Page 11 of Tulips and Lost Time

“Let’s go already!” Britt sets her hands on her head, her black hair a magnet for the summer sun. “Show us the Luca Special, then take us to Dixie’s. I want ice cream.”

“Yeah!” Laine’s eyes widen with hunger. “I want to go to Dixie’s, too.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Luca.” Kari sets her foot on the edge of the halfpipe and inches closer. It’s not like she knows what the Luca Classic is. Shit, three minutes ago, it didn’t even exist. But she has a brain in her head and more common sense than the other three combined. Her eyes glitter with concern. And warning. Challenge.

Because she has fire beneath the silence she shows her brother.

“No one is filming you, Luca. Hurting yourself for laughs isn’t smart.”

“Really, though? Laughter is good for us.” I send up my prayers and lift my bracing foot from the edge of the coping. And of course, my shitty placement and off-balance footing has the board sprinting away, one leg stretching one way, and the other, another. My stomach drops out my ass, then gravity takes hold and cruelly slams me to the concrete.

I pound the ground with the weight of a one-ton anvil sitting on my shoulders, the back of my head rapping against the ground and the oxygen in my lungs, vacating like, dickhead, you don’t need it anyway!

The twins squeal out in delight as I roll down the pipe, a lifeless sack of potatoes as my limbs fold, one over the other. My board skitters away, taking its own journey to wherever, while an unimpressed Sam, Marcus, and Angelo stand over me. Their arms folded. Their faces, matching.

Triple the scowls.

Triple the flattened lips.

But my pain is worth it, because Britt, Laine, and Jess cackle, leaning on each other as they laugh and heave for fresh air.

Best of all, Kari smirks. It’s just a small upturn of her lips, and when our gazes meet, a roll of her eyes. She’s mature beyond her years, and the good old Tom and Jerry humor left her long ago. But when my board rolls back down the pipe, slamming into the base of my spine and reignites the other girls’ glee, Kari’s smile grows fractionally larger.

“That,” I wheeze, reaching around and rubbing my back, “is the Luca Classic.”

“You’re so dumb.” Sam grabs my hand and yanks me to my feet. He keeps hold of me as I sway and search for balance. His laughter, muted, but existent. Then he slaps my back and pretends it’s to dislodge the dust from my shirt. “Class clowns rarely turn out to be president, Lenaghan.”

“I don’t wanna be president anyway.” I rub my backside and limp across the pipe, bending to pick up my board before it thinks I don’t love it anymore. “I wanna be drummer for the Foo Fighters.”

“Foo already have a drummer,” Angelo chides. “And he’s better than you.”

“Then I wanna be drummer for our band. Which,” I hug the board to my chest and turn back to my friends. My family. “Still needs a name. We got a gig coming up soon, and we still don’t have a name for people to talk about.”

“We don’t need a name.” Sam jogs across the width of the pipe and swoops down to scoop up his board, then he turns back, but looks down at the pile of skates that’ve been dumped. “You girls need to pick these up. We’re not carrying them all back for you today.”

“But they’re too heavy,” Jess complains. From laughter to whining, she looks across at me like she thinks I’ll save the day. “It’s too hot, and we have such a long way to walk. We can’t carry them, too.”

“I’ll carry yours, Kari.” Marc snags the purple pair my sisters gifted her last summer, tying the laces together to create a handle that he can swing over his shoulder. Then he strides across and grabs a backpack filled with half-empty water bottles and the trash left behind after we ate the sandwiches and snacks Mrs. Turner packed for our day in the sun. He loads himself up—skates, skateboard, bag—then he turns back and extends his hand for the book she holds, too.

Because Kari is a protected species, and there’s no one on this planet, nothing, that could get between Marcus Macchio and the duty he has declared for himself as far as his sister is concerned.

“Fine.” My ass still smarts, and now I have a mystery ache in the depths of my left elbow. But I follow Marc’s lead and tie the laces on the skates so I can carry the damn things and my sisters can remain the passenger princesses they’ve decided they get to be. I set my board on the ground and roll my eyes, because Jess and Laine know exactly how to get their own way. Jess sits on the very front of the board, folding her long legs up into an impossible pretzel and taking up as little space as possible, then Laine follows, piggybacking her twin so I have two, tiny blondes sitting on a single board and a backache pending.

“Here.” Angelo takes the twins’ skates and slings them over his shoulder. “Since you gotta push.”

“I don’t know why we bring you out here,” I grumble, bending at Laine’s back and using her shoulders as handles. Then I push across the smooth concrete and onto the hard-packed dirt so my friends and I create a convoy of high schoolers and their little sisters.

Well. Except Ang… he doesn’t have any sisters.

“It’s not cool for us to hang out with little kids, ya know?” I give Laine’s shoulder a teasing squeeze until she squeals. “I could be hanging out with Sassy St James right now.”

“Sassy St James is nasty,” Kari mumbles, drawing a lifted brow of surprise from Marcus as he holds her hand and helps her onto his board. He only has the one freeloader, so Kari gets to stand and take a free ride while Marcus makes gentle, subtle adjustments with his foot. “Sassy’s always coming over to our side of the school to pick on Maybel.”

Stunned, my nose wrinkles in confusion. “Who the hell is Maybel? And who names their kid Maybel anyway?”

“She’s really nice,” Kari shrugs. “And shy. She’s two years younger than Sassy, and Sassy is a giant jerk who could only win a fight against someone smaller than her.”

“Tell us how you really feel,” Marcus chuckles. “Anyone else at school bothering you? Because we could slide on over to your side and take care of things.”

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