Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,32

way back over to Ford. My stomach sinks. He’s not alone anymore.

Awesome. Anna, one of the ho-bags of the century, is writing something on his hand and leaning into him all seductive. Then she walks off, in search of someone else to flirt with.

I bristle on the inside but wear an I couldn’t care less look. “Hey, Ford. Having fun?”

“Yeah, I am. As a matter of fact, that hot mama gave me her number.”

I snort. She’d give anybody that, and a lot more. “Cool.”

Ford reaches over and takes Damien’s hat off my head. “What’s up with wearing a brodaddy hat?”

“Nothing.” I swipe at it, but he holds it away from me.

“Then I guess you won’t mind if I do this.” He places it on the head of a passing drunk girl. “It’s really not your style.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not.”

He says, “What’s the problem?”

Inwardly fuming, I check my watch. “Nothing. I don’t know. I’ve gotta be home soon.”

“Oh yeah,” Ford says, “I forgot you turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

We walk back to the truck in awkward silence, with me biting off the urge to correct him on the fact that the carriage turns into a pumpkin and the coachman turns into a rat. When we reach Esmerelda, Ford unlocks the door and walks around to his side. No gallantries this time. I guess it’s up to me to rip the door open. I do, and end up flinging myself into the car parked next to us.

Ford plays it off, saying, “Oh sorry. I forgot. My bad.”

I nod and say, “No big deal.”

This is so stupid. Normally we’d laugh if something like this happened, and then we’d hop in his truck and blast out of here before someone griped about their precious paint job. I stare at the moon for a while, trying not to be the one who breaks the silence. But the thought of Ford and Anna mak k anob.es me cringe.

I say, “So you got Anna’s number.”

Ford drums on the steering wheel. “Yep. She’s pretty cute too. I might give her a call.”

That shreds my last semblance of patience. I completely make something up. “I don’t know. I heard she’s in a love triangle or something.” Anna is always playing multiple guys; it can’t be too far from the truth. Only thing is, I don’t know who the current tools are.

“I don’t know,” Ford says. “I might call her anyway. She’s not too into it if she’s giving me her number. Besides, I like squares.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Did she say anything to you about me?”

I would have clawed her face. “Don’t get all cocky. It’s unattractive.”

“I can’t help it if the ladies like me. Some people have good taste.”

It’s like he can’t leave it alone. I roll my eyes and look out the window.

twelve

torta: in Mexico, a sandwich served

on white crusty bread (a bolillo)

and usually centered around a meat

After the Bonfire from Hell gone wrong, I didn’t even need my alarm this morning. I’m ready to get to work. To take my mind far away from the beach and douche bag Damien and whether or not that tool will ruin my future career. To be with people who are who they are. To have fun with Brianna and Hop.

Ma set out a bag of tortas to share at the office. Score.

After grabbing Teresa a chai tea at Lola’s Coffee, I pull into the parking garage fifteen minutes early. That’s how pathetic my summer has become. Or maybe how crazy guarding Grace has driven me.

I take the stairs and notice again how posh everything in this building is: the glass staircase, the stone walls, the fountains, the grass planters everywhere. The modern way of saying, “Do business with us. We’re hip, calm, successful.”

I think about the office Jorge spent hours and hours waiting in. The one with drab walls, long lines of plastic chairs, and more people than seats. The pro bono lawyer who helped illegal immigrants wade through paperwork. Go through the right channels. The dude did his best. But that wasn’t good enough. He didn’t have the resources of a firm with rich clients. He didn’t have a lot. The one thing he had was a good heart.

I didn’t even get to say good-bye. I should have taken Jorge in—should have let him hide out at my house. But I didn’t. I didn’t know. And then he got caught in the crossfire b nnetween local police and drug runners. One of the big reasons his