Rush (29 page)

I STARE UP AT HIM, MY BREATH COMING TOO FAST, MY thoughts spinning like a tornado.

I think I like you, Miki Jones
. Jackson said that to me before, when we were in the underground tunnels. But he didn’t mean it the same way he means it now. When he said it then, I laughed and said it back to him because it was light, casual, almost a joke, an exchange between two people who were running high on the rush of adrenaline and the giddy relief of having survived a Drau attack—at least, I was giddily relieved; hard to tell with Jackson.

This time is different. This time he means the words in a completely different way.

I want to take his hand and drag him off somewhere at least semiprivate so I can—

What? Say it back? Ask him to clarify exactly what he means?

I should just grab on to his words and hug them close and let them make me glow from the inside out. But it’s hard to bury the part of myself that wants to pepper him with a thousand questions because I need to control even this.

The decision’s taken from me when Carly storms over, erupting like a volcano. “You ditched me!”

I stare at her, completely lost.

“You ditched me”—she points at Jackson—“for him! I was supposed to study with Luka, but because I told you I’d meet you in the caf, I went to find you. And waited. And waited!”

“No.” I shake my head. “I was at the bleachers. I sent you a text.”

“That’s a lie!”

I shoot a glance at Jackson. He has his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. As I look back at Carly, I realize we have an audience. Dee’s there, and Kelley. Emily. Maylene. Luka and his friends Dequain and Aaron from the track team, and Aaron’s girlfriend, Shareese. A few other people wandering past stop to watch.

There’s nothing like a girl fight to grab an audience.

“I did text you.” I struggle to keep my tone even. I want to take her arm and lead her away from the growing crowd, but it’ll only make things worse if she refuses to budge. Jackson still has my backpack slung over his shoulder. I cross to him and tug at it, but he doesn’t let go. With a sigh, I give up that fight, fish out my phone, and turn it to show Carly the text. As I do, I realize I never hit Send. “Oh no. I never sent it!” I show her the message, still there on the phone. “Carly, it was an accident. I meant to send it. I got distracted. You’re right to be angry. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t need you to tell me I have a right to be angry. And I know all about your distraction,” she says, completely ignoring my apology. If anything, she seems even more pissed than she was a minute ago. “I can’t believe you! You’re dropping all your friends for a guy?”

Could she have shouted that any louder? My cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. “I’m not dropping anyone.” I clench my fists at my sides, frustrated beyond belief.

“Hey, Carly,” Jackson says, stepping in front of me. Carly and I were nose to nose, so him putting himself between us means we both have to take a step back. I want to hit him for pushing himself where he has no business being. I want to hug him for stepping in before I say something I will surely regret.

I can’t see Jackson’s face because he has his back to me and his front to Carly, but when he says her name again, I can hear that he’s smiling. And she smiles back, just a little, like she doesn’t want to but can’t help herself. I know the feeling. Jackson’s smile isn’t something that can be easily ignored.

“Listen,” he says, angling his body so that his back is to the watching crowd. He drops his voice and continues, “We have an assembly this afternoon, right?”

Carly nods. “Yeah . . .”

“I didn’t get much lunch,” Jackson says, and I have to restrain the urge to punch him in the shoulder. He had more than I did, of
my
lunch. “And Luka and I”—I can see his head turn a little to the left, looking toward Luka for confirmation—“we were thinking of ditching the assembly and heading out for pizza. Come along.” An invitation that sounds more like an order. Typical Jackson.

Something twinges inside me at his words. Jealousy? I tamp it down. I’m not sure what Jackson’s game is, but I know he’s playing one. My guess is that he wants to avoid having either of us embroiled in a public meltdown. Fine with me. I’m not exactly into having an audience.

It’s just like him to take over and run the show, and it’s actually darkly amusing when I think of how he’s the one telling me I can’t always control everything.

Looks like Jackson’s plan is a success, because from the corner of my eye, I see the track guys wander off. No fight means there’s nothing here to see.

