Ride and Die (Ridgemore #1)

8 That Closet Sure as Shit Doesn’t Lead to Narnia, and Other Woes

8

That Closet Sure as Shit Doesn’t Lead to Narnia, and Other Woes

B rady and Layla were the first to get a car. Their parents were tired of carting them around, and often also the rest of us, a position they were vocal about. Even though we spent much of our time in our collective backyards and the forest that extended beyond them, our parents were all too ready to grant us our independence.

That was before Brady’s accident, of course.

Since we’d been able to count on our own set of wheels, we’d been skipping school. Not often enough to draw attention to our absences, just enough to keep ourselves from dying of boredom, which was a real possibility. Challenging, Ridgemore High was not, its system for students leaving during the school day happily lax. A signed note from a guardian was all it took. I’d been a master forger of my mom’s signature for years, and I’d claimed more appointments than I could count—doctors of all sorts, shrinks, even orthodontists, though I’d never had braces. So far, we’d never been caught.

We’d also never taken off without signing out at the front office the way we were supposed to.

Hunt’s phone vibrated, and he checked it. “Cool. Zoe says she’s got us covered.”

“How?” Layla asked. I was wondering the same.

His fingers flew over the screen. “Asking.”

We waited while Griffin’s Clyde hugged the winding road that eventually led to our houses, whipping around bend after bend. Bonnie would just have to stay in the school parking lot overnight. No one would think too much of it, assuming we’d left together for some reason.

Hunt grimaced apologetically at Brady, who didn’t notice from the passenger seat, where his focus was trained on the road ahead. “She says she used the Miracle Kid excuse, citing group trauma that came up on us all of a sudden. Says she called on our teachers’ sympathy, and it worked.”

Layla swiveled to study Hunt from the middle of the bench seat. “She for real said all that?”

He shrugged, still messaging back, his phone buzzing frequently in a way that told us Hunt and Zoe had more to say to each other than what he was repeating aloud. “Seems like.”

Brady groaned from the front seat, but Layla ignored him, her eyes narrowing on Hunt. “You do fucking like her. Why won’t you just admit it?”

“Of course I like her. If not, I wouldn’t give her my digits.” He glanced up at her. “Duh.”

“No, you doofus. I mean, you like like her.”

He smirked. “You sound like you’re a third grader, Lay.” And he went back to texting.

“So…?”

He didn’t look up, eyes trained on his screen. “So what?”

“So … are you gonna ask her out or what?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I like her well enough. She’s cool for a chick.”

“Hey,” Layla and I protested together, and I reached across her to slap him on the thigh.

He laughed, clearly having done it on purpose. “But I’m just not that into her.”

“Why not?” Layla asked, intent on getting to the bottom of Hunt’s feelings.

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. She comes to mind every once in a while, so it’s not like I don’t think about her, but I don’t think about her too much. She’s nice and pretty and interesting and all that—smart too, I think—but I don’t need her in my life. I mean, I’ve got you guys.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but you can’t bone us.”

“Joss is right,” Layla added. “What about getting your needs met?”

Another shrug as he slid forward to tuck his phone back in his pocket. “There are other girls far better at the casual thing. I don’t get the feeling Zoe’ll be into casual, and I don’t want to get tangled up in anything, especially not right now.” He flicked a look at Brady, who stared ahead, unusually quiet. Ordinarily, he would have been the first to be busting Hunt’s balls about some girl.

Layla followed the trajectory of Hunt’s gaze and nodded, letting the topic drop. We talked about mindless nonsense until Griffin pulled Clyde into the space we’d carved out of the forest past our driveways for just this purpose. Our parents never drove this far, and when we parked our cars in far enough, bushes and trees concealed them from easy view. As far as we knew, they’d never found this hiding spot.

I stepped out of the car first and waited for Layla to slide across the seat. She was getting out when she halted, her gaze going vacant for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She groaned. “I just got my period.”

“ Ewww ,” Brady said. “Not where we can hear, Layla. That’s gross.”

Layla rolled her eyes. “Dude, it’s a bodily function. Get over yourself. Do you see me freaking out when you burp and fart around me?”

“Yes, you fucking complain about it every time. You sound like Mom, getting on my case about stupid manners.”

“Clearly with good reason.” Layla stood and moved away so I could shut the door behind her. Shorter than me by a few inches, she glanced up at me. “You got any tampons on you? I didn’t pack any. It’s the first day of school and my period’s fucking early. I don’t have my usual stash.”

“Aw, come on ,” Brady whined.

