Betting Blind (16 page)

I cut her off. “I’ll pay it myself.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A
s I pulled the ladder—borrowed from Missy’s boyfriend—out of my trunk on Friday night, I was jumpy. Dude with an extension ladder strolling around a rich neighborhood at midnight? If cops were patrolling, it was game over.

But there wasn’t a body on the street as I walked to Irina’s. I moved fast, ducked through the hedge and around the back, keeping away from the house. All the lights were off, and the moon was hidden behind clouds. It was black, and the air was so wet, it felt like cold hands. Ghost weather.

I extended the ladder, and it screeched, sending my heart rocketing. But I waited to the count of ten, and nothing happened. At the top of that thing was Irina. I put my hand on the first rail and just about died, because there was a creak above me.

Her window opening.

I could see her dark shape squeezing out, foot waving around for a spot. I hoped she knew what she was doing. Girls can be stupid at stuff like sneaking out.

Every step Irina took sounded like boards breaking, or maybe I was just paranoid. I kept remembering when she said her dad would be the only Russian dude to shoot me.

When she got down, her eyes were shining in the dark, and she had a big, amped grin. She kissed me once, hard, on the mouth. Then she whispered, “Come on,” and grabbed my hand.

I shook my head and pulled the ladder off the wall, collapsed it, and stuck it in some bushes. That’s the kind of detail that gets you caught.

Then we were gone. We got rash once we were on the sidewalk, giggling and running, even though our footsteps were loud, but all I cared about was her hand in mine and the feeling that we were busting out of jail.

She pulled me into her neighbor’s yard a few doors down. The lawn was huge, the house was set way back on the lot, and there were tons of trees. But it was still somebody’s place.

“What about Angel Point?” I said.

“That’s too far. Don’t worry, they’re asleep.” She pushed me against a tree and—dang. She was feeling bad, all right. We kissed hard and hungry for a while, and I was just about thinking she was done with the “waiting” thing, when she pushed me back and tugged down her shirt and said, “Okay.”

It hurt to hear that. I kissed her neck and whispered, “Come on,” and some other sweet things, but she got stubborn and pulled away and sat down in the wet grass.

I sighed and sat next to her. “Are you for real? ’Cause I don’t know if I can take this.”

“I don’t know if I can, either,” she said.

“Then why are you doing it?”

“I already told you.”

I leaned back against the tree. Good thing it was wet and freezing, because I needed a cold shower. “Does God want you to torture guys?”

“Probably not,” she said, sounding miserable. “I don’t really know what’s okay to do and what isn’t. I mean, there’s a lot of stuff other than sex we can do . . . but then it’s just frustrating.”

“I’m surprised your parents haven’t laid it out for you,” I said sarcastically, because I
was
frustrated.

“They’re not religious. I’m sort of trying to figure this out for myself.”

“They’re not?” I said. Every time I thought I had Irina pegged, she surprised me.

She picked up a twig and twirled it in her fingers. “No. It sort of skipped a generation. My great-grandpa was a priest, but my grandma and my mom aren’t religious at all.”

“He was probably too strict. You know what they say about preachers’ kids.”

“That’s not it,” she said softly. “My great-grandpa went to the Gulag for being a priest. It scared my grandma, and she raised my mom with no religion because she thought it would keep her safe.”

“What’s the Gulag?” I asked.

“A system of concentration camps.” The words hung in the night, heavy and cold.

I felt a chill down my back. “Like the Nazis?”

“Yeah, but in Russia. Stalin had lots of them. One of the big points of communism was to get rid of religion, so they sent tons of priests and nuns to the Gulag. Kids were supposed to report their parents if they read the Bible or anything.” Irina snapped the twig and let the pieces drop. “In the schools, they gave kids playing cards with the Trinity on them, to, you know, make fun of it.”

“That’s creepy,” I said.

“Yeah, really creepy. My great-grandpa wrote letters from the Gulag, and we still have them. He spent eight years in there before he died.”

I touched her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She slid her fingers through mine. “It’s okay.”

“Have you read his letters?”

