"Oh, that isn't mine, but thank you," I reply.
"Whoa," he says. "Where is that accent from?"
They're walking closer. I have my pepper spray ready and I've already hit dial for a random contact. I hope they stay on the line and listen, whoever I got. Hopefully, it's one of my parents or Shea.
"I have an accent?" I ask, trying hard to be friendly even though my body is shaking. The closer they get, the less friendly they appear. The girls have dark makeup. I think every one of them has at least one facial piercing. The guys have tattoos—not that tattoos are bad. My brother and the band all have at least one. It's just a vibe from these—five, six,seven…from these seven that has my fight or flight instinct kicking in.
I unlock my door and just as I'm about to open it, one of the girls leans against it.
"You totally have an accent," she tells me.
"You're the first to ever tell me that. I'm from a Chicago suburb," I answer, hoping to keep the conversation friendly so they let me leave. I don't know these people and it's dark.
"Ah, the windy city," the same guy says. "Nice. I’ve been there once. Too fuckin' cold for me. I like the California heat."
I nod. "It's beautiful here. I could live here and never have a complaint."
"You should move here," the girl leaning on my car tells me.
I shrug. "I just might. You never know."
Another guy jerks his thumb at the gallery. "You an artist?"
"I paint. There was a showing tonight," I tell them. Why do I tell them that? Maybe that's a bad thing to tell them.
He nods, his head bobbing up and down. "I like to paint. I don't get to use a brush much. Supplies are expensive as fuck, so I've been doing graffiti art."
"Graffiti art? Spray paint?" I ask.
He nods again. "Yep. It's a fuckin' challenge, let me tell you."
"I admire your talent. I don't think I could make anything but a circle with a spray can," I snicker. It's fake, but they don't know that.
He smirks. "Yeah, it takes some getting used to. If you decide to move here, I could teach you if you want."
"That'd be great. I'd love to see your techniques and how you get the colors to blend into one another so perfectly," I exaggerate.Oh, please. Please, let me go home.I'm tired, my feet hurt, and I'm scared out of my mind.
"Cool," he replies, then goes to sit on one of the parking lot curbs. The girl follows and I breathe a sigh of relief.
"It was really nice meeting you," I tell them and reach for the driver's side door.
"Hold up," the first guy says. Let's call him Nose Ring. He has one of those that goes in the middle of your nose like the bull in the Bugs Bunny cartoon had. "How're you gonna contact him if you don't give him your number?"
I look over at graffiti guy. "I'm so sorry. I'm just exhausted and my mind isn't working. If you give me your number, I'll text you back and you'll have mine." Anything to get the fuck out of here. The panic is escalating and I'm nearly in a full blown panic attack.
"Yeah, here. I'll put it in for you," Nose Ring says.
I lift my phone and it's dark. "Well, shit. It looks like it died." Total lie. It's just an app I have since Xan and I have been talking a lot at night and the bright light hurts my eyes.
"That sucks," Graffiti guy says.
"I should get going. Tomorrow's going to be a really long day," I babble.
Nose Ring gets closer. "Yeah, I'd really like to let you go, but there's just one problem. We kinda need your help."
"Oh. What kind of help?" I wasn't expecting that. Now he's right next to me and another guy walks up next to him. I don't like the looks of this new one. He has eyes that look black and a smirk on his face that means he's up to no good.
"My pal here, he's getting initiated into the group."
