrugs. "I'm in love with her, Vic." He stares longingly at the door where Isa just disappeared. "And I want a chance if she'll give it to me. Haven't you ever wanted to date a girl so bad that you were willing to do anything to have a chance with her?"
"No," I tell him, thinking of Monika and the way I've felt about her for years. "I'd give up if I were you."
"Well, it's a good thing you're not me." He holds out his palm. "Can you hand me a socket wrench?"
"I thought she fired you."
"She can't afford to fire me, Vic." He smiles mischievously. "Don't worry, I'll break her down eventually."
"You know she stores a gun under the front desk, right?" I warn him. "I don't think she'd be afraid to use it."
"Some girls are worth the risk," Bernie says. "Haven't you ever been in love?"
"Yeah, but I gave up a long time ago." My best friend won her over the second he asked her out.
"One thing my father taught me before he died, was to never give up. Ever." He gazes longingly at the door to the upstairs apartment. "Well, unless she shoots me. Then I guess it's over."
Chapter Fourteen
MONIKA
Trey texts me Sunday morning saying that he wants to take me somewhere. The problem is that I don't feel good. My wrists feel like they're being stretched, and they hurt so bad.
Trey isn't big on surprises, so it must be important. I walk, hunched over, into the shower, get dressed in my new shorts, and wait for him to pick me up.
The entire drive my heart is thumping, especially because he seems so nervous. He keeps tapping his fingers on the dashboard, and his knee is shaking.
Is he nervous because he's finally going to spill the truth about Zara Hughes?
Is he high on drugs?
Are we about to break up?
My anxiety fades and curiosity takes control when we pull up to Wild Adventures amusement park.
"Wild Adventures?" I ask when he pays the parking guy five bucks to park in the lot.
"Trust me, you'll love it," he says.
"Trey, I hate roller coasters. You know that."
He pats my knee as if I'm a little kid about to go get a shot at the doctor's office. "You'll be fine."
I walk through the park, looking up at the huge contraptions like they're monsters. Mostly I'm afraid my body won't be able to take violent jerks. Every step makes me feel like I'm ninety instead of eighteen.
It's a miracle I've been able to hide my condition from Trey for so long. When I'm slow or my bones ache, I just tell him that my knees are stiff from cheerleading and he doesn't pry further.
I guess I was always afraid of him knowing the truth. Would he treat me differently? Would he think I was too delicate? Would he break up with me?
Just reading the warning signs as we stand in line for the roller coaster makes my joints ache.
"You'll have fun," Trey says, taking my hand and urging me toward The Blitz, the biggest ride in the park. "I promise."
"Umm... I don't think I can do this," I say, my voice trembling. "I don't feel good."
"Don't be a wimp, Monika. It's not a big deal. It doesn't even go that fast." He checks his phone as if he's expecting a text or call. Is he waiting for Zara to contact him?
We're so out of sync with each other.
When we're in line for The Blitz, I look over at his dark features. He's wearing long shorts, a tank, and dark sunglasses. He's tall, lean, and has a chiseled face that most guys would be jealous of. He's smiling as he drapes his arm around me while we stand in line.
I read another warning sign. It warns against pregnant people and people with back or neck problems. They don't specifically warn people who have other disabilities. I don't want to alert Trey to the fact that I'm not as healthy on the inside as I look on the outside. I've been able to hide it from him for over three years. I'm not about to reveal it now, especially when we're going through such a weird time in our relationship.
I take a deep breath. Okay, I can do this. I'm getting an infusion treatment soon, so my symptoms will subside.
To take my mind off my anxiety, I change the subject. "You played great last night," I tell him.
He squeezes me tight. "Thanks. Though I freaked the hell out when I got tackled at the line of scrimmage in the third period. I mean, if Gordon can't do his job to protect me I swear I'm going to kick his ass."
I look up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Now you sound like Vic."
"Vic got like ten sacks last night." He shakes his head. "I don't know anyone who can read the quarterback like him. He doesn't give one iota about school, but he's an effective football player."
"You jealous?"
"No." He smiles, glances at his phone again, then puts it in his pocket. "I can still outrun Vic any day of the week. And he doesn't have an amazing girl like you."
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze him tight. "I'm so glad we're spending the day together."
Homecoming and worry are distant thoughts now as a soothing calmness washes over me.
Until I feel something lumpy in Trey's pocket. Pills.
I try to ignore the suspicion creeping into my thoughts. No wonder why his knee was shaking and his fingers were tapping uncontrollably. He's high on those pills he's taking. Is he addicted?
I need to confront him again.
I'm about to say something about the pills when I glance at The Blitz. Fear envelopes my entire body all the way down to the soles of my feet. I forget about confronting him, especially when I hear a bunch of people on the ride screaming from above.