Hunt palmed him on the back. “Do we need to go over the birds and the bees again?”

“Of course not, asshole,” he growled, stepping away before Hunt could drape an arm over his shoulders. “What the fuck would we need to talk about the mechanics of sex for? I’ve had more practice than you by a mile.”

Hunt smiled easily. “And you wouldn’t be getting in all that practice if the girls didn’t get their periods. For that matter, Celia would’ve never pushed you out of her vajayjay—”

“That’s enough, Hunt,” Brady snapped as if Hunt were insulting his momma instead of discussing the obvious.

I shook my head, chuckling despite the fact that my friends could often be annoying morons. “We’re closest to my house. I’ll sneak in, grab some, and meet you guys at the treehouse.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Joss.” Then Layla hooked her arm through Brady’s, leading him into the forest and onto the faintly worn trail we’d carved out between the trees, whispering vagina as they went, just to freak him out some more. Hunt soon followed, but Griffin lingered, his eyes running the length of me.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sure I’m okay.” I smiled softly at him. “You?”

His eyes, a hazel brown, lit up as he returned my smile. “Always.” He stared at me for another few beats, heating my skin everywhere his gaze traveled, then turned and trailed down the path after the others.

I waited a moment, lingering in the heat still tingling across my skin, then walked in the opposite direction before breaking into a light jog, covering the short distance to my house quickly. I emerged from the trees at the back end of our property, so I couldn’t tell if my parents were home by their cars in the driveway or garage, but when I spotted Bobo loose in the backyard, I knew they were there. We never left my dog outside if we weren’t home to keep an eye on him.

The black pittie was already charging my way before I popped out from among the trees. But I adopted Bobo when he was a puppy, and he was trained not to make a peep unless I wanted him to.

Crouching to greet him, I allowed him a few sloppy kisses before pulling my face away. “Such a good boy,” I cooed, scratching behind his ears and then all over, concentrating on the white patch on his throat and chest. Softly, he whined, the entire back half of his body wagging along with his tail until he plopped onto his back, asking for belly rubs.

“So spoiled.” But I didn’t hesitate to indulge him, chuckling despite myself. “You missed me, huh? Well, I missed you too.”

His whine intensified as if he understood me.

“Just don’t tell Mom or Dad I’m home early, okay? I’ll get in trouble. I’m supposed to be at lame-ass school.” Another whine in solidarity. “Yeah, exactly. You’re lucky you don’t have to go to school.”

My parents had insisted that if I was going to bring home a pit bull, I needed to take him to “doggy academy.” I refused, figuring out how to train him myself, and Bobo took to my instruction so well that my parents never protested when I broke my agreement with them.

After an intense scratching behind his ears, the only other white tuft on his otherwise black fur, I told him, “You stay here. I’ll be right back.”

He leaped to his feet to follow me, a stupidly cute smile stretching his cheeks.

I pointed at him. “ Stay .”

He complained softly but obeyed.

“Good boy,” I whispered and crouched low, slinking along the bushy mountain laurel until I reached the sliding glass doors that didn’t squeak.

I left my shoes outside and padded around with silent footfalls until I clutched tampons in one hand like the ready excuse they’d be if either of my parents ran into me. Why am I home from school in the middle of the day? Oh, my period came early. What a bummer. Just grabbing some quick supplies and heading back. No, I couldn’t use the school nurse’s stuff. She only stocks crappy, chemical-y brands.

When I emerged from the hallway leading from my bedroom, on the opposite end of the house from their room and office, I paused, tilting my head like Bobo did, listening.

“Reece,” my mom called out from the far end of the house.

“What?” my dad shouted back, sounding like he was in the kitchen. Hearing the fridge door confirmed my guess.

“They’re in the treehouse and they’re talking about some nightmares Brady’s been having.”

“Wait, what?” A cabinet shut loudly, metal tinkling across china as Dad likely gathered his plate and utensils before crossing the kitchen, dining room, and entering the hallway that led to their shared home office.

“They’re skipping school already?” he asked. Not, What the fuck are you talking about, woman? as he should have.

I froze, listening to his slippers as they squeaked across the bamboo floor of the hallway.

“Hurry,” my mom hollered. “He’s talking about a lab from when they were kids.”

“Oh, fuck ,” my dad grunted, running the rest of the way. “What’s the lab look like? How’s he describing it?”

But then their voices faded as I registered the distinct sound of them descending stairs. Only there were no stairs in that part of the house…

And what the ever-loving fuck were they doing spying on us in the treehouse? How did they even know the others were there?

