Just Flirt (23 page)

Or guilty, insecure, ashamed, paranoid, or hopeless.

Good.

So when a relationship makes you feel bad, guilty, insecure, ashamed, paranoid, or hopeless, end it. Get over him. Move on.

Flirt.

I’m tired of feeling bad, tired of defending him or justifying his behavior because his mother deserted him, tired of needing a guy to be happy, tired of that stupid Sabbie nickname, just
tired
. I want to be happy on my own. I want to have fun. I want to be confident again and get over him. Move on.

Just flirt.

“It’s over, Blaine.”

He says nothing, his fingers tapping the table as though he’s about to put up some kind of fight, some kind of
say it isn’t so—
if only to make me feel better. But instead he sips his drink with indifference and says, “Yeah, you’re right, especially now that things are going to get weird.”

“Weird? What do you mean by that?” I demand.

Blaine doesn’t give me an answer.

I don’t feel like waiting for one.

“Goodbye, Blaine. And tell your new girl I said good luck. She’s going to need it.”

*   *   *

Mom is chatting animatedly on her phone when I walk out. She quickly hangs up and checks her watch. “Goodness gracious, what took you so long? I need to go.”

“Long line,” I mumble before getting in.

Mom whips the Trooper back onto the street, almost cutting off a UPS truck and causing me to spill my drink down my favorite shirt just as we pass Blaine’s Mercedes.
My favorite shirt, really?
Was that some kind of omen that I just made the biggest mistake of my life? After all these weeks of worrying that he was going to break up with me, how could I call it off like that, without thinking it through?

I’m going to be sick.

Mom hands me a stack of napkins and stomps on the accelerator. “Lord, child, you’re gonna have to change as soon as we get home, okay? I can’t have you all messy when my date gets there.”

“What does it matter?”

The only thing I want to do is crawl into bed,
not
have awkward conversation with some jerk who’s trying to get on my good side. Mom doesn’t elaborate as she pulls onto the highway that leads to our house. But as she turns into our development, she clicks off the stereo, just as Charlie Pride hits a high note. Huh? Mom never turns off Charlie Pride. She thinks that’s un-American. “Uh, Sabrina, honey, remember how I wanted to make sure of things before telling you who sent me those flowers?”

A feeling of dread brews in my stomach.

Mom brakes at a stop sign and puts a sympathetic hand on my arm. “I know it’s been hard on you with your father not around.”

Oh, no.

“I didn’t want to say anything, in case you got your hopes up, but…” Mom leans forward to look both ways and then drives onto our street. “What I’m trying to tell you is that I’ve found you a new daddy.”

What the—a new daddy? “Mom, what are you talking about? And don’t even try to keep me from seeing my father tomorrow because it’s our—”

“Honey, he already canceled, remember? And I know this will be a big surprise and maybe I should have told you sooner, but, baby, I’ve never been happier in my life and I pray you’ll be supportive.”

Supportive? Supportive of what?

Is Mom getting
married
?

Before I can even begin to comprehend what is happening, she pulls into our driveway where another car is already parked and a man is leaning against the back fender.

Oh my gosh
, no, is this some kind of a joke?

Mom smiles like she’s just won the lottery. “Look at your face, sweetheart, I knew you’d be excited!”

19
Dee

I should be loving this moment. Going down the highway on a Saturday morning in a Ford truck with the windows open and country music blaring while Jake’s trailer rattles behind us should make me feel powerful and ruggedly cool, like we’re in a music video. Like I’m part of something big, something special. Isn’t that what summer is for?

But no. I can’t enjoy this.

I don’t feel allowed to enjoy
anything
, just like in those months following Dad’s death when I would feel guilty for laughing. And it doesn’t help that Roxanne is sitting in the front seat beside Jake, savoring their easy camaraderie as they discuss track conditions and the current standings of racers on the circuit, talk I can’t contribute to.

I would have stayed home, but Mom vetoed that notion when we had our coffee earlier this morning on the porch. “No, go to the race and have fun, sweetie,” she had said. “You should get away from all this for a while.”

“But what about the lawsuit? Shouldn’t we do something?”

Mom walked to the railing, staring down at the campsites as though they might disappear if she blinked too hard. And because of me, now there’s a chance they could. “Honey, there’s nothing we can do until the trial date is set, so you should enjoy the summer.” She reached up to touch a dried geranium. “And why do I bother with these plants? I always manage to kill them by August.”

Mom may not have said it, but I knew what she was really thinking—that she should have sold the campground to begin with. She broke off a crunchy red petal, reminding me of the bouquet she got weeks ago. “Mom.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Who sent you those gerber daisies?”

Dried leaves fluttered down onto the railing. She brushed them away and then looked at Dad’s empty rocking chair. “It doesn’t matter, sweetie.”

Mom grabbed a watering can from the steps and stood on tiptoe to water the geranium. When overflow streamed out of the bottom and splashed on her shirt, she flung the can into the yard and gripped the railing with both hands. “It wasn’t right for me to be getting flowers in the first place, so it doesn’t matter one damn bit.”

I wanted to say something—
anything—
but she apologized and went back inside, shutting the door behind her. So I should have stayed home, despite Natalie’s offer to watch the store, and Madeline volunteering to take care of the activities for this weekend’s golf theme. It was her boring idea, anyway, but to her credit, she has been helping a lot. And after yesterday’s meeting, Madeline even consoled Mom with a brisk hug, which proves there is a bright side to everything.

Or that I’m desperate for any kind of brightness.

As we enter historic downtown Charles Town, West Virginia, forty minutes later, I pretend to study the gorgeous churches and beautifully maintained houses. Jake turns off Main Street and onto a winding road lined with blue chicory weeds growing rampant along a cornfield. “Hey, you okay back there, Dee?” he asks. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

And you two are doing enough talking for all of us.

