Crash (10 page)

“This is what your mom gave you before she left?”

“Well, she didn’t give it to me, she left it on my nightstand before bolting off in the middle of the night, but yeah, she was thoughtful enough to write down the lyrics to some crummy song. Not even, an
I love you
or a
Yours Truly, Mom.
Nice, right?”

Folding it back up, I handed it to him. “Why do you carry it around with you?”

The tension in his jaw went up a notch. “To remind myself what can happen when you let yourself love someone.” Stuffing the paper back in his pocket, he slammed the back of his head into the locker behind us.

To date, that was probably the saddest thing I’d ever heard.

“And the hat?” I understood why it was so thread bare and worn—he’d worn it every day for the past five years.

“Same reason,” he answered, sliding it over his eyebrows.

“Well that’s just all kinds of depressing,” I said, trying to think of some way to steer the conversation another direction. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Lord I hoped there wouldn’t be any heart wrenching answers to this one.

Jude shook his head. “Just me. Thank god dear old mom and dad stopped at one,” he said, looking over at me. “What about you?”

I froze. That wasn’t the dark alley I wanted the conversation to go down. “I had an older brother.”

“Had?”

I closed my eyes, trying to discuss this as neutrally as I could. “He died a few years back.”

Jude paused. “What happened?”

I bit my lip, looking up at him. “I’m not ready to dive into that one yet,” I said, trying not to sound as sad as I felt. “Especially given the whole your-mom-left-you-and-your-dad’s-in-prison thing. My depression tolerance has officially been reached.” I tried on a smile, but it didn’t fit.

“Sorry, Luce. Life is shit sometimes,” he said, giving me a squeeze. “I’m sure he was a great guy.”

“The best,” I said, studying him. “You know? Sometimes you remind me of him.”

He grinned that honest one of his. “He must have been a phenomenal guy then.”

I tried another smile, and this one worked. “He was.”

“Now we’ve got our shitty pasts out of the way, do you have anything else you’re dying to ask me?” There was a tinge of hope in his voice, hope I was done with the inquisition most likely.

No such luck.

“Tell me the real reason you didn’t call,” I said, playing with the hem of my skirt. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I didn’t know who she was or could be, but I already hated her.

Jude’s relief at the turn in questioning was visible on every plane of his face. Grinning over at me, he said, “Hell, no.”

“You don’t want one,” I stated, remembering our very first conversation.

“That used to be my MO,” he began, looking so long at my lips I felt them start to quiver, “but now I’m not so sure.”

“Okay, so you didn’t call me, not because you have a girlfriend,” I said, checking off probable explanation number one, moving on to number two. “So you decided you’re not all that into me?” I swallowed, bracing myself for whatever answer came out of his mouth.

“Luce, for such an intelligent species, you women can be really dumb sometimes.” He laughed, lifting his index finger to my chin and turning it to him. “I didn’t call because I told you, there’s nothing good that will come out of you being with me. I might not mean it to happen, but things have a way of going all to shit around me.”

“Because you’re a cancer,” I said, repeating his words, but not believing them.

“Exactly.”

I blew out a sigh of pure frustration. “Who told you that?”

  Another far off look. “Someone who used to be important.”

It seemed like all these answers should be ticking off the questions in my mind; instead they were only adding more. “Here’s the thing, Jude, everyone already thinks I’m a slut because of you, so how much worse can it get if we keep hanging out?”

“Much worse,” he muttered before his head snapped back towards me. That look of unbridled anger was back in his eyes. “Wait. You’re telling me they’re calling you a slut?”

“Um,” I stalled, familiar with Jude’s short fuse temper. “Apparently.”

Jude punched the closest locker so hard the metal caved beneath his fist. “Judgmental bastards,” he hissed, jumping up. “I’ll catch up with you soon, Luce.” He looked back at me. “I need to do something.”

“Jude,” I warned. “It’s not worth it.” Because it really wasn’t. I’d never let what others thought of me dictate what I was and I certainly wasn’t going to start now.

“Like hell it isn’t,” he answered, already striding down the hall.

A couple of guys greeted him in passing. His reply was another fist slammed into a locker.

My elevated mood took a nose dive as soon as I stepped onto the shiny gym floors. I knew everyone wasn’t staring at me, but it felt like that. Row after packed row, I was met with knowing eyes and smiles. A few were brazen enough to whisper the “s” word just loud enough so I could hear it.

Dammit, now I was getting pissed. I didn’t want to make enemies of everyone here at Southpointe, but I wasn’t ruling it out if they didn’t start shutting their traps. It didn’t seem fair a title had been forced on me without even partaking in the fun to earn such a name.

I walked to the end of the gym and sat in the bottom row of the last section of bleachers. I had the entire bench to myself.

Straightening my back, I looked up, making a point to meet every single stare pointed my way.

“Attention, please!” a tired voice spoke through a microphone. Judging from the decade old suit and shadows under his eyes, he must have been the principal. The roar in the gym didn’t lower a decibel. “Attention, please!” he repeated in an even more tired voice. This poor guy was going to have a rough year if he was already this exhausted on the first day.

I appeared to be the only student paying attention, so that’s why, when someone suddenly appeared behind the principal and snatched the microphone out of his hand, I had time to mutter a select curse word under my breath before everyone else realized what was going on.

“Shut up, you sons of bitches!” Jude’s voice vibrated the room and everyone did just as requested.

The principal attempted to retrieve the microphone, but Jude lifted it over his head, which towered a good three feet above the poor, red-faced, principal. Jude shook his head once and peaked a brow. Whatever silent words the principal picked up from that look was enough for him to back away.

