Speed Demon (14 page)

Nope.

So I let Mike lead me outside into the garage and down the driveway to his truck. “Ugh, it’s cold out here,” I said, shivering and flipping up the hood on my hoodie.

“It’s not too bad.” Mike was only wearing a T-shirt and he had no goose bumps and didn’t look the slightest bit uncomfortable. Clearly he was meant to live in northern Ohio, while I should have been born in the Caribbean. If I had, I would have been wearing a bikini on the beach instead of shivering in my driveway wondering if I would ever survive February if November was already doing me in.

He reached into his truck and handed me a nylon jacket. “Put this on.”

I did. And it ate me.

The sleeves went to my knees and the bottom of the jacket hit my ankles, I swear. It was so heavy, my shoulders strained to stay upright. It smelled like cologne, though just faintly, nowhere near Dirk Danger levels.

While I screwed around adjusting the jacket and shoving up the sleeves, Mike was hauling bags of stuff back and forth. I was so very helpful as usual. Making an effort, I tried to reach into the truck bed and grab a bag, but that was as far as it got. I tugged and pulled, but I couldn’t make it move. Guess construction was out for me as a future career choice, as if anyone could have ever pictured me in a hard hat. I went and stood in the garage and pestered Mike with questions since I had the strength of an ant. Of course, ants carry giant—relative to themselves—crumbs over their heads for long distances, so the truth was I was probably weaker than just about any living creature.

“This isn’t the roll of insulation. What is this stuff?”

“It’s the kind you blow in, like snowflakes. We discovered that the attic space above the garage here isn’t insulated, so your dad wants some blown in.”

“You blow it in? Cool.” I sat on a bag of the stuff and thought that one through while Mike went back and forth.

Huh. Blow-in insulation. Displace the air.

Do you see where my brain was going with this?

“Show me how it works,” I said. Maybe if he showed me how to do it, I could sneak down after my parents were in bed and fill up the wall.

Unsupervised was probably a bad idea, though.

I’d just do it with Mike. Right then and there. Why not, right?

“You want to see how it works? Why?”

“Curiosity. It amazes me how you know so much.” Gag. I heard my own sugar-sweet voice and almost threw up in my mouth. I was now cheapening myself just to close this stupid portal and that made me mad. This seriously needed to stop. I wanted to be done with the whole demon thing once and for all.

Mike didn’t question my sincerity at all, he just started explaining to me how the whole process worked. I tried to listen, I really did, but he lost me after “ninety-seven percent radiant energy.”

I tuned back in when he held up a spray can-looking kind of thing.

“So then you just aim and spray,” he said.

That was all I needed to know. “Is it loaded now?”

“Yep.”

“Let me see.” I stood up and faced the hole in the wall. I was just going to do this thing. Spray it. No thinking, no hesitation. Just do it. Win.

Or lose.

“Don’t push the—” Mike said.

Too late. I pushed the button and feathery insulation flew out at the hole in the wall. Which would have been cool, fine, all good. Except it hit the industrial-strength fan I had turned on in the kitchen. The fan that was pointed right at the hole. Which shot straight back into the garage a million white flakes that went right into my face.

I screamed, startled and blinded by all that white suddenly blocking my vision. Mike was yelling for me to turn it off and I could feel his fingers groping around to yank the dispenser away from me, but I panicked and didn’t let go as it nailed me in the face, the eyes, went up my nose, and got into my mouth.

Stumbling backward, I felt my right foot slip on something. My arms flailed in the too-big jacket, and I did the splits, hovering for one beautiful moment between safety and disaster. Then I went down like a bowling pin.

Just an FYI for you, a garage floor is hard.

I dropped the insulation blower thing and turned to brace my fall out of instinct. Pain shot through my hip and my arm when I made contact with the concrete, and I just lay there for a second on the cold floor, stunned, catching my breath and making sure all my parts were still attached.

“Are you okay?” Mike hovered over me.

“Ow,” I said. “I hurt my arm.” It hurt bad. Really bad. Really, really bad.

