Under the Influence Page 3

  My head jerks back in surprise and my brows rise as I fight back laughter. I forgot how hilarious she is when extremely pissed off.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” she warns. “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s kind of funny, Spence.”

  She just stares, face blank.

  I roll my eyes and groan. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Once again, her eyes fill with delight and her smile beams at me from across the car. “Okay!” she shrieks, then throws open the door.

  It’s then that I snort, actually snort with laughter, before my own feet hit the ground.

  As we approach the front door, I note how extremely unassuming this building is, but as Spencer enters the code for our entrance, I’m reminded of why. It’s anonymity is necessary for the families safely stashed inside.

  Upon our entry, we’re immediately greeted by Ms. Locke as she passes by the front desk. With her glasses askew and her long, light brown hair piled messily on her head, she focuses her caramel colored eyes directly on me. Her face brightens and a smile breaks across her face as she approaches, only to wrap her arms around my shoulders and envelop me in one of her traditional bear hugs. I stand awkwardly as Spencer giggles beside me.

  Once released, Ms. Locke addresses me. “Dalton, it’s so good to see you. It’s been a while. How have you been?” She watches me closely, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she assesses my reaction.

  “I’m good, Ms. Locke. Keeping busy at the garage,” I lie, pushing whatever starved remnants of conscience I have left out of my mind.

  She tightens her gaze. “Hmmm, I see.” After a few seconds, she voids her face of suspicion and adds, “You can call me Deborah. You know that.”

  I smile and nod. She grins back, then turns to Spencer, brows raised. “Homework done?”

  A light blush creeps across Spencer’s cheeks. “Almost?” The tone of her voice is higher than usual, as though seeking approval from her mother.

  “I’ve got one more hour here and then we can head home.” She turns back to me. “Thank you for giving her a ride, Dalton. You’re free to go if you like.”

  Tempting, but after the lengthy lecture about my negative ass, I think it’s safer for me to make an appearance. “No, it’s fine,” I answer. “I’m going to visit with the kids for a while.”

  Ms. Locke’s smile widens. “Excellent. They’re in the game room for the most part. Have at it.” After giving me another quick embrace, she hastily disappears into the kitchen.

  Spencer knocks me with her shoulder, propelling me in the direction of said game room. Once inside, I take in the familiar sight of coloring book pages, painted palms resembling animals on construction paper, and various drawings and sketches that cover the walls. Although the hand-painted clay pots with newly planted flowers lining the windowsills are a new addition. Four of the kids are engrossed in a mean game of “Super Smash Bros.” The gamers turn to face me and I recognize two of them.

  “Dalton! Come join the game. You can be Princess Peach.” one of the boys yells, then bursts with boisterous laughter.

  “Hey, I’m Princess Peach!” Spencer shouts, then darts in front of the TV to snatch the last controller. She sticks her tongue out at me before turning her focus onto the game.

  I smile as I watch her play. Just as she shouts, “BOOM!” while taking out some unrepressed anger on poor Donkey Kong, my gaze breaks away to wander around the room. I spot a little girl sitting by herself at a table tucked into a corner clear on the other side of the room. Light blonde hair conceals her face as she scribbles furiously on the paper below her. Enthralled, my feet carry me on their own accord until I’m standing right in front of her. She continues coloring, and although my natural instincts warn me to stay away, to turn around and leave for her benefit, I find myself strangely rooted to the ground.

  Finally she pauses in her efforts, then shyly glances up at me before returning her attention to the table as she grabs another crayon and continues coloring. With her eyes just as bright and blue, I find myself staring down at the exact image of what I believe Spencer would have looked like at six years of age.

  “Do you mind if I color with you?” I ask, surprising the shit out of myself. Without looking back at me, she carefully flips the pages in the coloring book of front of her until she finds what she’s looking for, then tears out the page and gingerly slides it in front of the seat next to her. She redirects her efforts as she searches her box of crayons, carefully selecting a few colors before placing them on top of the torn paper.

