Page 24 of The Luminaries
This is not what Winnie was expecting, and nowhere in all the chaos does she see the one person she needs. She stops at the edge of the parking lot, beside a pothole that has grown like tree rings for the past decade.
Then Dante spots her and elbows Casey, who in turn knocks on the gas station window. Next thing Winnie knows, silence descends and everyone turns to face her.
She swallows. Dante’s lips part, andnowis when time finally slows and her life flashes before her eyes. It’s one thing to sit in homeroom and be the butt of the jokes. It’s another to be faced with every popular Luminary in Hemlock Falls while they rake their collective gazes across her. She should have worn the leather jacket, dammit. And why didn’t she put her hair in a sensible bun instead of letting each miserable hank soak up the rain?
Her fingers squeeze around the brakes, pulsing the tires in time to her clicking front teeth.Never run from a banshee,her brain provides uselessly, followed byVampira hordes are never to be faced alone.
Then a familiar voice chirps, “Winnie!” and suddenly Emma Wednesday is skipping out of the garage with a grin so bright it could make a rainbow.
And it’s like some cork has been popped, releasing all the churned-up carbonation. Suddenly the air changes and everyone is saying Winnie’s name. It’s like last night after the trial, but a thousand times more overwhelming because it’s more people and all the cool ones too and now Dante is chantingbanshee slayer, banshee slayerin his Italian accent.
Winnie doesn’t know what to say, not that anyone actually seems to want her to speak. They might shout, “Tell us how you did it!” but then someone else answers and she’s just left gaping at the people closing in around her.
This is almost as bad as the mist.
Until she sees Jay. He is coming out of the garage now, and thoughhis expression is as buttoned-up as his blue flannel, Winnie recognizes a caged animal when she sees one. He doesn’t like that these people have invaded his spot. He knows that Winnie is to blame for it.
He wipes his hands on a greasy towel as he strides toward her. People move out of his way, not because he tells them to or because they even seem to notice him, but because he just has that effect on people. An unconscious force field that pushes humans aside.
Then he’s standing before Winnie, still wiping his hands, and he says, “You’re late.”
“I’m… what?” She squeezes the bike brakes again, and he repeats, “You’re late.” This time, he beckons for her to follow and turns around.
Where he immediately careens into Bretta along with Katie Tuesday. “You’re giving a ride to Winnie?” Bretta asks, offering a half pout, half smile that makes only one dimple form. It’s intriguing, and every other person in the vicinity seems to melt at the sight of it.
Not Jay, though. He just goes, “Yep,” and strides right past. Then in a louder voice, “Come on, Win. I don’t have all day.”
Winnie has no idea what he’s talking about. However, since heisthe person she came here to see and walking with him means escaping all these people, she rolls her bike around the pothole and follows him toward the back of the garage.
“We’ll see you when you’re done?” Katie trills after him, and pity spikes through Winnie’s gut. All these adoring fans, and he scarcely recognizes their existence. It spikes a second time when Jay grunts noncommittally as he rounds the garage corner and disappears.
She flashes an apologetic face at Bretta and Katie. Then at everyone else, who, thank the forest, seems to have forgotten her.
Her bike clickity-clicks, and in seconds she’s behind the garage, where an old Wagoneer awaits.
“Mathilda!” she exclaims. She hasn’t seen the navy beast in years. It looked rough back when Jay’s aunt drove it. It looks a lot rougher now. “I can’t believe she still runs.”
“Define ‘run,’” Jay says as he opens the trunk with a clang. “If you mean she gets me where I need to go while my bike is broken, then yes. She runs.” He grabs the greasy rag from his pocket and wipes his hands again. Then he reaches for Winnie’s handlebars.
She scoots back. “What are you doing?”
He frowns, the barest pinch across his brow. “I thought it was clear.” He nods his head toward the front of the garage. “I’m giving you a ride.”
“A ride to where?”
“Literally anywhere that isn’t here, Winnie Wednesday.” He reaches again.
And Winnie scoots again. “I’m not getting into a car with a strange man.”
This startles a laugh from him. Or the closest to a laugh that Jay ever makes: a soft cough while his left eyebrow lifts. “I am not a strange man. You’ve known me since you were five.”
“I’ve known a lot of people since I was five, and a lot of them turned out strange.” Winnie regrets this declaration as soon as it leaves her mouth, because even though Jay doesn’t mention her dad, she can practically hear the thought crossing his mind.
It certainly crosses hers.
He sighs. “Look, Win. You obviously came to Gunther’s for a reason. And since you don’t need gasoline and can’t buy liquor, I’m going to assume you’re here to see me.”
She doesn’t contradict him, and when he grabs for her handlebars a third time, she doesn’t pull away. There’s still a streak of grease on the back of his right hand. “I need a favor,” she says as he tries to pry her fingers loose. “If you agree to said favor, I will get into Mathilda with you.”