“Yeah, that sucks about Mona taking you guys to trial.” Jake props his elbow on the door. “Why do you think she changed her mind?”

Roxanne shifts in her seat to face him. “Ivy thinks it’s because she found out about Rex buying those lots from Dee’s mother. Mona probably believes more lots could be sold so she’s playing with us.”

Something inside me breaks.

“
Us?
There is no us, Roxanne. The lawsuit is between me, my mom, and Ivy, so there is no
us
, okay? And it’s pretty funny how you somehow managed to weasel your way into our private affairs after blowing me off all summer.”

Jake gives me his oh so familiar judgmental look. “Dee, come on, be fair.”

“Be fair, are you kidding me? I’m the bad guy? Sure, maybe I am a little stressed, but it’s hard not to be when my entire world is falling apart, okay?”

“I know, but you’re being a bitch and that isn’t like you.”

It feels as though someone shot me in the chest. I slump back in my seat, glaring out the window with my mouth in a tight line. “Well, fine, maybe you should be going to the race with just
Roxanne
or whoever
else
you’ve been texting.”

“For your
information
, I haven’t been texting anyone,” Jake says, throwing on his left blinker as we come upon a steel fence leading to the track entrance. “And maybe I never should have offered to make that moron Blaine jealous by dancing with you because he’s clearly the kind of guy you like.”

Roxanne’s mouth drops. “What? It was
your
idea?”

I’m too upset to even wonder why she’s so shocked.

Jake drives into Summit Point Speedway where the sound of roaring engines matches the roaring in my head. He pays the gate fee, saying nothing while we get our pit passes. But as he pulls into a crowded parking lot full of trucks, utility trailers, and kids on dusty bikes, his bad mood visibly lifts. Jake steps out, pausing with a contented smile before greeting nearby racers who clap him heartily on the back. Only one person seems more enchanted than him, if that’s possible. Roxanne. She takes in everything—the drivers, the karts propped up on metal stands, the fiery red tool chests. Her face seems to glow with happiness, making her look so … pretty.

“What?” she asks, after noticing me watching her.

I grab the door handle. “Nothing.”

Jake kicks it into high gear, unlocking the trailer and barking commands for Roxanne and me to start unloading while he goes to buy tires and a new drive belt. I do
not
want to be alone with her, but Jake takes off, leaving us no choice but to work without speaking, setting up the canopy and folding chairs. Sweat beads on my forehead as we line up Jake’s fire suit, helmet, gloves, driving shoes, and the wood sawhorses that look amateurish compared to the fancy metal stands other drivers use.

“Should we get his”—
don’t say “thingy”
—“kart out of the trailer?”

Roxanne shakes her head. “No, it weighs over two hundred pounds.”

What, does she think I’m some feeble powder puff ? “I’ve been chopping firewood since I was nine, Roxanne. I can handle it.”

“Fine.” Roxanne loosens the ties that hold the kart in place and puts one hand on the frame and the other on the steering wheel. We start pushing, but as the rear tire pokes out of the trailer and starts to roll down the ramp, my foot slips.

“Hit the brake, Dee, hit the brake!”

It’s too late. The kart gets away from us and crashes into the sawhorses, sending them flying into Jake’s tall tool chest.

Oh my gosh, Jake’s kart!

I crashed Jake’s kart.

A sickening feeling rises in my chest as I crouch by the front tire. There’s a dent on the frame and some scratches. I lick my fingers and try to rub them out. It doesn’t work. I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. I can’t handle
anything
. “Crap, crap,
crap
, how could I be so stupid?”

Someone kneels beside me.

Roxanne. She inspects the frame before turning to me with a softness in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. “Hey,” she says. “It’s okay, those scratches have been there for a long time, so don’t worry—you didn’t ruin anything.”

I’m not sure if she’s telling the truth.

But it is nice, her trying to make me feel better. And she’s not wearing her usual cargos today. Instead, she has on red cuffed shorts and a slim-fitting shirt that makes my Bermuda shorts and top seem conservative in comparison. Did her mother convince her to go shopping? Roxanne stands and reaches for a sawhorse. “Come on, help me hide the evidence so Jake doesn’t find out.”

“What won’t Jake find out?” someone asks.

Danny Reynolds walks toward us carrying some kind of engine part, his skin tanned and his hair highlighted to a summery strawberry blond. He grins at Roxanne. She blushes and awkwardly tucks back her own red hair as he hands her the part. “Hey, here’s one of my spare drive belts. Tell Jake he owes me a soda for it. And you’re Roxanne, right? I’m Danny, it’s nice to meet you.”

I don’t know why Roxanne was being so nice to me minutes ago. But I do know two things: She is
not
romantically interested in Jake.

And maybe Danny isn’t so awful after all.

*   *   *

The next thirty minutes pass in a frenzy. After Danny leaves, Jake returns with his new tires. Roxanne puts them on the kart and uses the air compressor to fill them while Jake installs the drive belt and changes the spark plugs. Roxanne then starts to mix gas and oil together. “Why are you doing that?” I ask.

She hesitates before saying, “Um, a two-stroke engine doesn’t have an oil pan, so to get lubrication, you have to mix the oil and gas together.”

Oh. Right.

When the announcer calls for the first heat of Jake’s division, he and the other drivers weigh in their karts before pushing them to the pits. Jake shakes hands with his competitors and then steps down onto the narrow seat, Roxanne kneeling beside him with an electric starter. I hold my ears as the engines rev in unison, my adrenaline pounding as Jake shoots off after the starting flag drops, at first sitting up straight and then scooting down to an almost flat position as he speeds past everyone to take the lead.
Okay, that was cool.