Friday Night Alibi

  There’s a real smile on my face as I exit the locker rooms, swinging my racket by my side. Tennis cures all ales.

  Stepping out on the court, the sun stings my eyes a bit while they adjust. It’s going to be a very sweaty practice.

  “Hey, Kel!”

  Sades waves me over, and after two steps I realize who’s with her. Alex’s yummy grin widens when he sees me, his perfect white tennis uniform reflecting the sun. I never noticed how tan he is. And how perfectly highlighted his blond hair is. No way is it natural. But dang . . . it looks good on the boy.

  And right next to him is his opposite. In all black. Short, dark hair, black scruff, black T-shirt and shorts, down to his black tennis shoes. He even has a black racket. And his grin is not yummy. It’s the pervert grin, staring at me like I should be melting all over him, just because he’s here.

  How does his tiny neck support that huge head?

  I squeeze between Alex and Sadie, even though there’s a much wider space for me between the two boys. Nuh-uh. Not happening.

  “Hey.” Because that’s all I can say without being rude.

  “Hey!” Sades says as if nothing is weird. “We were thinking two on two. You up for it?”

  Automatically, I move toward Alex, bumping his hip because duh, I’m already so close to him. He chuckles and tosses an arm around me. “I call Kel!”

  Ugh. Again with the touchy stuff. But I catch a glance at Chase. When he sees me looking, he tugs Sadie over to him, throws his arm around her and says, “Fine with me.”

  Something about that action sends a nasty chill up my spine. Next thing I know, I’m wrapping my arm around Alex and dragging him to the upper end of the court. Sorry, Sades, but Moron is going down.

  “You want first serve?” Alex asks, tossing the ball up in the air.

  I smile, letting go of him and taking my position by the net, right across from Chase. “Nah, you go ahead.”

  Keeping my eyes locked on Moron, I give him my best sneer. And he pisses me off by letting out a huge laugh. He won’t be laughing in a minute. I’m going to smack that ball so hard it’ll send him flying to Jupiter.

  Alex whacks the ball behind me, straight shot to Sades who returns it. I jump up and whack it back, aiming right for Moron’s stupid smirk.

  Okay. I may be the one with the ego here, since I’m a tennis goddess, so when he hits it back, right at me, I’m not prepared for it. It whacks my forehead and next thing I know I’m face up on the ground, Alex hovering over me.

  “Whoa, Kel. You all right?”

  I rub my head with my fingers and shut my eyes. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “You okay to keep playing? Or you want to sit out for a while?”

  Heck no. I’m not letting Moron one-up me. “I’m fine.” I smile and he sticks his hand out to help me up. Chase and Sades are on our side of the court. Sades is all worry and concern, and Moron looks like he’s halfway between laughing and apologizing.

  My teeth clamp together as I look at him. I toss the ball at Sades and say, “Your serve.”

  When we all get back in our positions, I give my most confident and cocky look to Moron. It is so on.

  * * *

  Alex and I should join a professional team or something. We rocked that court! I’m dripping sweat and I’m sure my hair is so soaked, there was really no point in styling it. Who cares, though, right?

  After I ace the last serve, Alex picks me up and spins me around in a victory dance. I’m too happy to freak out about him touching me again.

  “Wow, you guys,” Sades says through breaths. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have to work out for a month after that.” Her yellow polo is stuck to her back, and a glossy sheen of sweat covers her forehead. I’m pretty sure I’m the same way in pink.

  “Showers?”

  “Actually, I’m up for another match.” Moron stops us all in our tracks. We look at him like he just asked us to drop and give him twenty. Well, except Alex, who grins and says, “Okay.”

  They’ve got to be kidding. I mean, both of them are sweat balls, too. And out of breath. I look at Sades who shakes her head wildly. Yeah, I’m with her.

  “You two can play. We’ll watch.” I don’t mind watching Alex kick Chase’s trash again.