“Yeah. There were some poems he wrote and love letters for my great-grandma. He talked about trusting God and loving their enemies. It’s what got me interested in going to church, actually.”

I didn’t know what to say. This stuff was heavy. Finally I joked, “A lot of kids drop out of church to mess with their parents. I guess you did the opposite.”

She smiled. “Yeah. I didn’t do it on purpose to mess with them, though. And they don’t really mind. They think people should decide for themselves about religion.”

“When did you start going?”

“A couple years ago. My friend Anya’s family went every Sunday, and I spent the night at her house a lot, so I’d just go with them. It’s so beautiful. It’s like . . .” She trailed off. “It’s hard to describe. It’s the oldest kind of Christianity, and it’s . . . mysterious. At first I went because I loved the music so much. Then Anya’s mom gave me a Bible and I started reading it, and it helped me with some things.”

“Like what?”

She paused, and I thought maybe she wasn’t going to tell me. “Okay, like before big concerts? I sometimes get these panic things.” She darted me a quick look. “Like I start obsessing about how I’m going to play, and then I can’t breathe right. But the Bible says we’re not supposed to make a big deal of ourselves, or go after earthly honors. I feel like that’s what I’ve been doing my whole life: going after honors. It was nice to hear I didn’t have to.”

“That’s cool.” I pulled her closer. “I’m glad it helped you not stress. Because you’re amazing even if you never play the violin again. You’re not, like, a pair of hands to play the violin. You’re
you
.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder, and she felt so good and warm in my arms. “You’re deep,” I said, kissing her head.

“I guess that’s better than shallow.” She smiled up at me. “Let’s not talk about me anymore. I’m boring. I want to know more about you. What’s your family like?”

I gave a half laugh. “Messed up.” I really didn’t want to talk about my family. How come girls always got nosy?

“Come on, Gabe. You’ve met my family, and I don’t even know anything about yours. They can’t be worse than my parents.”

“It’s not
they
. It’s just my mom,” I told her.

“Well, but don’t you get to see your dad on weekends or anything?” she asked.

“I don’t even know who my dad
is
.” It just came out, and instantly I wished I hadn’t said it.

Irina said quietly, “Your mom never told you?”

“She doesn’t know, either. I guess she was seeing a couple guys back when she got pregnant with me, and none of them were any good.” My pulse was going faster.
Why am I telling her this?

Irina didn’t say anything, just picked up my hand and kissed it.

In the quiet, I heard a low sound. A motor. I froze. It was going slower than any car should, and that meant either a cop or a drive-by. In this hood, it had to be a cop. “Shhh,” I whispered.

The car slid by and pulled to a stop about twenty feet from us.

Irina’s fingers closed on my arm, stiff as bone.

“Be cool,” I whispered. My mind was flying. They had to be here for us—no other reason they’d stop in front of this house. Somebody had heard us. I glanced over, and sure enough, there was a square of light in one of the windows of the house.

The car door opened and a flashlight beam swung wide of us, playing over empty grass. I’d dealt with cops before, and I knew we had about one minute to make our move.

“I’ll distract him,” I said in her ear. “You run. You can pull the ladder through your window. I’ll meet you . . .” I thought about it. If he threw me in juvie for trespassing, they wouldn’t hold me longer than a day. There was no room in those places. “Monday night at midnight.”

“You’ll get in trouble!” Irina said under her breath.

There was the crunch of footsteps on grass, and the beam moved closer.

I squeezed her hand. “Go!” I jumped to my feet, ran across the lawn, kicked over a planter, and pounded as hard as I could down the sidewalk.

The cop shone his light on me and yelled, “Freeze!” Something metal clicked.

I stopped and threw my hands in the air. I wasn’t trying to get shot.

Irina’s footsteps were loud, and the cop turned for half a second, but decided to stick with the sure thing. He ran up to me, gun out, and barked, “Don’t move.” He was a young cop, in pretty good shape. A white dude—that was lucky. Might cut me some slack. Lights clicked on behind me, and I could see dark outlines of people looking out the windows.

I stood up straight and said, “I’m sorry, Officer. I was meeting my girlfriend. We shouldn’t have been here, but she was afraid her parents would see her if we stayed at her house.”

