The '68 Camaro Between Kenickie and Me (Pacifica Academy Drama Book 2) Page 6

  My posture began to relax as my breathing returned to normal.

  At least someone around here appreciated what I’d done.

  “Thanks.” Thinking about him stopping me from flattening Theresa, I added, “And thanks for what you did.”

  Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

  “I have an older sister who doesn’t take anyone’s crap, either. I’ve had to calm her down a few times.” He laughed. “You two would get along great.”

  I’d get along with his…who?

  “If you need me to stop your right cross again, I’ll be over there.” He, giving me that smile, pointed to where he’d been working on the scoreboard. “And between you and me, I think the table should stay red.”

  Chapter 8

  I stood outside the Beemer’s driver’s side door, but I couldn’t find the energy to get in and drive back to that place and her. Especially after this shitty morning.

  My phone kept illuminating with chats from Ella and Quinn. They were already planning Ella’s campaign and posters, even though the student council race didn’t begin until after spring break. And my club members were still trying to come up with songs we could agree on.

  I shoved my phone into my hoodie pocket and reached for the door handle. Then I spotted Drama—Shane—walking by with his bike. He had his gray helmet on, and when I lowered my eyes, I noticed the flat back tire.

  “It looks like you’re having a crap day, too.”

  He kept walking. “Caught a nail on my way here. It happens.”

  Watching him walk his bike down the sidewalk, and remembering what he’d done for me earlier, I wanted to help him. He also looked kind’ve pathetic in a cute, helpless boy way with his unfastened bike helmet on his head. And helping him would postpone going “home.”

  I stepped forward. “Hey, do you want a ride?”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. He also had his sunglasses on, so I couldn’t really see his face. But I could still tell my question surprised him.

  “Where’d that come from?”

  Okay. I deserved his confusion and question.

  “I just thought, after what you did for me, I could give you and your bike a ride home.” I, remembering his apology from earlier and my treatment of him, quietly added, “It’s also a way of saying I’m sorry for being such a…bitch to you.” I crossed my arms. “But if you don’t want a ride, the phrase is no thank you.”

  He faced me. “Easy, Sunshine. I didn’t recognize you playing nice.” He smiled. That smile. “You know that’s twice in one morning, right?”

  I tilted my head left. “Kenickie, do you want a ride or not?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Well, since you’ve gone out of your way to learn my character’s name and sort’ve asked nicely…why not.”

  I met him at the Beemer’s rear and opened the back door. My mother kept nothing in the back except her emergency kit, but I’d still have to put the backseats down.

  “But why are you suddenly being nice to me?” he asked.

  I opened the driver’s side passenger door and forced the backseat down. And it occurred to me these seats had never been down. “I told you why. And I could say the same thing to you.”

  “I don’t think I’ve been mean to you.”

  I eyed him. “No. You’ve just made fun of and laughed at me.”

  “I’ve mostly…teased you,” he replied, picking up his bike. “Because you’re too serious.”

  I let that go, and within a few minutes we were in the Beemer.

  He belted himself in, and I noticed…him…for the first time as he examined the car.

  He’d taken off this helmet, which had flattened the top of his hair. His height made him seem a little out of place in the compact SUV. And his lean body looked more than good in snug jeans and a black T-shirt. He had nice arms, too. No obnoxious bulging biceps. Just the right amount of definition. Probably from working on cars. And the school shows. He had to spend a lot of time outside since his arms and face were a perfect shade of sunshine gold.

  He turned my way, and I looked forward and started the car.

  Had I really just checked out a high school drama boy?

  “This is a pretty nice car. But it can’t be your grandpa’s.”

  I smirked at him knowing a 56 Chevy man wouldn’t drive a Beemer SUV.

  “It belongs to the real Queen Carlisle.” I gave him a hard stare, then put the car in reverse to back up a bit. “She forgot I had to be here this morning. Where do you live?”

  “Sorry about that name, too. And Fillmore and Jackson. Not too far from here.”

  I nodded at his second apology and directions, and carefully pulled out of the space.

  When we reached the stop sign, I braked and waited for another car. But then stayed there, though I could turn. And I knew where I really wanted to go, to turn around this crap-ass day. My mother told me to come right “home,” but she didn’t remember we were done at noon. And it’s not like she kept track of the Beemer’s mileage.

  “Are you waiting for the stop sign to turn green?”

  I looked at him, Shane being the key to my brief escape from reality. “Are you busy?”

  He looked around the car, at himself, then at me. “Define busy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll try a different question. Can you get us into your family’s shop?”

  I think he squinted at me before releasing a long, low whistle. “I’m not sure how to answer that since me and my bike are at your mercy right now.”

  “Would you be serious?”

  “Only if you repeat very slowly…Kidnapping. Is. A. Crime.”

  I sat back. “I’m not going anywhere until you—”

  A quick, high-pitched beep from behind us caused me to jump and he laughed.

  I drove through the intersection, pulled up alongside a parked car and put the Beemer in park. “Now I’m not going anywhere until you stop being a smartass.”

