Chapter 76 Friction

Chapter 76 Friction
The yellow light on the back corner of the warehouse flickers every few seconds. Freezing rain hits the metal roof above me in a hiss, the slush sliding down the aluminum gutters and dropping into the mud with a splatter.

I pull the collar of my coat up to my ears, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. It is past ten at night. The whole neighborhood is dark, the brick buildings across the alley showing only a couple of lit windows.

A pair of low headlights cuts through the fog at the end of the lane.

The black truck moves slow, its wide tires crunching over the frozen mud. It stops right next to the concrete loading platform where I’m standing. The passenger door clicks open.

I step down off the ledge, my sneakers skidding once on the slick gravel, and climb inside. The door shuts with a thud that seals out the sound of the storm.

Jackson is still wearing his grey varsity practice jersey, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is wet, sticking out in messy clumps where his helmet had pressed it down during the late wind drills. His hands are clamped flat around the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

He shifts the truck into park. "Did Raph see you leave?"

"No," I say, my voice raspy from the cold. I stay right against the passenger door, my backpack resting between my feet between us. "He passed out after his nine o'clock pills."

Jackson nods once, his eyes fixed on the windshield where the sleet is starting to freeze. "Chloe didn't say anything to my dad after the dinner like I thought she would. I watched her get into her mom’s car at nine-thirty. If she was going to call him, his phone would have rung by now."

The mention of her name makes my stomach twist. All the humiliation from the morning bathroom lockcomes rushing back into my throat.

"She cornered me today, Jackson," I say.

Jackson’s head whips around, his grey eyes narrowing in the dim green light of the dashboard. "What? Where?"

"In the old gym bathroom during second period," I say, my fingers tightening inside my pockets. "She locked the door behind her. She stood there and told me she didn't believe a single word we said at the theater. She saw us holding hands, Jackson. She knew we were lying."

Jackson drops his head back against the seat, a sharp breath leaving his mouth. "Did she say she'll call Arthur?"

"No," I snap, the anger finally breaking through the ice in my chest. "She didn't call your dad because she doesn't want to mess up the big game on Friday. She doesn't want the university scouts to see a mess. She told me she’s keeping quiet until Saturday morning so you look good on the ice, and then she’s telling your dad everything if I even look at your truck again."

Jackson reaches out, his hand moving across the seat to touch my knee. "Maya, look at me. We knew she was smart. We just have to get past Friday—"

"Don't touch me," I say, hitting his hand away with a violent jerk of my arm. My face is burning from the heat in the cab. "Don't touch me and tell me to just get past Friday like it's nothing. You left me standing in that theater lobby like a piece of garbage while you walked behind her to the concession stand."

Jackson’s hand stays hovering in the air before dropping back onto his thigh. "I had to do that. If I didn't walk away from you, she would have called my dad right from the ticket kiosk. You know what he does when he gets mad."

"I know what you did," I say, the tears finally burning the backs of my eyes, though I refuse to let them drop. I pull my phone out of my pocket, turning the screen on and holding the bright display right in front of his face. "You sent me one fifty dollars, Jackson. You wired me money like I was a secret you needed to pay off before you went to your country club dinner. You told me to go hide behind a grocery store so no one would see your car near me."

Jackson stares straight into my eyes, his own face turning a dark red under the dash lights. "I sent you the money because it was freezing and the bus takes an hour to get down here. I didn't want you sitting in the rain."

"You didn't want Chloe to see me on the corner!" I yell, my voice exploding inside the small cab. I slam my hand against the plastic dashboard. "You wanted me gone so you could go sit at a table with her parents and look like the perfect couple. You spent your whole night eating dinner with them while I sat in the back of a cab trying to figure out if my mom was going to lose her job tomorrow because your girlfriend got offended."

"She’s not my girlfriend!" Jackson roars back, his voice hitting mine so hard I flinch against the door. He leans across the seat, his broad shoulders blocking out the green light of the dash, his face inches from mine. "You think I wanted to sit in that room? You think I wanted to listen to her mom talk about college tuition while my dad sat across from me tracking how many times I checked my watch? I sat there for two hours pretending everything was fine because if I don't, he... "

" But you get to stand in the light, Jackson. " I whisper, my voice cracking as the anger suddenly drains out. I look down at his jersey, at the gold crest that means he belongs to the rich side of town. "You get to walk through the school with her. Everyone thinks you two are together. Everyone expects you to be at that head table on Friday. And I have to hide in the basement by the sports equipment just to talk to you."

Jackson stays leaned forward, his eyes tracking the movement of my lips. The furious look on his face slowly begins to change, his shoulders dropping as he looks at my mouth, then down at my hands, which are pressed tight against my knees to stop the trembling.

"You're not just scared of my dad," he says softly.

I look away, my eyes fixing on the digital clock on the radio display. 10:28 PM. "I am scared of him. He ruined Leo."

"It's not just that," Jackson says. He reaches out again, and this time he doesn't let me slap his hand away. His fingers wrap firmly around both of my wrists, holding me steady. He pulls my hands away from my knees, forcing me to face him on the seat. "Look at me, Maya."

I keep my chin down, my teeth digging into my lower lip.

"You're jealous," he whispers.

The word makes my ears hot. I try to wrench my wrists out of his grip, my feet kicking against my backpack on the floor, but he doesn't give an inch. He holds me tight, his chest rising and falling fast against the steering wheel.

"I am not jealous," I choke out, a tear finally running down the side of my nose. "She threatened my family, Jackson. She told me—"

"She’s nothing to me," Jackson interrupts. He slides his hands up from my wrists, his palms cupping the sides of my face, his thumbs wiping the wet line off my cheek. He forces my head up until I have to look into his eyes. "I don't look at her when she talks. I don't care about the dinner tables. When I'm sitting there with my father, the only thing I'm thinking about is how fast I can get out of this town."

I look at him, my breath hitching.

"She gets to stand next to you," I whisper, the truth finally coming out because I'm too tired to hide it anymore. "Everyone looks at her and thinks she owns you. And I hate it, Jackson. I hate every single second of it."

Jackson’s eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he hears it. He doesn't say anything for a while. He looks at my face, his thumbs staying fixed on my cheeks.

"I hate Raph," he says suddenly. "I hate that he lives right through that wall from your room. I hate that your mom makes you go over there to clean his place, do his dishes, fold his laundry. Every time I see Caleb check his phone in the locker room, I want to hit him because I know he’s texting Raph about you."

He pulls me forward then, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, drawing my face straight into the rough wool of his practice jersey. I don't fight him this time. I bury my face into his chest, my fingers locking into the fabric at his back, holding onto him so tight my arms ache.

"We just have to make it to Friday night," he murmurs against my hair, his hand pressing the back of my head down into his shoulder. "Chloe is only keeping quiet because she wants the scout night to look perfect for her family. Once the game is over and the scouts leave, she doesn't have an excuse to hold over my dad. I can finally tell my dad to back off."

"Are you sure?" I ask into his chest, my voice muffled by the cotton.

"Yes," he says, his hand sliding down to hold my waist through my coat. "But you aren't going to Raph's house tomorrow. Tell your mom you have to study at the library. Stay away from his door until I call you from the team bus on Friday."

I stay tucked into his side for a long time, listening to the beat of his heart against my ear while the rain continues to turn the windshield white.