Crash into You (Pushing the Limits #3)

Crash into You (Pushing the Limits #3) Page 18

My lips turn down and an ache ripples through my chest. I toss the old filter into the garbage, snatch West’s keys from the tool bench and open the driver’s-side door so I can start the engine to check for leaks. I wish I were alone. “That’s all I needed to know.”

West begins to say something else, but I flip the keys in the ignition and apply the gas so that the loud revving noise of the engine will drown him out. West’s words confirmed what I already knew from the silence: Isaiah never liked me.

I reach into my pocket and power off my phone. Why continue to wait for a call that will never come?

Chapter 21

Isaiah

MRS. COLLINS WAITED UNTIL THURSDAY to yank me from class. While not surprised by the summons, the delay did catch me off guard. I walk into the main office and freeze when I see the person sitting in Mrs. Collins’s office. My heart stalls. The bitch called my fucking social worker.

In midsentence, Courtney notices me and immediately yells, “Don’t you dare bolt, Isaiah.” Her swinging blond hair gives her that pissed-off-racehorse effect again.

I give her credit. She knows what I’m thinking. I toss my books onto the row of chairs lining the wall and head for Mrs. Collins’s office. Odds are I won’t need that shit anymore. A screwup like this will mean a group home. Not that I’d let it get that far. I’ll run before anyone forces me to set foot into that hell.

Once inside, I lean against the wall next to the door. Mrs. Collins, a middle-aged version of Courtney, swivels back and forth in her oversize business chair. Tilting stacks of papers clutter the desk and look close to tipping. This lady has the organizational skills of a hoarder.

“Would you like to take a seat?” Mrs. Collins asks with a sweet smile.

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. The only chair available is the one that would trap me in the room. I’m only interested in easy outs.

“Isaiah, you should sit...” Courtney starts, but Echo’s head-shrinker cuts her off.

“It’s okay. You’re free to stand.”

Damn straight I am. “What do you want?”

Courtney rocks on the edge of her seat, as if contemplating joining me against the wall. She hates it when I stand and she sits. “You haven’t returned any of my phone calls.”

“So?”

“So? My job is to keep tabs on you. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You found me.” I snap a ta-da movement with my hands. “I’m alive. Can I go?”

Courtney’s a tiny thing. She shifts in her seat so that her knees are angled in my direction. “Your mom still wants to talk.”

My arms fall to my sides and I push off the wall. “My mom can kiss my ass.”

Mrs. Collins’s chair squeaks when it rolls toward her desk. “Isaiah, Courtney is here because I requested her presence on a school matter. If you don’t want to discuss your mother, then you don’t have to.”

“But...” Courtney shoots a confused glance at Mrs. Collins, and even I catch the subtle shake of the shrink’s head.

Mrs. Collins overpronounces her next words in a sweet tone. “He doesn’t.”

And I won’t.

“I asked Mr. Holden to join us,” Mrs. Collins continues. “He should be here soon.”

Trying not to show that I’m insanely curious about why Mrs. Collins is involving my automotive instructor, I retake my position against the wall.

Mrs. Collins taps a pencil against her desk. “How was your winter break, Isaiah?”

Noah warned me about this woman. When he was blackmailed into counseling last year, he said she enjoyed torturing him with questions. “Good.”

“Great!” The pencil keeps knocking against the desk. “How’s Noah?”

“Good.”

“Fantastic. And have you seen him recently?”

And that’s when it hits me—Mrs. Collins hasn’t told a soul that I’m living with Noah. This entire meeting is a bluff. “Yes.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

Her eyes light up. “You saw Noah this early in the morning? Were you at his place?”

“No.” I was at our place. “I saw Echo, too.”

The pencil stops tapping. “How is Echo? Did she have anything interesting to say?”

I shrug. “Nothing really. Other than she doesn’t like a snitch.”

A shadow crosses her face, but damn if she doesn’t make a good recovery.

Courtney slicks back her ponytail. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

The gravelly sound of a pencil sharpener from the main office fills the silence as Mrs. Collins and I stare at each other. This is too much fun. “Because you are,” I answer.

Courtney shuffles her feet. She’s young, new and hates being the low man on the totem pole. Mrs. Collins rests her elbows on her desk. If she had big guns, she’d be whipping them out now. “How are your foster parents?”

“Good.” Haven’t heard that they died, so I assume that statement’s true.

“And Christmas with them was...”

“Fine.” I enjoyed not seeing their faces.

“And they got you a...”

“Puppy.” Now I’m just messing with her.

Her mouth twitches. Is it possible she also enjoys the game? “They got you a puppy?”

“Yep.”

“What type?”

“A mutt.”

“And you named it...?”

“Iwin.”

Mrs. Collins brushes her fingers over her mouth. “That’s a strange name for a puppy.”

