I fish for my phone and hit dial. It rings straight to voicemail.Asshole.I’m pretty sure Emil knew how this was going to play out—he’s probably blocked me already.
“¡Pequeña comadreja sucia! You better call your dog off—I mean it.”
I hang up and jab a finger in Esteban’s smug, handsome face.
“Get outta here.”
“I love when you talk to me like that.”
“Now.”
“I’ve got half a dozen oil changes to get through—Ronny’s counting on me.”
He gives me the world’s fakest helpless shrug, and I spin on my heel, stomping back down the stairs, cussing under my breath, hitting dial on a second number. By the time the beep sounds out on Lewis’s voicemail recording, I’ve got no idea why I even called him in the first place.
“Hey, Lewis. I… just… Call me back.”
I know his life is insane right now, but I need to see him as soon as possible. That was part of our deal, and with Esteban rocking up to Sycamore Heights like this, things have never felt more urgent. I wait.And I wait. I wait all evening long, with no word from Lewis, and I’m guessing he must be busy with practice.
Except the same thing happens the next day.
And the next.
THE DAYS SEGUE BY, ANDmy Campus Driver has officially ghosted me. Esteban, on the other hand, is everywhere I look, and each time he tries to spark up a conversation with me, I shake him off. I don’t want him here, and I plan on doing everything in my power to get his ass carted back to Brooklyn. No matter how I have to do it. That’s the plan, anyway—but two weeks later, and Esteban is still right here.
Great.Not only do I have an ex hanging around like a bad smell, but Lewis has gone MIA. Hesworehe’d be there whenever I needed to let off steam, but he’s just ditched my ass and left me to deal with my feelings alone. I don’t understand what’s going on, but there’s no way I’m double texting. Instead, I thank my lucky stars that he got me that track pass. It’s fun, I guess—and it definitely goes some way to helping me unwind, even if it doesn’t exactly hit the same as a drag race. I’m holding on, though.
In a way, it should feel good. This is the new me—in control of my actions, independent of anybody else. But the truth is, I miss my trainer, and it’s dragging me down. Things were starting to look up for me, but as one day turns into two turns into a week turns into three weeks, I feel like lighting a match under it all.
23LEWIS
It’s been three weeks since I saw Amy Hitman. All it took was a single mess-up—that one time I rolled up to the scrimmage game late was enough to make me want to do better, and so I’ve been throwing myself into practice, putting basketball back where it belongs—at the top of my priority list.
I should be feeling pretty happy with myself—I’m doing what I set out to achieve, after all. But it’s like I’m under more pressure than ever before. There’s something niggling at the back of my mind, and I can’t figure out what’s bothering me. It’s starting to affect my play, too—making me touchy and moody, upping my foul count. Donovan and his dad keep trying to talk me down, but that’s not helping me get any closer to the root of the problem.
Amy tried calling me once. She didn’t try again. It took everything I had not to just pick up that phone and hit her number, and it took even more self-control not to jump in my car and go find her. It’s insane, when I really think about it. I can’t put my finger on the exact moment she became central to keeping me on track, but that’s what I’m dealing with.
The past few days, I’ve felt myself brushing up against my limits, like I could snap at any given moment. And more important still, Ineed to get back to thinking about the Campus Drivers—I’ve been neglecting my mentoring, and I need to remember that Firebird is first and foremost my mentee. I’m pretty confident the past three weeks have been the palate cleanser I needed, which is why I decided to get back in touch with her this morning.Definitely no ulterior motive.
I spent way too long freaking out ahead of our meetup—running through all my new resolutions, and stuff—and the result is I’m already ten minutes late.
It doesn’t take me long to spot her Pontiac in the parking lot, and when I catch sight of her standing there next to it, my decision to cool off suddenly strikes me as batshit.Back in the woods that day… All you had to do was keep an eye on the time.Just seeing her makes my heart race, the same whirlwind of feelings that hits every time we get together.Shit. I already want her so bad. Deep down, I know I have enough self-control to not let things slip this time. I need to rein it in. Enjoy myself, sure—but keep a lid on it, too. And since Amy feels the same, this shouldn’t be too hard.
A sense of calm washes over me, and I’m just about to flash her a grin when I spot the guy she’s with. My smile fades. Some dude is leaning there against the hood; his arms crossed over his chest as they talk. Seems like a pretty intense conversation, and I’m hating the way he’s looking at her like he owns her.Who is this asshole?
I speed up and pull in alongside them.
Amy turns to me, watching me for a few seconds, the thrumming of my engine muffling her words. The guy shoots me a dirty look, and though his mouth moves, I can’t make out what he’s saying. He leans into her and whispers something in her ear before striding away, and she just stands there staring after him until he disappears out of sight.
She heads over to join me, her jaw clenched.
“Who was that?” The words tumble out, and I wince at how pissy I sound.
She fastens her seat belt, her eyes ice-cold. “Great to see you, too, Conley.”
I pause for a moment. “So? Who is that guy?”
“?‘Oh my God, Amy! It’s beensolong—how you been?ReallysorryI’m late!’?” She glares at me.
