Breakaway by Kat Spears Page A

know?”
    â€œYeah, you’re a regular Nelson Mandela,” he said with all apparent sincerity. “Saturday night at seven, okay? And try to look presentable.”
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    On Saturday evening Jordie picked up the girls first since they all lived in the same neighborhood. I sat on the stoop outside of my apartment in the fading sunlight and waited for them.
    I could hear the television in the apartment and the clink of glass as Mom washed dishes. Mom and I hadn’t spoken in a few days. She kept the television on almost full time to fill the house with noise and stayed up watching all night while I was sleeping. It didn’t bother me, since I could sleep through just about anything.
    My stomach was aching again, the pain still intense, but I was getting used to it now, learning to manage it by slowing my breath as I waited for the pain to subside.
    Jordie walked up to meet me, approaching from the side of the building. “You ready?” he asked.
    â€œYou’re early,” I said as I dropped the twig I had been peeling.
    â€œYeah, well, if you’re ready,” he said with a critical look at the jeans and T-shirt I wore with a flannel, arguably none of them really clean, “the girls are in the car.”
    â€œYou’re not going to bring them in?” I asked.
    He eyed me for a minute trying to judge if I was kidding, but said nothing and just shoved his hands into his pants pockets, a gesture that was so familiar to me, I no longer thought about the uncertainty it meant he was feeling. “Well, you know,” he said. “Your mom’s been a little … well, just.… lately.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, cutting him some slack because I didn’t want to talk about it. “Let’s go then.”
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    Cheryl was in the shotgun seat, Raine leaned forward between the front seats of the car talking to her, but when they noticed our approach Raine scooted back in her seat and adjusted her skirt around her knees.
    As I climbed into the backseat beside her she shifted her legs away from me and smoothed her short skirt over her legs again. Tonight she was dressed somewhat conservatively, for her—black miniskirt with high black boots and a Hello Kitty sweatshirt under a black biker-style jacket with an anarchy symbol painted on the sleeve in white paint. The jacket was ripped in places and I wondered if she had bought it used, or bought it new and made the rips herself.
    â€œHey,” I said to Cheryl, and gave Raine a nod. I took a moment to give her legs a look where they were bare above her boots and below her skirt. She caught my look and seemed a little miffed as she shifted again in her seat and stared hard out the window.
    Jordie drove us to the strip mall where there were a bunch of restaurants and a multiplex. He and Cheryl kept up the conversation while Raine and I sat in silence. We got a table at the pizza place near the theater. It was packed with people at this time on a Saturday night and the waitress looked irritated to have to serve us, a group of kids.
    Raine hesitated before sliding into the booth, as if she was hoping she could sit on the same bench as her friend instead of next to me.
    â€œI can sit somewhere else if it will make you more comfortable,” I said to her.
    â€œI’m not uncomfortable,” she said as she tossed her hair and slid into the inside seat.
    â€œJaz is just kidding,” Jordie said, giving me a look that told me to shut my mouth.
    Raine ignored Jordie and instead of getting annoyed said, “Jaz—why do people call you that?”
    â€œWhy do people call you Raine?” I asked.
    â€œMy name is Lorraine,” she said as she crossed her arms on the table, “which is a horrible effing name, so I go by Raine. Why do people call you Jaz?”
    â€œMy dad was the one that called me that,” I said with a shrug. “Guess it just stuck.”
    â€œWhat happened