“Drink up, Edie,” she bit back.
“Ingrid?” A woman stood in the doorway, viewing us with open disgust. She was all sharp edges, dressed in a designer tracksuit.
“Susan! What great timing.” Ingrid put a little something extra into her bounce. “These are the part-time girls I hired, Hang and Edie.”
Susan said nothing, nor did her look of abhorrence lessen.
“Girls, this is the owner, Susan,” Ingrid continued, unaware. “She invented all of these fantastic recipes by herself—isn’t that amazing?”
Our best smiles in place, we both dutifully nodded.
“Outside. Now.” Susan turned on her heel, marching back out.
“Sure thing!” With a wave of her fingers, Ingrid followed. “Won’t be a moment, girls.”
We watched them go in silence.
I poked a straw into the cold orange mush, stirring it round and round. “For someone with a healthy digestive tract, Susan doesn’t seem very happy.”
“I was just thinking that.”
And for all of her niceness, Ingrid didn’t seem to exactly be the brightest. She’d left the door wide open. Fragments of their conversation, or more accurately, of Susan tearing into the woman, floated through the store. “. . . we’re selling people the idea of good health. Does that girl look healthy? Does her body say Susan’s Smoothies to you? Or does it say ‘I just ate a box of donuts and I’m going back for more’? Well? I can’t believe . . . The little Asian one can stay. We don’t want to look racist. But you need to get back in there immediately and fire that . . .”
Ouch. What a bitch.
I stood tall, aiming for blasé. “I never could have sold this sludge, anyway.”
Without a word, Hang snatched the Summer Sunrise out of my hands and slammed it down on the counter, icy goop slopping everywhere. Then she grabbed my hand and led the exodus.
“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing she needed the money.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” she snapped.
Whoa. “Okay.”
“Hang. Edie.” Ingrid had stopped bouncing. “Wait.”
I lifted a hand in farewell, but Hang didn’t even slow down. The girl was on a mission to get us gone from this place of raw vegetables and misery.
“You’re great, Ingrid. Seriously. But you, you’re a cunt!” I waved cheerily at Susan. “’Bye.”
Hang barked out a laugh.
“Guess it’s still job-hunting season.”
“Yep.”
The week didn’t improve.
John and I still weren’t speaking, ignoring each other throughout Thursday’s English class. It sucked. I missed him. But he was wrong to say I should just put up with being insulted. For years, I’d let Kara push me around and she hadn’t lost interest or moved on to tormenting some other poor sap. She also hadn’t experienced any inner awakening leading to her deciding not to be a complete and utter bitch. Things had only escalated. I wanted to explain all of this to him, except pride got in the way.
How dare he blame me?
My foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, the hatchback flying down the empty back roads. Window open, wind tangling my hair, and The Kooks screaming about having a bad habit. This was good. John had been right about the therapeutic value of driving late at night. If I went fast enough, I could outrace all of the bad memories and terrifying dreams. Leave them far behind in the darkness.
A noise like a gunshot shattered the night as a tire blew. Swerving wildly, the car screeched and shuddered. I braked hard, my head whipping forward, body slamming into the seat belt.
Holy shit.
Carefully, carefully, I steered the hatchback over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. All I could hear was the hammering of my heart. My hands shook, still holding on tight to the wheel. Not dead, just really shaken. Okay.
One at a time, I pried my fingers loose of their death grip. It wasn’t easy. Driver’s-side door open, I stepped out, knees knocking only a little. Everything was fine. No need for anyone to lose their shit.
The smell of burnt rubber filled the air. Only ragged strips of tire remained on the rear wheel. It could have been worse. Still, I swore up a storm, then popped the hatch, pulling out the jack and spare wheel. Mom and I had practiced for just such an occasion. The first three nuts came off fine, but the fourth one . . . I pulled and I strained and I called it every vile name ever invented, along with a few new ones even Shakespeare might have appreciated.
Nothing worked.
Over and over, the boom of the tire blowing echoed through my head. Not a gunshot. I needed to pull myself together. Except strange noises came from out in the dark, beyond the limits of where the lights could reach. The scuffle of a foot sliding over gravel, the mumbling of voices. Tonight, nature most definitely wasn’t my friend.
“Stop it,” I whispered. “It’s just your imagination. There’s no one out there.”
Chris stepping out of the blackness, walking toward me with a gun in hand. That smile. That creepy, crazy, murderous smile.
“You’re just freaking yourself out, you idiot,” I muttered.
Mom would still be at work. Never mind what she’d say if she knew I’d been out cruising at one in the morning. Hang would come to my rescue. If I couldn’t get the damn tire off, though, then neither of them stood a chance of doing it, either. I held the cell phone to my ear.
“Edie?” he asked, voice husky from sleep.
I took a deep breath. “John.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The, uh, one of my tires blew. I tried to change it myself, but—”
“Where are you?” There were rustling noises in the background, the jangling of keys.
“Bell Road. A couple of miles along.”
“Get in the car and lock the doors,” he ordered. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I let down the jack and did as told, sitting in the dark, cell held tight in my shaking, sweaty hands. Deep, calm breaths and nice thoughts. I closed my eyes, concentrating on good things. Kittens and cake and books and shit. Happy things. At least I’d gotten semi-dressed in black yoga pants and a tank top, a pair of flip-flops on my feet.
Years passed. Or at least twenty-three minutes. Someone tapped on the window and I shrieked. John. I flipped the lock and slowly climbed out of the car.
“You all right?” he asked, face set.
I nodded. “Thanks for coming.”
“What were you doing out here?”
“You were right,” I said. “About driving at night. It helps.”
He nodded.
“Here, hold the light.” He pressed it into my hands and dropped down onto one knee beside the busted wheel. Evilest tire in all of creation. Of course, for him the nut came off on his first try with ease. Bastard of a thing.
“I must have loosened it for you,” I said, the tips of my ears burning with embarrassment.
He just grunted.
“I do know how to change a tire. It was just, you know, the nut.”
A nod.
John had the car roadworthy again in about two minutes. God, for him it’d all been so simple. The boy probably thought I’d lured him out here under false pretenses. Because I wanted his attention or something stupid.