Authors: Scott Nicholson,J.R. Rain
“Not any lamer than being named Parker.”
“
Jerk,” she said and slapped my arm.
“
Well, if we’re dating, I’d better drive you home, so your dad can look out the window and see us.”
It had started raining. Big surprise for Seattle. The light patter on the roof of the car was always pleasant. Even after all these years of living, I loved the sound of rain. A few minutes later, following her directions, I pulled up in front of her two-story house.
It was upper middle class, and a Volvo wagon was parked outside. So Mr. Cole was the practical, safety-minded sort of psychotic religious fanatic. But it made me wonder why he forced his daughter to ride public transit.
When I stopped the car, she paused with her hand on the door handle. “So, you said ‘for hire.’ What will this cost me?”
She wore a little smirk as if she suspected it had something to do with the remark about getting in her pants.
The rain drummed rhythmically, hypnotically. Light from her front porch reached us weakly, illuminating her pretty face. “We’ll work something out.”
“That sounds creepy.”
“
Not like that,” I said, although she had no room to call anyone else “creepy.” After all, she was the daughter of a serial-killing cult leader. “Sometimes I ask for favors. Depends on how much I trust you. We’ll see.”
“
What kind of favors?”
“
We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
She suddenly leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Wow. Your skin is cool.”
“I’m a cool dude.”
She rolled her pretty brown eyes. “See you tomorrow...boyfriend.”
She winked and dashed off to her house.
Chapter Four
I looked at my test again and couldn’t fathom that there was actually a question that this second-rate high school could find in U.S. History that I would not know.
“
In 1906, who was the Speaker of the House?”
First of all, who cares? Seriously? How was this question going to help any U.S. citizen get further in life? It was almost as if Mr. Harris, my history teacher, threw this question out there because he was tired of me acing every test.
I looked at the clock; it was five minutes before 10 p.m. I had to come to terms with the notion that, for the first time in my life—or at least my new unlife—I didn’t know the answer to a question on a test.
Well, if you’re going to go out, you might as well go out with a bang.
In the available spot, I put “Robert Pattinson.”
I walked to the front of the class and handed Mr. Harris the test, staring the old fogey down.
“May I help you, Mr. Walsh?”
“
Well played, sir,” I said. “Well played.”
Mr. Harris smiled at me through the corner of his mouth, knowing that he’d gotten the best of me. He and I both knew what he’d done. I turned around and made zero eye contact with anyone on my way back to my desk.
“Hey, diphead,” a voice from behind me echoed. It was Frank Manciti. The class bully who thought he could intimidate the undeveloped smart kid. Yes, even night school has bullies.
It was now my turn to play the fool for this idiot and appear weak. People thought I was weird and creepy already and this guy was leader of the lot. To be honest, I was tired of him throwing things at me and calling me names like Butthead and Scum Bubble. Unfortunately, I couldn’t waste my secret on this imbecile so I let him be the gooch.
“Quit it,” I mumbled.
“
What was that, Taylor Swift?” he quipped.
Taylor Swift? What did that even mean?
“Hey, Mini Albert Einstein, turn around so I can talk to you.”
Frank wanted me to turn around so he could see my expression as he insulted me. Little did he know I could see his every movement and didn’t need to alter my positioning. Staring ahead, but in my mind’s eye watching his every move, sensing his presence. I looked towards the chalkboard like a poker player not giving away what’s in his hand. I could see his smug face on his dirty blonde head. He was looking at his buddies for approval. He was holding a pencil in his right hand. It was a matter of seconds before the pencil would be routed in my direction.
I was tired of allowing him to hurl things and just taking it. It was time I took a stand. I could see Parker looking at me and, to be honest, I didn’t want to appear wimpy after my big show on the drug addict the night before.
I was going to do something, and it would be subtle but would make my point. It was just a matter of waiting for Franky Spanky to throw the darn pencil, and just like in a bad script for a John Hughes film, he flung the pencil at my head. Without looking, I caught the pencil somewhere near my neck, spun it once in my hand, and flipped it back at him. The graphite tip whistled one inch past his fat head and stuck into the wall.
“Holy crap, did you see that?” shouted someone from the back. “He flippin’ caught the pencil and threw it back without turning around.”
“
No way, dude. That’s impossible,” a long-haired stoner sitting next to Frank responded.
Now it was time to turn around. I’d had enough fun using the eyes-behind-my-back trick, which I had recently mastered to obvious perfection.
Frank, I think, was having a hard time processing what had just happened. He looked from the pencil, which was still wobbling in the wall like an arrow in a bullseye, to me. Finally, he said, “Did you throw that at me, putz?”
“
Throw what?” I asked, as clueless as a class nerd could sound.
Frank looked at his buddies seated around him. “Did one of you douche bags throw that?”
They all shook their heads. Frank pulled the pencil out of the back wall and scoped it to see if it was the same bit of lumber he had just tossed in my direction. I think his worst fears were confirmed. Some of the color drained from his face. He slumped back in his chair and waved me off. “Just turn around, Nancy Pants,” he said. “Nobody’s talking to you.”
I did just that and grinned my ass off. I looked over to my left and there was Parker looking at me, shocked. She mouthed silently
How?
I just shrugged my shoulders as if to say,
I got lucky!
The bell rang. I grabbed my backpack and went straight to my car. I’d DVR’d “Real World Road Rules Challenge” on MTV, which was my weekly treat. I wanted to hurry home and for once in my life just veg out.
I made my way to the school parking lot. The parking lot was pretty small, which made sense since it only housed 20 students at night. I reached into my left pocket and took out my keys.
“
How did you do that?” Parker asked me from fifteen feet away. I had sensed her following me at a distance, too nervous to get too close.
“
I got lucky.” I liked the sound of that. Maybe it would be my little catch phrase. Every hero needed one.
“
No one is that lucky. Are you some kind of circus performer?”
“
Yeah, that’s right,” I said sarcastically. “I’m a circus performer by day and a high schooler at night, because I promised my parents I would get a proper education. And clown school was full.”
“
Okay, maybe not a circus performer, but there’s definitely something more to you than you’re letting on. Not every high school student goes by the name of Spider, either,” she smiled. “Let’s get some coffee.”
“
We might have a problem. I think there might be a shortage of coffee shops around here.”
“
Very funny.”
It was funny because Seattle is the coffeehouse capital of the world. But she understood. Jokes are better when you don’t have to explain them, and she’d finally caught on that I’m a witty guy. At least when I’m not ripping somebody’s neck open and sucking out their life.
“C’mon,” she said. “I know a place called ‘Bo Knows Coffee!’”
“
Who’s Bo?” I asked.
“
I don’t know. I guess he was some kinda sport’s star from the 80’s.”
“
Alright, I’ll go. But let’s make it quick.”
“
Oh, does the Spider have a web to weave?” she joked.
“
Not exactly, I just want to watch a TV show.”
“
Are you kidding? You would rather watch a stupid show than spend time with a beautiful woman?”
I snorted. “Beautiful woman?”
“Well, what would you call me?”
I smiled. She wasn’t a woman yet, but she was half right. I never had a girl care if I thought she was pretty.
“You’re cute,” I said, patting her head, “like a tarantula.”
“
Man, you’re weird.”
“
They don’t call me Spider for nothing,” I said. “Get in and let’s go.”
Bad Blood
is available at:
About the Authors:
Scott Nicholson is author of 17 books, including the bestselling Kindle thrillers
Disintegration and The Red Church
. He also portrays the comic book character The Digger and spends spare time revising his own epitaph. Learn more at
www.hauntedcomputer.com
.
J.R. Rain is an ex-private investigator who now lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at
www.jrrain.com
.