Breaking Beautiful Read online

Andrew sighs then moves his hand over his communicator. “A cough and Mom freaks out. I’m a big boy.”

  My stomach flutters at the idea of leaving Pacific Cliffs, even just for a few hours. I try to squash the feeling. I can’t go anywhere with Blake. “We can’t go. Mom has the van. Dad took her car to Shelton to save on gas.”

  Blake looks over Andrew’s wheelchair. “I bet Andrew’s chair would fit in the bed of my car. We could strap it in.” Blake drives a white El Camino, half truck, half car, and possibly the ugliest vehicle ever built. Somehow it fits him—a little ghetto, a little rough, still cool.

  I shake my head. “It’s pretty heavy, and if it rains, it would get ruined.”

  “Get a ramp,” Andrew says, “and a tarp.”

  It still feels like a bad idea, but Andrew and Blake have a familiar gleam in their eyes. Maybe they need to get away as badly as I do. Maybe I should go with them, to make sure Andrew’s okay. I look from one eager face to the next. “We’re dead if Dad catches us, you know that, right?”

  “Live a little. You need to get out of the house. I need to get out of the house.” Andrew’s face is full of pleading concern. I wonder if he put Blake up to this. Called him to come to my rescue.

  “Okay,” I say slowly, testing the way that answer feels on my tongue. Andrew’s face splits into a grin. The flutter comes back, beating against the numbness in my chest. It’s the closest thing I’ve felt to excitement in months.

  “Great. Let’s get going.” Blake rubs his hands across his neck and smiles at me. I look away, pull my hat down farther, and follow them outside.

  Blake helps Andrew out of his chair and into the seat of the El Camino. Then he finds a metal ramp in Dad’s work truck and drives Andrew’s chair into the back of the El Camino himself. On the way up he yells to Andrew, “Nice ride, A.”

  Andrew answers back, “Yours, too, B.”

  Blake is cool like that. He’s always been comfortable around Andrew. When we were kids, Dad made Andrew a chair with big wheels so he could go out onto the beach. Unless he was sick, Blake and I never left him behind.

  I retrieve a tarp and a bunch of bungee cords from the garage. Blake slides the ramp into the back of his car and works on strapping the chair in. I go back inside to put together a bag for Andrew. Then I grab my purse with the money I have left from pawning the earrings.

  When I get back, Blake is inspecting his work.

  “Do you think it’ll hold?” I look at the lumpy mass of chords and blue tarp that fills the back of his car.

  Blake plunks at one of the bungee chords. “It’s strapped in pretty tight.”

  “You know this is crazy.” I can’t stop the smile creeping across my face.

  Blake shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re the crazy one.”

  I roll my eyes, but the flutter in my stomach is back. This feels a lot like one of the adventures we had as kids. Not very well thought out, involving a lot of equipment, and something we’re probably going to get in trouble for.

  Chapter

  13

  I fight waves of panic as we drive through town. I’m pretty sure what people will say if they see me with Blake; something about me getting over Trip and moving on too fast—suspicious. I don’t relax until we’re almost an hour out of town. The sun comes out of the clouds and Blake rolls down his window. I lean back and breathe in ocean air and freedom. “So, where are we going?”

  He sideways glances at Andrew; more and more I think the two of them came up with this plan to get me out of the house. “How do you guys feel about roller-skating?”

  “Roller-skating?” I almost gasp. With my lack of coordination, roller-skating is definitely a sport that could get me killed.

  “Yeah,” Blake says. “There’s a little skating rink I like to go to in Hoquiam. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “But Andrew can’t skate.” I glance at my brother, hoping for an excuse to avoid strapping wheels to my two left feet.

  Blake kills my excuse. “They’ll let him take his chair on the floor. I’ve seen other people do it.”

  “Cool.” Andrew nods.

  “C’mon, Allie.” Blake nudges me with his arm. “You aren’t afraid, are you?” I used to say that to him to get him to do something crazy when we were kids. Back before I was the one who was afraid.

