Friday the 14th

Part 4: Red

I'm such an idiot.

I'm so, so stupid.

Like, I don't even understand how I managed to end up in this position, my arms wrapped around a stranger--a hot one, but still a stranger. The air hissing past was cold, the lights streaking past blinding. I could imagine Mrs. Vanderbilt now, running to her front door with her broom, ready to scare off the motorcyclist who dared to drive this loud at this time of night. And my mom, returning home after her date with who knows who, and finding an empty house.

I hadn't even known this guy for a day. I'd talked to him, like, three times, and two of those were just when he was paying for my food. What kind of relationship was that? A totally dysfunctional one, that's what.

But I didn't let go.

Although that would have been a fairly unreasonable, not to mention suicidal, thing to do at this point, as we were approaching fifty miles per hour and dodging through residential housing, so letting go would probably be equivalent to death, or at the very least a concussion and several broken limbs. (This is a good lesson why you wear helmets on motorcycles. Take notes, kids.)

But there was something about the way Hot Guy moved, the way he smiled or rolled his eyes or whatever--captivating. Intriguing. Kind of mysterious. And he reminded me of someone, though I just couldn't put my finger on it.

And then the motorcycle was slowing, and I felt my stupidity catching up with me once more.

We were outside a cute blue house with white trim in a crescent drive, nearby were steps that lead down to the docks. Hot Guy slid off and headed down the street, between the picturesque houses.

I took a look around. Across the street was a small park and playground--I recognized it as the first grade hangout, when I had been friends with people like Jenna and Sydney and Camryn, before there was a social hierarchy and lists of things that were socially acceptable and things that totally weren't.

"Why are we at Sydney's house?" I asked suddenly, whirling around to Hot Guy standing smack in front of that house I had set up a lemonade stand outside of once, where I had raised one dollar off lemon juice and water with no sweetener that summer before second grade, where we had watched as Jenna had her first kisses with Sam, Caden, and Jake, since even back then they had all been, you know, a little messed up on the inside.

"Ex stuff," he said, folding his arms and looking up at the house with its dark windows.

"You dated Sydney?"

"Yeah. Before I moved away."

"You went to Shoreside?"

"Yeah. I was a junior when she was a freshman."

"Scandalous."

"Not really. She didn't even have the guts to do stuff with me."

I chewed my lip. I think I knew what he meant by "stuff" in this situation. "So why are we here, mysterious person who won't tell me his name?"

"Revenge."

I took a step back. "Woah, you did not just bring me along to get revenge on your ex girlfriend."

"I did. You wanna help me or what?"

Of course I did. This was the most fun I'd had in ages. But I wasn't about to say that. "What's your name?"

"Not right now, kid. Help me out and we'll talk."

I looked up into his dark brown eyes. I had to tilt my head back just to see his face--I'm short. We had a short staring contest, during which I had another heart-flop thing. I needed to check WebMD about that, stat. "Fine, what's the plan?"