Authors: Katie Klein
Collateral Damage (9 page)
"I hang out at Tyler's," the friend says.
The guy with the hair must be Tyler.
"We don't get invited to parties," he says.
"Come on. A couple of guys as bad-ass as you?"
Tyler's brow furrows. "Is that a joke?"
I heave a sigh. "Yeah. Not really." This is going nowhere. When I was in high school, we didn't wait for invitations. We found out who was hosting and crashed. But that's when I was popular. When I mattered. And that was Hamilton. This is Bedford. Which is an entirely different kingdom, apparently. A kingdom without celebrations of any kind. "So you're telling me no one at this school has ever thrown a party?"
Tyler swings his bookbag over his shoulder, shuts his locker door, and he and his friend take off.
"I guess that's a yes," I mumble.
"No," a voice behind me says. "There's nothing to do here." I turn to find a girl in an over-sized flannel shirt and clunky shoes, hugging a stack of books to her chest. Her hair is pulled up in these spiky pigtails. There's paint on her sleeve.
Art student
.
"This place is dead on weekends," she continues. "It's too small. Too many parents know the other parents...." she trails off. "Anyone looking for a good time heads to Trenton."
"Trenton?" I repeat. "Isn't that a little far to go to party?"
She shrugs. "Depends on how bad you want it. There's more to do there, anyway. Shopping. The movie theater. Plus the college is there."
"Prescott?" Prescott is one of the smaller state colleges. It's a good thirty to thirty-five minute drive from here.
"Yeah. Apparently Fifth Street is where it's at. It's like, Fraternity Row." She rolls her eyes.
"I take it you're not a fan," I say.
Another shrug. She glances down the hall. The crowd continues to thin. "It is what it is."
"Then maybe I'll see you down there sometime."
She glances back at me, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Not likely."
"What a dump," Erik says. "How are you even surviving this place, dude?" He pokes at a slice of pizza with his fork. "I think this cheese is past its prime."
Guido's is the only real restaurant in all of Bedford, and I use the term "real" loosely. What I mean is that it's not fast food, which is its only true appeal. And as the only real restaurant, I try to overlook the matted carpet—which is one massive stain—the worn vinyl seating, and the string of half-lit Christmas lights lining the wall in front of the kitchen.
It's not only the cheese—the whole restaurant is past its prime.
"Yeah, well, I appreciate you coming down from your high-rise to mingle with the serfs," I say.
"It's the only way I can get any time with you anymore. This wonderland has your weekdays, Callie claims your weekends.... My mom told me about the wedding, by the way. Congrats. Were you gonna call me? Send a cigar?"
"You don't send cigars to people when you announce your engagement," I point out.
He reaches for his glass of soda. "Shows what I know. Anyway, it's not at all pathetic that I had to find out about my best friend's wedding through my mom."
"It just happened," I explain. "I haven't told anyone. Callie is doing enough of that for the both of us. My plan was to take it slow."
Erik laughs, shakes his head. "It's almost endearing how clueless you are about girls and weddings."
I survey the restaurant—the waitresses bouncing from table to table. The place is packed, almost every available seat filled. In this case, being the only game in town has its advantages. "Don't worry. I'm getting schooled."
"I'll bet Callie is schooling you real well," he teases. "I'm the best man, right?"
Best man? I haven't really thought about...
"You hesitated," he accuses. "I can't believe you hesitated!"
"I didn't hesitate," I argue. "Of course you're my best man. It's just...I'm busy. I haven't given it much thought, yet. We still have more than a year to worry about it."
"I'll need a year to plan your bachelor party," he says. "I'm in charge of that too, right?"
I hardly hear this, though. There's a group hovering in the doorway, the manager greeting them with a hearty: "Buon giourno!"
I could've sworn.... "Bachelor party?" I repeat, straining to see around a waitress gathering menus from a table in the middle. "I guess."
He laughs. "Classic."
The waitress heads for the kitchen.
And there she is.
Blake Hanson takes her by the hand as they cross the restaurant, weaving around tables. They're with friends. Ashley and Savannah, and Tony Perri from the basketball team.
"What do you think of Vegas?" Erik asks.
