Project Seven - Chapter 5

K O D Y

The  next  two  and  a  half  days  felt  horribly  slow  to  me.  Sleeping  and  drawing  took  up  most  of  my  Saturday.  The  air  felt  cloggy  since  the  summer  weather  seemed  to  kick  in  early,  so  the  humidity  was  at  a  high  level.  The  house  wasn’t  the  right  place  to  rely  on  for  air  conditioning(or  food).  So  on  Sunday,  I  decided  the  mall  was  best.  I  rode  my  skateboard  on  the  street,  but  close  enough  to  the  sidewalk  that  it  wouldn’t  be  dangerous.

It  was  a  quarter  past  noontime,  so  there  wasn’t  any  traffic  from  the  lunch  rush  to  worry  about.  I’ll  never  forget  that  day,  because  the  smallest  of  an  event  that  I  thought  would’ve  ever  happen  to  me,  became  even  bigger  as  time  went  on.

I  came  to  a  stop  when  I  was  by  what  I  considered  a  landmark:  an  old  tree  by  the  end  of  a  block  with  my  initials  carved  into  it.  I  was  slightly  pleased  with  the  shade  the  tree  provided  me.  Relaxing  into  the  bench  was  easy  at  that  point.  I  leaned  against  the  tree  with  my  shoulder  against  it  and  my  foot  set  on  my  skateboard.

I  rubbed  my  left  wrist;  I  wasn’t  wearing  my  charm  bracelet  anymore.  It  felt  weird  not  hearing  the  soft  chime  every  time  I  moved  my  left  hand  dramatically.  That  was  the  bracelet  I  threw  at  Ryan  when  I  caught  him  cheating . . .  He  gave  it  to  me  on  our  first  date,  and  I  wore  it  ever  since.  

Giving  it  back  pretty  much  meant  there  was  nothing  left  to  repair  between  us—we’d   remain  as  strangers.  I  was  still  trying  to  accept  the  fact  that  that’s  how  it  would  be  from  now  on.  Inviting  someone  in  again  after  they  broke  my  heart  was  something  I  swore  never  to  let  myself  do.  And  it’s  not  like  things  like  that  happen  on  accident.

It  was  a  choice.  He  chose  to  cheat  on  me.

I  took  out  my  compact  mirror  from  my  pocket,  and  glimpsed  at  my  face.  I  looked  like  a  teenager  who,  at  the  moment,  thought  humans  and  their  nature  were  both  disgusting.  That  about  sums  it  up.

I  saw  something  in  the  reflection  of  my  compact  mirror.  Wait  a  minute . . .  Adjusting  it  to  see  what  was  behind  me  at  the  right  angle,  I  spotted  something  I  recognized.  A  black  vehicle.  More  specifically,  a  Lamborghini.

That  same  car  again.

And  the  strange  thing  was,  it  was  slowly  moving  forward,  closer  toward  me.  I’ve  seen  a  couple  of  movies  myself  to  know  what  could  and  what  most  likely  would  happen.  The  most  cliché  moment  in  which  the  girl  walking  by  herself  is  grabbed,  forced  into  the  car,  and  kidnapped.

I’m  not  stupid.  And  I’m  not  a  stranger  to  violence.



A L E C

I  still  watched  Dakota  from  a  distance.  She  put  away  her  contact  mirror  then  had  a  cell  phone  in  her  hand  the  next  moment.  I  momentarily  tried  to  read  Dakota’s  lips  and  got  a  few  vague  words  in  my  mind.

But  I  paid  closer  attention  to  the  expression  on  her  face:  smiling  and  nodding.  Then  after  a  few  moments,  there  was  a  change:  growing  panic.  Fear.

“Jasper,  can  you  let  me  listen  in  on  that  phone  call?”

“I  was  already  tryin’ . . .  But  I’m  not  getting  anything.”

“Anything?”  Dakota  seemed  to  finish  her  phone  call,  and  tucked  the  device  back  into  her  pocket.  

Her  head  shot  to  the  left—in  my  direction  where  I  was  parked.  From  the  look  in  her  eyes,  I’d  be  convinced  she  was  a  deer  in  headlights.  Then,  with  her  skateboard  in  one  hand,  Dakota  darted  down  the  sidewalk.  But  she  did  a  double  take  after  she  nearly  passed  by  my  car.

