Chasing Impossible

  Abby’s head jerks in an angry way. “I would never put Rachel in the line of fire.”

  “I may not understand what you do, but I’m not seeing how you can minimize those risks. You’re not God.”

  “What? You judging me now? Do you think I’m a threat? Do you think I’m unworthy of her friendship? Of yours?”

  “No. Just trying to understand you.”

  “We play, remember?” And the ache in her eyes cuts me deep. “We aren’t real friends so stop acting like you care.”

  Damn me for hurting her. “Abby—”

  It’s as if a mask covers Abby’s face, and where there was pain, there’s now a smirk. A fake smirk. A mere shadow of the girl who was playing make-believe a few minutes ago. “You’re too serious, Logan. We get along because neither of us does emotion. Let me know if you change your mind on the dance.”

  I’d almost consider the dance if it would erase the past few seconds, but even I know there’s no changing the past.

  “You’re wrong,” I call out as Abby has turned her back on me to slip into the crowd.

  She pivots to face me again, but still walks backwards. “That never happens, but to placate you, how was I wrong?”

  “It was my brilliant plan to sneak out the windows in kindergarten and then sneak back in. I’m the one with the massive IQ, remember?”

  That devilish glint reappears in her eyes along with her heart-stopping smile. “I only let you think it was your plan, but it was really mine. And on the IQ? I’ll put my test scores up to yours any day and I’ll win.”

  A smile stretches across my face and Abby winks before disappearing. And the game continues. We both moved pieces and neither of us is any closer to winning, but I’m not sure what’s at stake to be won.

  Abby’s a drug dealer.

  I’m a ticking time bomb.

  Neither Abby nor I are reliable or stable. We’re like a tidal wave of gasoline approaching a nuclear power plant, but we still like to play with matches.

  Doesn’t make sense. I guess it doesn’t need to. I work well in the undefined.

  I pull out my cell, ignore the text from Dad and scroll through the trail of messages between me and Sly. He’s an ex-boyfriend of Mom’s. He was around before either of us learned not to get attached. Sly was a hard lesson for me and I was an even harder lesson for him.

  Me: I’ve heard the band. I want in.

  Sly: I’ll get you ten minutes with them this week. Don’t fuck it up.

  Me: Won’t.

  Sly: You’re good with the traveling?

  I scan the bar. Isaiah and West are playing pool on the other side of the room. When Isaiah catches my eye he jerks his chin for me to join them. I tip my head to let him know I’ll be there soon. Another sweep of the room and I spot Abby dancing with Rachel again. They’re holding hands, twirling together, and laughing.

  Like Ryan and Chris, Isaiah and West also graduated this spring. Moving forward. Moving on. Rachel’s still in school, transferring this year to my new school in fact. We’re friends, but not close friends.

  All I’ve got left in this life is Abby and nobody knows Abby. She doesn’t belong enough to anyone for her to have friends. Just the way all mythical creatures should live.

  Me: Yeah, I’m good on the traveling. I’m good with starting a new life.

  Abby

  “I’m going to kiss him tonight.” From the back of the club, I point at the hot guy playing electric guitar onstage. He has gorgeous red hair that’s a little longer than most guys wear it and a body made for sin.

  Sitting beside me, my best friend, Rachel, squints through the haze of dry ice and dancing beams of light, and when she spots my prey, her mouth pops open. Rachel’s the anti-me with her blond hair and blue eyes and this is her first time at a club. I’m dark hair and hazel eyes and continuously walk the line of selling my soul.

  It’s Sunday and we’re at one of those teen nights for the local bar. This for her is wild. This for me is tame. But kissing the guy who obviously can play a guitar in a way that causes me to blush can make this evening worthwhile.

  “It’s either that or kissing Logan,” I say over the pounding beat of the drums and she laughs. She thinks I’m kidding, but I’m not. Talk about another guy built for sin, but I’ve been warned off of him by several friends of ours that I respect. Logan’s my type of crazy, but he’s also the type I can easily mess up in the wrong ways.

