After school, I waited by the Impala. Girls passed, throwing glances like they were testing how much skin they could show without getting called into the principal's office. One had her sweater hanging halfway off her shoulder. Another kept licking the edge of her lip gloss every time she looked my way. They walked slower when they got closer, like the air by the Impala was thicker and they wanted to breathe it in. One girl, some junior with a bookbag bigger than her GPA, actually circled once and pretended to tie her shoelace just to peek through the tinted windows.
A group across the lot kept giggling. One of them whispered something, nudged her friend, and she laughed too loud. Her laugh sounded like someone shoved a squeaky toy into a meat grinder.
Men, on the other hand, glared like I had stolen their parking spot, girlfriend, and self-esteem in one smooth motion.
Right on cue, the front doors opened. Felicia walked out. Every guy between the doors and the lot tracked her steps like they had no shame. One nearly walked into a trash can. She stopped in front of me. Tilted her head. Smiled without teeth. "Nice view."
I looked her up and down. "I was about to say the same."
Her fingers brushed the side mirror. "Still smells new."
"It smells like sin and horsepower."
She opened the passenger door, slid in without asking, legs crossing with the kind of grace that made her skirt ride up half an inch more than it had any right to. I walked around and got in the driver's seat.
She glanced at me, then out the window. "Are we driving somewhere or just playing statues while your fan club wets themselves?"
I turned the key. Engine rumbled awake, "We are driving."
"Good. Because I am not here to look pretty in your mirror."
"You are doing it anyway."
I drove us to the rec center lot. It was dead quiet. Most people were already home or stuck in traffic. One of the light poles was flickering. I pulled into the farthest corner, under the only tree that still had half its leaves, and killed the engine.
Felicia stepped out before I could. I stepped around to the trunk, popped it, pulled out two cold sodas from the small stash I kept hidden under the toolbox and wires.
She leaned against the car with one foot resting on the bumper, arms crossed. I handed her the can. She popped the tab and took a long sip.
"Thought you would play music or something," she said.
"You want music, pick a station."
"I want silence," she said, smirking. "Just thought you would try harder."
"I already brought you to the only parking lot without cameras. That is effort."
Felicia tapped the can against her thigh. "You ever think about leaving?"
I raised a brow. "This lot?"
"This city."
"All the time. But someone has to keep stealing fries."
She snorted. Then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I mean it. New York sucks."
"You live here."
"I survive here. There is a difference."
I took a sip from my soda. She was not wrong.
"You want to move somewhere with fewer assholes and more sunlight?"
"I want to move somewhere that does not reek of desperation."
"That rules out anywhere teenagers exist."
She leaned her head back, looking up at the sky. "I want something else."
"Like?"
"Something that makes sense. Something that is not fake." Then she stood up. "I am going to the bathroom. Try not to start crying about your trauma while I am gone."
She walked off toward the far side of the building. There was a small restroom section there. Old concrete. Metal doors. Probably cleaned once a year if they were lucky. She disappeared around the corner.
I leaned back on the hood, drained the rest of my soda, and dropped the empty can into the trunk bin. Pulled out my phone. Checked the time. Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Fifteen.
I walked a little closer, stood near the building edge, hands in my pockets. Looked around.
No movement. No footsteps. Just the flickering lamp above the entrance and a couple of moths trying to fuck the light bulb.
Twenty minutes. Still nothing.
She came back after half an hour.
Her steps were a little too light. Her face too casual. Like she thought brushing her hair behind her ear would erase the time on the clock.
"Are you constipated?" I asked, still leaning against the hood.
Felicia rolled her eyes. "Let's go." She reached for the passenger-side handle and gave it a tug.
The door didn't move.
She tried again. Nothing.
She stared at me.
"What are you doing?"
I didn't answer. Just watched her.
"Seriously, Peter. We need to go." Her voice was sharp now. Irritation edging closer to panic.
The sirens started. Faint at first. Still distant. Still easy to pretend they were for someone else.
She stepped away from the door, arms tense. "Peter."
I just stared.
Felicia's lips twitched.
"So you thought you could use my new car as a getaway car? That you could leave me here for half an hour, steal whatever you came for, and use me to ditch?"
She took a step closer. "I told you I went to the bathroom."
"Twenty-eight minutes," I said. "That is not a piss. That is a fucking pilgrimage."
She pointed at the building. "That bathroom was a war crime. No paper, no lock, and some guy knocked twice."
"Cool story," I said, standing up straight. "Then why was your phone not on you?"
She flinched. "What?"