I step back and catch a glimpse of Carly’s face. She’s trying to act cool about this invitation, one eyebrow raised as she looks back and forth between Jackson and Luka.

“Ditch the assembly? What if we get caught?” She doesn’t actually sound too worried about that, and I know she isn’t. Getting caught ditching assembly isn’t anywhere near as bad as getting caught drunk on school property and puking practically in the principal’s lap.

Hating the idea of being a public spectacle, and glad that Carly’s no longer bent on having a knock-down-drag-out right here in front of everyone, I edge to the side, my eye on my backpack that’s still slung over Jackson’s shoulder. Grab my bag. Make my escape. Call Carly later and work things out with a little privacy. Sounds like a plan to me. From this angle, I watch as Jackson turns the full wattage of his smile on Carly. Her eyes widen.

“We better leave before the bell goes,” Luka says, and steps forward to throw a casual arm across Carly’s shoulders. She tips her head and looks up at him. Their eyes meet and hold and for a second I see a flash of . . . something . . . Interest? In Luka, not Jackson? In both of them? Yet more proof of how painfully far apart Carly and I have drifted. I don’t even know which guy she wants.

As I watch the two of them, something tugs at my thoughts, a memory of Carly in my kitchen the day she brought coffees, the day after I first got pulled. We were talking about Luka and she had this expression that was sort of sad. Then she told me to go for it.

When we were little, long before my mom died, Carly gave me her dolls, her cookies, her favorite shirt. It’s just her way. And I’ve done the same for her. Looking at her now, I wonder if she’s putting what she thinks I want ahead of what she wants. That would be just like Carly, to hand the boy she likes to me on a platter just because she thinks it’ll fix what’s broken inside me. But a boy is different from a doll. For one thing, there’s his opinion on the matter to take into consideration.

If Carly likes Luka but she’s willing to walk away from him for me, it makes me feel even worse about how much we’ve been fighting lately.

“Pizza it is,” Carly says as she shoots me a curious look, like she’s trying to figure out what went on between me and Jackson on the bleachers and why he’s asking her to ditch school with him. At least she doesn’t look furious anymore.

With the expected blowup circumvented, the rest of the audience loses interest and wanders off. Kelley and Dee wave at Carly, then at me, looking back and forth between the two of us. That’s another thing I hate about fighting with Carly—the fact that our other friends are invariably trapped in the middle. I’d like to head off with them, but yet another tug at the strap of my bag fails to dislodge it from Jackson’s shoulder.

“You driving?” Luka asks Jackson.

“You have a car?”

“No.”

“Then I’m driving.” Jackson leans over and says something else to Luka, so low I can’t hear.

Luka cuts a glance at Carly and says, “Shotgun.”

She sends him a sour look and rolls her eyes.

“What?” he asks, all innocent grin and dark, flashing eyes. “My legs are too long to comfortably fit in the back.”

Carly’s lips twitch, like she can’t resist Luka’s smile. “Fine,” she huffs, but there’s no heat in it.

I’m standing there at a loss. Jackson still has my backpack slung over his shoulder, anchored in place by his firm grip on the strap. My repeated tugs on the handle aren’t getting him to let go. The three of them head toward the student lot, and I’m stuck following along because I need my bag. Apart from the fact that my books and wallet are in there, my key’s in there, too, so I can’t go home without it.

In the lot, Luka heads for a black Jeep. It’s an older model, matte black with a black soft-top. The tires come up to my thighs, with rims the same matte black as the body.

“Is this an eighty-six? A CJ?” Carly asks.

“You know cars?” Luka asks.

“All my brothers are into Jeeps. They think it’s the perfect ride. Can’t live with all those guys and not pick up a little bit of info.”

“Or a little talent for paintball.” Luka grins down at her.

Carly looks up at him through her lashes. “That, too.”

