her eyes, searching for the answer I knew they’d give me. She was lying and that’s not something we did. We never lied to each other.
“Bullshit.”
It took some convincing but on the way to the shop to load my car, she admitted she met up with Dylan Grady. I didn’t feel the need to ask questions. The revolting nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach kept me from asking what happened. It was comparable to the night I saw them making out at Tommy’s party.
Dylan Grady was a player; had been and always would be.
Sure, he was popular and good looking as the girls would say but his popularity did nothing for his personality or lack of one. The fact that she was hanging around with him in general enraged me but I kept my cool. I wasn’t her only friend and I wasn’t her boyfriend. I had no right to dictate who she hung out with or where she went.
So instead of replying to her confession, I only nodded and drove to the shop in silence. When we got there, Sway went over to Alley, who was now living with Spencer, and Emma and began talking while Spencer, my dad and me loaded the car.
By the end of their conversation, Sway was crying in Alley’s arms and Emma looked pissed. Emma may be the youngest of the Riley kids not to mention the smallest but she showed the biggest heart when she wasn’t lathering herself with lotion.
If anyone crossed us, it was Emma who felt it and took action upon herself. If there is one positive thing I could say about Emma, aside from being ridiculously obsessive compulsive, it is that she would stick up for her family above all else.
“What are you doing?” I asked Emma as she rummaged around through the toolbox.
“Looking for a wrench,” She seethed looking over at me. “I’m going to kill Dylan.”
“Hold on there, why would you do that?” Spencer asked reaching for the wrench. I held her back from retrieving it again.
Her expression changed when she saw Sway approaching the shop. “He ... Sway ... oh never mind.” She finally mumbled when she realized she’d already given away too much.
Sway, in a slightly better mood and twirling a sucker in her mouth, bounded back inside the shop.
“You boys ready yet?” She chirped sitting down on the rear tire of my sprint car, with the sucker.
Holy fuck.
Distracted by the sucker around her lips for obvious reasons, I turned and made myself think of something else. Like why my sister wanted to kill Dylan.
Spencer drove up with Alley and Emma while Sway and I hauled my sprint car with my truck. I took the time to try to talk to her, after she threw away the sucker and I could look at her.
“Why did Emma want to kill Dylan earlier today?” I blurted out somewhere after we made it to Portland.
Sway smiled and looked down at her cut off shorts, toying with the fringed fabric between her fingers.
“It’s nothing Jameson, he’s just a jerk. That’s all.”
I left her alone, knowing my pushing the subject was bothering her.
Last night at Elma I ran good—not great, but good and ended up with a third place finish in the feature. Tonight at Cottage Grove was absolutely nuts. In the start, things couldn’t have looked any worse, so I thought.
I was lined up fourteenth and fell back to eighteenth within the first three laps. Ryder, the kid from North Carolina, was racing side-by-side with me, taking every line I wanted. Every time I was beginning to make some ground, the caution flew and every time it took a few laps for my car to get into the groove.
My car was pushing which wasn’t unusual when you’re loaded down with fuel. I hung on hoping the handling would improve once the fuel burned off.
The handling improved but my luck never improved.
With nine laps to go, running in third, a bolt broke in the oil filter adapter base. Usually this wouldn’t have been that big of a deal until oil shot into the header and the goddamn thing went up in flames. Luckily, I wasn’t in it.
So there I was a junked car,
“Bullshit.”
It took some convincing but on the way to the shop to load my car, she admitted she met up with Dylan Grady. I didn’t feel the need to ask questions. The revolting nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach kept me from asking what happened. It was comparable to the night I saw them making out at Tommy’s party.
Dylan Grady was a player; had been and always would be.
Sure, he was popular and good looking as the girls would say but his popularity did nothing for his personality or lack of one. The fact that she was hanging around with him in general enraged me but I kept my cool. I wasn’t her only friend and I wasn’t her boyfriend. I had no right to dictate who she hung out with or where she went.
So instead of replying to her confession, I only nodded and drove to the shop in silence. When we got there, Sway went over to Alley, who was now living with Spencer, and Emma and began talking while Spencer, my dad and me loaded the car.
By the end of their conversation, Sway was crying in Alley’s arms and Emma looked pissed. Emma may be the youngest of the Riley kids not to mention the smallest but she showed the biggest heart when she wasn’t lathering herself with lotion.
If anyone crossed us, it was Emma who felt it and took action upon herself. If there is one positive thing I could say about Emma, aside from being ridiculously obsessive compulsive, it is that she would stick up for her family above all else.
“What are you doing?” I asked Emma as she rummaged around through the toolbox.
“Looking for a wrench,” She seethed looking over at me. “I’m going to kill Dylan.”
“Hold on there, why would you do that?” Spencer asked reaching for the wrench. I held her back from retrieving it again.
Her expression changed when she saw Sway approaching the shop. “He ... Sway ... oh never mind.” She finally mumbled when she realized she’d already given away too much.
Sway, in a slightly better mood and twirling a sucker in her mouth, bounded back inside the shop.
“You boys ready yet?” She chirped sitting down on the rear tire of my sprint car, with the sucker.
Holy fuck.
Distracted by the sucker around her lips for obvious reasons, I turned and made myself think of something else. Like why my sister wanted to kill Dylan.
Spencer drove up with Alley and Emma while Sway and I hauled my sprint car with my truck. I took the time to try to talk to her, after she threw away the sucker and I could look at her.
“Why did Emma want to kill Dylan earlier today?” I blurted out somewhere after we made it to Portland.
Sway smiled and looked down at her cut off shorts, toying with the fringed fabric between her fingers.
“It’s nothing Jameson, he’s just a jerk. That’s all.”
I left her alone, knowing my pushing the subject was bothering her.
Last night at Elma I ran good—not great, but good and ended up with a third place finish in the feature. Tonight at Cottage Grove was absolutely nuts. In the start, things couldn’t have looked any worse, so I thought.
I was lined up fourteenth and fell back to eighteenth within the first three laps. Ryder, the kid from North Carolina, was racing side-by-side with me, taking every line I wanted. Every time I was beginning to make some ground, the caution flew and every time it took a few laps for my car to get into the groove.
My car was pushing which wasn’t unusual when you’re loaded down with fuel. I hung on hoping the handling would improve once the fuel burned off.
The handling improved but my luck never improved.
With nine laps to go, running in third, a bolt broke in the oil filter adapter base. Usually this wouldn’t have been that big of a deal until oil shot into the header and the goddamn thing went up in flames. Luckily, I wasn’t in it.
So there I was a junked car,
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