  All without saying a word.

  Taking the silently offered seat, I also remain quiet as I pick up the blue crayon and begin to color the bodysuit of the one and only Superman, noting that she correctly chose the red, yellow, blue, and black crayons for me to use.

  Several minutes pass, and just as I begin working on the cape, she finally speaks. “You’re a good colorer.”

  I grin and tear my eyes away from the almighty Kal-El to meet hers. And that’s when I see it. The faded bruising high on her cheek and the red welts that line it. A slap mark.

  I force a deep breath through my nose and without even thinking about it, I crack my neck, my natural response when stricken with memories from my own past. The rage I feed upon, the anger that fuels me to perform on a regular basis, skims dangerously close to the surface as my fingers tighten around the crayon in my hand.

  Her blue eyes remain locked with mine. She watches me closely for a moment, studying me intently, then rises and leans her tiny body across the table to place her palm on my cheek. Normally I would strongly object to anyone I don’t know putting their hands on me, but I remain frozen as the warmth from her hand seeps into my skin. Huge tears sprout, coating her eyes before she finally speaks.

  “You’re one of us. I can tell.”

  She removes her hand and places it on my chest, the burning beneath my ribcage strangely anesthetized by the contact. “I know.” She nods as she focuses on her touch. “It hurts here. Where they break your heart.”

  I’m barely able to nod my response, and she offers me a defeated smile. My throat clogs with emotion I haven’t felt in years and I’m forced to swallow it deeply. Her gaze falls to my throat and then rises once again to meet mine.

  “Yeah, I feel it too.”

  She offers me a small, shy smile, then removes her touch to pick up the paper she gave me minutes ago, flashing it in front of my face. Superman stares back at me as she states, “You’re good like him. A hero. You just don’t know it yet.”

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to bark my denial. I force myself to remain silent as she places my Superman on the table, reaches to push her paper directly in front of me, then climbs into my lap without hesitation.

  As the little girl silently resumes her coloring, I see Spencer watching our interaction out of the corner of my eye but instead of glancing back at her, I keep my attention focused solely on what’s happening at this very table. I don’t dare to interrupt this moment. Something inherent within me recognizes that this gesture, this demonstration of trust as this little girl remains seated peacefully in my lap, is just as important for her as her understanding is for me. So instead of looking away, I simply reach around the little girl’s body and pick up right where I left off on Superman’s cape.

  Just as she finishes her picture, which is a very green version of Wonder Woman, she twists her neck to look at me, seeking approval.

  “Is that the Green Giant?” I ask, offering her a teasing smile.

  Her eyes brighten as she giggles. “No dummy. It’s Wonder Woman!”

  I narrow my gaze, pretending to evaluate her work. “Is she sick? She’s looking a bit green.”

  At that she bursts into laughter, which is oddly contagious. I don’t even bother trying to fight it as my own grin breaks across my face. “You’re funny...” she pauses in thought. “What’s your name?”

  “Dalton. And you are?”

  “I’m Penelope. P
enelope Owen, but you can call me Penny ‘cause you’re my friend.”

  I dip my head in thanks, then grab the black crayon from the table. “Well, Penny. I colored this Superman just for you.” Before giving her my artwork, I jot a couple of things down on the paper.

  “This…” I point. “Is my name. And this,” I gesture just below it, “is my phone number.”

  I fold the paper and hand it to Penny. “I want you to put this in your pocket, or your backpack, or wherever you will always have it. And if you need anything, you just open this and dial my number. Okay?”

  A mischievous grin crosses her face before she rises to her feet, glancing around for any onlookers while shoving the picture in her front pocket. Once through, she wraps her arms around my shoulders, squeezes my neck, then completely annihilates my world as she whispers…

  “See, I told you. You’re a hero. You chased the pain away.”

