“Do you need a jump?” he says.
I stare at him for a moment too long. “Do I need a what?”
“For your car,” he says. “Battery dead?”
“I don’t know. I’m fine.” I could go back to Rowan’s, but I’m not sure I want to get out of the car yet. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but it’s just me and him on this darkened street. This is the part of the movie where you’d scream at the girl to stay in the car.
Then I have an epiphany. “I’ll call my dad to come get me.”
“My friend’s got a set of cables. He lives right over there.” He points down the opposite street, then pulls a phone out of his pocket and starts texting. After a second, he glances back at me. “Pop your hood.”
I’m stuck in this in-between place where I’m not sure whether he’s being real or I’m being stupid. I glance at my own phone. I don’t really want to call my dad. That would invite conversation, and since the camera incident, I’m so not ready for conversation.
Instead, I jot off a quick text to Rowan.
JY: My car won’t start and some guy from school is offering to jump-start it. Can you come out here?
Then I shove the phone in my pocket and pull the lever to pop the hood.
He doesn’t wait for me to get out of the car. He steps to the front of the vehicle and lifts the hood, looking for the steel arm to hold it up. I hear him snap it into place.
The air inside the car is stifling, and I wish I had enough power to roll down a window. The sun set long ago, but the warmth in here is enough to make sweat bloom on my forehead.
Metal clicks on metal under the hood and I wonder what the guy is doing. I think of all the times my father offered to teach me basic car maintenance—and the equal number of times I told him “Later.”
Then again, it’s not like changing the oil and checking the tire pressure is going to fire up the engine.
Through the passenger-side window I see Rowan heading down the sidewalk toward us, her hair shining in the moonlight. Good. I won’t be alone.
I hit the unlock button and fling my door wide. It hits something. Hard.
“Whoa!” a guy’s voice exclaims.
I look up. Standing there outside my car door, a length of jumper cables in his hands, is the only classmate I’d find scarier than the wannabe Goth guy poking around under my hood: Declan Murphy.
He looks super excited to see me, in the way the school janitor is super excited to discover a clogged toilet. Declan’s hand has caught the frame, and he’s blocking my path out of the car.
I need to apologize, but it’s going to come out spiteful. I can feel the words on the back of my tongue. A smart-aleck sorry that’s more about protecting myself and nothing about him getting pummeled by my door.
My eyes fall on the jumper cables in his hand.
I should apologize and thank him.
As he’s staring down at me, his face loses some of the irritation, like in the school hallway last week. Light from somewhere crosses his face, forming a stripe over his eyes, leaving his remaining features in shadow. Like a superhero mask, but in reverse.
“Battery dead?” he says.
He looks huge standing over me. I swallow and think of the moment he made a quick move in the hallway—when I thought he was going to do something aggressive, but he was only picking up his backpack. “I don’t know.”
“What’s it doing?”
“Um.” I have to clear my throat. I glance at the dash. “Nothing. It won’t start.”
“I don’t think it’s the starter,” calls the guy from under the hood.
“Thanks, Rev.” Declan rolls his eyes skyward, then leans into the car. He’s muttering under his breath, something like, “I teach him three things and now he’s the expert.”
I barely catch the words because he’s leaning in front of me, reaching into the car. I suck back into the seat, but when he turns the key, I see he’s not making a move toward me. I expect him to smell disgusting, like cigarettes and sweat and unwashed jeans.
He doesn’t. He smells like cut grass and fresh laundry and some kind of sporty guy bodywash. The dash lights barely flicker when he turns the key, and then he’s out of my space.
“Everything okay here?”
Rowan is on the sidewalk behind him, her blond hair shining from the nearby streetlamp. Declan turns. He doesn’t seem surprised to see her. “She needs a jump. You have a car you can pull over here?”
Her eyes go from him, to the guy under the hood—Rev?—to me. “Yeah.” She drags the word out. “Want to walk back with me, Jules?”
It’s only the other end of the block, but it feels weird to leave them with my car, especially when Declan says, “Leave the keys.”
Then again, the alternative is staying here with the two of them.
I grab my purse and fall into step with Rowan.
“They seem legit,” she says quietly. “I thought Declan Murphy was trying something when I walked up.”
I feel flushed and chilled at the same time. “He didn’t even touch me.”
“Good.” Her voice is firm. “I’m glad you texted me.”
I am, too. Sort of. There’s this little part of me that wishes she hadn’t walked up right then.
I glance back over my shoulder. Rev is still bent over the front end of my car. Declan is a few feet behind him. He’s patting something against his opposite palm, then lifts his hand to his face. A red glow suddenly lights his features.
A cigarette. I hate smokers.
“Do you know that other guy?” I say.
“Rev Fletcher,” she says. “He lives on the corner. Mom calls him the vampire. We hardly ever see him out during the day.”
“He scared the crap out of me.”
“I bet. Only you would have the two most socially awkward guys in the world show up to jump-start your car.” Now she glances over her shoulder. “Maybe I should have Mom come back with us.”