Lila Shortcuts (3 page)

We walk inside and I’m pleased to discover that In-N-Out burger is fairly deserted at this time of night. There’s just us, a couple of truckers, a few kids too young-looking to get into any bars and some bored-looking servers.

We order and take our trays over to one of the tables by the window.

‘You grew up round here?’ Ryder asks as we dig in.

‘Just up the coast, actually. We moved here a few years ago.’ I keep going in response to his questioning look. ‘My mum started dating some guy from round here.’

‘You don’t like him?’ Ryder asks, dunking a fry in a pool of ketchup.

I pause. He’s astute. I don’t like any of my mum’s boyfriends. The ability to detect lies (and general unsavouriness) skipped a generation, so my mum judges potential boyfriend’s characters on the make of truck they drive and whether they have a hyphen in their first name. Or so it seems, judging from Billy-Bob, A-Jay and Ricky-Ray, all of whom have driven white Ford pick-ups, and none of whom have stuck around for longer than it takes for milk to curdle.

‘What about you?’ I ask, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation about my mum, who’s currently hooked up with a guy called Archie-Lee, owner of the local trailer park. ‘What drew you to this place?’

He slurps his milkshake. ‘Savannah has its limitations.’

‘Admit it,’ I say. ‘You’re a Gnarly Surs groupie. You follow them across the country.’

He laughs, and my stomach flips as a cotton candy cloud blooms in the air over him. Pink is not just the colour of princesses. It’s also the colour of lust and love. The two are hard to tell apart, hence my wariness around members of the opposite sex. But with Ryder I note my usual wariness is strangely absent.

‘Yeah, you got me,’ he says. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

Just then his eyes flick behind my head to the door and I watch as all the blood drains from his face. The cotton candy bloom withers away, and the air around him becomes concrete grey. I spin around.

Two guys have strolled into the restaurant. The rays bursting off them make the biker crew back at The Majestic seem like a bunch of kids high on ice-cream. Thunder clouds of roiling black and grey swim and pulse around them.

There are several Latino gangs in Oxnard up the road who like to cruise town – I guess as some form of pissing contest with the local biker crews. One quick glance at these guys (and a glance is all you’d want to give them) and it’s clear that the In-N-Out Burger is now attracting more unsavoury types than my mother.

I turn back to Ryder. He’s staring at the guys, his hands fisted on the table, his shoulders bunched tight. The easy grin has fallen away and been replaced with grimly pursed lips. The chandelier spectacular above him now emits lightning strikes of red.

My body starts tingling as though an electrical storm of Marvel Comic proportions is whirling in the atmosphere above In-N-Out Burger. Footsteps. The hairs bristle on the back of my neck. Out the corner of my eye I see a black boot come to a stop right by our table.

‘Scoot over.’

My heart slams into my mouth and wedges there, beating thickly against my tongue. I glance up at the guy who’s stopped by our table. He’s talking to me. I look at Ryder whose jaw is clenched tight. Flames crackle in the air above him.

Suddenly I’m being shoved further into the booth as the guy slides in beside me. I don’t take much persuasion. I edge as far away as I can, snatching a look at him, trying to gauge what’s going on and if we’re about to die. I spot one of the servers staring at us, gormless, eyes wide as burger patties. I try to urge him silently to call the cops but he just stares blankly at us.

Ryder keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the guy who’s sat down beside me, and who’s now shaking salt over my fries. The other guy stands blocking Ryder’s exit.

‘Where you been hiding, Ryder?’ the man asks. ‘We’ve been looking all over for you.’

Ryder says nothing. What the hell is going on? How do they know his name? I glance at the guy next to me. He’s got dark hair, piercing black eyes and a five o’clock shadow that looks permanent. He’s wearing dark jeans and a white shirt and his buddy is dressed similarly, his shirt clinging to both his barrel chest and other suspicious concealed weapon-shaped bulges.

Ryder slouches back in his seat. ‘I’ve been around,’ he says, casual as anything. Only, I can tell he’s putting it on because his aura shows his fear. His fear is overcoming his anger, being swamped by it.

‘Busy chasing skirt by the looks of things,’ the man says, his eyes flicking in my direction. He smiles approvingly as he tosses fries into his mouth. ‘I can see why you’d be distracted.’

