Austin has an awesome car, and it’s the one thing attached to him that literally makes me salivate. It’s a candy apple red Dodge Charger, and it is so sweet, or as he calls it—sick. He says it was a peace offering from his mother after she ran off with a drummer from a famous rock band. My father left my mom and me for a woman he met online. All I got was mandatory therapy and a $50 Starbucks card. I detest coffee. I’m either allergic or I have Cafephobia; one is as unpleasant as the other. Austin definitely got a better deal.
All I’m saying is, in the most contemptuous tone possible that would definitely burn my therapist’s selectively hearing ears, there are two kinds of tears—ones you cry on a germ-infested itchy couch that kind of smells like pee while you listen to a stranger try and comfort you—or ones you cry on brand new leather seats to the sound of thumping bass speakers blaring the music of your preference. Call me materialistic, but a $20,000.00 hankie with a V6 engine under the hood and fat tires feels a whole lot better than a dry generic white piece of paper that scratches your nose and barely passes for a Kleenex because it comes in a box that says its tissue paper on the side. I may be bitter as an under-ripe cashew or the ungrateful Queen of sarcasm—I’m just saying.
I climb into Austin’s hot Dodge with the guilt-ridden Styrofoam in my clutches. He backs out of the driveway before going forward. He guns it as we fly past street signs and leave our neighborhood behind in the rearview mirror. Austin has very strange, selective talents, one of them being the inane sense to know when the 5-1-5-0 is nowhere to be found, a truth I’ve discovered time and time again; like today, when we’re doing fifty-five in a thirty in a distance of about seven blocks. We hover on the edge of town when the words fly out of my mouth. “I need Jenni!”
Austin growls at me as he stomps on the brakes and whips around the corner, spraying gravel on Mr. Miller’s misplaced shed on the corner, scattering the tin structure like a shotgun. I duck down in my seat and instinctively cling to the door handle with one hand while bracing a foot on his dash as he uses his words. “No. Please, no. You know Jenni hates me.”
I turn on him, all irritation and innocence. “Slow down before you hit a sign, Austin. Seriously. And why do you think Jennie hates you?”
Austin pouts as he slows to a creep and coasts. “It happened once, Amy, and I apologized.”
I reach out and touch his cheek, surprising us both. “Please, pretty, pretty please. I can’t go in there alone.”
Austin tries to bite my dodging finger. “Keep your teeth off my finger.”
“Keep your hands off my face.” He growls at me, and my stomach flips. What does that mean? I can’t have butterflies for Austin! He’s my step-brother and a huge pain in my booty. He looks at me in resignation. “Amy. I’m only picking up Jenni for you because I can’t go in there with you; but just remember, I’m the one driving you there.”
I snort as he fishtails around another corner. “As if I could forget.” Panic sets in at the thought of going to see his uncle by myself. “What do you mean, you can’t go in with me? I’m going to see your uncle.”
He looks at me like I’m an idiot, a commonly shared facial expression between the two of us, but usually he’s on the receiving end. “I know that, but if I go in with you, we will have to tell my dad or your mom, because I’m not eighteen. Since you’re eighteen, technically, you don’t have to tell your parents anything about what you’re doing.”
My chin lifts a little. “Really?”
Austin snorts. “Really. I’m surprised your little all-knowing bookworm mind didn’t know that already.”
I hate feeling knowledge shamed. I turn my nose up, all snooty. “That’s just because I’ve never been involved in anything illegal, so why would I know that?”
Austin gives me a wink. “Welcome to the Big Time, baby.”
I smack his shoulder. “Ugh. Don’t call me baby. Like ever.”
His Charger comes to a screeching halt, and I throw a foot back up against the dash to save myself from face planting. We look in the direction of Jenni’s house and wait, but no one comes out. I start to open the door, but Austin lays on the horn and leaves me too mortified to move as her front door opens. Out steps her brother, Jim, shirtless. I want to sink into a black hole. Jim goes to M.I.T. He’s so dreamy. He smiles and waves as he sees me roll down the window.
