Chương 10: Chapter 10

I dip my brush in the paint.

Hair is almost always the hardest thing to do well. That and water. It's all the movement and texture, and it's why I've been avoiding it. My nose, chin, and lips are already done and, with a little more embellishment on my neck and shoulders, I'll have finished the bottom half of me. It's the top half I'm dreading. The eyes are crucial which is why I did them first, but I've been saving the hair for last. All unkempt, frizzy inch of it.

With Blink182 blaring, I bring the lavender tip to the canvas and steadily apply the color. I'm using different shades of purple, blue, and green to break up the strands, so I only paint in certain areas, knowing it will all come together when I'm done. Hoping it all does. Dipping into more lavender, I'm startled by the ping of an Instant Message.

Weird.

Savvy usually calls. Setting my brush down, I hop off my chair and peer over at the square in the middle of the screen.

Wolfboy16: hey

Excitement swells. Biting my lip, I abandon the easel and sink into the computer seat, curious about the unexpected greeting.

Paintress87: hey

Wolfboy16: it cool if me and corey come look at your car?

Guess he wasn't kidding about the favor. It's like yesterday, when he pinpointed the library after school, eager to put everything we say into action. I'm tickled by the idea, already fighting off a smile.

Paintress87: when?

Wolfboy16: now

Now?

It's a little past two and I'm still in my pajamas. But that's what painting until three a.m. does. I face my floor-length mirror and cringe. My hair - oh jeez - my hair is a sand-blonde mess sitting on top of my head. There was no point styling it since I hadn't planned on anyone seeing me. Same goes for the baggy sleep pants and black tee I've been rocking since I woke up.

A new message dings.

Wolfboy16: that cool?

Sounds like he's already on his way, which means I really don't have a lot of say in this.

Paintress87: sure

Wolfboy16: be there in 10

I should shower. I probably need to shower. But there isn't time. He lives a few minutes away, and it takes that long for the water to heat up. I give myself another once-over in the mirror, trying not to cringe. Trying not to freak out. Grabbing my perfume, I spritz my wrists, and behind both ears, in case there's a funk I'm not aware of. If I can't shower and dress in time, I have to work with what I've got.

Running through the house, I pick up as much as possible. I doubt he'll be in here, but just in case he is, I don't want him seeing empty pizza boxes and dirty socks. That's a secret me and the living room share. I'm not even sure why I'm worrying so much. It's way last minute so they shouldn't expect too much and besides, the car is outside. They'll do their thing, and it'll be done.

Alex pulls up.

I give the place one more scan. It doesn't scream slob, so I guess I'm okay. Standing at the bay window, I peer through the blinds, watching the black truck come to a full stop. The engine dies and just as I think about heading outside, the passenger door swings open.

A boy jumps out.

It's the same one from the band-room, the kid who was holding the Bass Guitar. He had a sweet smile, and he's wearing it now, excitement over his mission.

Alex walks around the truck. He looks different today. There's no gray hoodie - no hiding his face. Instead, he sports a bright green tee-shirt and tops it off with a sleek black ball cap. Very different from the typically all-dark ensemble I'm used to.

I watch the pair head for my car, my unease growing with their every step. Great. Not only is my Corolla in terrible shape, but I wasn't even given a heads-up in time to wash it, which means they're going to judge me over its grotesque glory. Awesome.

I slip past the front door and cup my hand over my eyes, creating a visor. I watch them for a minute or two until they notice, and when they do, both fall silent, especially the friend, who looks like he's not sure how to act. He glances at Alex more than once, expecting him to make the introduction. But nothing.

When the bassist realizes that he's going to have to do it himself, he walks over and offers his hand. "Hey - I'm Corey."

"Autumn." I take it, and he nods like he knows this. Yup. It's definitely that kid from the band room. Same cheery smile. Same bright, blue eyes with hair colored similar to mine. "You go to Grant, right?"

"Yup."

"Yeah. I think I've seen you around."

He rubs the back of his neck. "You look familiar too."

This is the part where I expect Alex to jump in. We all kind of stand here a moment, waiting for what comes next, waiting for him to bridge our connection.

But again, nothing.

"So..." I roll on the balls on my feet, thinking of something to say. Anything. "You play in Chronic Rage too?"

Corey slides into a hesitant nod. "Uh...yup. I do."

"Does everyone in the band go to Grant?"

"Nope. It's just me and Alex. Sean and Jordan go to Washington Heights." Corey looks at my Toyota, hoping to bring us around to the topic he came for. He rubs his hands, walking over to it. "So, my boy tells me you killed a car?"

I look at Alex. "You told him I killed it?"

"It's pretty dead."

"More like...hibernating." I head for the Corolla, both embarrassed and insulted at the diagnosis. I mean, yeah, obviously, it's not in stellar shape, but come on - kill it? Is it really unsalvageable? I stop in front of the blue car and prop my hands on my hips. "See? Not dead. Just..." I give myself a moment to think of the right word. "Resting."

Corey snorts, enjoying this all too much. He gives himself another tour, rubbing his chin as he walks.

I look at Alex.

But he's focused on my gray ballerina slippers, his eyes working their way up the pink sleep pants and over my fitted black tee. Finally, he reaches my eyes. There's maybe a second of contact until he breaks it to focus on Corey again.

"Yeah. This thing is going to need a full reboot. We can tow it to my place. I can work on it there."

"What needs to be done?"

"By the looks of it? Everything."

"That sounds like a lot of work." I clear my throat. "And money. And I'm not sure if he told you, but my funds are pretty limited to the zero amount they currently are, so I have no way to pay for any of this."

"That's fine. I like fixing cars."

"What about parts and stuff?"

"My uncle has his own shop. He lets me get away with things."

I nod, not entirely sure what that means, wondering if this whole thing is a good idea. "Well, thanks for not giving up on her. Or calling her dead like some people."

"No, she's dead." Corey is back to rubbing his chin, staring at the Corolla. "I'm about to pull some freaky Frankenstein shit."

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