I would squirm but I can’t. I’m frozen in my seat. Staring at the guy. I glance at Ryder. Then back at the guy. And suddenly my heart is pounding like an anvil against rock. Because the guy beside me has an aura identical to Ryder’s. I didn’t see the chandelier lights before because they were masked by thunderclouds. His aura is slightly more tarnished than Ryder’s and darkness filters around it, but it’s still there.

‘Leave her out of it,’ Ryder suddenly growls, no longer slouching but leaning across the table, his eyes flashing furiously.

Holding my breath and taking advantage of the distraction, I inch my knee across under the table until it nudges the guy’s thigh. Instantly I jerk back, my body resonating as though I’ve run headlong into an iron wall.

The guy doesn’t appear to have noticed. ‘Let’s go,’ he tells Ryder, finishing up my fries and wiping his hands on a napkin. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

What kind of work is he talking about? I look between them trying to figure out what I can do to diffuse the situation. But before I can even try to make two grown men cry, Ryder moves – a cobra strike – grabbing for the guy’s wrist across the table. But he’s not fast enough. The guy snatches his hand away, shaking his head. ‘A-a-ah.’

Ryder freezes. My gaze drops to the man blocking him in. He’s pressing a gun against Ryder’s side.

Without even thinking about it I throw everything I’ve got, everything I’m feeling, at the guy with the gun – anger, outrage and fear melding into a fearsome barrage that pounds him like a battering ram. The gun falls limply to his side. All three hundred pounds of him stares at Ryder wide-eyed, as though Ryder just grew horns and a tail. Then he turns on his heel and, with a little whimper and a yelp, goes screaming out of the restaurant.

The man beside me stares slack-jawed after him, before whipping his head back to Ryder. ‘Interesting,’ is all he says, appraising Ryder with a small smile, before pulling himself together and standing brusquely.

Ryder is still staring at the door, blinking in astonishment. Then his expression clears and his head snaps towards me, understanding rushing over his face. Has he guessed? Does he know that I was the cause of that?

‘You coming, Ryder?’ the man asks.

Ryder nods and gets up from the table, shooting me an apologetic look. ‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ he says and starts following the man to the door.

I’m too stunned to do anything but watch through the window as Ryder walks with the guy across the lot and climbs into a Mercedes. The engine starts and the three of them go speeding out of the lot. I realise only then that I’m shaking. The storm clouds have passed but my skin still prickles with static charge.

Someone clears their throat beside me, making me jump.

‘Do you want me to, like, call the police or something?’

I look up. The server is standing by my table, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently up and down in his throat.

Ignoring him, I stagger to my feet, throw a few dollars on the table, and run outside.

Chapter Six

‘So he arrived in town six weeks ago. He surfs, has an athritic dog called RJ and is wise to the In-N-Out ways of ordering, but you don’t know how old he is, what his last name is or whether or not he’s a good kisser.’ Nancy shakes her head at me in disgust, though from the star-busts above her head I can tell excitement outweighs her disappointment.

I hesitate. I don’t lie, remember? But equally I can’t tell her the truth about what happened. I mean, what’s there to say anyway? We were having a great time when suddenly two guys with guns burst in and escorted him off the premises, oh, and by the way, they all had identical auras!

Nancy is my only friend. I don’t want to be friendless.

‘Next time I’ll take my thumbscrews and a Nancy approved list of questions to grill him with,’ I tell her. Not that there’s likely to
be
a next time, I think to myself.

‘Look, I have to go,’ Nancy says, glancing at the clock. ‘I have to babysit my cousin, but later, I want all the details, OK?’

She tosses me the keys to the store, grabs her jacket and goes. Leaving me to sort through a pile of new stock and all my confounding thoughts.

The day is long. Summer break means listless teenagers coming into the store, trying on everything, taking photos of themselves and then leaving without having bought anything or having bothered to rehang the clothes.

And the whole time I’m barely functioning because I’m worried sick about Ryder (a boy I hardly know, I remind myself) and what grisly things might have happened to him. I’ve run a million scenarios through my head trying to figure out who those guys were and what they wanted, and spent several useless hours wishing my grandma was still alive so I could fire questions at her about what I saw. What
was
that? I stare in the mirror more than a few times trying to figure out what it all might mean and end up shaking my head at my reflection . . . it’s too improbable.