They pile into a booth.
"Too expensive," I reply.
"No Vegas. That's all right. It's not hard to find trouble in Hamilton."
I lean forward, just enough...but I can't see Jaden at all. Her prick of a boyfriend is in the way. "We were pretty good at that," I mutter.
"I know, right? Look at us now. I mean, look at
you
. You have a gun and a shiny badge and everything."
"A far cry from whence we came."
"Is that Shakespeare?" he asks.
I glance at Erik, confused. Shakespeare? "No. I don't think so."
"I'm just saying—who would've thought the night we were getting handcuffed, that one day you would be doing the handcuffing?"
"Let's not go there."
"Why not? It's the best comeback ever! Street thug to man in blue."
"Jesus, Erik. Can we not talk about this here?"
"Seriously, dude. They should totally make a movie off of you. No wonder you're giving Callie free reign with this wedding shit."
Blake leans back in the booth, and I can see her again.
If she doesn't really love him, then why does she even bother? Why would anyone waste their time with someone they aren't absolutely sure they want to be with? What's the point?
She smiles at him—something he says—and her whole face lights.
Shit.
Maybe she
does
love him; she just doesn't know how to say it.
A prickle of something that might be jealousy slides across my skin.
"Hello?" Erik asks. "Earth to Whalen. Where are you tonight?"
"Nowhere," I reply, tearing my eyes from Jaden McEntyre and the guy she doesn't love.
"Liar. Something over there is obviously more interesting than I am." He cranes his neck, following my line of sight.
"It's just some people I know."
"Who are they? Do you need to go over and say hey or anything? Or should we hide? Is this a stake-out?"
I force my eyes not to roll. "No. This isn't a stake-out."
"So who am I looking at? The two guys? The incredibly hot blonde?" he asks, watching them.
"Savannah?"
"Two brunettes?"
"That's the table," I confirm.
"Man. Did you say Savannah? She is
fine
. What are they feeding girls these days?"
"Shut up."
"I'm serious. Is she legal? Can you introduce me?"
"No. On both counts." I don't know if she's eighteen or not. I wouldn't trust Erik, even if she were. "Are you
trying
to get me fired?"
Erik laughs. "It must suck to be around so much quality ass all day and not be able to touch it."
I ignore this. "I'm hitting Trenton later tonight. Apparently that's the place to party if you live around here."
"Aww, yeah. Chris Whalen's bustin' up some parties."
"Not yet. Just some reconnaissance."
I steal another quick glance at their booth. Blake wraps his arm around Jaden's neck and pulls her close, kissing her forehead.
My jaw tightens.
She doesn't love him.
She can't
really
love him.
It's so freaking hot in this restaurant. I reach for my glass of soda.
I can't believe she thinks he's perfect.
"What is wrong with you tonight?" Erik asks. "You keep staring at them like that I'm going to walk over there and ask if they have room for two more."
"Sorry. The girl with the long brown hair? She's my English partner, and I'd really like for her not to see me."
"Then stop staring at her."
"I'm not staring at
her
," I say. "I'm...keeping an eye out."
"So by partner you mean...." he trails off.
"We have this big project due in a couple of months. Essays, an oral report, the works. We're reading
Ethan Frome
."
"Sounds awful."
"It's not," I reply.
"The book or the project?" he asks.
"Both."
"Wow. Chris Whalen loves books. And brunettes, apparently. Are you going to stare at her all night?"
My cheeks flood with heat. "I'm not
staring
at her."
"Could've fooled me. So what's she like?"
What is Jaden McEntyre like? Smart. Perceptive. Pretty.
"You know, we should probably get a box for this and get out of here," I reply, ignoring the question.
Erik pushes his plate aside. "We should probably skip the box and go find a real restaurant," he mutters.
I'm a liar, yes, but there's no point denying that something inside me lifts when I hear the push of the metal door, the cafeteria noise—when I see Jaden McEntyre strolling toward me, books hugged tightly to her chest.
"Hey," she says.
A cool breeze blows between us. The pages of my textbook flip over and over and over. I stop them and keep writing, trying to appear unaffected. "Hey."