  When we get to the skating rink, Blake untangles the mess of bungee chords and unloads Andrew’s wheelchair. I watch a string of little kids carrying birthday presents into the building, but no one who looks close to our age. The skating rink must not be a big place for teenagers to hang out on a Saturday afternoon. I’m glad. Less chance that anyone from school will see us here.

  After Andrew is settled, Blake pulls a bag from behind the seat of his car and slings it over his shoulder. He pats it and grins. “My blades.”

  The man at the counter of the rink has a shaved head, a goatee, and a bar through his eyebrow. He says, “Hey, Blake,” when we reach the front of the line. “How many?”

  I wonder how often Blake comes clear to Hoquiam to skate. Obviously enough that the manager knows his name. I glance at him sideways. I wonder who he skates with.

  “Hey, Nick,” Blake says, and tosses a twenty on the counter. “Three.”

  “I’ll pay for me and Andrew.” I reach into my purse and pull out a twenty of my own.

  The manager shakes his head as he takes both bills. Blake looks hurt, or maybe embarrassed. I wonder if my paying for myself is some kind of affront to his manhood. I probably should have let him pay.

  “Skates or blades?” The guy hands back my change and looks me up and down—sizing me up for looks, or skating ability, I’m not sure which, but it creeps me out. I step behind Blake.

  Blake taps Andrew on the head. “Chair for this one, I have my own blades, and …” He looks at me. “Skates or blades, Allie?”

  “What’s the difference?” I immediately feel stupid. Of course I know what Rollerblades are. The guy at the counter laughs. I glance at Blake to see if I embarrassed him.

  He doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls one of his Rollerblades out of his bag. “Blades have all the wheels in a line, like this.” He rolls his finger across the wheels.

  “And roller skates are old school,” the man behind the counter says. He picks up an ugly brown boot with four wheels attached. “Haven’t you ever skated before?”

  “No. I ice skated once, but that was a disaster.” I duck my head and turn beet red. I wish I hadn’t come.

  “Go for skates, then.” The man taps the skates. “And don’t worry, even if you’ve never skated, Blake will take good care of you.” He winks at Blake and then asks me for my shoe size.

  I wonder how many other girls Blake has brought to this skating rink. On the way to the benches I ask, “So, you come here often?” I don’t mean it to, but it comes out like a bad pickup line from a campy movie.

  Blake shrugs. “I did some street skating in Reno, mostly boarding, but some blading, too. In Pacific Cliffs it rains too much and the sidewalks suck, so I like to come here. It’s a good place to get out of town for a while.”

  I know what he means. It feels good to look around and not have to wonder what everyone is thinking or wonder if I’m acting the right way or doing what people expect me to do.

  Instead of going out to the skate floor, Andrew heads for the snack bar. He circles the room like he’s looking for something and parks himself where he can watch everyone skating. Blake sits down on the bench, takes off his shoes, and starts buckling up his Rollerblades. I sit down and stare at the skates I got from the counter. “I’m sorry. I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe I could just watch with Andrew. I don’t want to slow you down.”

  He touches my knee. “Hey, don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. Now let me see your foot.”

  Blake picks up my foot and sets it on his leg, like I was a little kid. He takes off my shoes and laces me into the skates. Then he stands up and reaches for my hands. �
�We’ll take it slow, okay?”

  I take his hand and my stomach clenches. I start looking around for someone to stare at us, or give me a look that says I shouldn’t be with Blake. But here we’re anonymous.

  I relax for about two seconds until he pulls me to my feet. As soon as I stand, the skates want to head out on their own—in different directions. I fall forward and he catches me with his hands under my elbows and holds on until I can keep my feet under me.

  I grip his arms and feel his newly earned muscles bulge under my fingers. “This is such a bad idea.”

  “No, it’s not.” Blake looks down at me. His hands are on my arms—not the death grip I have on him but light, supporting. “Just push, glide, push, glide. We’ll start on the carpet first.”

  I feel like a complete idiot, especially when a little kid zooms past me. I fall forward and catch myself against Blake’s chest—muscles again—flexing and hard under his soft T-shirt. I’m embarrassed and pull away when I catch him grinning at me.

