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Tess
May 2009
It’s Friday night.
While most girls my age are out on dates or at house parties trying to catch the attention of their current crush, I’m under a hood with a wrench in my hand.
I’m not complaining.
I’m really not.
What would I do at a house party?
I wouldn’t know how to behave on a date, even if someone did ask me out.
I push the thought away because I know where it’ll lead.
It’ll lead to the fact that my mother should be here to help me with things like that. Make-up. Hairstyles. Boy trouble.
But she’s not here.
Because she left me.
“How long are you going to hide here?” I give my socket wrench a final twist before shooting Henley a look through my lashes. Henley’s different. She has a boyfriend. Someone who wants to spend time with her. Someone who would rather be with her than with everyone else. Something pings in my chest—not jealousy. But maybe envy.
“I’m not hiding.” She scowls at me. “I’m hanging out with my best friend.”
“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s not going to help.” Straightening, I toss my wrench back into my toolbox. How many seventeen-year-old girls can say they have their own toolbox? “Conner isn’t going anywhere.” I look at the ring she’s wearing. She never said where she got it, but I know. “He’s in love with you, Hen.” I don’t know shit about love, but I have eyes. I saw the way he looked at her this afternoon. It bothers me that she can’t see it.
She catches me looking and shoves her hand under her leg. She’s sitting on the tall stool next to my dad’s workbench. “He doesn’t love me. He feels sorry for me.”
“Bullshit.” I laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about what she just said. “Why would you even think something like that?” When all she does is shrug I feel a fire spark in my belly. “Is that what Jessica said to you to make you hit her?”
“She called me the Gilroy family pet.” She goes red, her entire face mottled and splotchy.
“That fucking cun—” I don’t even realize I’m halfway across the garage until she snags me by the back of my coveralls.
“Where are you going?” she says, her grip tightening to stop me, mid-charge.
“To Caleb Emerson’s house.” I toss her a look over my shoulder. “To black that snotty bitch’s other eye.”
She lets go of me, her hands flopping helplessly against her thigh. “Why? She’s right. Even you said it was weird that he doesn’t want to…” She trails off, her face pale under the mask of freckles that covers her face. “He’s never kissed me, Tess. He’s never even tried.”
I don’t have an explanation for that. The only thing I know about boys is that most of them don’t like girls like me. Girls who can re-build a carburetor and change her own tire. Girls who wear work boots and have grease stains on their jeans. Girls who don’t need to be rescued. Don’t want to be catered to. “He loves you.” That’s all I can say, because it’s the only thing I know for sure. “Just give him a chance, Hen.”
“You heard Declan.” She sighs. “Conner is at Caleb’s party, probably fucking Jessica stupid right now.”
Yeah, I heard Declan. More importantly, I saw him. The look on his face, watching his brother flounder while talking to Henley, was enough to make me want to punch him in the throat. But to be fair, I pretty much always want to punch Declan in the throat.
“No, he isn’t.” I shake my head. “I’d bet my toolbox his ass is parked outside your bedroom window, waiting for you to show up.” I glance at the shop clock above my dad’s workbench. It’s almost midnight. “You want me to walk you home?” My dad threw in the towel a few hours ago, mumbling something about going to bed.
“No,” she laughs a little while gathering her books. “Because then I’ll feel compelled to walk you home.” Settling the stack on her hip, she smiles. “I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow.”
I watch her walk away, feeling like I’m letting her down somehow. Like if I can find the right thing to say, I can stop what’s going to happen next. “Declan Gilroy is a fucking asshole,” I say loudly. “Don’t let him or Jessica mess with your head.”
Instead of answering, she gives me a small, over-the-shoulder smile before disappearing around the corner.
Shit.
Digging into my pocket, I pull out a shop rag and start rubbing at my hands. It’s a nervous habit. One I picked up from my dad.
“Fucking asshole, huh?”
Hearing him behind me, my heart takes a flying leap at my throat, and I whirl around to watch Declan Gilroy himself, emerge from the dark to lean against the doorframe separating the garage from the short hallway that houses my dad’s office and the laundry room.
Shoulders leaned against the frame, he crosses his arms over his massive chest and smiles. “Don’t pull any punches, Tesla—tell me how you really feel.”