“Yeah. But I like the words coming out of my mouth—I win.” Because I have.

Courtney clears her throat. “Your foster parents bought you a puppy?”

“Don’t worry about me screwing it up,” I say without looking at her. “It ran away.”

“Oh, Isaiah.” She places a hand over her heart. “I’m so sorry.”

Christ, I hate people that obsess over animals. The world that bleeds for a malnourished dog is more than happy to fuck over people like me. “Things leave. It’s the way of the world.”

Mr. Holden walks in, twirling his safety glasses in his hand. “Mrs. Collins,” he says as a hello. He nods at me. I nod back. Wearing his typical blue mechanic’s coveralls, my favorite instructor regards Courtney as if she were a hybrid in the presence of gas guzzlers.

“Mr. Holden,” says Mrs. Collins. “This is Isaiah’s social worker, Courtney Blevins.”

Courtney moves as if she’s going to extend her hand, but withdraws it when Mr. Holden gives her a curt nod. “I’m between classes, Mrs. Collins.”

She flips open a laptop and scrolls down the screen. “I appreciate you joining us, Mr. Holden. Give me a second while I access Isaiah’s file.”

Mr. Holden chuckles. “How’s going paperless?”

“Tedious, but I like password protection. Finally...Mr. Walker. Currently living with...”

“Shirley and Dale Easum.” I finish for her.

“Yes, that’s what it says.” She glances up from her computer. “Mr. Holden, were you able to work out what we discussed last night?”

“Never had a problem,” he answers. “Isaiah’s talent made it easy.”

My head whirls in his direction. He’s not a man to give praise lightly.

“I talked to the owner of Pro Performance.” Mr. Holden speaks directly to me now. “He’ll give you a shot at a full-time job when you graduate.”

Mr. Holden and I have talked over this possibility several times. Pro Performance deals with high-end cars and suped-up dragsters. It’s my dream job, but the business has one request that I can’t grant. “What about the internship?”

To earn the full-time job, I’d have to intern with them this semester. Being an intern means no cash, and I need money.

“You can work at Pro Performance on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons when you’d typically be taking my classes. You can keep your job at Tom’s shop in the evenings and complete the internship during the day. The guy at Pro Performance will give us a grade on the work you do there. Mrs. Collins is calling it an outside classroom experience.”

My mind goes blank. There’s no way this is happening to me. I can make money and I have a shot at my dream: working on cars that go fast—very fast. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No. The only other requirement is to become ASE certified by graduation, which should be a breeze for you.”

The ASE—the Automotive Service Excellence certification. I’ve been studying for that exam and earning hours in the garage toward the certification for over two years.

Mrs. Collins raises her hand in the air. “Actually, there’s another requirement. The business in question called me to verify Isaiah’s credits and grades. They mentioned something about needing three letters of recommendation.”

The back of my head hits the wall. I can come up with two letters. One from Mr. Holden. Another from my current place of employment. A third? Adults tend to avoid me. I never should have allowed hope.

Mr. Holden knows me better than most. “I’ll give you one. Tom will, too,” he says. “Can you think of one more?”

Mrs. Collins mutters, “Who is a responsible adult who knows what Isaiah is capable of?”

I hate that woman. I really do. How can Echo and Noah stomach her?

“I’ll do it.” Courtney has been so silent that I forgot about her. “One condition.”

“And that is?” I rub my neck to relieve the building pressure.

“You answer my phone calls and you meet with me when I ask.”

Mrs. Collins barely contains her excitement. This meeting was never a bluff. The head-shrinker held a full house the entire time.

With her hands in her lap, Courtney waits patiently for my answer. I hate being on a leash. All I want is freedom—to be out from underneath everything that holds me down. With Courtney, I won’t just be on a damn leash; she’ll keep me on a choke collar. But this opportunity is a once-in-a-lifetime shot. The money Pro Performance pays their mechanics is sweet. “Okay.”

Courtney flashes a smile that’s all teeth. “Excellent. Our first meeting will be next Thursday. Right after school.”

Feeling the grip of a leash choking my neck, I grab at the collar of my T-shirt. “Fine.”

Courtney stands. “Mrs. Collins, thank you for the invite. I need to run, though. Staff meeting.”

“We’ll talk again soon,” answers Mrs. Collins as Courtney goes out the door.

Mr. Holden leaves without acknowledging anyone. The sound of the second hand ticking is the only noise in the room. Mrs. Collins relaxes back in her chair and folds her hands over her lap. “Now that we’re alone, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“No.”

“Anything about your foster parents or Noah or where you’ve been staying the night?”

“No.”

Her eyes drift to the tricked-out compass tattooed on the inside of my right arm. “What does your tattoo mean?”