  Before I’m ready, he drags me, slipping and sliding, to the ultraslick wood floor. Andrew comes up beside me. I let go of Blake to grab the back of Andrew’s chair so he can pull me around. Blake shakes his head and then takes off by himself. He’s crazy good, crossing his feet when he goes around corners, skating backward, even jumping the barrier between the floor and the carpeted area. That earns him a dirty look from a mother at the snack bar and a “whoa-o!” from the little boys she’s serving cake to.

  After my third or fourth lap, Blake comes back and pries my fingers off Andrew’s chair. He skates backward, pulling me along. “I can’t do this.” I’m sure I’m cutting off the circulation in his hands. “The lights throw off my balance.”

  “Then don’t look at the lights.” Blake’s voice is gentle. “Look here.” He brushes his cheek with my hand. I look up into his eyes, a blue green that always reminds me of the ocean. He laughs. “And smile. You’re not being tortured.”

  I mumble my disagreement under my breath. Andrew heads back to the snack bar while Blake keeps pulling me along the floor, giving me advice the whole way. “Stand up straight, don’t watch your feet,” and always, “push and glide.”

  Left foot, right foot, stumble, glide—I’m starting to get this. Blake lets go of one hand so we’re skating side by side. “Keep your eyes up. Good job. The next round you’re going to do by yourself.” I grip his hand to show I’m not letting him leave. “Relax. If you make it around twice without falling I’ll buy you a slushy.”

  I try to force a flirty tone through the terror in my voice. “How about I buy you one?”

  He pries my fingers off his. “Two laps.”

  I make it around the first lap with Blake skating beside me. I’m getting more confident, but I still feel like a complete klutz, especially when I watch little kids who can skate rings around me. Blake pulls ahead of me. “All on your own this time. You’ve got it.”

  So I push, glide, push, glide all by myself, reaching for the wall every few feet but staying up. When I finish the second lap, I go for a third. Blake gives me a thumbs-up from across the floor. I beam back at him and don’t see the kid who falls in front of me. He sweeps my feet, and I go down. Hard. I hit my butt first and then bang my head against the wall.

  Blake is kneeling beside me almost before I realize what happened. He cups his hand around my scar. “Your head—are you okay?”

  “I’m okay.” I’m dazed, either by the bump or because his face is so close to mine. “I didn’t hit my head that hard.” I lean forward and rub my hip. “Mostly just my butt.”

  Blake’s face breaks into a grin of relief. “We wouldn’t want to damage that either.”

  “My butt?” I give him a funny look. “Um, what? For a second, it sounded like you were trying to flirt with me.”

  Blake ducks his head and turns red. “Nah, I just—”

  “You were flirting!” I try to see his eyes, covered by a lock of bangs. “And badly.”

  “Yeah, well.” He helps me to my feet without looking at my face. “You were skating. And badly.”

  “Hey.” I slap his arm. “You said I was doing great.”

  “Oh, come on, Allie, you know guys will say anything when they’re trying to impress a girl.” The idea that Blake might be trying to impress me feels weird, wrong, but good, too, even though I know he was just kidding around. He turns around and grabs both of my hands. “C’mon, I owe you a slushy.”

  “Andrew.” I cover my mouth. “I completely forgot about him. He’s probably bored out of his mind.”

  Blake laughs and points behind me toward the snack bar. “I’d say Andrew is doing just fine.”

  I grab on to the wall and turn myself around. Andrew is still at the snack bar but not alone. There’s a flamboyant redhead perched on the table in front of him. She’s holding a slushy to his mouth while he drinks out of the straw.

  I stare in shock. “Who is that?”

  Her name is Caitlyn, and she has dangly blue earrings, an embroidered tunic top that’s retro 1970s, and neon-blue skinny jeans. She’s enthusiastic about absolutely everything and thinks my freaky eye is totally cool, and her dad is a mortician. They live above the morgue. I find out all this in about five minutes, after Blake and I join them at the snack bar. I also find out that she and Andrew have been chatting online for the last couple of months. He and Blake definitely planned this.

