Betwixt (2 page)

I turn to make an escape, but it's too late.

The headlights illuminate my body for a second, before the car violently swerves away, but not before clipping me. Pain sears through my body and I scream as I'm thrown over the guardrail.

It's like being in a tumble drier as I roll down the hill, scratching myself on pinecones and nature's debris. My descent comes to an abrupt end as I crash into a tree trunk. A loud crack rings like a gun shot inside my head, rattling my brain. I roll away from the tree with a groan and reach for my temple then scream as pain radiates up my arm. My stomach jerks and I feel its contents shifting north. I cover my mouth, but it's pointless.

Out of breath, I try to shift away from my puke, but moving hurts too much. I lay back on the bumpy earth and look up at the sky. The stars are fuzzy and shifting wildly. I blink to bring them into focus, but that just makes it worse. I feel as though the world is falling on top of me. As the stars and treetops come crashing down I hear a young girl scream my name.

"NICKY!"

CHAPTER TWO

"Nicky!"

I open my eyes.

"Nicky!!"

I turn on my pillow and look at my bedside clock.

"Nicky! It's time to get up! You'll be late for school."

The time registers and I sit up, adrenaline pumping through my system. I hate being late for anything. I go to jump off my bed, but let out a groan instead. My head feels like it's filled with sludge and someone is using my brain as a bass drum.

"Nicky?" My mother opens the door without knocking and peers inside.

I hate it when she does that.

I give her a stony glare.

"Mom, I've asked you to call me Nicole. It's what you put on my birth certificate, remember?"

My mother looks at me on the bed and rolls her eyes. Shaking her head she walks out the door without saying a word.

Typical.

I want to yell at her to come back and at least respond, but I can't. I want to scream at her for ignoring all the issues, but I never will. This is my life. I remind myself, yet again, that I'll get used to it... won't I?

Unable to ignore my headache, I slowly stand, trying to remember what I did last night. I think I was with Penny and Amber. Was Trent there too? He must have been. What day is it?

I look back at my clock. WED-SEPT-18.

School.

I have school... which I am about to be really late for.

Looking down, I notice I am already dressed. I slept in my clothes? That is too weird. I never do that kind of thing. What time did I get home? How did I get home?

I grab my bag, which had slept on the bed beside me, and rummage through it. Pulling out my small hand mirror, I quickly check my appearance. My hair looks a little ratty. I grab my small brush and tidy it up. Pulling out my gloss, I make my lips shine then smack them together. I still look a little pale and my mascara is starting to slide, making the dark circles beneath my eyes look even worse. I lick my index finger and tidy them up.

Glancing at my bedside clock, I decide I don't have time for much more. I pull my long bangs down to cover my left eye a little then poof up the back of my thick hair. Time won't allow me perfection this morning.

I actually hate that, but I'd rather look a tad scruffy than be late.

I think.

Frowning, I dive back into my bag. Where the hell is my phone?

I need to call Amber to come pick me up. I look at my watch and grimace. She's probably already at school anyway. If she doesn't hear from me by seven-thirty, she always assumes I'm skipping out for the day. I hadn't done that in a couple of weeks, but whatever.

Man, if she thinks I'm playing hooky without her, she's going to be pissed. I can just imagine the texts I'll encounter when I find my phone. My lips curl into a pout.

Shoving my stuff back into my bag, I hitch it onto my shoulder and walk out the door.

I guess I'll just have to ask Mom for a ride.

Cringe-fest.

I descend the stairs towards the kitchen and stop at the landing. Like I do every morning, I look out the large, glass sliding door in the living room. The tall pine tree in our back yard stands there mocking me. When we first moved here, Dad forbade us to climb it. It was too tall and dangerous, but that never stopped us. I study its gnarled branches with a scowl.

Running my hand through my hair, I approach the kitchen with clipped steps.

"Mom, I need a ride to school."

"I don't know, honey, I just said that."

I stand at the entrance to the kitchen. Mom can't see me, she's too busy talking on the phone.

"Well how should I know? Do you keep track of her every movement?"

She slams her coffee mug down. Black liquid jumps over the edge and lands on the counter. She turns to grab a dishcloth as her voice gets louder.

"She's your daughter too, you know."

I cross my arms. So she's talking to Dad... about me. What is her problem anyway? So I'm going to be a little late for school, it's not like I stayed out partying all night. Had I? The ache in my head would suggest otherwise. I rub my forehead with a frown. Had I been drinking?

I wouldn't put it past me. When it came to my friends there wasn't a huge difference between school nights and weekends. If we were in the mood, we'd make it happen.

What had we made happen last night? I wish I could remember.

"Yeah," my mother sighs. "I'll call the school to make sure she's turned up."

She rinses out the cloth and places it over the tap to dry.

"Yep. Love you too," she clips, sounding anything but loving.

I walk into the kitchen.

"I'm going to school, just so you know. Thanks for thinking so highly of me, by the way." I cross my arms and stare at her back. "If you want me to get there on time, you'll need to give me a ride."

My mother ignores me as she gulps down the last of her coffee and gathers her things.

"The silent treatment? That's what you're going with today?" I take another step into the kitchen. "That's really mature, Mom, great form of punishment. You should start writing for a parenting magazine."

She glances around the kitchen, her gaze brushing over me as she checks to make sure she has everything.

