His truck is one of the few that can make it over the hill into the back field. “A girl over there is pissed at me,” Tim mutters. “Anytime I go near her, she won’t keep her mouth shut.”
Logan snorts and Chris smacks him on the
back of the head. Pissed would be an understatement. Rumor at school said Tim’s ex-girl caught him making out with her twin HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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sister. Tim throws a warning glare at Logan before focusing on me. “How’s your brother?
The team’s ticked at him. He promised he’d help with summer practice while he was home from college.”
Hating these kinds of questions, I shift my stance and shove my hands in my pockets. Dad made it clear that we tell no one what happened with Mark. “He’s been busy.” Before Tim has a chance to probe further, I switch to the problem at hand. “How would you guys like to help me with a…situation?”
Tim leans forward as his fellow linemen
snicker. “What dare did you sign up for this time?”
I bob my head back and forth like what I’m preparing to ask isn’t a big deal. “Nothing fancy. Rick dared me to move his car.”
Tim shrugs because it doesn’t sound like a big deal.
“Without the keys,” says Chris.
Tim lowers his head, and deep chuckles
resonate from his chest. “You three are the definition of insane. You know that, right?”
“Says the guy that tackles other dudes for fun,” I say. “Are you in or out?”
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Tim’s lawn chair moves with him as he
stands. As he reaches his full height, the chair plunges onto the bed of the truck with a loud clank. “In.”
CURLED FINGERS MISERABLY clutch metal
and my back and thighs burn with pain. Seven guys, one 2,400-pound car, and one more inch to go.
“On three,” I say through clenched teeth.
“One…”
“Three,” yells Logan and I barely unwedge my fingers from the bumper of the two-door Chevy Aveo when the six other guys drop the car to the ground. The frame of the blue car bounces like a Slinky before coming to a rest.
“Sweet shocks,” says Logan.
Sweat soaks my shirt. Gasping for air, I bend over and place my hands on my knees. The rush of the win races through my veins and I laugh out loud.
Logan admires our handiwork. “Six feet
over and nicely parallel parked between two trees.” Nicely meaning the front and rear bumpers currently kiss bark.
Tim’s chest heaves as if he’s experiencing a heart attack. “You’re a crazy son-of-a-bitch, HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Ry.” Pant. “How the hell is Rick going to move this piece of shit?”
“Chris, Logan, and I will stick around. Once he gets done freaking, we’ll lift the back end and move it so he can wedge out.”
Tim laughs while shaking his head. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime. Let’s go, guys. I need a beer.”
I sag to the ground and lean against the tree near the bumper. Chris slides against the passenger door until his butt hits the dirt. We both stare at Logan, waiting for him to join us, but he’s busy studying the two oak trees pinning in our third baseman’s car.
In any circle that doesn’t involve me, Chris, and Lacy, Logan is known for silence and his constant state of boredom. At the moment, so-called silent, bored boy’s mind is spinning like a toddler on a sugar high. It’s ironic: at school, people think I’m the adrenaline junkie because I admire a good dare. Hell, I’m not looking for a high—I just like to win. Logan, on the other hand, thrives on the edge. Gotta love a guy like that.
I’m not the only one who’s noticed Logan’s HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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insane infatuation with the tree. Chris eyes him warily. “What the hell are you doing, Junior?”
Logan winks at me. “Be back in a second,
boss man.” He scrambles up the old oak tree.
Small dead limbs that can’t hold his weight fall through the branches and onto the ground.
Chris grows restless. He won’t admit it, but heights scare the shit out of him and Logan’s fear of nothing scares the shit out of him more.
“Get your ass back down here.”
“Okay,” calls Logan from somewhere high
in the tree.
I shake my head. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
From above, tree limbs crackle and snap and leaves whoosh as if a strong breeze rushes through them. It’s not wind. It’s Logan, and one of these days he’s going to get himself killed. A swirl of dirt accompanies the thud on the ground. Logan’s body presses against my foot. On his back, with his black hair full of torn leaves, Logan convulses with laughter.
Obviously this isn’t the night he was meant to die. He turns his head to look at Chris. “Here.”
I kick Logan hard when I remove my foot
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from under his ass. “You’re the crazy son-of-a-bitch, not me.”
“Crazy?” Logan rolls over to sit up. “I’m not the one following a psycho chick into a parking lot for a phone number. Those guys could have kicked your ass.”