She  knocked  on  my  window,  though  she  already  had  my  attention,  then  peeked  through  it.  Dakota  recognized  me.  Figuratively,  I  saw  the  brief  memory  of  our  first  encounter  transpire  in  her  eyes.  I  rolled  down  the  window.

“Guy  from  the  park,  can  you  please  help  me?”  Her  tone  was  very  different  from  the  last  time  we  kind  of  met.  “Please!  My  friend,  Elena,  is  in  trouble—she  was  being  attacked  in  the  middle  of  our  call!  I  can’t  do  this  alone.”

I  nodded  hurriedly,  and  got  out  of  my  car  with  my  keys  in  my  pocket.  Dakota  started  leading  the  way  with  a  head  start  run.

She  said,  “Follow  me!  I  know  where  she  is!”

Though  I  could’ve  matched  her  stride,  I  was  trailing  a  little  behind  her  since  she  knew  where  she  was  going.  But  then,  after  we  turned  around  a  corner,  Dakota  abruptly  spun  around  to  face  me  and  we  nearly  had  a  collision.  I  thought  something  was  wrong,  but  then  I  glanced  at  her  face.

She  no  longer  looks  like  a  deer  caught  in  headlights.

Dakota  folded  her  arms,  all  the  while  causing  the  distance  between  us  to  grow  a  bit  longer.  “Okay,  let’s  cut  to  chase.  I  know  you've  been  following  me.  A  Lamborghini  sticks  out  like  a  sore  thumb  compared  to  the  ‘average-typed’  cars  here.  A  bit  obvious.”

“Ooh,”  Jasper  mumbled  in  my  ear,  “She’s  good.”

“Surprised?”  Dakota  asked  me.

“I  can’t  say  I’m  not,”  I  answered.  “That  act  was  convincing.”  So  that’s  why  Jasper  couldn’t  trace  that  phone  call;  Dakota  wasn’t  calling  anyone  at  all.

“Who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want  from  me?"  When  I  didn't  reply,  she  narrowed  my  eyes.  "Drugs?  A  victim  you  can  prey  on  for  sex?  Is  that  what  you  want?"  Dakota  scoffed.  "You've  definitely  got  the  wrong  fucking  person."

I  told  her,  "I'm  not  here  for  any  of  those  reasons."

"Then  what  the  hell  do  you  want?"

"Alec  Golding."  I  took  a  couple  of  steps  forward.  "Look,  I'm  only  going  to  ask  you  some  questions—"  The  girl  pulls  out  a  switchblade  from  her  left  boot,  and  flicked  it  open  with  a  swift  movement  of  her  wrist.  Dakota  pointed  her  knife  at  me,  and  I  slowly  held  up  my  hands.

"Back  off.  I've  practiced  knife-throwing  for  four  years  and  counting,  and  I  don't  think  you'd  want  to  be  my  living  target."

"And  I  don't  think  you'd  want  to  be  arrested  for  murder . . . or  be  mistaken  for  a  Rebel."

Dakota  lowered  her  knife  and  closed  it  the  same  way  it  was  opened,  but  she  still  held  it  tightly  in  one  hand.  She  wasn't  the  first  to  ever  threaten  me.  In  addition  to  that,  I've  met  a  lot  more  intimidating  people.

"I'm  not  planning  to  kill  you,"  she  said,  "but  if  you  try  anything,  I  swear,  I  will  defend  myself."

The  corner  of  my  lip  rose  into  a  crooked  smile.  "Do  I  need  to  stay  at  least  five  feet  away  from  you?"

"Yes."  The  tone  in  her  voice  made  my  smile  evaporate.  She  was  serious.

"Are  you  always  like  this?"

"Only  around  strangers."

I  rubbed  the  bristles  on  my  chin.  "Fair  enough.  Like  I  said,  I'll  only  ask  you  questions  and  it  would  take  just  ten  minutes  of  your  time."

"Ten?"  She  repeated,  then  I  confirmed  it  with  a  single  nod.  Dakota  slid  the  closed  switchblade  into  her  boot.  She  went  into  a  defensive  stance:  folding  her  arms  and  shifting  her  weight  to  one  leg.  "What  kind  of  job  do  you  have  anyway?  If  you’re  asking  me—of  all  people—questions,  I  wanna  know  why.”

"I'm  just  a  journalist."