I want to tell her I'm sorry for pissing her off. I want to admit I have no idea what I was doing last night and I'm sorry if I came in really late... again. But I seal my lips. I'm not overly keen on admitting I am clueless about what I was up to... and besides, after this immature silence, she doesn't deserve an apology.

I follow her to the door, wondering if I should even bother pleading for a ride. Images of her stuffy car and the stony silence are pretty hideous, but being late to school has consequences too.

"Look, Mom-"

The phone cuts me off. She opens the front door as she pulls it out and touches the screen.

"Jackie A., my favorite client." She gives a merry laugh that makes my stomach churn.

It's so unfair that her work contacts always get her sunshine, while her family are left with the sludge.

"Of course you're not bothering me. What do you need?"

"A ride to school," I mumble.

"No, that's not a problem. We can make that happen. When would work best for you?"

"Like right now." I raise my voice just a little. Since she's being such a cow, the least I can do is be the irritating teen she thinks I am.

"Well, I have the open home scheduled for two on Saturday, so we still have a little time up our sleeves. Why don't I make some calls and get back to you?" She pauses then laughs again. "Don't worry, you will be my number one priority today."

"Unlike me." I stand in her path. She looks away from me as she nods and hmms at Jackie A. I let out a disgusted huff. "Forget about the ride. I'd rather walk anyway." I turn on my heel and make a quick retreat down the stairs, yelling over my shoulder. "Don't forget to ring the school to make sure I'm not playing hooky."

I cross my arms as I start the long walk to school. It's just over eight miles. There's no way I can walk that far in these heels. Big Bear Village is only a mile or so away. I'll just have to catch a bus from there. Ugh!

I look at my watch and pick up the pace. This day has detention written all over it, unless I can sneak in the back. I glance behind me at the approaching car and notice Dale in the driver's seat. His radio is blasting while his fingers tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel. He is completely lost in his head banging music as he speeds past me.

I sigh. Even if he had noticed me, there was no way he was ever going to stop and offer me a ride. Not after what I'd done. I cringe for the gazillionth time as I remember that afternoon.

It had been a few weeks before school broke up for the summer. I was rummaging through my locker while I waited for my friends. He approached quietly, like he always does.

"Hey, Nicole."

I jumped a mile, having not heard him, but totally held it together. I remember tucking my bangs behind my ear and holding up my chin, hoping he hadn't noticed... not that I cared or anything.

He gave me that classic smirk of his. I don't know why I like it so much. His face is actually really mangled. No one knows what happened to him, the rumors are rife, but he has this really long scar that zig zags from just below his right eye down to his chin. When he smiles it pushes awkwardly out to the side. It's kinda weird how it’s not ugly - not that I'd admit that to my friends.

Anyway - he stood there smirking at me, not a mean smirk, but this cute little half smile, and handed me my iPod.

"You left this in English yesterday. My class goes in straight after yours. I tried to catch you after school, but you'd already left."

"Oh, thanks, Da... Darren?"

He shook his head and that smile reappeared. "Don't worry, no one's watching, you don't have to pretend to forget my name. We're practically neighbours, remember?"

I sighed and snatched the iPod from his hand. "Thank you, Dale. I was wondering where it was."

"Listen, I know it's kind of intrusive, but I checked out your play list. You have really great taste."

"You what?" I was mortified. This was my private stuff and he was scrolling through it and... he thought I had great taste. I had to squash my grin while I strove for indignation.

He totally ignored my power glare and pulled something out of his bag.

"I saw this at a second hand store a couple of weeks ago. I was gonna keep it, but I thought you might like it more."

I took the bag with a confused frown and pulled out a CD. My gasp must have been audible, because he totally laughed.

"Granite? I can't believe you like this band."

"An obscure heavy metal, glam rock band from the nineties? What's not to like?"

I laughed.

"I didn't know anyone our age had even heard of them before."

"Yeah, well, some of us have."

"This is..." I looked at the CD, struggling for words. "This is the only album I don't have."

"I know, that's why I'm giving it to you."

How sweet was that?

He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave me one of those closed mouth grins then cleared his throat. "So, why do you like 'em so much?"

I kept my eyes on the CD case. I had never told anyone this before, but the words popped out before I could stop them.

"My Dad would sometimes take me on his business trips to L.A. and he'd always blast it. We'd sing our heads off."

I don't know why that memory stings so much. Maybe it's because it never happens anymore. It doesn't stop me loving the band though... in secret.

Dale's smile was on full beam as he nodded at my story. "That is very cool."

He looked at me for a long beat then dug into his bag as he started talking.

"Well, my sister and I always loved the band and we went to their reunion concert last year."

"Oh yeah, they were playing at the Hollywood Bowl, right?"

"Uh-huh. It was awesome." He pulled out a metal chain with two dog tags swinging from it.

"No way." I grabbed them up and studied the band's iconic piece of jewelry. GRANITE - Rock Hard was punched into the metal. "This is so cool. Did they throw it from the stage or something?"

"Yeah. I got real lucky that night. I caught these and a drum stick."

"Wow."

"I know. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Totally." I should have curbed my enthusiasm here. If my friends ever found out I liked a band like this, they'd hassle me senseless. But I couldn't help it. I was talking to another die hard Granite fan. Aside from my Dad, I didn't know any others.

I squeezed the tags in my hand and passed them back.

"No, you keep 'em. I've got the drum stick."