for some fight.”
“So, now you’re hanging out with them?” I ask, shocked, because I know Gabrielle and Harrison have been assholes to Kiki and Truth.
“Fuck no. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer kind of deal.”
He hits a few more buttons.
“And you gotta message your uncle that his daughter is going to pick you up because you’ve been drinking, so she doesn’t get into some trouble. Fucking JT was supposed to be on this tonight. Last-minute decision to head to the city. Legit texted me after I’d been drinking. Thought they’d be chill tonight.
“And send.” He rolls his neck like he’s getting ready to go into a fight then rubs his hand over his face. “Now, where the hell are you two?” he asks, looking over his screen.
“Do you have them tracked or something?”
He lifts a shoulder. “We all have each other on this thing. That way, if we need something, we know who to call who’s closest.”
“That’s just wrong, you know.”
“Nothing wrong with being safe.” He nods once. “Bingo. It’s T and Brisa, and they’re … not together. Brisa’s by the ocean.”
“I heard Tobias has a place there.”
“You wanna get us there? Because she’s fifteen, and he’s about to be half dead and wishing he was all the way fucking dead.”
“I don’t know if I—”
“I may have given you a head trip before all this, but forget everything I said. I know where I stand. We’re buds, so be a bud, Savvy. I won’t ask for anything like this again.”
I put my seat belt on. “Could you buckle?”
“Yeah,” he says, trying to call one of them. He gets no answer. He’s worried.
Pulling out on the road, I tell him, “I don’t think Tobias would have called you if he had any ill intentions.”
“Thanks, but I’m gonna have to see that for myself.”
“Of course.”
He’s being short. He’s being cold. I hurt him.
He’s looking out the window, rubbing his head.
“You okay?”
“Will be.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“Good, because I …” I stop when the phone rings, and he taps accept.
“What in the hell have you two gotten yourselves into?” he asks almost playfully, yet there is still a hardness to his tone.
“Hey, Patrick, we found the keys. No need to come get us.”
He whispers to me, “Turn around.”
To them, he says, “Good fucking thing. I’m fucked up, and Savannah here doesn’t wanna drive my Jeep.”
I never said that.
One of them laughs. “Text us your address, and we’ll come get you.”
“Sweet,” he says then ends the call.
“What’s the address there so I can message them?”
“I never said I wouldn’t drive you.”
“Savvy, you didn’t have to. No big deal. They got me.”
“I know you probably don’t believe this, but so do I, Patrick.” I pull over and throw his Jeep in park. “We both have a lot going on right now and—”
“I get that. Could you just get us back to the dorms so I can give them the address?”
“Patrick.”
“Savvy, it’s cool.”
“I don’t want you to think that I’m using you for—”
“Come on, Savvy; don’t, just let it go. I don’t need an in-my-face reminder of how fucking stupid the shit I’ve been doing is. Let this thing fade off, and leave me with some dignity.”
“That’s not even a little bit fair,” I tell him, fighting the breakdown that I feel coming on.
The phone rings, and he hits accept.
“What’s up, girl?”
“Hey, Tricks.”
“B, everything chill?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’ll be there in a couple minutes. Truth just got an invite from The Sound.”
“Tell her, fuck them. I found a bunch of chill people to hang with at the dorms.”
“You’re on speaker.” Brisa laughs. “She heard you.”
“Well, come on and get me. I messaged Uncle Cyrus and—”
“We know,” one of the girls—I think it’s Truth—tells him.
“Did I tell you when you come get me, I’m gonna call him and ask if he minds us going to an early breakfast so we have a couple hours more?” he asks, looking out the window and away from me.
“Sounds like fun, but Brisa is driving and—”
“You drunken tonight, T?” he says, and I realize he’s more fucked up than I thought.
“Clearly, you’re drunken more than me.” She laughs at his mistake.
“We’ll be there in a few, mmm’kay?” Brisa asks.
He looks at me. “Cool. Savvy and I’ll chill.”
“Cool,” they both say then hang up.
He’s no longer being short, or cold, or hurt. He’s pissed.
“Until we talk this through, would you—”
“Let. It. Go.”
“I don’t wanna let it go!”
He swings a very angry glare at me.
“I’m not like other girls you’ve—”
“I’m well