Page 11 of Z For Butterfly Man
She straightens up, smoothing her skirt. “Thanks, Reagan. You’re, like, really sweet.”
Sweet? Is that code for I’m just easy to use?
They walk away, giggling and whispering, like it’s always been, and I’m alone again, like I always am. I sink deeper into the corner and try to focus on my journal, but the words won’t come anymore. My eyes burn. I train myself not to cry. I can use the exercise.
The roar of a motorcycle cuts through the chatter of the parking lot. My head snaps up. I know that sound. I’ll always know that rev.
Shane.
He pulls into the lot on his bike like a king, the engine rumbling. Heads turn. Brittany and her friends freeze mid-step. Girls flip their hair, plaster on their brightest smiles and stick out their boobs. But Shane doesn’t look at any of them.
“Reagan!” he calls out, pulling off his helmet. “C’mere!”
The entire parking lot goes silent. My face burns as I scramble to my feet, clutching my journal to my chest. Everyone is staring. I can feel their eyes on me, confused, curious, maybe a little jealous.
I hurry over to him, keeping my head down. “Hi.”
“Hey, kiddo.” He grins, and it’s so easy, so warm, like we do this every day. “You ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“Home. I’m givin’ you a ride.”
I blink at him. “You...you came all the way here just to give me a ride home?”
“Yeah. Gotta make sure you’re safe, baby girl.”
I glance around, hyper-aware of all the eyes still on us. “Thanks. But it’s out of your way. You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs, swinging his leg off the bike. “Why not? I’m your big brother, ain’t I? Gotta make sure you get home safe.”
Big brother.Right. That’s what this is. All I’ll ever be to him. A little sister he protects because no one else will. A little kid he feels sorry for. “Thank you. For the other night, I mean. And for this.”
He ruffles my hair. I try not to think about how much I like it. Another motorcycle roars into the lot, and a guy around Shane’s age pulls up beside us. Mason Bloom. Sandy blond hair, a cocky grin, and a cut just like Shane’s.
He joined Shane’s MC last year, but unlike Shane, he didn’t drop out of school. He still goes here.
“Yo, Shane!” Mason hops off his bike and claps Shane on the shoulder. “The fuck you doin’ here, man?”
Shane laughs. “You dumbass. What’reyoustill doin’ at school?”
Mason shrugs. “I prob’ly should split like you. Ain’t exactly killin’ it in math class. But Ma wants me to finish, so…” He grins. “Not that it ain’t coming with perks.” He winks at Brittany and her little gang, and they practically swoon. “The babes here are different from the clubwhores, ya know? They got that innocent thing goin’ on.”
“Yo.” Shane smacks him upside the head. “Watch your mouth in fronta Reagan.”
Mason’s eyes flick to me, and he has the decency to look sheepish. “Shit, my bad. Sorry, Reagan.”
It’s funny Shane only scolds his friend when he’s cussing about girls and not for all the other swear words they both have been blurting nonstop. I nod, clutching my journal tighter. It doesn’t bother me, though. I’m used to hearing bad words. My mother calls me worse things than they call theirclubwhores.
Mason looks back at Shane. “So what, you here to try the school babes, too? Can’t say I blame ya.”
“Nah.” Shane jerks his thumb at me. “I’m here to take Reagan home.”
Mason raises an eyebrow. “Reagan? Why? I can take her. We live down the street from each other. You can stay, if you know what I mean.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and I want to disappear into the pavement.
Shane’s expression shifts. No more laughs and dirty jokes. “Nah, I got it."
“C’mon, man, I’m headin’ home anyway to check on Ma. She ain’t feeling good and—"