"Felicia Hardy. Also known as Black Cat. A notorious thief who likes to pretend her smile erases her fingerprints."
Felicia stiffened.
She looked like she wanted to slap me and make out with me at the same time. Honestly, that had been the theme since the first day we spoke. She had swagger, confidence, and the subtlety of a stripper trying to steal a cop's badge mid-lap dance.
"You think I don't recognize that grin? That little sway when you walk back from somewhere you should not have been?" I stepped forward. "You were not taking a piss. You were off dropping a payload."
She clenched her jaw. "I didn't steal anything."
I shook my head. Just reached into my pocket, tapped the lock switch. Her door clicked. "Get in."
She opened it fast, slid inside like the air outside was burning. I dropped the gear, turned the wheel, and slid the Impala out of the lot. We dipped into the first dark road. Blended into the black. I drove for four blocks. Pulled into a side alley near an abandoned parking structure. Gravel crunched under the tires. Headlights stayed off. I stopped the car.
"Get the fuck out."
Felicia flinched. "Peter."
I hit the passenger lock. Door hissed open.
"Get out."
She sat still.
Like she thought if she stayed long enough, I would forget. I turned my head, stared. She finally moved. Hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palm.
She stepped out. Door shut behind her. I rolled the window down.
"You don't get a second chance to lie. Not with me."
Felicia looked away. Jaw locked.
"I am sorry."
I drove off a few blocks. I parked in an alley that smelled like piss, oil, and a bad breakup. Some busted shopping cart sat sideways.
I twisted my wrist and suit crawled over my skin. The last piece snapped into place around my jaw. Lenses whirred. HUD blinked online.
I was mad at myself. So some asshole had to bleed. I web-zipped up the fire escape, landed hard on the roof, and sprinted. Jumps between buildings. Somewhere downtown, a billboard played a toothpaste ad on loop. Two pigeons were screwing on a busted antenna.
I jumped again. Landed on the ledge of a pawn shop. That was when the spiders pinged.
North. Two blocks.
Suspected assault. Two suspects. One victim.
Time for violence...
(.)(.)
I stumbled into the alley with my hood up. Pulled open the Impala door and dropped inside. The leather stuck to my back like it was punishing me for being stupid. I rested my head against the seat. Everything ached. Legs. Arms. Neck. My ribs felt like someone had spent quality time with a bat and no safe word.
May had called ten times. I didn't answer. She texted once. Are you okay? I replied. Fine. Busy.
[System]: Sugar why are you so mad at yourself?
"I should have thought further. Parking lot with no cameras and Felicia Hardy. I should have known she was planning something. But I fell for it like any other idiot with hormones and a soft spot for broken girls with long legs."
I pulled the hood lower. Closed my eyes. I smacked the steering wheel. Could have been worse. Could have been a setup with cops. Could have been a sting. Could have been her walking out of that bathroom with something in her purse that set off a citywide manhunt.
[System]: You are not an idiot. You are a teenager. You liked her. She took advantage.
"Thanks for the therapy session, HAL."
[System]: I am hotter than HAL.
"True."
I parked a few streets away, I didn't want to wake May and slipped into the house. Took a quick shower before jumping on the bed, still towel-damp. Pulled the blanket up, clothes half on.
May came in at some point. I pretended to be asleep. She didn't say anything. Just brushed a hand over my forehead and kissed it before walking out.
I stayed there. Blanket over my face.
Morning kicked the door in.
My phone buzzed under the pillow. I rolled onto it like I was trying to suffocate a rat. Checked the screen. Two texts. Gwen. One was a cat meme. The other said, Trixie flaked. You are doing the source slide now. I don't make the rules. I groaned. Flipped over. Blanket tangled around my legs like it had beef.
I got up and dressed in the least wrinkled stuff I could find on the floor. Brushed my teeth with one hand while shoving a Pop-Tart in my mouth with the other. It tasted like sadness and artificial strawberry. Perfect.
May was in the kitchen. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other. She glanced over the screen. "You slept like a corpse."
"Felt like one."
She poured me a cup. "Drink. You look like someone mugged you in your sleep."
"They tried. I bit them."
"Good boy." She sipped hers. "Try not to bite any teachers."
"No promises."
I skipped school and drove off. There was a race downtown I wanted to test the Impala in and blow off some steam.
It was not exactly street legal. But I had already checked for cops along the routes on three burner accounts, read four forums on traffic cam blind spots, and made sure no known snitches were on the invite list. Most of these races stayed off social media and under ten minutes. Long enough to get your rush. Short enough to bail if sirens got too close.
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