I keep glancing at my phone and wondering whether I should have called the police. It’s just . . . I’m known to the police. I’ve reported a few things to them (including the Sunday School teacher guy and my mum’s boyfriend Ricky-Ray who had an aura more filthy than a sewer rat’s and who did eventually get busted for dealing meth) and every time I’ve been met with a sceptical eyebrow and, on the last occasion, with a stern warning to stop wasting police time.

The worst thing is, I have no idea of how to contact him. I stuck a note under his windshield wiper telling him where I worked in case he wanted to find me. I wasn’t about to give him my address, which this month is the second to last trailer on the south side of the Purple Sky Trailer Park. Every time the door of the shop dings my head flies up, but so far, he’s not made an appearance. I decide that after work I’m going to head back to the burger place and see if his car is still in the lot. If it is, then I’m going to call the police.

I’m on my knees behind the counter folding my fiftieth item of clothing when the door goes. I know even before I look up who it is. I can feel him.

I stand up, a little unsteady on my feet.

‘Hi,’ he says, relief rushing off him in waves that buffet against me. He strolls casually to the counter and props himself up on one elbow, giving me one of his lazy crocodile smiles.

‘Hi?’
I splutter. ‘That’s all you have to say to me? You got dragged out of In-N-Out by two completely sketchy looking guys . . . one of whom had a gun . . . and now you wander in here and act like nothing happened?’

‘Wow, it sounds like you were worried about me.’

‘Of course I was worried!’

‘Sorry,’ he says, frowning. ‘That wasn’t exactly how I was hoping the night would end.’

I flush. How
was
he hoping the night would end?

‘Who are those people? What did they want with you?’ I ask quickly, so he doesn’t notice my fluster.

He starts playing with some price tags lying on the side. ‘They want me to do something for them,’ he mumbles.

‘What?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Yeah, I do.’

He scowls at the price tags, runs his thumb along his lips. Then he stands up straight and strides to the door. My stomach shrinks. He’s leaving? Just like that?

But he doesn’t leave. He turns the key in the door, and flips the closed sign instead.

‘You can’t—’ I begin, but he cuts me off.

‘OK, I’ll tell you,’ he says, strolling back towards the counter. ‘But
you
first. What did you do to that guy to make him run out of there? And the one in the club who burst out crying. Don’t tell me
nothing.
Because I was there. I saw. You did something.’

I open my mouth and then shut it again. I’ve never told anyone what I can do. And I’m not going to have the first person I admit it to be a near total stranger, even if he’s the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t give me a headache after prolonged contact, who doesn’t seem to have his speech set to default: lie; and who I am also not afraid to touch.

‘You first,’ I say defiantly, crossing my arms over my chest.

He smiles triumphantly. ‘So you
did
do something!’

I press my lips together. Damn.

He hops up beside me onto the counter. ‘OK, cards on the table. Full disclosure. And only because I want your secrets too.’

Why does he want my secrets too? And am I really about to tell him what I can do? Yes, I realise. I am. Because I really, really want to know his secrets.

‘I’ll know if you’re lying,’ I warn him.

‘Amber, I won’t lie to you. You have my word. Test me if you like. Ask me what I think of you.’

‘I don’t care what you think of me.’

His eyebrow arches. ‘Now who’s lying?’

I exhale loudly. ‘Fine. What do you think of me?’ Did I really just ask him that? I cringe. But I’m holding my breath all the same.

He locks eyes with me. ‘I think you’re the most beautiful, intriguing, smoking hot girl I’ve ever met in my life, and I really, really want to kiss you.’

OK. Not what I expected him to say. Not even close. And he’s not lying. Not as far as I can tell. My stomach does a triple somersault and my focus falls straight to his lips. I’ve never kissed anyone before. Ricky-Ray once tried but I used the
knee to soft groin area defensive move
on him. But the thought of kissing Ryder makes a rainbow sprout above me.

‘You not going to say anything?’ he asks.

Heat floods my face. ‘What were you doing at The Majestic?’ I stammer.