Page 19 of Furious
If JoJo weren’t right behind me, I’d take a step back. Instead, I paste on my “good kid” smile: The one that wears down grumpy senior citizens when I’m volunteering at the nursing home, or coaxes a recommendation letter out of a teacher with way too much on their plate. “Hi, good morning!” I chirp. “You don’t know me, but I think you might know my sister, Maxine Blum. Or maybe somebody who lives here does?”
Scratching his hairy jaw, he looks me up and down. “You’re Max’s sister?” He snorts.
“I—yes, her younger sister.”
“Obviously.”
“And … are you Riley?”
The guy shakes his head. “That’s my roommate.”
“Oh, great. Could you go get him?”
“He’s still in bed. Want to come in and wait?”
As he shifts position in the doorway, I catch sight of a dully glowing fish tank on a TV stand in the corner behind him. The water’s only half full, green, and furred with algae. I don’t see anything living in the depths. I briefly imagine my parents peering into the water when the cops (no doubt watching the apartment as we stand here) call them to come and collect me, after raiding this place for God knows what. Mom and Dad realizing that I not only lied to them but willingly walked into the home of a man with a tank like that …
“We’re good out here,” JoJo answers for both of us.
“Might be a minute.”
She shrugs, leaning against the staircase railing until at last, he shrugs back and turns to go inside.
When the door shuts behind him, I let my smile slip away. “They can’t be Max’s friends,” I insist, keeping my voice low. “She had local bike friends, sure, but that guy? He’s like the dudes with mohawk helmets who wheelie through traffic. And did you see the fish tank?”
JoJo frowns. “She wouldn’t be the first girl to fall for a loser. Thank God we both dodged that heterosexual bullet, right?”
Suddenly I’m smiling again, against my will. “I’ve dated boys, you know. Well, one boy. I went to the winter fling with Aaron Fuller in ninth grade. He was sweet. His mom drove us to Shake Shack after.”
“Ah, young love.”
“So you’ve never? Dated a boy, I mean. Or have you, um, ever dated?” I scuff my sneaker over the concrete of the landing, where it catches in a slick of something long dried, but still sticky.
Before she can answer, we both jump as the door swings open again, revealing a bleary-eyed Bad Beard. He’s wearing a T-shirt, at least, and a pair of baggy jeans with the knees permanently pinched outward. “You’re Max Jr., huh?” he croaks at me, clearly freshly woken.
“Max is her sister,” JoJo says defensively, stepping up beside me. “And we’re looking for her.”
“We’re looking for her riding jacket,” I hedge. “Brown leather, with a hood, and a zipper that goes like this?” I trace a diagonal line across my chest with one finger, though he isn’t really looking at me.
“So, what? You want Max’s address, or you want the jacket?”
My heart stutters, then speeds up. “Both, if you have them.”
“Do you?” JoJo asks, eyes sharpening.
“Maybe I do. What will you give me for them?” Riley’s mean little smirk feels like a challenge.
“Um.” Stupidly, I pat my shorts pockets, like I’m carrying a thick stack of cash to hand over instead of a hair elastic and the keys to the minivan. “I get paid next Friday—”
“What about her bike?”
I imagine the R1 tucked safely inside our backyard shed—Max’s favorite thing in the whole world, which she charged me with keeping safe for her in her very first postcard. “No.”
Riley scratches his beard. “I’ll make it fair. I’ll race you—you win, you get the jacket and the info. I win, I get the bike. Not like it’s yours anyway.”
“I can’t. That’s … I just can’t.”
“Then how about you come back here when you grow up a little and you’re ready to take a risk, huh? I’ll AirDrop my Instagram and you let me know when you’re ready to race.” Riley swipes something on his phone, and mine chimes with a notification. He purses his lips to blow a grotesque little kiss through the snarls of his strange beard, and then, snickering, shuts the door in our faces. The bolt clicks, and the chain locks rattle into place.