  I’m not interested in jacking up anyone’s life other than my own. At least not the lives of the people I care about. Anyone else is fair game.

  Rachel brushes away the strands of hair sticking to her face. We’ve danced tonight, her and I. Not much, but enough that it’s worn Rachel out. An accident a few months back killed her stamina, and for a time her ability to walk, but she’s on her feet again and loved the idea of dancing and I love her enough to make her happy.

  Rachel, Logan and I will start our senior year of high school this fall and thanks to Logan’s IQ and having divorced parents, he’s now attending school with Rachel and me. We only have a few weeks left until life becomes completely complicated and chaotic.

  Isaiah, Logan, and Rachel’s older brother, West, left a few minutes ago to bring Isaiah’s car around and they’re taking too long. I was banking on them leaving by eleven-thirty, but West tagging along with us bought Rachel another half hour of time. Her damn older brother doing some damn interfering. She needs to leave because I have an appointment, and I don’t like mixing my friends with clients.

  Ricky told me not to sell, but he didn’t tell me I couldn’t hold an interview.

  “Stay the night with me.” Rachel rests her water bottle on the seat beside her. “We’ll pick up tacos and maybe some queso on the way home.”

  My eyes snap to hers at the mention of queso, and I hate that my stomach rumbles. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She knows why not. “I told you, there’s a boy that needs to be kissed. Just think how lonely he’ll be when no one kisses him on his upcoming break. It’s seriously a tough sacrifice on my part, but someone needs to boost his ego. No one wants to watch a sad and broken guitar player unless they’re a hipster at a coffee shop.”

  Lying for me is easier than telling the truth. Plus, I’d rather live in a world where I was going to kiss the boy instead of crucifying my soul.

  “If you’re going to kiss a boy, I’d prefer for you to kiss Logan.”

  I laugh, but it fades when I notice she’s not laughing or smiling with me. At times, Rachel’s too serious for my taste.

  Isaiah swept Rachel and West into my life a few months back, and during that process, Logan also became a fixture in my life. Before them, I didn’t do friends, but Isaiah was already exempt from my nonfriendship rule and I made another special exception for Rachel and West. But I did that for my father. Neither of them knows that and neither is aware of the why. Because of how my life works, it’ll stay a secret on my end.

  But Logan...Logan is a selfish indulgence. I like him and that’s not fair to either of us.

  “Let’s do tacos tomorrow. I’ll buy.” I won’t. I’ll con West or Isaiah into buying, but I’ll still take credit for the tacos because that’s how I roll.

  “Logan’s a great guy, and even I notice how he looks at you.”

  Logan looks at me like he also really enjoys queso, but there’s nothing serious going on between us. We play. Sort of like we’re seven and playing tag and we’re both continuously “it.” Plus he deserves better than what I have to offer. Even Logan’s aware of that, hence why he asked about my current employment.

  My cell buzzes and Isaiah informs me he’s outside and ready to leave. Thank freaking Jesus. “Let’s go before the boys stalk in here looking for you and ruin my chances with guitar boy.”


  Before she can say anything else, I grab her hand and lead her through the crowd. A few times I turn in her direction and encourage her to dance with the beat. Rachel doesn’t mind using her body for the purpose of music and neither do I. My body is meant to be used, I just wish sometimes I used it a little less.

  Sometimes I’m lonely, sometimes I chase after lust. A few times I’ve been used and there are a few times I’ve used in return. Any way about it, there’s never emotion. Just bodies and it’s pretty hollow and meaningless.

  At school, a lot of people call me names, say that I’m evil, label me a slut and even a killer. Maybe it’s all true. Maybe it’s not. Regardless, I don’t have time to overthink anyone’s thoughts or judgments.