  “IT WAS THE WEIRDEST THING, Cass. I could see it all over his face. It was almost as though he opened up for like two seconds, then bam!, he gets a text and completely shuts down.”

  The memory of him whispering something into Penny’s ear right before announcing a very terse goodbye to me skates through my mind as I speak. I watch from a seated position on my bed as the chair at my desk spins around at neck breaking speed.

  “Stop it, Cassie. You’re making me dizzy.”

  The chair slows and once facing me, Cassie’s gaze finally focuses on mine. Kind of. “Who do you think the text was from?” she inquires.

  I shrug. “Who knows. Probably one of those girls he dates regularly.”

  My tone is flippant, but I can’t deny the disappointment that fastens tightly and uncomfortably around my heart. I don’t know if I’m merely frustrated with the lack of morals I find in the girls Dalton goes oI laugh and squeeze her tightly before she releases me. ut with, or if I’m simply disappointed that I’m not one of them. There’s a lot about my reaction to Dalton’s extracurricular activities that I don’t understand these days.

  “Dalton doesn’t date, Spence. You know that.” Her dark brown eyes narrow on me. “You do know that, right?”

  “Yeah.” I sigh. “I mean, I know we’re just friends. We’ve been friends for years now. I guess there’s just a line that shouldn’t be crossed between us. But to be honest, sometimes it hurts that he doesn’t look at me that way.”

  I fling myself backward on my bed and close my eyes. Covering my head with a pillow, I groan into it just as someone throwing a completely ridiculous pity-party should.

  Her cackle fills the air. “Spencer, that boy is so into you and you have absolutely no idea. It’s endearing really.” I remove the pillow and open my eyes to find her standing directly above me with a huge knowing smile on her face. “Dense and incredibly naïve, but endearing,” she adds thoughtfully.

  My face falls slack at her pitiful attempt at encouragement while I offer my most clever of responses. “He is not.”

  She giggles again, then hurls herself onto my bed and lands right next to me. Centering her face above mine, she cocks her brow. “He is.”

  Definitely not one of our sharpest repartees.

  She sweeps her long, brown hair over her shoulder and folds her legs underneath her before picking a piece of lint off of her teeny-tiny pajama shorts. Her intent eyes narrow on mine. “You guys are always touching each other. Haven’t you noticed that?”

  My lips pucker in thought. “Well, yeah, but we’ve always done that. That doesn’t mean anything. I hug you all the time.”

  “That’s different and you know it,” she responds quickly. “You are openly affectionate with exactly two people. Him and me. And he touches no one that way besides you. Don’t you think that’s odd?” I crinkle my nose and she grins as she adds, “That’s what I thought.”

  “Cass–”

  “And that’s where my plan comes in.”

  Oh, yeah. The brilliant plan of the century.

  She grins wider. “You need to go on a date.”

  I bark out another incredulous laugh and roll my eyes. “You have officially lost your mind, Cass!”

  Cassie maintains her wide smile. “If you go on a date, I guarantee what you’ll find regarding Dalton and his feelings will surprise you.”

  “Cassie. No one wants to go out on a date with me. Trust me.”

  She shakes her head before bursting into unnecessary, heinous laughter. The sound of it reverberates all around my room. “You really have no idea, do you?” she asks, wiping her eyes. “Every guy at school has a hard-on for you, you fool. They’re just fucking scared to come near you because of Dalton. He let it be known that if they did, he would deal with them.”

  “Oh my God! You have no idea what you’re talking about!” I laugh uncontrollably. She really has lost her mind.

  She shakes her head, the severity of her statement tightening her features. “I’m totally serious, Spence. I swear on my Kindle.”

  At this, I take in a sharp breath and sober immediately. To Cassie, her Kindle is as sacred as the Bible.

  She nods slowly, dramatically, as I grasp the severity of her statement. Right hand raised, she states, “On the over-abundance of trashy romance novels within my possession, I solemnly swear that Dalton openly took out a vendetta against any male in our school who should dare approach you.”