Dakota  raised  one  brow  cynically.  I  always  used  that  answer  when  someone  asked  what  my  occupation  was.  The  lie  could  easily  slip  through  my  teeth,  as  if  it  were  actually  true.

"Okay,  Mr.  Alec.  Where  are  we  going?"

I  lowered  my  hands,  then  pointed  a  thumb  over  my  shoulder.  “The  Mermaid’s  Tail  is  only  ten  minutes  away  from  here.  I’m  buying.”  I  saw  a  shift  in  her  expression;  one  that  reflected  her  subtle  yet  obvious  surprise.

“Ooh,”  Jasper  said,  “can  I  come?”

Just  like  many  other  times,  I  ignored  him.  “Do  you  not  like  seafood?”  I  asked  her.

She  replied,  “No,  I  do,  actually.”  That  restaurant  was  one  of  the  eateries  a  person  of  Dakota’s  position  couldn’t  afford.

Nowadays,  certain  public  buildings  enforced  the  value  of  wealth.  The  split  between  Innocents  and  Rebels  weren’t  the  only  thing  that  divided  people;  social  class  was  also  an  enormous  focus.  This,  unfortunately,  affected  those  who  were  considered  “Indigents”—the  derogatory  name  for  those  who  were  impoverished.

My  next  question  was  better  to  ask  now  in  case  I  accidentally  addressed  her  by  name  before  she  even  revealed  it  to  me.  Then  she’d  have  another  reason  to  be  suspicious.

“Do  you  have  a  name  or . . . ?”

“No,  my  parents  forgot  to  give  me  one  after  I  popped  out  of  my  mother’s  womb.  Yes,  I  have  a  name.  But  I’m  not  gonna  give  it  to  you;  I  don't  know  you.”

“Wow,”  Jasper  commented.  “She’s  got  your  sarcasm.”

She  added,  “Call  me  K  for  now.  Just  like  in  Men  in  Black."

I  briefly  grinned.  “Classic  movie.  All  right,  K.  Let’s  get  going.”  I  started  walking  the  other  way,  where  my  car  was  still  parked.  Dakota  followed  but  kept  her  distance.



We  drove  in  silence  for  only  but  a  few  moments.  Dakota  decided  to  sit  in  the  back  rather  than  in  the  passenger  seat.  She  had  to  remind  me  about  that  five-feet-away  rule  of  hers.  I  don’t  blame  her  for  being  so  distrusting.

Rebels  could  be  anywhere.

It  was  just  the  girl  staring  out  the  window  and  me  staring  out  on  the  road  ahead.  It  wasn't  long  until  she  took  the  wire  that  was  connected  to  the  stereo  system,  then  reached  for  my  iPod  to  plug  it  in.  But  I  smacked  her  hand  before  she  could've  touched  it.

"Ow!”  she  scowled  at  me,  and  rubbed  her  hand.  “What  I'd  do?"  It  didn't  take  a  genius  to  know  she  was  irritated  from  the  tone  in  her  voice.  "What,  do  you  think  I'm  hoping  for  cheery,  rainbow-filled  songs?"

"Skrillex  was  the  answer  in  my  head,  but  that  can  be  one  too."

"Well,  sorry  to  disappoint,  but  I  don't  have  either  of  those  on  my  list  of  favorite  music.  At  least  since  it's  your  iPod,"  Dakota  said,  "you  won't  hate  any  of  the  songs  I  choose.  I  just  don't  like  sitting  through  silent  car  rides."

I  gave  Dakota  a  brief  sidelong  glance,  then  turned  my  eyes  back  to  the  road.  "Fine.  Just . . . not  too  loud,  all  right?"

"Sweet."  She  wasted  no  time  in  plugging  the  iPod  into  the  stereo  system.  She  scrolled  through  the  artists  list.  "No  way . . . !"  When  the  first  notes  of  the  song  Dakota  chose  started  playing,  I  recognized  it  immediately.  I  felt  myself  smile.

"Back  in  Black?  How  do  you  know  about  ACDC?"  I  asked.

Dakota  raised  her  right  brow,  looking  at  me  as  if  I  told  her  I  kept  discarded  toenails  in  assorted  jars.  "You're  joking,  right?  It's  one  of  the  best  rock  n'  roll  bands  there  ever  was!"

Now  that's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  that  coming  from  a  sixteen-year-old.  "I  have  a  feeling  we're  going  to  get  along  just  fine,  K.”