Page 39 of Second First Kiss

Had it worked? Had she just talked her way into a positive outcome?

“Thank you,” Kat said sincerely. “May I speak with Tessa?”

Tessa came back on the line and Kat said, “We’ll talk about this tonight at dinner.”

“I thought you worked at Bigfoot’s tonight.”

Kat scowled. She did work tonight. The happy hour shift, which put her there from five until nine—straight through any kind of conventional family dinnertime.

Think. How could she make this work? How could she work, have a family dinner, and make sure Tessa wasn’t sneaking out instead of remaining at home where her butt was very grounded. The solution shouldn’t be so hard. Single moms did this all the time, and with little ones who weren’t self-sufficient.

“I am. Which is why you and I will have dinner together on my break. As for the rest of my shift, you’ll sit in the restaurant area doing your homework and studying for the SATs. And rather than complaining, you should be thanking me for saving your ass from a suspension.”

“Thank you,” she said, and Kat heard the bell ring in the background. “I gotta go if I’m going to make Chemistry.”

“Make good decisions today,” Kat said. “Oh, and before you go, what skirt could you possibly possess that set off Principal Beekman like that?”

“I don’t. You do. I borrowed it from your closet.”

By the time Kat made it home from her day job, her head was pounding, her feet ached, and her shirt had a smudge of doughnut icing on it. She’d also written out an agenda for tonight’s family meeting.

With the potential for things to get really heated really fast, she thought it best to have some kind of structure going in. She’d even spent her drive home having a one-on-one with the universe about how she’d like things to go down. But the universe clearly wasn’t on that Zoom call because Kat pulled up to her house just in time to see a lanky boy with a can of spray paint gleefully tagging Nolan’s garage door. Neon-orange spray paint went from one end to the other.

Kat couldn’t help but let out a laugh as the kid stepped back to admire his handiwork. She had to admit, the kid had some serious artistic skills. His spelling, on the other hand, could use a little help.

Kat quietly hopped out of the truck and made her way to the edge of the drive and took a moment to appreciate the kid’s freedom of speech. She should call the cops. She really should, but something in the set of the boy’s shoulders told her there was more to this story than a random prank.

The next smart move would be to call Nolan, but she wasn’t feeling all that smart, because instead of pulling out her phone, and employing that voice adults use as if they never screwed up as a kid, she said, “You know there’s a C between the U and K.”

There was a clank of the spray paint bottle as it hit the ground and the boy spun only to freeze when he caught sight of Kat. His eyes went wide with fear. He was maybe ten and sporting black-and-white checkered Vans, jeans that were a few inches too short—like he’d just gone through a growth spurt—and a white hoodie with a Santa Cruz logo on the back. His hair was floppy in the kind of way that would have to be constantly flipped to keep it out of his eyes. His expression was somewhere between Oh shit and I’m gonna puke!

The kid’s gaze flickered to a skateboard resting against the side of the garage and Kat knew he was going to bolt. He worried the corner of his lower lip in consideration.

He was weighing his options. Make a run for it or risk grabbing his board. She debated if she should let him go. Reprimanding him would include dealing with the situation, and Kat had enough situations to deal with in her own life, she didn’t need to insert herself into someone else’s screw-up. Plus, who was she to lecture the kid on delinquent behavior? She’d come out of the womb with her middle finger extended to the world.

But there was also Nolan’s neighborly gesture to consider. He didn’t have to lend her his truck or bring her doughnuts. But he had, and, in turn, she kind of owed him.

Kat groaned.

This! This is why she didn’t do neighborly. It involved markers and favors and owing people. And Kat hated owing people. But she owed Nolan big time so when the kid positioned himself like a runner about to do a four-minute mile, Kat said, “Don’t even think about it. Because if I have to chase you down, I’ll kick your ass.”

The kid considered her commitment to the cause, so Kat cracked her knuckles to let him know that she was fully invested.

“You can’t kick my butt?” he said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Butt is a pretty tame word for someone who wrote F-U-K in neon paint on the garage door of a federal agent who carries a badge and a gun,” she said. “And try me.”

“You’re an adult,” he lectured like she was the guilty party here.

“That’s up for discussion,” she said and, arms casually at her sides like she was approaching a feral cat, Kat walked over to pick up the spray can, which fit in her hand like an old friend. She extended it to him. “You going to finish?”

His expression was one of skepticism. “Why? So you can video it to show the cops?”

“I’m not going to call the cops. And it’s the owner you should be scared of,” she said, but she didn’t believe it. Nolan might be a glorified hall monitor, but even he’d be able to see the pain in the boy’s eyes. He was here because he wanted to be heard.

Kat had tagged a few buildings in her youth because she felt invisible to the world. She was angry and confused and hurt by her parents’ disinterest, by labels bestowed on her, and by the boxes she was locked in.

She saw that same hurt-filled defiance in this kid. And something about that pierced the I don’t give a shit cloak she used to protect herself from further disappointment. But in for a penny and all that.

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