I have this charming habit of throwing up when I’m in pain, so I turned and hurled in the opposite direction of Mike’s feet. He let out a surprised “Whoa!” as my stomach clenched and heaved. Laying my face back down on the concrete after I lost my after-school snack, I took deep breaths and tried to relax through the pain.

That didn’t work.

And that was when I saw the rotting, gelatinous apple peel on the floor in front of me.
That
was what I had slipped on?

It figured.

Mike swore and squatted down beside me. “Here, I’m going to help you up. Is it just your arm?”

I lay there and wiggled all my parts and reflected. “Yeah.” It was just my arm sending shooting pain out in all directions. Funny how one little limb could make my whole body clench in agony. My cell phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket, letting me know I had a text. “I have a text message,” I said stupidly.

“Are your parents home?” he asked.

“No, they’re not home from work yet. My brother and sister are here. And maybe Levi. And the cat.”

“I don’t think a five-year-old or a cat are going to be much help.”

He had no idea what that cat was possibly capable of, but I wasn’t going to enlighten him.

Mike got behind me and helped me into a sitting position.

It was definitely better than lying on the freezing floor, but my arm twisted when I sat up and I sucked in some air. “Oh, dude, this kills . . .” Tears ran down my face even as I thought I should try to be tough.

Then I realized tough and Kenzie don’t belong in the same sentence. “Ow, ow, ow . . .” I moaned pitifully.

“Let me have your cell phone,” Mike said. “I’m going to call your parents and have them meet us at the ER.”

Good, solid plan. It was a good thing someone was rational, because all I was thinking was that it might be better to just lie back down on the floor and wait to die.

“It’s in my hoodie pocket.”

Mike dug around in my clothes in a way that might have either weirded me out or excited me under different circumstances, but he emerged with my black skull-sticker-decorated cell.

“Are your parents just listed as Mom and Dad or what?” he asked, scrolling through my contacts list.

“I don’t know.” I was having focus issues. All I could think was that nothing in my entire life had ever hurt that bad and that if I moved even one inch, I just might throw up again.

“This text is from Levi . . . Do you want to read it?”

I almost told him to just read it, but I decided that could be potentially embarrassing. “Yeah, sure.” One-handed, I took the phone and read Levi’s charming as usual text.

Garage
, I typed back, then handed the phone back to Mike, all queased out from the effort. “Oh, I feel sick again.”

“Just take a deep breath. I’m going to call your mom, because you have Mom listed here, and then we’ll get you into my truck. We can be at the ER in less than ten minutes, and they’ll fix you right on up.”

He was very calm and I definitely appreciated that. As he pushed Send and waited for my mother to pick up her cell, he even brushed insulation flakes off my face, lips, and uninjured shoulder. He was smart enough to leave the left one I had hurt alone.

And he managed to inform my mother what was going on efficiently and without drama, suggesting she meet us at the ER as soon as possible.

There was something to be said for blowing insulation in your face and snapping your arm in the presence of a nineteen-year-old who was gainfully employed. He was handling the crisis, which was good, because I was just fighting the urge to puke again and picking out my cast color. My arm just had to be broken given the way it felt, and frankly, if it wasn’t, I was going to feel cheated. Only broken bones should hurt that much.

Mike got behind me. “Okay, I’m going to help you stand up. Then we’ll get you in the truck and I’ll check to make sure your brother or Levi is here to stay with your sister.”

Oh, yeah. The five-year-old. Had totally forgotten about her. Sister of the Year Award would not be given to me.

Good thing Mike was used to hauling lumber and insulation and whatever else, because I was like spaghetti and couldn’t even get my own legs to push me up off the ground. But no problem. He just got me around the waist and hauled me straight up.

“You okay?”

He was still gripping me around the waist, and I was limping leaning against him holding my arm gingerly in front of my chest when I heard, “What are you doing?”

I half turned and saw Levi standing in the doorway. He strode over to us, looking all sorts of horrified and annoyed.

“I fell,” I told him.

“I think she broke her arm. I’m taking her to the ER.”