I hesitated, only for a few seconds, before clutching the tampons to my chest and tiptoeing after them. Period came early. Home for supplies. Heard you guys yelling. Figured I’d come check to make sure you’re all right before I head back to school like a good kid.

Also, what the fuck are you two up to?

When I reached their office, the door was open and Dad’s plated bagel sandwich was abandoned on his desk, the fork for his potato salad on the floor, a splatter of mayo and potato on the carpet.

And he didn’t stop to clean it up…

That realization sank in my gut almost as heavily as what I’d already heard. My dad was no clean freak, but Mom was. A cleaning service came to the house a few times a week, and even so, she still did more tidying up than any one human ever should. He would never have left a spill on the floor like that, not when she was around.

Only he had. And he apparently hadn’t given so much as a minor fuck about the mess.

My heart beat more quickly as my attention landed on the ajar closet door … and the corridor extending inside it … like it was leading to motherfucking Narnia or some shit.

“What the…?” I breathed to myself on an inhale. After shoving the tampons in my back pocket, I flicked one of my braids over my shoulder to get it out of the way and leaned forward without stepping into the carpeted closet that obviously was no such thing. Unworn winter coats were shoved far to one side, evidently part of the ruse to hide this entrance … from me. Their daughter.

Bitterness swelled in my chest like acid reflux, but I ignored it and focused. A single unanticipated creak of a floorboard would give me away. A spiral staircase with a black iron railing led downward, so I crouched low and perked my ears like I was Bobo listening for the sound of his food clattering against his stainless-steel bowl.

I could no longer make out what they were saying, though I could hear them talking in a blend of unintelligible excited sounds.

But what I could make out with ease was Brady’s voice, then Layla’s and Hunt’s, and finally, Griffin’s. He was saying, “Brade, if you wanna talk about this more, we should wait for Joss. She’ll be pissed if she knows we’ve been talking about your dreams without her.”

Despite the confusion and betrayal building inside me in equal measure like the churning lava of a volcano, I warmed at Griffin looking out for me.

“What’s taking her so long, anyway?” Layla asked, her words traveling crisply up to greet me. “She should be back by now. Maybe she ran into her parents. Hmm. Should I go rescue her?”

“No,” Brady said. “You’ll just make things worse. Joss can handle herself.”

Layla snorted. “Of course my girl can handle herself. But you know what Monica’s like. She might’ve trapped her up in a web of motherly guilt. Not even Joss is immune to that shit.”

“Wait,” Dad said more loudly so I could only just make out his exclamation. “Where’s Joss? She’s not here, is she?” Despite the volume, I registered the panic in his questions.

When my mom followed up with a sharp, “You didn’t leave the closet door open, did you?” I didn’t wait to hear more.

In a squat, I sidestepped the fallen fork and rushed across their office, filled with their desks and regular, non-suspect office supplies. By the time I slid out of the room, I was running full speed, dodging furniture I could have avoided with my eyes closed. Before I heard them climbing the stairway in their secret room, I was sliding the same door I came in through shut behind me, swiping my shoes, and running in my socks full-out until I slid into the shrubs that would conceal me.

In an instant, Bobo was on me, ears alert, tongue lolling, tail perked as he waited to see if I would bring him along with me.

Normally, I would have asked him to stay in the yard so my parents wouldn’t figure out I was home, but after what I’d just witnessed, there was no point to the subterfuge. Plus, I was so pissed I could feel my nostrils flaring, and Bobo was as good a friend as any of the others, sometimes better. At least he wouldn’t ask questions I didn’t have answers to.

“Come on, boy. You’re coming with me.”

We jogged all the way to the treehouse, Bobo’s collar jingling as we ran. By the time we arrived, I still hadn’t figured out what the hell to tell the others, so while my friends greeted Bobo and he went for a second round of pampering, I headed over to the punching bag. Without handing Layla the tampons I’d gone into my house to get in the first place, I wrapped my hands and faced the bag.

My mind was consumed with my discovery as I landed my first punch, and I tuned out their questions as I kept hitting the bag.

I’d tell them everything eventually, of course. Soon. But not quite yet.

Those were my parents. My parents were the liars. My mom and dad . The two people I was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone else in the world had been hiding an entire room from me in our home, like they were secret agents or some shit. They were spying on me and my friends!

I even ignored Griffin’s rumbles of concern as I pounded my frustrations into the bag, intending to keep going until the bones in my hands ached and my knuckles bled.