  People who live in the luxury of a steady paycheck and food in their bellies get too caught up in right and wrong, moral and immoral, good and bad, heroes and villains, even truth and lies. As if we’re all either one or the other. As if we all have a choice. As if I have a choice. But I don’t believe in choices. I believe in survival.

  The moment we step outside, the heat of the August night hits us in a way that reminds me why I love being awake after midnight. It’s like walking into a warm bath surrounded by starlight. I was made for warm weather. Maybe that’s because I often feel emotionally cold.

  Isaiah’s Mustang growls in front of the club. Logan hops out of the passenger side and moves the seat forward so I can enter the back. His black hair moves with the gentle breeze and he studies me like he thinks I’ll slide in. “Come eat with us, Abby. I’m buying tacos.”

  I tilt my head in an annoyed way and he adds, “For everyone.”

  I toss a glare into the backseat where West is sitting. If he told them that I only eat when his boss decides to share his lunch or dinner I will publicly castrate him. Because West doesn’t cower, not even from me, he meets my eyes and shakes his head that he’s kept my secret. Not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.

  “Tomorrow,” I say and circle back for the club.

  Seconds before I’m about to step in, a strong hand catches my wrist and Logan’s dark eyes bore into mine. I suck in a breath. Yes, this boy is definitely made for sin. The type of sin that involves his shirt off, my hands sliding through his mess of black hair, and his lips devouring mine.

  “Doesn’t have to be tacos,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be food at all. Just leave with us.”

  Logan’s one of the good guys, and my heart honestly twists with the silent expectation he has that I can be one of the good people, too. He’s a poor soul who believes I have a choice and that’s the reason why I won’t kiss him.

  I look over at the car and see three other people who also believe I’m more than what I am. Three other people who see the world in black and white. What they want from me isn’t possible.

  I fix my tank top over my jeans and straighten as if to pretend I’m just as tall as Logan. I’m no longer the Abby I wish I could be, I’m the Abby the streets have taught me that I am.

  A shadow crosses over his face as I permit Logan to meet the girl the rest of the world is scared of. I hate this, but sometimes even I get tired of lying. “You need to go and I need to work. Don’t stop me again.”

  “Doesn’t have to be like this,” he says like I expect of him. Even with jacked-up parents, in the end, he gets to choose the hand that’s dealt to him.

  Unfortunately for me... “It does.”

  This time, Logan doesn’t stop me and a little part of the Abby I wish I could be dies as he lets me go.

  Logan

  On the crowded sidewalk next to Isaiah’s car, Rachel and I stare at each other. There’s a million requests in those blue eyes and pride demands that I ignore her and walk away.

  People weave around us and the stench of garbage decaying in the summer heat blows onto the street from the nearby alley. A group of drunk frat boys make a few comments about Rachel’s physique and before her cheeks can turn fully red, I ease her closer to Isaiah’s car when a guy way beyond his limit almost crashes into her.

  “I tried.” I hope to God that will be enough because I don’t want in on this conversation.

  “Go after her.” Rachel points in the direction in which Abby fled. “She needs you.”

  Abby rejected me and that hit stung. “Here’s where you’re wrong. Abby doesn’t need anyone. She just made that crystal clear.”

  “Rachel,” Isaiah calls out from the driver’s seat. “We need to go.”

  Rachel combs a hand through her golden locks then sets her frustrated sight on me. “Please, Logan. You’re the one person she’ll listen to. We all saw it. For one brief second, she considered leaving with us. You can’t give up now.”

  Hurt and anger rolls through me. “She’ll listen to any of you before she’ll listen to me.”

  “She won’t even talk to me or West about the drugs or her personal life or anything. I’m her best friend and I don’t even know where she lives and Isaiah...”

  Has washed his hands of Abby and her drug dealing. We all know it. He’ll always protect Abby as a friend, but he’s drawn the line with the drugs. He’s given up on her when it comes to the dealing and I’m starting to understand why.

  “Maybe this is a lost cause,” I say.