Levi’s expression changed to concerned. “Are you okay?” he asked, scanning me head to toe.

“No, I’m not. I broke my arm and I’m going to the ER.” Didn’t Mike just say that?

“Okay, I’ll take you.”

“It’s cool,” Mike said. “I’m taking her. I already called her mom.”

“I could have called your mom,” Levi said to me, as if Mike didn’t even exist.

Oh, I so didn’t need the possessive thing under the current circumstances. I just looked at him, hoping my face conveyed that I wished a portal would open up and swallow him. “I’m sure you could have if you had been the one standing here when I fell. But it was Mike who was standing here when I fell, and we’ve got it covered, thanks. I need you to stay here with Zoe.”

“Right, okay, sure, of course. Call me and let me know how you’re doing.” Levi glanced around and frowned. “What is all this white crap?”

The remains of another one of my brilliant ideas.

Chapter Twelve

I chose black.

“I’m not surprised,” my mother said as we got out of the minivan, my arm in its new cast and sling. “But I was hopeful you’d pick the hot pink or even the cherry red.”

“I broke my arm, Mom. My mood is black, therefore my cast is black.” And that way no one could see that I would not be getting my cast covered in signatures and pictures because I was still a social outcast at West Shore High.

“Well, at least that nice boy Mike was here to see that you . . . What the . . .” My mother looked around the garage in bewilderment. “What is all this mess?”

Oh, yeah. I had forgotten she’d missed the snowball effect of my attempt to close the portal with insulation flakes. “I accidentally sprayed the insulation thing. It hit me in the eye, which is how I tripped and fell.”

My mother stared hard at me. “Why do I think there is more to that story than you’re telling me?”

“What?” I blinked innocently at her. “It was just me being a curious klutz, touching what I shouldn’t have. It was totally all my fault.”

Her eyebrow went up. “Now I know there’s more to it if you’re taking responsibility so easily.”

How rude, if accurate. Time for a diversion. I winced. “Ow. My arm really hurts. Can I go sit down?”

She went from suspicious to worried in 1.2 seconds flat. “Of course, baby.”

When I went in the house Zoe was bouncing around all excited to see my injury. Her little hands came out for my cast and I stumbled back three feet. “Don’t touch it! It hurts!” I pictured her grabbing on and twisting in enthusiasm to inspect the cast, and my arm ached just in horrified anticipation.

It really did hurt anyway from all the X-raying and pressing and wrapping. The last thing I needed was Zoe’s grubby hands knocking me around. Lucky me, I had a compound fracture in my arm and a broken wrist (two for the price of one) so I had the full cast from knuckles to elbow and bent like I had been frozen solid while doing a backup dance move for a pop video. It was awful and heavy and I wanted Tylenol and a quiet corner to cry in.

I settled for flopping on the couch, which made my arm bounce and pain shoot through it. “Argh.” My arm had nowhere to go and just dangled in the sling in the air, tormenting me. I tried to reach the remote and almost lost my balance so I just gave up and stared sullenly into space.

Good times ahead, clearly.

Levi jumped up and inserted a pillow between my thigh and the cast so that my arm had somewhere to rest. He handed me the remote and bent over really close to me. “Hey. You okay?”

“No.” I frowned up at him. “But thanks,” I added sullenly.

“What were you doing?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

“That guy is too old for you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I’m serious, K. He’s out of high school.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Your parents will freak.”

“I know.” I pushed his chest. “Will you back up? I can’t breathe.”

“Promise me you won’t go out with him.”

Annoyed, I decided not to enlighten him that I had really no intention of going out with Mike. I had realized that while Mike was an incredibly nice guy, we really did have zero in common and he actually deserved someone who was really into him, not me, who was only interested out of sheer boredom. I may be a klutz, but I am not selfish—well, not ultimately. We’re all somewhat selfish, right? And I’m no exception, but I wasn’t mean.

Well, maybe except when it came to refusing to reassure Levi, who was clearly worried about me. I was all prepared to tell him that I couldn’t make any promises where love was concerned, when my conscience got the best of me.