  He sighed. “Okay, Sunshine. I get it. You’ve had a bad morning and want to go see your car. And no, I don’t have anything going on now and can get us into the shop. Some of the guys might be in there working today. Including my brother.”

  I faced forward. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “But they already tore your car apart. All you’re going to see is the chassis.”

  Better to see my car’s base frame than nothing at all.

  “We don’t fuck around at Easton West Classic Car Restoration.”

  The serious way he said it made me smile. “Is that posted in the shop somewhere?”

  His mouth opened before he said, “I...suggested it, but my dad said no—did you make a joke? And smile?”

  I pressed my lips together to fight my laughter at his genuinely shocked expression.

  I shook my head since we needed to leave. Now. “I don’t care. We’re still going.”

  He shrugged. “Okay. But I have to be home by five.”

  I put the Beemer in drive, checked for oncoming cars, then headed straight.

  He relaxed into the passenger seat and rolled his head in my direction. “Thanks for the apology. And I’m still calling you Sunshine.”

  “Lucky me.” I was getting used to it, though. “So is five your curfew? Or do you have a hot date with Maddie—” Did I really say that?

  I cringed at my ridiculousness and chanced a glance at him.

  His usual good humor had vanished, and he stared out his window.

  One of my questions bothered him, but why? The first had been a joke and those two had been dating—I then remembered what Quinn had said about Shane and Maddie that day of my meeting with Mrs. Meridian and my mother. Something about them not getting along because of Grease and the cast list. Seemed a little weird they’d still be fighting over something that happened so long ago, but…it’s not like their relationship was my business. And why did I care?

  “I was joking with you,” I said as we approached a stoplight.

>   “I know.” He turned and gave me that smile. “You’re apologizing, saying thank you, smiling, almost laughing and joking around. I’m tempted to check your forehead for a fever.”

  Shane checking my forehead for a fever might not be a bad idea.

  In the few minutes we were deep inside the shop, I’d spotted a 55 Ford Fairlane, a 61 Pontiac Ventura, a 53 Chevy convertible and a 69 Plymouth Barracuda. All in various states of restoration; all paint long since stripped.

  The shop smelled of paint and ground metal and…guys. Not disgusting B.O. Just soap and hard work. We were also alone. If anybody had been in here working, they were gone.

  “There are some really cool cars in here,” I said as I followed him.

  “The ‘Cuda’s going to be a force from the car gods. The owner wants to drag race it.”

  I smiled, the silence surrounding us and these amazing cars soothed my mood. My neck and shoulder muscles relaxed, and I no longer had a headache. Being even more honest with myself, Shane had helped my mood, too, by going along with this spontaneous trip.

  “The chassis isn’t too far from where your car was a week ago,” he said.

  My smile grew as excitement fluttered inside me.

  I followed him deeper into the shop until we reached our destination near those same enormous doors. But today I noticed a car parked nearby and underneath a protective cover.

  I stopped beside him, right next to my Camaro’s chassis. “So where’s the rest of it?”

  “The body’s in sandblasting. And they sent the engine out. We don’t do that work here.” He looked at me. “I heard from my brother you want to keep the original engine. If you can.”

  I nodded, though surprise hit me at hearing he’d talked to his brother about my car. “I want to keep as much original as I can.” I glanced at him. “Why screw with perfect unless you absolutely have to? And a three-ninety-six is fast enough for me.”

  His eyes warmed. “Wow. A high school girl into old cars and who can talk engines.” He grinned. “That’s really cool.”

  A little…spark...ignited inside me at his compliments, but I tried to ignore it as I stepped over the frame and sat in the narrow opening. Then I closed my eyes and pictured my seat, the steering wheel, new dashboard and car radio console, the shifter, passenger seat and, in seconds, I saw myself in my finished dream car; the image so powerful I could smell the brand-new leather upholstery and hear my favorite Linkin Park song blasting from the speakers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting in my car.” More like sitting in my Camaro that represented freedom.

  I felt Shane sit down next to me, outside the frame, and I opened my eyes. He stared at me with a combo of confusion and appreciation. Kind of like last Friday when I’d been here with Gramps. And like last Friday it made my defenses shoot up and surround me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t even think about laughing at me.”

  “I’m not going to laugh at you, Sunshine. I’m still trying to...figure you out.”

  “I told you to stop doing that.” But the kindness in his eyes and voice made the spark grow stronger. And warmer. Which so wasn’t a good thing.

  “And I told you it’s too late for that, so hear me out.”

  I waited, barely breathing.

  “At school you’re this girl who walks around, never smiling, and looking straight ahead. Ignoring everything around you. And you don’t like anybody but your friends talking to you.”

  I guess I deserved all that, too, but it didn’t stop me from asking, “How have you noticed all that about me?”

  He focused on the floor. “You’re impossible to miss.”

  “Why? Because I’m a Carlisle?”

  “No. It has nothing to do with your last name.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you’re tall and…have you looked in the mirror?” He turned stop-sign red. “Everyone knows your mom was a beauty queen and you look…a lot like her.”

  I fought a smile at his embarrassment as I stared at my car’s frame.

