A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(38)

"It makes perfect sense," he says, returning his gaze to the front as he  sucks in his bottom lip. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't.

Before we pull up in front of my house, I drag my things into my lap,  hugging them to my body. My roots were destroyed years ago. My father's  car is gone, which means tonight he's returned to old habits. I'll be at  work, so I close my eyes and wish for him not to call me while I'm at  work. I make a mental note to turn my phone on silent mode.

"He's going to call you, isn't he?" Wes asks, already versed in my routine.

I shrug as I open the door of his truck.

"I never know for sure," I say, looking over my shoulder to the empty  driveway and open garage, the only things inside-our lawnmower and my  broken bike. "But yeah … " I sigh heavily. "Probably."

When I turn back to him, as my hand holds onto the edge of his passenger  door, I notice his eyes on the deep-purple bruise on the inside of my  wrist. I twist it, but not quickly enough.

"Is that from the pier?" Wes asks, his eyes unable to leave my arm. I roll the cuff of my sleeve down to cover it more.

"No," I say, knowing he doesn't believe me. I give him more details than  I want to just to make sure he knows the truth. I don't want him to  think he failed me. He's the only boy who never has. "My dad … he passed  out getting out of his chair a couple nights ago, and I didn't get there  in time to catch his drink before it fell. It was a mess, and I  couldn't leave him there. I had to carry him to his room, but he's  heavy, and we fell. So … "

Wes looks to his steering wheel again, nodding once, his lips pursed. He  knows the scene. He's watched it, or at least enough of it.

"Call me … if he needs help; if you need help? Call me. I'll come," he says.

I chuckle quietly to myself and look down at my feet as I swing my bag  over my shoulder, pulling my hair out from the strap underneath.

"I thought you weren't my hero," I smirk. Wes's face remains serious.

"You shouldn't have to deal with that on your own," he says.

"Yeah, well … you can't save me from everything, Wesley Stokes," I say, my  arms stretched out to my sides as I let them fall against my hips.  "Besides, he'll find his way home if I don't answer the call. He always  does. Hey … thanks for the ride."         

     



 

"It was my pleasure," he says, a small dimple on his cheek. "I'm gonna have to step up my game after seeing your assignment."

"Who says it's a competition?" I say, my head angled as I look at him.

"Oh Joss," he chuckles, shifting his gear to drive before looking at me. "With you? It's always a competition."

I flip his door shut and step back, smiling and blushing a little too.  He shakes his head with the laugh I can't hear as he pulls away finally,  and I wait at the end of my driveway for a few extra seconds, hopeful  that he'll turn around and come back.

Wes stays gone, though, so I move toward my house. Dropping my bag on  the floor of my room, I fall onto my bed. I sit up after a few minutes  and reach for my bag, slipping my hand inside and pulling the crinkled  thank you card I stuffed in there days ago. I smile looking at it,  running my fingertips lightly over my childish handwriting. Maybe he's  not him, but he's like him.

I breathe in deeply and kneel down to slide the small box from under my  dresser, tucking the card back inside, then I lift the plastic bag I  picked up yesterday from Jungle Gym with my new uniform inside. The  pants are black with pockets at the hips and knees. Steven, the manager,  told me they make it easy to carry around extra pieces of  equipment-scissors, tape rolls, and spray bottles of cleaning solution.

I couldn't possibly look less attractive. To make matters worse, my work  shirts all have my name incorrectly spelled over the right pocket-Jose.  I showed Taryn this morning, and she snapped a photo and posted it on  every social media account she owns. Yet one more reason I avoid life  online.

Dressed like a metal-band roadie, I pull my hair back with a purple tie  and twist it a few extra times into a loop to keep my hair off my neck.  It takes me about thirty minutes to walk to Spider's Jungle Gym, so I  search on my phone for bus routes on my way. The route is safe, but it  still isn't fun at night. Tomorrow, I'll try the bus option.