  Rachel’s hand dips to her stomach like she’s experiencing the same ache I am. “Don’t say that. You care for her and she cares for you. Anyone with eyes can see that, plus she responds differently to you than she does anyone else. Abby will listen to you.”

  Abby doesn’t listen to anyone. “We aren’t as close as you think.”

  Abby and I met this past winter when I was helping Isaiah and Rachel drag race their way out of a bad debt. She walked into a garage, took one look at me and my life has never been the same since.

  “No, I bet you’re closer than even I can imagine. Will you please try? I’m worried. Something was off tonight. She needs us. She needs you.”

  I rotate away, walk a few feet, and then jerk back. Rachel’s reading me and Abby wrong. Mistaking attraction for friendship. Do I like Abby? Yeah, but Abby sure as hell doesn’t let anyone close, not even Rachel...not even Isaiah.

  “Abby and I play games. That’s it. She’ll listen to Isaiah before she’ll listen to me.”

  “Abby ignores Isaiah, but she doesn’t ignore you. Abby’s scared. I don’t know of what, but I saw it in her eyes tonight and you know what I’m talking about. That’s why you started playing those crazy games with her.”

  Damn Rachel for this, because she’s right. I was concerned, and I wanted to make Abby smile. I hate caring for people who don’t care for me back. “Abby doesn’t know fear.”

  “Rachel,” Isaiah calls out again. “You’re going to miss curfew.”

  I crack my neck to the side as a wave of dizziness drains me. Fucking blood sugar. It’s either up or down and I’m screwed either way. Rachel steps toward me, her hand out like she could catch me if I fall. “Are you okay? You just went seriously white.”

  “I’m good. Just hungry. You better go before Isaiah tosses you in.”

  Rachel rolls her eyes, yet slips into the passenger seat of car. “You’re wrong. Abby’s scared and she needs you.”

  She shuts the door and Isaiah immediately pulls away, racing down the road to get his girl home before her parents lose their minds.

  “I’m right,” I mutter to the sidewalk. Regardless of what anyone else thinks of me, I know fear. I’ve had that bitter taste in my mouth more often than I care to admit and Abby is one of those people born without the gene.

  I glance at the club then down the street to where my truck’s parked. I should leave—prove to my dad I’m responsible. Get in the car, test my blood sugar, fix what needs to be fixed and drive home and be back at a responsible time and eat some more protein and fucking green foo
d.

  I haven’t tested in hours. Too long. Even long enough I’m aware that I’m approaching stupidity.

  But Abby was off tonight and the need to follow her into the club consumes me. It’s a constant throb in my ears. I scrub a hand over my face as another wave of dizziness strikes me.

  My cell buzzes. Sly: Screw later this week. Guitarist just messed up bad. They want you to try out tonight. Got your guitar?

  Screw me. Yeah. In my truck. Tell them I need 10 minutes.

  A cold sweat breaks out on my skin and, on instinct, I start for my truck. Test my blood, get my shit together, do the audition, go after Abby one last time if she’s still around, but after this, I’m done doing the chasing.

  Abby

  My grandmother’s first piece of advice to counteract Dad’s list: the devil dances with those who walk alone on an edge.

  She told me that when I was five. Not exactly a bedtime story for a kindergartener, but at the time, it was a life lesson and a warning against my genetics. Too bad I don’t listen because with each step I take toward the table full of men, I’m very much aware of Satan tangoing by my side.

  Houston meets me halfway and stretches out his arms like he’s going to hug me and the glare I throw causes him to abandon his efforts. I don’t touch clients and clients don’t touch me. Every good drug dealer has boundaries. But if was going to make an exception, Houston would be it.

  Houston’s still smiling though, a good indication he’s high. He’s always high. “Starting to think you were going to stand me up.”

  Due to Ricky’s warning, I considered it, but I make nice money off of Houston and I typically make nice money off of anyone he introduces me to. I lost a few clients recently because of graduation from either high school or college, and I’m always on the lookout for a reliable regular.