“Hey, Amy,” he calls out to me from across the yard. He slides into a pair of shoes on the porch before he wanders over to the car. His elbows rest on the windowsill, and his face is so close. I can barely breathe as I take in his perfectly shaped jet-black hair and his big brown eyes. He taps the icebox. “What you got there?”
I’m mutely incoherent as I cough and sputter. “Umm…”
Austin leans over the console and crowds me while acting all mischievous. “Someone sent us a bloody finger in the mail and we’re taking it to the lab. We think it came from a cult in a missile silo up North.”
Jim’s face looks confused, like he can’t tell if Austin’s joking. He looks back at me, and I tear my gaze from his shoulders and his pecs. I feel all sorts of flustered. “Don’t listen to him, I…” I’m saved by Jenni, who races up behind him and smacks his back.
“Put a shirt on, Tarzan.”
Jenni hops in the car. Her side braid flops on her shoulder as she shift/hops around before closing the door. I glance in the mirror at her and get an eyeful of all brightness and color between her yellow shirt, turquoise skirt, and signature flowery cloth hairband. She glares at Austin. “Hey.” She checks me in the side mirror, as if to question, why did you bring this clown?
I roll up the window and look back to watch Jim go back inside.
Austin elbows my arm resting on his console so hard I fall sideways. “You’re drooling.”
I sit back up and whip around, embarrassed and caught. “I wasn’t.”
Jenni grins at me. “You kinda were.” She taps on the box. “So, what are we doing today?”
I search for words. “I wanted to text you, but I didn’t want to put it in writing.”
Jenni’s brow furrows as her hand rests on the box lid. “It’s that serious?”
I tap my fingers on the edge of the box. “Kind of?”
Austin glances in the rearview mirror. “Lady Margaret might be dead. She sent her own finger in the mail which is totally bad-a. It’s in the box. She says a cult leader killed her. We’re taking the finger to my uncle who’s a detective.”
Jenni’s eyes fly wide open as fast as her hand comes off the box by the time Austin stops talking. “Are you for real?”
Austin shoots her a grin in the mirror; the grin that’s probably deflowered half the sophomore class; but who’s judging. “Believe it, Jen-ni.” He utters her name in the manner of Forrest Gump, which she acts like she hates, but I think she secretly loves. Austin winks at her in the mirror. “So we’re talking again?”
Jenni slaps his shoulder hard. “Where am I from, Austin?”
He looks over his shoulder at her as he backs out of her driveway, his face all innocence. “China?”
Jenni whips her head sideways and stares out the window, speaking low. “I’m Korean, you prick.”
Austin laughs out loud. “Chillax, Jenni. I know you’re Korean. Man, I make one mistake one time, and you’re going to hold it against me forever. People call me Mexican all the time, and I don’t take offense. I was born in Dallas, in a prestigious hospital, so technically I’m Hispanic, but lots of people still look at me like I crawled out of a tunnel, or they just don’t care. Whatever.” His voice is barely audible by the time he’s done talking.
I pat him on the shoulder. “I care, little brother. If they try to deport you when I’m around, I’ll probably speak up; I don’t know though. You know how I feel about public speaking.”
He sticks his tongue out at me. “Shut up.”
I make a face at him. “Bite me, brother.”
Austin clamps his teeth at me, which makes me cringe like fingers on a chalkboard at the sound of his teeth knocking against each other; it’s about as bad as listening to him crunch Sonic ice. I think I have misophonia.
Austin looks in the mirror again and pulls out his famous pout. “Jen-ni. Do you forgive me?”
Jenni speaks from behind my seat. “Fine. Just watch the road.” She pauses. “Why can’t you two go into the building if we’re taking the evidence to his uncle?”
I flip down my visor mirror to see her face better. “I’m eighteen, but Austin’s not. If he goes in, then we have to tell his dad what we’re doing. I don’t want to go in alone, though, and you’re eighteen too, so I thought you could go with me. Please.”
Jenni’s eyes find mine in the mirror. “How you doing?”
I bite my lip and try not to think about my Aunt-Y not being here anymore. “I’m okay.”
Jenni gently squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Amy.”
I touch my fingers to hers. “Thanks.”