“Which part?” I’m still trying to figure it out myself.
“I don’t know … how about why Marco Leone put his ass on the line for us? Or why he was staring at you like something was going on, and threatening anyone who came near you?” She taps on her temple. “Pick one.” The edge in her voice feels like an accusation.
“Why do you sound pissed off?”
She pulls at the choppy ends of her hair. “So is there something going on between you two? Because he’s a total lunatic, in case you didn’t pick up on that after this morning and tonight.”
“Nothing is going on. I don’t know why Marco did any of that stuff. I talked to him for two minutes when he picked up his sister from the rec center.” It’s all true, and pointing out how much I can’t explain just makes it more confusing.
Lex’s cell phone chirps for the tenth time, signaling an incoming text. She ignores it. A second later, my phone vibrates.
i screwed up. i’m sorry.
???
u there?
I hold up my phone so she can see the text. “It’s Abel.”
Lex tightens her grip on the wheel and speeds up. “I don’t care.”
“Will you tell me what’s going on with him?”
“After we finish talking about you and Marco.”
“There’s no me and Marco. Why are you acting so bitchy? Do you think I’m lying? What could possibly have happened since this morning?”
Her phone chirps again, and she tosses it on the dash without looking at the message. “Marco Leone is trouble. Ask anyone at Monroe. He gets in fights constantly, and a he’s total manwhore.”
“You did not just say manwhore.”
She glares at me. “He has hooked up or slept with at least half the girls at Monroe, maybe more. Please stay away from him, Frankie. The way he was looking at you…”
“What?”
“He’s interested.” Lex passes a car that’s driving too slowly in the left lane.
The idea of Marco hooking up with lots of girls bothers me more than it should. The only girl I’ve seen him with is Cruz.
I never went through the bad-boy phase like most of my friends. Clean-cut was my type—ink-free jocks who spent their nights at lacrosse or ice hockey practice, not driving in illegal street races. Bad boys equaled risk, and the old Frankie didn’t take chances. Then again, there weren’t a lot of gorgeous, tattooed bad boys hanging around the Heights.
Lex glances over at me. “Whatever you’re thinking … you should think about something else, or someone else. Anyone but Marco. You don’t need any more trouble.”
Something snaps inside me, setting off a chain reaction of emotions. Frustration, anger, sadness, and shame—they fall one by one like dominoes.
“You sound like my dad.” I’m sick of everyone telling me what to do and who I should be. I’m not a rebellious kid screwing up to get attention.
“I don’t want to see you get hurt, Frankie.” Lex takes a deep breath. “I really missed you this summer. You would’ve known what to do about Abel.”
“When did he start gambling?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t figure it out right away. At least I don’t think I did.” Lex talks fast, the way she always does when she’s nervous or upset. “I found sixty or seventy scratch-off lotto tickets crammed in the pockets of his jeans one night when I stayed over. Who buys sixty scratch-off tickets in one day?”
“Back up. Why were you sleeping over? And where did you find his jeans?”
“Hold on.” She turns into Dad’s complex. “Which one is it again? They all look the same at night.”
From the outside, the garden apartments are identical—two-story brown buildings, with balconies that offer sweeping views of the parking lot. “Last building on the right. If he’s home from work, I’m dead.”
I forget about Lex, Abel, and Marco and hold my breath.
Dad’s Chevy Tahoe isn’t in the parking lot. Am I really this lucky?
“He’s still at work.”
Lex doesn’t bother to park. “Go. Before he gets home.”
“We’ll finish talking about Abel later.” I jump out of the Fiat, praying Dad doesn’t show up before I make it inside.
Cujo barks when I open the door and follows me to my room. “You won’t tell him what time I came home, will you, buddy?”
I change into sweats and curl up on my bed so Dad will think I’ve been in here studying. It’s quiet now, and I finally have time to think. I replay the last few hours in my mind, but it feels surreal.
Marco’s swoop-in-and-save-the-girl rescue mission annoyed the hell out of me, but he didn’t have to help us. So why did he do it? His reaction when he saw Sung holding my arm was even stranger.
Was it really about me?
I can’t stop picturing the way Marco stared into my eyes without a hint of self-consciousness.
Fearless and unapologetic.
Who did he see?
The rich girl with a perfect life … or the broken girl who replaced her?
CHAPTER 11