  Sades and I take a bench seat under the shade, squirting water into our mouths and on our faces. The shower calls for me, but I can’t take my eyes off the guys getting ready. Alex bounces the ball up and down before he serves, his muscles tight in his forearm and sweat dripping off his blond hair hanging in front of his face. Moron takes his position at the other end of the court, flashing me his stupid smile and winking. He’s sweating too, but his hair is so short there’s no dripping anywhere. He just looks shiny.

  Opposites. Good boy vs. bad boy. Nice guy vs. total wank. My inner cheerleader goes berserk. Go Alex! Kick his waxed butt!

  And the serve is perfect! Sails across the net so beautifully, I start clapping before I realize Moron has hit it back. Whoops! Getting antsy. And even though I know Alex has this in the bag, my knees bounce up and down and I scoot so far to the edge of the bench I may as well be squatting in front of it.

  “Um, you really into this?” Sades laughs next to me.

  I roll my eyes and try to relax. But it’s impossible as Chase backhands one across the net and scores. Pretty soon, he’s ahead. By a lot.

  There is no freaking way he’s beating Alex. But he is. My mind can’t wrap around it. He totally sucked during our game after pegging me in the head. It’s almost as if he . . .

  Ooh! Did he let us win? Like I need his pity!

  “And that’s the game!” Moron says, pumping his racket in the air and giving me a wink. My lips purse and I fold my arms. In true snobby fashion, I throw my nose up and don’t look at him. I know what game this is. He’s not impressing anyone by his “Me man, see me growl” routine. Gag.

  Alex jogs over to us, shaking Moron’s hand. He’s pouring rivers down his neck. “Nice game,” he says between breaths. “You’re really good. How long have you played?”

  Chase shrugs. “Off and on for about ten years. Been a while though.” He looks at me. “Must be why I needed the two on two match to warm up.”

  There’s a grinding noise going through my head, and it’s not until my teeth slip on each other and I bite my cheek that I realize it was me.

  “Shower time, now?” Sades pleads. They both laugh at her and nod.

  Without thinking it all the way through, I snap my fingers around the fabric on Moron’s shirt, tugging him back.

  “I’ll be there in a second, girl,” I say. “I just need to talk to . . . Chase.” I literally gag on his name.

  She gives me that knowing smile and I want to smack it off. Alex surprises me by asking, “You’ll be okay?”

  Duh, of course I’ll be fine. It’s just Moron. I can handle him.

  “Yeah.”

  He looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, he snaps his fingers and his eyes widen. “Oh! I need to talk to you, too, Kel.” He throws a look at Chase before eyeing me again. “I want to hang out next Friday. You free?”

  “I’ll have to check. Call you later?”

  “Sounds good.” He tugs me into a sweaty hug, then goes off to the locker rooms with Sadie.

  “Client of yours?” Moron says, watching Alex’s retreating figure.

  “Like it’s any of your business,” I spit, grabbing my water bottle. “Look, I don’t know what the heck kind of payback you’re planning, but I want you to leave Sadie and Alex out of it.”

  His eyebrow goes up and a drop of sweat curls down his face. “What?”

  “You think I didn’t notice after you whooping Alex’s butt that you were totally letting us win during that first match?” I shake my head. “I’ve been playing tennis for a long time. I know what a pro looks like.”

  He laughs. “It’s not like there was money on it, Stinky. What’s the big deal?”

  “I don’t need any favo
rs. I can win without you holding back. You’re just too big-headed to find out for real.”

  “Do you mean that in all the games we’re playing?” He rubs his hand over his wet head, then wipes it on his shorts. “No holding back?”

  “Well, I’m not going to hold back. You deserve everythi—” Agh! Without so much as a warning, Moron grabs me around my waist and tosses me over his shoulder. I pound on his damp back, thrash my legs and yell at him, but he keeps his arms locked on me and walks over to the far end of the court, through the gate, and . . .

  Oh crap! He’s headed straight for the pool! I kick more. Maybe I’ll get in a good nut shot and he’ll put me down. But it’s no freaking use. The too skinny and bony arms have more muscle in them than I thought. And even though he should stink a storm, he smells like his car. “Rays of Citrus.” Oy, can’t believe I remember that. And I’m thinking about it while he’s going to throw me in the pool.

