The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,29

if I drift-rolled while pissing in the urinal? I’d gone ice-skating only one time in eighth grade, and I fell on my ass so hard I cried. (In my defense, I legit bruised my tailbone…and for a week I needed to use a special cushion meant for people with hemorrhoids.) My stomach churned, thinking of all the humiliating possibilities.

Jaxon fidgeted with the temperature settings. “Rich people do dumb shit with their money. Especially when they have too much of it,” he muttered, pulling his car into the crowded Skateway parking lot. There were open spaces from all these rich kids trying to park their fancy cars and leaving a space in between. The luxury car drivers preferred to find spots far away from cars like Jaxon’s (a newish black Accord, with a small dent on the bumper). One Range Rover driver took one look at Jaxon’s car, then parked down at the far end of our row instead. Away from the riffraff. Same thing happened in the Clyde Hill school parking lot. We were used to it, sadly. Even if we passed as typical, privileged prep school kids, our cars were a dead giveaway, screaming skid to anyone who knew the approximate CarMax value of a midrange Honda.

Zach pleaded to Jaxon, “Please don’t throw coins at anyone today.” You’d think he wouldn’t have to preface our night out by saying that. And it was the only thing he had said the entire time. He rubbed the top of his head, back and forth, back and forth, his telltale sign he was on the verge of freaking out.

“Okay, grandmas,” Jaxon huffed as he locked our doors with a beep. “I promise, no parking lot altercations.”

“If this sucks, can we leave and go play laser tag?” I asked. “Or go to the arcade?”

“Okay, but Annie said she might meet us here.” He smirked, checking his messages on his phone. “She dumped her boyfriend last weekend. Maybe you can finally grow some balls and ask her out, Natey. Right, Zach? Tell him.”

Zach wrinkled his nose. “Annie’s not his type.”

“Of course she’s his type. She’s breathing,” he laughed, shrinking away from me.

Predictably, I punched his arm, hard.

Jaxon rubbed his bicep. “O Seriously, though, Annie is everyone’s type.” He was right about that. With her bright blue eyes, melty smile, and blond, naturally highlighted (highlit?) hair, Annie gave off more of an aloof, California vibe than a Seattle one. Guys were always asking me about her, whether she had a boyfriend, or a homecoming or prom date, like I was her gatekeeper. None of them knew her at all. What she liked. What she hated. They just knew her as a pretty face. And sure, she had that, but she was smart and nice too. Jaxon, Zach, and I were a little protective, but even we couldn’t stop her from dating some real losers. She never ever went for the archetypical Mr. Right. She always preferred Mr. Absolute Worst Dude Ever.

In the off chance some cute girls might show up, I’d put on a never-worn, forest-green Gap button-down shirt I’d gotten for Christmas, the color of those green army-men toys. But because I hadn’t washed it first, the creases were all still there from the in-store folding. Even worse, I also didn’t have time to cut off the label, so the back of my neck itched like crazy. On the car ride, I’d scratched it like an anxious dog with fleas. Why did shirts even have these stupid labels? The smarter companies had that info screen-printed on the inside. Mental note: boycott Gap. Terrible labels.

“Nice sticker,” Jaxon laughed, pointing at the long transparent sticky label that ran down vertically near my belly button.

L

L

L

L

L

Yet another stupid thing they put on shirts, the sticker size advertisement. I ripped it off and stuffed it in the pocket of my cargo pants.

Jaxon scoffed. “You’re a large? Aren’t you more medium than large? You’re like, lardium.”

“Fuck you, J,” is all I managed to say, playing mad when all I wanted to do was bust up laughing.

Lardium.

“I’m just messing with you,” Jaxon laugh-coughed. “We’re skidders for life. We