  I study Caitlyn while she talks, wondering if she could be considered pretty. Her jeans are too tight, her face is red and kind of splotchy, and she laughs too loudly, with her mouth open. She sounds like a donkey. But she has a nice smile, brilliant blue eyes, and hair the most amazing color of red I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure if it’s her real color. In another era, Caitlyn would probably have been considered beautiful. I’m just not sure which one.

  I can tell Andrew thinks she’s gorgeous. She kisses him on the cheek when she leaves. Protective instincts fire like mad when I see her with him. He’s never had anything close to a girlfriend before. I wish I knew more about her.

  I watch her go outside and I’m shocked to see the sun going down. I didn’t realize we’d been gone so long. I wonder what “home late” means for my parents. If Mom and Dad get home before we do, they’ll freak out.

  “We’d better go,” I say to Blake. Andrew nods, but he’s still smiling. It’s good to see him happy, and I actually had fun. If we can make it home without getting busted, today might be okay.

  Chapter

  14

  On the way home, Andrew falls asleep with his head on my shoulder. I’m jittery the whole way. Blake reaches over and puts his hand on my bouncing knee. “Relax,” he says. I’m not sure if Blake’s hand on my knee makes me relax or makes me more tense. I focus on keeping my legs still, but he doesn’t move his hand.

  Blake is driving fast, trying to get us home before Mom and Dad do. As we get into town I want to tell him to slow down, but I’m afraid it’ll make him mad. Then I see blue lights in the rearview mirror. Blake swears and pulls over, right in front of Big J’s, the only restaurant in town besides the café, and where everyone from the high school hangs out. I slide down into the seat and wish Blake had tinted windows.

  Detective Weeks gets out of the now-familiar black Charger and shines his flashlight into Blake’s eyes, and then mine. He takes note of Blake’s hand resting on my knee. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going?” Four sophomores gawk at us as they pass beside Blake’s car on their way into Big J’s. I pull my hat down and keep my eyes focused on the dashboard.

  Blake taps the speedometer, stuck on 100 miles per hour. “This thing doesn’t work.”

  Detective Weeks points his flashlight at the dash. “How long has it been broken?”

  “It stopped working a couple of hours ago.” Blake grits his teeth. I’m sure the speedometer has been broken as long as he’s had the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch James point out Blake’s car to Randall. I slide farther down into the seat
so Andrew’s body is blocking me from their view.

  “Uh-huh.” Detective Weeks leans back and lowers the flashlight. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I took a look under the tarp in the back?”

  “Do you have a warrant?” Blake moves his hand off my leg and grips the steering wheel. His face hardens. I remember that face. This is the Blake who got arrested for breaking and entering, the Blake who spent six months in juvie. I shrink away from him. I’ve had too much experience with personality-shifting guys.

  “I don’t need a warrant.” Detective Weeks doesn’t seem to like Blake’s attitude. “License and registration, please.” Blake pulls his wallet out of his pocket and then leans over me to open the glove compartment. Detective Weeks shines his flashlight on Andrew, who’s still asleep with his head lolling against his chest and a little bit of blue drool, from the slushies, dripping down his chin. “Have you kids been drinking?”

  “That’s my brother.” I say it quick, so he’ll let us go. “He has cerebral palsy. His wheelchair is in the back, under the tarp, if you want to take a look.”

  Detective Weeks smiles and hands Blake back his license and registration without giving him a ticket. “You guys slow down, okay? The road up ahead is pretty narrow and dangerous, especially around the cliff.” He looks straight at me when he says that. I grip the tigereye hard. Blake’s jaw is working, like he has something he wants to say to Detective Weeks, but he holds it in.

  After Detective Weeks pulls away, Randall and one of Trip’s other football buddies, Dillon Mitchell, walk in front of Blake’s car. Dillon pounds on the front window, then sits down on the hood so we can’t leave. Andrew jerks his head up.

  “Hey, Juvie, where’d you pick up this fine automobile?” Dillon yells. “You steal this one, too?”

  “May be from the junkyard.” Randall sits next to Dillon, and they start bouncing the car up and down.

  I wish I could slide all the way to the floor. I hope they don’t recognize me.

  Blake revs the engine and reaches to shift into drive, but his car sputters and dies. He swears. Laughter explodes all around us.