  “All right, Stinky,” he says as we reach the edge of the water. “No holding back.”

  Before I can cling onto him and take him in with me, I fly through the air and land butt first into the club pool. The cool water helps with the sweat, but the fact I’m wearing a light pink shirt and a white skirt is no good. I’m every pervert’s dream if I get out.

  My arms wrap around my boobs and I give Moron a glare. He’s squatting on the edge of the pool, laughing at me.

  “Okay. You dumped me in. Now back to your dorm or whatever and wait for me to get you back.”

  He shakes his head. “Dumping you in was only half of it.” His eyes flick over my body and if I didn’t have to cover myself, I’d smack him.

  Instead of giving him the satisfaction, I swim to the edge, hoist myself out, and walk with my head held high all the way back to the locker room. I don’t run, I don’t even speed walk. I do it with confidence. All the whistles and gasps I get, I ignore. Moron stays behind me the whole way.

  He claps as I spin around and face him.

  “I give you props. Not many girls are that comfortable with their bodies. I like it.”

  And that’s when I smack him.

  Chapter 9

  Turns out, Alex actually wants to “hang out” on Friday. Physically. Crazy, right? His parents want me over for dinner. I nearly dropped the phone when he asked if that was okay.

  And no! He’s not paying me. That would make me a whore.

  I agreed because that’s how awesome I am. Plus, it’s kind of nice to actually do what I say I’m doing on a Friday night. We’ll see how this pretend dating thing goes.

  The bookstore was busy today. I knew it would be. Thursdays always are ’cause we close for the weekend. And rich people love books. Don’t ask me why, it’s just part of our society. The more books you have, the bigger your library. The bigger your library, the bigger your house. Bigger house, bigger bank account. It’s all about image around here. Even in the stupidest things.

  I wonder how many people actually read the books they’re buying. Or if they just end up putting them in their house just for show, like their home theaters and one-lane bowling alleys.

  Anyway, I’m beat as I walk into the house at seven thirty. My house smells superdelish, but I’m not allowed at the dinner table in my work uniform. I book it upstairs, change into a modest skirt and blue tunic, then—as gracefully as possible—slide my butt into my seat at the table.

  Lobster. Yum, yum, yum!

  And lobster means they have something they want to tell me. Probably a vacation.

  “How was work, dear?”

  Mom always begins the dinner convo. At least she doesn’t start it again about Moron’s butt in the air. Dad keeps his eyes locked on his overstuffed crustacean as he answers.

  “I found out Ralph was the one stealing from me. I let him go this afternoon.”

  “Oh?” Mom’s eyebrows raise, and she takes a dainty sip from her wineglass. “Did he get away with much?”

  Dad shakes his head. “We recovered most. But it has the staff on edge. I don’t think it’ll happen again.”

  “That’s good, especially with . . .”

  Her eyes flash to me and I choke on my mouthful of lobster tail. “What?” I say when all the gook clears from my airway.

  “Sweet Pea.”

  Ha! I knew it. They’re going on a trip. A long one. And I’m hoping this is the one they finally take me on. It’s not like I’m in school anymore. Internally squealing!

  “Yes, Mom?” I make my voice sound genuinely confused and concerned.

  “We’ve decided to go to Paris next week.”

  Next week? Whoa, way to wait till the last minute to tell me.

  “Oh, okay.” I wipe my mouth with my napkin and eye the chandelier above the table. “I can probably get off work.” I’ll have to make sure Alex doesn’t make any plans to see Brianne either.

  Mom’s face drains of all color. I didn’t even know that was possible with all the makeup she wears.

  “Actually, sweetie, it’s just me and your father.”

  My elated butterfly feelings get hit with bug spray. Oh, well, isn’t this awkward? I glance at Dad who’s still looking at his food, not paying attention at all to this conversation.

  Mom clears her throat, and I don’t look at her. I move my fork to my lobster.

  “Carrie will be here to cook you meals and do your laundry.”

  Yes, because she does that anyway.