"Trey... I'm not sure I can do this."
He gives me a gentle pat on the back. "Be resilient. It's merely a roller coaster."
"It goes upside down." I imagine the harness system failing while I plunge headfirst to my death. "What if I fall out? I'll die. What if my body gives out? I don't have the best joints."
"That's ridiculous. You won't die or fall out," he says, then laughs as he adds, "And your joints can take it. Seriously, Monika, stop freaking. I'm trying to do something fun. It would be cool if you didn't bash it. I heard you scaled a fence with the guys the other night. Don't pretend like you're suddenly fragile." He checks his phone again. "It might be the biggest, but I promise it's not even close to being one of the scariest rides here."
I snatch the phone away from him. "Why do you keep checking your phone?"
He takes it back. "No reason."
Another set of riders are strapped in, eager to be scared out of their minds. We move up and I furiously bite my nails.
We're next.
People are crowding around us now, and it's really busy and hot so there's a lot of body odor radiating off the crowd. I just focus on Trey and try to make everything and everybody disappear into the background.
Ugh, it's not working. I still have absolute fear of going on this death trap.
Couldn't it be called The Relaxing Journey instead of The Blitz?
"Next!" The employee with an official Wild Adventures nametag motions to us to get in the front row.
Front row? Oh, no!
I hesitate, but the guy waves us over again, seemingly frustrated at my hesitation. We've waited over an hour to do this. I can't back out now. I want to though. But I don't want to disappoint Trey, who's tried to convince me for the past hour that I can do this. He'll be by my side.
Taking a deep breath, I walk over and take a seat as the guy with the nametag orders me to strap in. I do it, then squeeze my eyes shut as the lockdown bar lowers.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I'm not going to regret it later.
But as I blindly reach over to clutch Trey's hand in mine, something's not right. Trey's hand is soft and strong. The hand holding mine is rough, like sandpaper.
I squint my eyes open and glance at the guy strapped in next to me.
No!
I suck in a horrified breath. It's definitely not my boyfriend, Trey. In his place is Matthew Bonk from our rival school, the guy who makes my skin crawl. I think he's got the record for most high school touchdowns in Illinois, but that fact just feeds his oversized ego. On top of that, he's friends with Zara.
"Hey, baby," Bonk says in a slow drawl as his beady
eyes roam over me and lock on to my cleavage.
Eww.
I snatch my hand back and wipe it on my shorts, then quickly glance over my shoulder. Where's Trey? When I spot him, I'm shocked. Trey is still in line with his cell up to his ear. He flashes an angry glare at Bonk. The apologetic look he then gives me doesn't help as the roller coaster starts moving.
What the...
So now I'm in the front seat of a roller coaster that's moving slowly and torturously up and up and up the scary tracks. Well, I'm not really alone. The biggest jerk to ever inhabit the earth is sitting next to me.
I tell myself not to look at Bonk, but I do. My eyes go wide as I realize that the guy has actually lit a joint. He takes a long, hard drag, then holds it out to me. "Want a hit?"
"Are you kidding me? No! Put that out, you jerk."
He laughs and takes another drag. "It'll make you relax and forget that dickless boyfriend of yours."
"I don't need to relax, thank you very much. And I'm sure my boyfriend can show you up any day of the week." I start doing Hail Marys.
I'm strapped in like a caged animal. There's no way to stop this thing now. I'm going to die next to Matthew Bonk of all people. For all I know, the joint will fly out of his hand and land in my lap or face, burning me. If I live, I'll end up with a permanent marijuana burn mark.
I squeeze my eyes shut once again and clench my body tight like I do in the morning when I get out of bed, waiting for this hellish ride to be over. Bonk's massive ego, as well as the smell of marijuana, radiates off him. I don't know where we are in the ride or how long it is.
I just pray it's over soon.
Suddenly I feel like I'm freefalling to my death, then I'm being jerked from one side to another... and again another... forget being blasted in the face with marijuana ashes.
I'm.
Going.
To.
Die.
I hear Bonk laugh and say "whoa" a bunch of times, which doesn't make me feel better. My joints are too stiff to hurt right now, but I'll pay for it later.
I know that these rides last only sixty seconds or less. But it seems like forever. Or maybe I'm stoned from secondhand smoke, and it just feels like forever. Fear is taking over all my senses. I hate the feeling of my stomach sinking with every drop and turn.
Finally we start slowing down. Is it over or are they duping me?
I let out a breath and open my eyes when we come to a complete stop.
"That was dope," Bonk says. He turns to me. "You've got to learn to loosen up so you're not such a cold, rigid bitch," he says, then steps out. "I'll see you at homecoming."