I wait until her cute little navy Passat rolls away before turning to face the target. My gun is in my holster, but I can’t grab it with a handful of brass. A normal person would set the casings down on the table, then grab their gun, but this frustration wells into rage. I’m not the one who messed up, yet I keep paying the price. The good guy is the one who gets abandoned.
With a growl, I wind up and throw my handful of metal downrange as hard and as far as I can. All that comes from my effort is a bunch of hollow pings and a mess I’ll have to clean up later.
This isn’t about Bree’s shooting lesson or even my last class with Gemma. It’s about living in a world where I teach people self-defense because I was forced to learn when nobody was around to protect me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GEMMA
Friends are the real superheroes. They battle our worst enemies—loneliness, grief, anxiety, depression, fear, and doubt—every time they come around.
—RICHELLEE. GOODRICH
I’m still thinking about shoes a week after Erin loaned me hers. I’m standing in the entryway of our townhome, waiting for the guys to be ready to go to citizen’s police academy, and I’m staring down at my classic court shoes with the light pink swoosh. They seem so basic compared to the funky ’80s high-tops that inspired the short script I finished writing this morning.
Yeah, I wrote a script in a week. I wish writing was always this easy.
Thankfully, it’s summer vacation, so I have lots of time to write. Though it’s not a full-length script likeFerris Bueller’s Day Offor anything. John Hughes wrote that story in a week because there was a writer’s strike scheduled, and a director friend told him that if he finished a screenplay by the time the strike started, they’d film it. I wish I had such connections.
I guess knowing Charlie is pretty cool. Just not Ferris Bueller cool.
My gaze wanders up the white wall to Charlie’s collection of black-and-white photos from classic movies as I try to remember what kind of shoes Ferris Bueller wore. I’ve already got the seven characters needed to tell my story, and they seem to fit together pretty nicely, but I’m nevernotlooking to improve my work.
Kai joins me in the entryway, hands in pockets, keys jingling. He’s wearing Nikes today too, which is something I normally only see him in when we go to boot camp class together at the gym. I assume he used to wear running shoes more often when he was a college athlete, but these days he dresses like a surfer.
“What kind of shoes did Ferris Bueller wear?” I ask.
“Stop it.”
I narrow my eyes at his weird response.
“Stop changing the script. You know we have to track down all these shoes before filming, right?”
He has a point. But … “There’s still time.”
Charlie charges past and opens the door while checking his watch. “Actually, there’s not much time. We’re going to be late if we don’t go now.”
Kai strolls after him into the blinding sunshine. “We were waiting for you, Charlie.”
“I didn’t realize you were waiting. It sounded like you were chatting.”
“In the entryway?” Kai clicks the key fob, unlocking his girlfriend’s green Jeep that he takes care of while she’s overseas.
I follow them outside and lock our front door. “We were trying to remember what kind of shoes Ferris Bueller wears.”
Charlie opens the passenger door to ride shotgun. Usually we let him drive, but today’s weather is too nice not to enjoy by taking the top off Meri’s Wrangler. “He wears white dress shoes with black laces.”
Kai grimaces. “Ew.”
I’m still trying to remember. I remember the sweater vest, which is alsoew.
Charlie folds his seat forward. “Get in, Gem,” he says, and I realize I’m just standing there.
Kai groans. “You shouldn’t have told her what shoes Ferris wears. Now she’s going to change our script again.”
“What?” Charlie turns on me. “Ferris won’t work in the script. While someone might want his shoes, he’s not going to be jealous of anybody else’s. The guy doesn’t have an envious bone in his body.”
“True.” That was more his sister’s thing. I bite my lip. “What kind of shoes did Jennifer Grey’s character wear?”