  It’s not the first time I’d heard that. In fact, I usually hated hearing it. So she’d been a big-time beauty queen a million years ago. It’s not like she won Miss America. But the spark’s warmth spread inside me since I now knew why he’d called me “cute” last week.

  “Awkward moment’s passing,” he mumbled, his face returning to golden brown.

  The giggle escaped before I could stop it.

  He whipped his head in my direction. “This is what I mean. The Natalie Carlisle sitting here inside her 68 Camaro chassis, and smiling and laughing, doesn’t match up with school Natalie. What’s wrong with being this Natalie all the time?”

  I sighed, and my smile became a frown. “Because this Natalie is personal. And I like it that way. What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t think this Natalie is as personal as you think. You’re in the club Kassidy started.”

  I stared at him. “How do you know I’m in the club?” Seriously, how did he know so much about me?

  “I’m friends with Kassidy who’s friends with you.”

  Okay. Fair enough. But it still surprised me he’d noticed these things.

  “And everyone knows why she started it. So some guy...must’ve hurt you.”

  I shrugged. “I’m over it.” Not a lie. And what else could I say? It’s not like I’d go into the details with him.

  “Then why are you still in the club?”

  I straightened since he’d just scratched a sore spot. “Because the club’s about more than that. It’s a good thing. I don’t care what anyone at school says about it. Or that Mr. Yates would love to shut us down.”

  He frowned. “Why does he want to shut you down?”

  I rolled my eyes. “He told us we’re getting complaints from other kids.”

  “Well, I’m not bashing your club, Sunshine. I’m pointing out a lot of kids at school might already know there’s more to you than being a—” He looked away.

  For some reason, being known as a bitch around school suddenly bothered me and my defensive armor came back. “What about you? Drama boy and muscle car boy aren’t going together in my head right now.”

  “Okay. But this place isn’t a secret. We’ve gotten families from school as customers.” He leaned toward me to the point our shoulders touched, and the warmth reached higher. Almost to my chest. “The drama boy side of me is for fun,” he continued. “And because I like to make people laugh. But I only get roles like that in the musicals.”

  I smiled. “I remember Kenickie being an asshole.”

  He laughed and leaned away from me, and the warmth stopped before reaching my chest. Which was so a good thing. My insides were acting like I’d never been around a really cute boy, and I mentally shook off my ridiculousness. But the spark—

  “He is. At first,” he replied with a playful smile. “And what a lot of people don’t know is in the stage version, ‘Greased Lighting’ is Kenickie’s big number. Not Danny Zuko’s.”

  “You’re right, Kenickie,” I said, grateful for him interrupting my thoughts. “I didn’t know that.” I paused, searching for something else to say. Because I also liked this too much. Talking to him. And I asked, “So…no big dreams of making it to Broadway?”

  “Nope.”

  I looked around the shop. “Will you be in charge of all this someday?”

  “No.” He stood. “I have to show you something. Because you’ll get it.” He held out his right hand, which I grasped, and he helped me up.

  I guess that meant we were done talking.

  I suppressed the disappointment trying to fill me up.

  He, still holding my hand, led me to the car under the protective cover. Only when we reached the car did he release my hand. But not before giving it a quick squeeze.

  “Are you ready to have your mind blown?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh and nod.

  “Laugh number two?” He started to pull off the cover. �
��Maybe you need to kidnap me and bring us here again next Saturday.”

  Though it was beyond wrong, something about me “kidnapping” him next Saturday and him squeezing my hand…excited me. But then he jerked the cover off, and I focused on the car.

  I blinked before looking at Shane, grinning and watching me. I then looked back at the perfectly restored, black muscle car with shiny chrome strips. “That’s a 70 AMX.” Also known as one of the rarest, fastest classic muscle cars out there. “I’ve only seen one of these. And I went to almost every classic car show between here and Vegas with my grandparents last summer.”

  Also known as the best vacation of my life.

  “So I now know for a fact that’s where you get this from. You must be close to them.”

  “I am. This belongs to a customer?” I couldn’t take my eyes off the spotless car.

  “No. It’s my dad’s real car. He keeps it stored here because me, him and my mom moved into a condo after my sister left for college.”

  Of course his dad owned this muscle car.

  I bit my lower lip before asking, “Is it as fast as I’ve heard it is?”

  Our eyes snapped together.

  “Fuck yeah.”

  I gave him my wicked smile and he gave me his. Then my phone started ringing. Our moment ended when I dragged my eyes from his to pull my phone from my hoodie pocket.

  My smile became a scowl. I stopped myself from growling at the caller. My mother.

  “I have to get home. But thanks for doing this.” I turned from him and added, “I had fun.”

  “Okay…hold on a sec. I need to get the cover back on.”

  I should’ve helped him. But anger with my mother had paralyzed me.

  So much for her memory loss.

  Once he’d re-covered the AMX, we started walking. Until he grabbed my right hand.

  “Wait. Give me your number.”

  I stared at him as he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. “Why? What for?”

  What reason could he have for wanting to exchange numbers?

  “Because I officially consider us friends. And I had fun, too.”

  The spark inside me turned into a jolt at hearing him say he’d also had fun.