I still get in a few minutes early. It's almost seven-thirty when I  punch in my code on the computer. It takes me a few tries. The screaming  coming from the main play area is constant and deafening. At first, I  dreaded the idea of working here late at night, of closing up the place  and spending hours in the dim lights picking up the remnants of other  families' birthday parties. But now that I'm here for the real thing, I  think I got the good end of the deal.

How bad is it?

Kyle's text makes me smile. He worked this morning, and he smelled like  nacho cheese all day. I gave him a hard time about it, but he told me to  wait and see what I smelled like. I think he's right-fresh cheese wins.

I snap a photo of one of the tables, icing caked along the length, and  some questionable red liquid dried on a few of the booths. I send it to  him and wait for his response.

Is that blood?

I laugh, and type back: No idea, dude. It sure as hell ain't cheese, though.

I catch Steven's eyes on me, his finger tapping his watch. I don't know  him well, but Taryn told me he's strict about breaks and making sure  we're doing what we're supposed to. Another perk to me closing at night.  He won't be here to monitor how long it takes me. I know I'm only paid  for four hours. But I'll work longer for free, taking my time, just to  avoid real life for a while.

I put my phone in my pocket, flipping it to VIBRATE first, then grab the  broom and dustpan from the closet, quickly going to work cleaning the  main eating-area floor. My task feels futile until the gym closes and  children are no longer around to spill Goldfish crackers and rip open  candy wrappers, tossing the plastic on the floor.

The night servers all take care of their tables, so I can focus on the  gym and main common areas, which are somehow in worse shape. Gum is  stuck on the inside of slides, and I've filled a plastic bag with  stuffed animals, socks, and shoes that were left behind. I dump the bag  once in the lost-and-found bin and move toward the ladder to search for  items up high.

"Hey, new girl," one of the guys shouts from the front door. I jog over to where I can see him.

"Yeah?"

"We're locking up. Just wanted to let you know. Go out the back when  you're done, and the door shuts behind you, so don't leave unless  you're, like, totally done. Steven gets pissed if he has to drive back  in to unlock the door," he says.

I salute him and hold up a thumb, then wait as he locks the door with  the key. Funny, he didn't give me the option to call him if I get locked  out? Seems he gets a little pissy about being called back to work too.         

     



 

I lower the blinds and return to my bag, climbing up the giant  tree-house structure to continue collecting belongings and trash. The  music is still on. It's a top-forty station, so it isn't bad. Not my  first choice, but it's better than the kiddie songs that they were  playing in the dining area when I first got here.

My bag is full of things before I'm halfway through the top part of the  gym, so I climb down and return to the lost-and-found, dumping it again.  My pocket buzzes. I pull my phone out, knowing it's too early for it to  be my father.

Need company?

My heart kicks at Wes's text. I look up at the front door, and there's a  shadow behind the blinds, the height just about right. I still flip  them open and look out before unlocking, and when I open the door to let  him in, he commends me for it.

"I was so sure you were going to let in the ax murderer," he chuckles. "I would have bet money on it."

"Yeah, well, this guy I know keeps telling me I need to be safer about things, so … " I say, kicking my foot at him.

"He does," he says, raising one side of his mouth for a short smile.

"How'd you know where this place was?" I ask.

"Kyle told me. He smelled like cheese all day," he laughs. It makes me smile.

I stand with him near the door for a few seconds, wondering why he's  here, but too afraid to ask. He might leave. And now that he's here, I  want him to stay.

"How do you feel about gum?" I ask, one eye closed, my head tilted in question.

"I … uh … I like it?"

"That sounded like a question. You don't sound very committed," I say,  stepping closer to him, my hand holding the putty knife behind my back.

"I love gum. I do. I'm committed. Give me gum or give me death," he jokes.

"Awesome," I say, handing him the blade. "There's a shitload stuck to the side of the top slide, and it's making me gag."

He laughs as he looks at the blade in his hand.

"I asked if you wanted company, Joss. Not if you needed an assistant," he says.