  “We’ll be back on the twenty-fifth. Think you can take care of yourself for that long?”

  I nod, biting back the retort I want to throw at them. I’ve been babysitting myself since Dad started working. And even if I hadn’t, I’m technically an adult now. It’s like she thinks I can’t be alone, when she knows I’m alone all the freaking time! My fork slips from my fingers as the angry sweat pours from my palm.

  It’s quiet until Mom takes us all from the awkwardness with a loud gasp.

  “Oh! And one more thing.” She clicks her fingers together and Carrie comes from the kitchen and smiles.

  “Yes, Mrs. Pinkins?”

  “Would you bring me my purse?” Mom’s eyes are all bright and excited. Like money will solve this uncomfortable silence. Or hide the fact that my parents suck at being parents.

  Carrie comes back with my Mom’s Chanel Diamond Forever bag. Mom reaches in and pulls out a wad of cash and one of her many credit cards.

  “Here you go, sweetie. I want you to go shopping with your friends and have a nice, casual party if you’d like. I trust you won’t allow drinking, and your friends are angels like you, so I trust them too.”

  And like I’m five, she pinches my cheek as she shoves the money to my side of the table.

  Appetite has officially left. I excuse myself without taking the cash or finishing my favorite dinner ever. Carrie gives me the “I’m sorry” look as I pass her, but it only makes the prickling that’s growing behind my eyes worse.

  Sometimes I wish my room was its own apartment. Away from my parents downstairs, who I can hear, are talking about Paris, packing, airline tickets . . . nothing about their daughter who left without a word. I slam my door shut, blocking out the noise.

  I know, I know. You’re thinking, poor, spoiled rich girl. Mommy and Daddy won’t take her to Paris. But it’s not about Paris. It’s about actually feeling part of a family.

  Yes, throw your credit card at me, Mom! That’ll make up for all the times you choose vacations, work, church, book club, blah blah blah . . . over me. Screw that! Next time, just leave without telling me. I may not even notice you’re gone.

  A knock comes at my door and Carrie slides in a tray of lobster and cheesecake. She gives me another small smile, her eyes watering before she shuts the door. Because I don’t want to be a total two-year-old tantrum thrower, I take the food and put it in my little fridge. My appetite will probably hit around three in the morning.

  Maybe I’ll fly myself to Paris. Tell them two days before I’m planning on leaving and say, “Whoops! I’m sor
ry, was that something we should do together?” But as I think about that, I bet they wouldn’t even care. They’d nod and say, “That sounds lovely, dear. Have a safe flight.”

  The angry fire in my stomach quickly turns to a frozen pool of misery. What did I do to make them want to be away from me?

  It takes a few minutes for my brain to register my phone’s ringing. Without looking at the caller ID, because I’m a dang wreck, I answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Stinky.”

  That’s all it takes for me to lose it. I don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to mess with him at all. I can’t play our stupid games when I’m a mess like this. I want him off my phone and out of my business.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, the cockiness out of his voice. Or maybe my hearing’s just gone bad.

  The tears spew from my face as I hang up on him.

  Chapter 10

  I need more friends. Okay, let me rephrase. I need more than one friend. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade Sades for anything. But seriously, she’s busy all the freaking time. Aren’t BFFs supposed to appear out of thin air to console each other? But when I called her, she said she was supersorry she couldn’t meet up with me. She’s going out with some guy she met at a campus party, trying to get the feel of college before we actually go there I’m guessing.

  Blowing raspberries now.

  To make things even more sucktacular, Moron tried calling me again last night, and once more this morning. Duh, if he didn’t get the hint, I don’t want to talk.

  Mom and Dad left already. Guess they wanted out so they don’t have to see me pouting. I’m a big old nut basket, because I head straight for Dad’s restaurant, and sit in the same booth I always do, staring at the empty seats around me.

  I pick at the calamari, and scroll through all the apps on my phone. Maybe there’s a therapist or someone on here who will listen to me.

  “Miss Pinkins? Is there something wrong with your appetizer?”

  I shake my head and plaster on a smile. “No. It’s delicious, thank you.”