Page 15 of The Wrong Side of Kai
I stare at him. Is he kidding? “I mean, not that hard. . . but why do we need to get inside? Can’t we just throw eggs at the windows or something?”
“Too easy,” Kai says, placing the pen between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully. “We need to steal some of his stuff. Like sentimental stuff that can’t be replaced.”
An uneasy feeling bubbles inside of me. Is it too harsh, too cruel, to do this to Harrison. . .? But then I remember that he didn’t care when he shared that video. He didn’t care that it would hurt me. He didn’t care what it would do to me. I have too much anger inside of me that needs to be released somehow – and this is how I’m going to do it.
“His parents are super strict. He and his dad grab dinner at Bob Evans every Wednesday,” I blurt. It’s about the only personal detail I know about Harrison’s life away from school, and the only reason I know this tidbit of information is because we never met up on Wednesdays.
“Write this down,” Kai urges, pushing the notepad across the table. He hands me his chewed-up pen, which I reluctantly take. “Anything you know that could give us opportunities. Anything that we could use against him. Like, does he still sleep with a stuffed bear? That kinda stuff.”
Istill sleep with a stuffed bear, so I hunch over the table and write down exactly what I just said: that Harrison’s parents are your typical wealthy folks, and that every Wednesday he and his dad go for dinner together. I also write down that he has an older sister in college and a younger brother in freshman year, and I’m pretty sure he once mentioned a Chihuahua, but I clarify on the notepad that I don’t want to drag the Boyd family pet into this war. I also write that Harrison has football practice most days after school, loves his truck to death, and hangs around almost exclusively with Noah Diaz and Anthony Vincent. As I write, I realize that it hurts justthinkingabout Harrison right now.
When I’m done, I sheepishly hand the notepad back over for Kai to study. He nods a couple times then rises to his feet. “We can add more to the list as and when we think of ideas. First things first, it’s time for action. Let’s go slash some tires.”
There it goes again: that knot in my stomach, the feeling of guilt and dread. It’s all fun and gamesplanningto mess with Harrison. But actually going ahead with it? I didn’t exactly imagine we would, and especially not tonight. Is this the kind of stuff Kai always does for kicks? I stand up from the table, but my balance feels off.
“You got a car?” Kai asks, shoving the notepad into the pocket of his jeans and placing the pen back behind his ear.
Oh, Lord, please, please, please don’t makeme admit that I own the Green McRusty.“Don’t you?”
“Nope,” he says, smiling. “Biked here, and unless you want to ride on my handlebars, then I’m relying on you to provide our battle vehicle.”
“Fine,” I mutter, already feeling my cheeks heat with the incoming embarrassment. I turn for the door and say over my shoulder, “But please don’t judge.”
“Nessie, didn’t I already tell you that Captain Washington doesn’t judge?” he says as he keeps up with my pace, teasingly nudging me with his elbow. I shoot him a sideways look, but I still don’t understand his playful expression. Where did this guy even come from, other than out of absolutely freakin’ nowhere? And he still hasn’t told me – why does he hate Harrison Boyd?
Apprehensive, I point a finger and mutter, “It’s the green SUV over there.” Why the hell don’t I have my own car yet? I make a mental note to prioritize my hunt for a vehicle that isn’t a total embarrassment.
I steal a glance at Kai, but he’s staring silently at the SUV as though he’s waiting for me to tell him I’m kidding. When I don’t say anything at all, he thoughtfully rubs his chin. “How do you expect us to lay low if our battle vehicle is a green SUV that rolled off the production line when Reagan was in the White House? I have a spare bike in my garage. You can use that.”
I snort. I haven’t ridden a bike since I was, like, twelve and the thought of me whirling across Westerville on two wheels is laughable. “You want us to ride around on bikes?”
“Yep. Why not? More discreet than a car, can dump them anywhere, and they make for a fast getaway because we can ignore all the traffic lights.” Kai walks off to grab the bike that’s propped up against the building. I didn’t notice it when I first arrived. He carries the bike over in one hand and looks at me expectantly. “Well? Unlock the Hulk and let’s get going.”
“It’s actually called the Green McRusty,” I tell him, but instantly I wish I could shove all those words back in. Why did I even say that? Way to embarrass myself by openly admitting that I have a lame nickname for an even lamer car. “Get in.” I unlock the door and climb in behind the wheel while Kai shoves his bike into the back seat, muddy wheels and all, but I honestly don’t even care.
“I think we’re going to make a great team,” Kai announces as he slides into the passenger seat next to me. Buckles up, gets comfortable.
I study him out of the corner of my eye. “And why do you think that?”
“Because you’re someone who has a nickname for their car, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I like nicknames. That tells me everything I need to know. You’re a fun person to be around.” Kai’s mouth twitches into a smile as he looks at me, and his voice is smooth and sweet, just like honey.
An unfamiliar shyness creeps through me – mostly because when guys say that I’m fun, they mean that I’m fun in the bedroom, and not fun because I refer to my dad’s car as “The Green McRusty.” It’s such a tiny thing for Kai to point out, but it lets me know that perhaps he sees beyond my reputation. My thoughts on Kai were pretty touch-and-go until this second – I couldn’t decide if he was some obnoxious football player, or a troublemaker, or a straight-up weirdo. Now I’m thinking he’s actually not that bad.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” he says. “Parkland. Drive there.”
I do as I’m directed and put the car in drive, peeling out of the library parking lot and onto our main street. Uptown Westerville isn’t an expansive area littered with endless stores. It doesn’t need to be. It’s the damn suburbs. Couple stores here and there, a few restaurants dotted along the way. Within minutes, we’re already crossing through residential neighborhoods toward Parkland. It’s not too far from my own house. In fact, I realize that it’s a ten-minute drive between Kai’s neighborhood and mine. It sometimes blows my mind that you hardly know any of the people who live around you, even in a small community like ours. How have I grown up in Westerville my entire life with Kai living ten minutes away and never having met him until now? Circumstances, that’s why. Circumstances determined that we wouldn’t meet until that party, and then circumstances brought us together again in our school office, and now here we are, creeping around town late at night in a crappy SUV together. I’m used to sneaking around late with guys, but not quite like this.
“I hope you know how to ride a bike,” Kai says, eyeing me dubiously. Do I seriously look like I can’t ride a bike? But before I can shoot him a snarky reply, he sits forward and points out the windshield. “That house up there. With the pumpkin mailbox.”
I give him a weird look, but he isn’t kidding. It reallyisthe house with a mailbox disguised as a pumpkin. The house with the skeletons in the yard. The ghosts hanging from the drainpipes. The clown sitting on the porch. I’m almost too scared to drive any closer, but reluctantly I pull up outside the freaky-ass house and cut the engine, unable to tear my eyes away from the decorations. “Wasn’t Halloween two weeks ago?”
“We’re not here to talk about that,” Kai says gruffly, and gets out the car. He yanks his bike out from the backseat while I walk around to join him. Despite his words, he goes on to explain, “It’s for my little brother. He absolutely loves Halloween. So my parents keep the decorations up until Thanksgiving when we replace the pumpkin mailbox with a turkey mailbox. And I seriously wish I was kidding.”
“They’re weird, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.” He shakes his head, his expression dismayed. “I told them to at least get a clown that looked like Pennywise. And to put it on the lawn near the gutter.”
“I meant younger siblings.”