  “He did what?” I screech, pressing myself off the bed and catapulting into an upright position. Anger ignites and my face heats wildly as realization dawns.

  This whole year, in fact, my whole high school career, no one would even look at me. No one asked me to come to parties, to go on dates, to go to prom. Not that I would go, but being asked would be nice, ya know? Okay, I probably would go. I mean, it’s a rite of passage, right?

  Two black painted fingernails make their appearance as they snap directly in front of my face, jolting me out of my inner thoughts. “Hooker! Pay attention!”

  I shake my head and refocus. Still seething, I whisper, “This whole time, I thought it was me. That I wasn’t dating material or pretty enough. Four years, Cass. Four years of feeling like I wasn’t good enough.” My molars grind together. “It all makes sense now.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “We’re getting off track here. I have found someone who, luckily for you, seems to have recently acquired a death wish.”

  I stare blankly and she nods her head slowly in emphasis. “Jase Williams.”

  My eyebrows hit the ceiling while my jaw falls in the opposite direction. “Jase Williams? As in the quarterback of the Varsity football team? The unbelievably hot and completely drool-worthy boy with the killer smile who every single girl in our school would give their left boob to go out with? That Jase Williams?”

  Cassie’s head dips in affirmation. “That Jase Williams.”

  My face scrunches in thought because this I find very interesting. The idea of me actually going on a date, while exciting, is also intriguing. Because no matter how hot Jase Williams may be, my mind seems to only be concerned with Dalton Greer and his reaction to this news. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me wonders if Cassie is right. Maybe Dalton’s over-protectiveness is simply his way of masking unspoken feelings. Maybe, just maybe, Jase Williams will be the catalyst needed to break through Dalton’s titanium-encrusted shell and force him to actually feel something for someone. To feel something for me.

  Plus there’s a part of me forced to concede that maybe this is exactly what I need for me to finally feel something for someone other than Dalton Greer. For me to bury this useless school-girl crush and focus on the possibility that there may be someone out there who actually reciprocates my feelings.

  Yet even with that acknowledgment, my foolish heart still leaps with hope for the former outcome.

  My pulse kicks up a notch and my stomach churns with excited anticipation. “All right,” I concede, my mouth curling downward as I nod. “I find myself intrigued with your theory. Therefore, I shall go out with t
hat Jase Williams.”

  Cassie’s face breaks into a goofy grin and her eyes light with anticipation. I raise my hand to calm her excitement before adding, “For research purposes only, of course.”

  Her expression falls into mock seriousness. “Of course,” she repeats.

  I fight a grin, but eventually smile as Cassie does the same, her brilliantly concocted plan evidently in full effect.

  Mom’s voice halts our devious activity as she shouts from the hallway. “Cassie! Your mom called, sweetie! Time to head home!”

  Cassie reaches forward to envelop me in a Cassie-embrace before whispering, “I gave Jase your number already.”

  She climbs off my bed and heads toward the window, her typical method of both entering and exiting my bedroom. I giggle and shake my head as she unlatches the lock and begins to climb her way onto my front lawn.

  “I don’t know why you find it impossible to use the door, like everyone else in the world.”

  She stops mid-climb, straddling the ledge before giving me a toothy smile. “Why would I want to be like everyone else in the world when I can be me?”

  “Agreed. Wholeheartedly.” I grin. “Be safe crossing the street, crazy ass.” She grins back and gives me a wink. Just before she lowers the window, I add, “Love you.”

  Blowing me a kiss, she states, “Love you, times two,” then shuts the window behind her.

  My legs hit the floor and I watch from my room as she makes her way across the dark lawn like a ninja in the night. I’m latching the window when I hear Mom’s voice.

  “Cassie just leave?”

  I turn to find her standing in my doorway, her worn pink robe wrapped tightly around her body. I glance once more out the window before closing the curtain.