“It’s a YJ. Eighty-seven,” Jackson says. He opens the driver’s side door and pushes the seat forward. “In you go,” he says to Carly, then tosses the keys to Luka so he can go around and unlock his door.

Carly clambers in, sees me standing there, and shoots me a narrow-eyed look, as if to say,
What are you still doing here?

Jackson turns to me.

“I need my bag,” I say.

“Do you now?” His voice is like warm chocolate.

I press my lips together, trying to figure out what he’s playing at. I need to develop a strategy to avoid whatever it is he has planned.

We stand there for a few seconds, then he very deliberately sets my bag on the backseat, basically shoving Carly over to make room for it and trapping her at the same time. He takes a step back and makes a half turn, so I’m between him and the Jeep.

“In you go,” he says to me, and smiles. Not a nice smile. One of his wolfish, I’m-the-one-in-charge smiles. And then I get it. He did this on purpose.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, appalled.

His smile doesn’t dim. “Helping you and Carly have a nice friendly conversation.” He leans close, so his lips are against my ear, sending shivers all the way down to my toes. “I want you happy, Miki, and fighting with your best friend doesn’t make you happy.”

I gasp and pull back. He wants me happy, and he’s trying to offer me a way to get there. Controlling, cocky asshole—who’s actually trying to do something incredibly nice. I ought to be furious at being maneuvered into this situation. Except, all he’s doing is trying to give me the chance to work things out with my best friend, so how can I be mad at him for that?

I shoot a look at Luka. He’s in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, but I can see that the corner of his mouth is curved up. He was in on it. That must be what Jackson whispered to him. He told Luka to call shotgun so Carly and I would be stuck together in the back. He planned this all along.

Carly starts to push my bag out of the way, no doubt hoping to scramble across the seat and make her escape. Jackson reaches in, sets his palm against the bag, and holds it in place.

“This is not funny!” she says. “You did this on purpose! I can’t believe you did this!” I’d think she’s accusing Jackson, except she’s looking at me.

“We don’t like being played,” I say, looking at Jackson, then Luka. Carly’s gaze shoots to mine and I see a tiny bit of softening there as she realizes this was their ploy, not mine. “Just give me my backpack, and I’ll go.”

“No,” she says, and shakes her head as she heaves a huge sigh. “Get in. They’re right. We should talk.” She pauses. “Did you really think you sent me that text?”

I nod. “I really did.”

She pulls my backpack a little closer to her and reaches over top of it to pat the seat.

I take a deep breath. I’m angry with her. She’s angry with me. And it’s all just stupid. What are we fighting over? Aliens could decimate our world today, or tomorrow, or the next day. I could die in the game like Richelle.

I could die outside the game, like Mom.

The only thing that’s really certain is this moment. The only thing I can control a hundred percent are the choices I make right now.

“Fine,” I say, and climb in, making my choice.

Carly reaches into her backpack and pulls out her cigarettes. So much for being conciliatory. Puffing smoke in my face isn’t the best way to start this conversation, and she knows it.

“Not in my car,” Jackson says, his voice like steel.

Carly looks at him. I don’t turn my head to see his expression, but I can imagine it: hard, implacable. Whatever Carly sees in his face, she tucks the pack of cigarettes away.

Jackson’s a careful driver. No rolling stops. The music set to a reasonable volume. Hands in the perfect safe-driving position on the wheel. I’m a little surprised. I would have expected him to be way more cocky. When I mention it, Luka laughs and says, “Insurance is a killer. Even one ticket would bump it into astronomical.”

“And I have no intention of losing my wheels because I got cocky.” The line sounds practiced, like Jackson’s saying what’s expected rather than what’s true.

“But
cocky
is your middle name,” I say sweetly.

Beside me, Carly snorts.

I take that as an opportunity. I already told her I meant to send the text, but I think that showing her again—now that she actually might be willing to look—will cement her belief. I pull out my phone, tilt it so she can see, and say, “I really did think I hit Send. My bad.”