Lowering the microphone, Jude looked over at me, again knowing exactly where I was in this crowd of a couple thousand. His gaze lingered on me for another second before he turned his attention elsewhere.

“I put up with you bunch of bastards because I don’t give a damn what you all think of me,” he began, walking around the podium. “But I won’t for one second put up with you trying to ruin the reputation of an innocent girl.”

I wanted to look around the room, to experience the wide-eyed faces and jaws-to-the-bleachers mouths, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Jude. He was defending my honor and, whether he was going about the right or wrong way of doing so, it was the damn sexiest, most romantic thing I’d ever had happen to me.

“Lucy Larson is a friend. A friend whose back I have, and I think everyone knows if she were some random girl I screwed, I wouldn’t be up here now.” He paused, waiting or threatening anyone to stand up and say otherwise.

I’ll be honest, gauging the look on Jude’s face, I feared whoever might have stood up to object would be leaving today’s assembly in a body bag.

“If I so much as hear a quiet thought about her being a slut,” Jude’s fist clenched, as he seemed to make eye contact with every Southpointe High student, “you better hope you don’t like your legs because I’m going to break both of them.”

Now, to match everyone else’s, my mouth fell open.

“If anyone needs any further clarification on the matter, you can take it up with me in the parking lot.” He let that not so subtle warning hang in the air another minute before holding the microphone out for the principal.

The principal motioned to another administrator to take over before looking expectantly at Jude. Chuckling, Jude followed the principal off the auditorium stairs.

“It wouldn’t be a first day of school if I didn’t see you in my office before the end of fifth period, Mr. Ryder,” the principal sighed.

“Yeah, but this was a worthy cause, Principal Rudolph,” Jude answered, winking over at me before exiting the still silent gym.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Mom’s car was here. That was the first thing I noticed as I pulled up to the cabin after school. She was never home this early; it was like some mortal sin for her to leave the office before five.

So, of course, she’d choose the worst day I’d had in years to break this rule. I would have put the Mazda in reverse if she hadn’t been watching me from the kitchen window. She was waiting for me.

Just when you think there’s nowhere to go but up.

Unbuckling, I grabbed my backpack and set out to meet the inevitable. Opening the screen door, I inhaled and stepped inside.

Mom was sitting at the table, two glasses of tea steaming in front of her. The biggest smile my mom was capable of forming slid into position. “How was your first day?”

Epically awful. Worst first day of school in the history of the world. Humiliating. “Pretty good,” I answered, reaching for the cup of tea she extended.

“Anything special happen?” she asked, sounding interested.

I was nominated the school slut by the end of first period. “Not really,” I said with a shrug.

“Did you make any friends?” She took a sip of tea, still looking at me with that ghost of a smile.

I made a lot of enemies. “A few.” Lying shouldn’t come this easy.

“Did you see any familiar faces?”

My parents were pretty much the anti-fan of Jude. If they knew, they’d seriously consider pulling me out of Southpointe and bussing me to another school district or selling their internal organs on the black market to send me back to private school just to ensure I didn’t have to pass him in a hallway. While every other part of Southpointe blew, one very big part didn’t. Sure, I didn’t have, nor would I likely have any friends there, the curriculum was coursework I’d started in elementary school, and it was so old every hall, room, and wall smelt like an old gym bag.

But Jude was there. And somehow, nothing else mattered but that.

“Nope.” My voice broke, instantly alerting my mom. Okay, so lying wasn’t this easy. “I mean, it’s a big school. I’m sure they’ll be a few people I recognize eventually.”

“Hmm,” she murmured into her tea. She was up to something. I didn’t know what, but when any parent was “up to something,” it was never something good. “I could have sworn I saw a Southpointe bus stop at Last Chance Boys’ Home on my way to work.”

I wasn’t going to let her ruin my only bit of sunshine in that hell. “Is this the part where you’re waiting for me to reassure you that I really don’t mind—in fact it’s probably for the best—that I was pulled out of a private school my senior year because we’re broke, and I was tossed into some mega school that has metal detectors at every entrance?” I said, slamming my tea on the table. “Because maybe we can skip the BS and, for once, be honest with each other.”

She set her tea down, reaching for her temples. This was the first time mom had lowered her walls in ages; I didn’t know how to handle it.

“Have you heard back from Juilliard yet?” she asked, sounding weary.

I sighed, wishing I’d never applied in the first place. My self-confidence really didn’t need any more rejection. “Nope,” I said, trying to make it sound like I didn’t care, but darn it, I did.

I’d wanted to attend Juilliard before I could spell it. I was a dancer, it had defined my life since I could slip into my own tutu. I couldn’t imagine a better life than dancing across a stage in front of an audience until old age or weary legs stopped me, and Juilliard would give me that opportunity.

“It’s still early, Lucy,” she reassured, seeing right through my blasé act.

I lifted a shoulder. “We’ll see.” I’d applied to a few other state schools as a safety net, but they were just that. Only set to catch me if I failed at my goal.

Having had enough heart to heart for one day, I turned towards the stairs.

“Lucy?” I paused on the first stair, looking back. Mom was gazing at where my chopped hair curled over my shoulders. “How are you?”

After five years, she had to work harder than a cup of over-brewed tea and a few marginally concerned questions to earn the honest answer to that one. “Good,” I said, meeting her eyes.

“Really?”

Of course not really. I’d lost my entire family in the span of a day and had never gotten them back. And that was just the first link in the chain. “Really.” I moved up the stairs faster, but not quite fast enough.