He ignored me. “I’m going to pat you down. Keep your arms high.”

I stayed still as he searched me. “That was the girl who ran away?” He ran his hands down my sides.

“Yes, sir. Please let her go. Her parents are crazy strict, and she’s been grounded for a long time. We just missed each other, is all.”

The cop let out a snort. “Tomcatting. I did the same thing when I was your age. What’s your name?”

“Gabriel James, sir.”

“Age?”

“Seventeen.”

“Address?”

I rattled it off.

“Got an ID?”

“It’s in my car, sir. About two blocks from here.”

“Where does your girlfriend live?”

I pointed down the street vaguely. “Sir, please. Her parents would ground her for a year if they knew she sneaked out. We weren’t even doing anything. You can do whatever you want to me, but please just let her go.”

The cop looked into my eyes. After a second, he said, “All right. I like that you’re willing to take the heat for your girlfriend. Do you know you were trespassing on private property?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” I said.

“I need to speak with the owners. I’m going to have you wait in the car.”

The cop let me into the back. I’d been in the wrong end of a cop car once before, when me and Tommy Fanning got busted tagging Watawa Grocery. They’d taken us to juvie, booked us, and let us out that same night when our parents came.

“Wait here,” the cop told me, shutting the door. I heard the click of the lock. I watched as he walked up the driveway, meeting a man in a bathrobe halfway down. They talked for a few minutes, and then the cop came back and got in the car.

He talked to me through the glass as he started the engine. “You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges. I’m going to drive you to your car and follow you home. I want to have a word with your parents. That had better be your address.”

“It is, sir.”

“Which way?”

I pointed.

He pulled into the street. “Don’t get that girl pregnant, understand? It’s not a joke for her.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “She won’t even give it up, sir.”

He laughed. “Good for her.”

I switched the subject, because I was afraid he might ask her name. “How long have you been a police officer?”

“Three years.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I like it okay,” he said. “The only bad part is everybody thinks we’re jerks.”

“People should be glad you’re protecting them,” I said. Of course I was blowing smoke; I’d always hated the po-po myself. But this guy seemed all right.

He half turned, glancing back at me. “People just see us as the guys who hand out tickets. My wife makes friends, and when they hear she’s married to a cop, they back off.”

“That sucks,” I said.

“Is this your car?” He slowed next to my ride, the only one parked on the curb.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

We stopped, and the officer got out and opened my door. “Okay, let’s see that ID.”

I took my license out of the glove box, and he scanned it into a handheld thing that looked like an iPhone. After a minute he looked up. “You’re clear. Get in your car and I’ll follow you home.”

I got in. Mom was going to freak when I came home with a police escort. At least Irina had gotten away. I drove slow and easy, using my turn signal like thirty feet before I needed to. I sat rod-straight in my seat. When we got to Remington, the cop car pulled up next to me and the officer rolled down his window
.
Crap
. I’d done something wrong, broken some traffic rule I didn’t know about. I rolled down my window.

“Stay out of trouble, Gabe.” He raised a hand and pulled away.

I stared after him.
He’s letting me off?

His taillights disappeared around the corner.
He is!

I wanted to scream
Thank you!
Maybe I had been too harsh about cops. Guess if I was getting carjacked, I’d want one around. Or knifed. Or robbed. There were plenty of reasons for cops to exist, come to think of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

S
aturday and Sunday I spent locked up studying, until I was ready to punch the wall. Damn words kept squishing together, especially on the left side. I kept thinking if I could just concentrate, it would be okay, but it never was. It took me like twenty minutes to get through each page, and even then I only understood some of it. I was starting to feel nauseated.

But I kept at it. Finals were next week, and I had to pass them. No screwing around with summer school. I had this feeling that things with me and Irina were only just starting. I’m not saying the
m
word—that wasn’t even in my vocabulary—I’m just saying I couldn’t imagine liking any girl better.

So I sat at my desk and studied telomeres until they were sweating out my pores and I was seeing diagrams of cells even when I closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe Kyle and Matt and Forrest did this every day.