evening so far in my mind. And then it dawned on me that I was alone in Patch's Jeep. His private space.
If I were Patch, and I wanted to hide something highly secretive, I wouldn't hide it in my room, my school locker, or even my backpack, all of which could be confiscated or searched without warning. I'd hide it in my shiny black Jeep with the sophisticated alarm system.
I unbuckled my seat belt and rummaged through the stack of textbooks near my feet, feeling a mysterious smile creep to my mouth at the thought of uncovering one of Patch's secrets. I wasn't expecting to find anything in particular; I would have settled for the combination to his locker or his cell phone number. Toeing around old school assignments cluttering the floor mats, I found a faded pine-scented air freshener, an AC/DC Highway to Hell CD, pencil stubs, and a receipt from the 7-Eleven dated Wednesday at 10:18 p.m. Nothing especially surprising or revealing.
I popped open the glove compartment and sifted through the operating manual and other official documents. There was a gleam of chrome, and my fingertips brushed metal. I pulled out a steel flashlight and turned it on, but nothing happened. I unscrewed the bottom, thinking the flashlight felt a little light, and sure enough, there were no batteries. I wondered why Patch kept a nonworking flashlight stored in his glove compartment. It was the last thought I had before my eyes homed in on the rust) liquid that had dried at one end of the flashlight.
Blood.
Very carefully, I returned the flashlight to the glove compartment and shut it out of sight. I told myself there were lots of things that would leave blood on a flashlight. Like holding it with an injured hand, using it to push a dead animal to the side of the road… swinging it with force against a body repeatedly until it broke skin.
With my heart thundering, I jumped on the first conclusion that presented itself. Patch had lied. He'd attacked Marcie. He'd dropped me off Wednesday evening, traded his motorcycle for the Jeep, and gone out looking for her. Or maybe their paths had intersected by chance and he'd acted on impulse. Either way, Marcie was hurt, the police were involved, and Patch was guilty.
Rationally, I knew it was a quick draw and a big leap, but emotionally, the stakes were too high to step back and think it over. Patch had a frightening past and many, many secrets. If brutal and senseless violence was one of them, I wasn't safe riding around alone with him.
A flash of distant lightning brightened the horizon. Patch exited the restaurant and jogged across the parking lot holding a brown bag in one hand and two sodas in the other. He went around to the driver's side and ducked inside the Jeep. He lifted his ball cap and scrubbed rain out of his hair. Dark waves flipped up everywhere. He handed me the brown bag. 'One turkey sandwich, hold the mayo and pickles, and something to wash it down.'
'Did you attack Marcie Millar?' I asked quietly. 'I want the truth-now.'
Patch lowered his 7UP from his mouth. His eyes sliced into mine. 'What?'
'The flashlight in your glove compartment. Explain it.'
'You went through my glove compartment?' He didn't sound annoyed, but he didn't sound pleased, either.
'The flashlight has dried blood on it. The police came to my house earlier. They think I'm involved. Marcie was attacked Wednesday night, right after I told you how much I can't stand her.'
Patch gave a curt laugh, minus the humor. 'You think I used the flashlight to beat up Marcie.'
He reached behind his seat and dragged out a large gun. I screamed.
He leaned over and sealed my mouth with his hand. 'Paintball gun,' he said. His tone had chilled.
I divided looks between the gun and Patch, feeling a lot of white showing around my eyes.
'I played paintball earlier this week,' he said. 'I thought we went over this.'
'Th-that doesn't explain the blood on the flashlight.'
'Not blood,' he said, 'paint. We were playing Capture the Flag.'
My eyes shifted back to the glove compartment storing the flashlight. The flashlight was… the flag. A mix of relief, idiocy, and guilt at accusing Patch swam through me. 'Oh,' I said lamely. 'I'm-sorry.' But it seemed a little too late for sorry.
Patch stared straight ahead through the windshield, his breathing deep. I wondered if he was using the silence to let go of a little steam. I had just accused him of assault, after all. I felt terrible about it, but my mind was too rattled to come up with the right apology.
'From your description of Marcie, it sounds like she's probably racked up a few enemies,' he said.
'I'm pretty sure Vee and I top the list,' I said, trying to lighten the mood, but not entirely joking, either.
Patch pulled up to the farmhouse and killed the engine. His ball cap was low over his eyes, but now his mouth held the suggestion of a smile. His lips looked soft and smooth, and I was having a hard time averting my eyes. Most of all, I was grateful he seemed to have forgiven me.
'We're going to have to work on your pool game, Angel,' Patch said.
'Speaking of pool.' I cleared my throat. 'I'd like to know when and how you're going to collect on that… thing I owe you.'
'Not tonight.' His eyes watched mine closely, judging my response. I was caught between an easing of my mind and disappointment. But mostly disappointment.
'I have something for you,' Patch said. He reached under his seat and pulled out a white paper bag with red chili peppers printed across it. A to-go bag from the Borderline. He set it between us.
'What's this for?' I asked, peeking inside the bag, having absolutely no idea as to what might be inside.
'Open it.'
I pulled a brown cardboard box out of the to-go bag and lifted the lid. Inside was a snow globe with a miniature Delphic Seaport Amusement Park captured inside. Brass wires were bent roughly into a circle for the Ferris wheel and twisting loops for the roller coaster; flat sheets of tarnished metal formed the Magic Carpet ride.
'It's beautiful,' I said, a little astonished that Patch had thought of me, let alone gone to the trouble of buying me a present. 'Thank you. I mean it. I love it.'
He touched the curved glass. 'There's the Archangel, before it was remodeled.' Behind the Ferris wheel a thin wire ribboned to form the hills and valleys of the Archangel. An angel with broken wings stood at the highest point, bowing his head, gazing down without eyes. 'What really happened the night we rode it together?' I asked.
'You don't want to know.'
'If you tell me you'll have to kill me?' I half joked.
'We're not alone,' Patch answered, looking through the windshield.
I glanced up and caught my mom standing in the open doorway. To my horror, she stepped out and walked toward the Jeep.
'Let me do all the talking,' I said, stuffing the snow globe back in the box. 'Don't say a word-not one word!'
Patch hopped out and came around for my door. We met my mom halfway up the driveway.
'I didn't know you were going out,' she told me, smiling, but not in a relaxed way. It was a smile that said, We'l1 talk later.
'It was sort of last minute,' I explained.
'I came home right after yoga,' she said. The rest was implied. Lucky for me, not so lucky for you. I'd been counting on her going out for smoothies with her friends after class. Nine times out of ten, she did. She turned her attention to Patch. 'It's nice to finally meet you. Apparently my daughter's a big fan.'
I opened my mouth to give an extremely concise introduction and send Patch on his way, but Mom beat me to it. 'I'm Nora's mom. Blythe Grey.'
'This is Patch,' I said, racking my brain for something to say that would bring the pleasantries to an abrupt halt. But the only things I could think of were screaming Fire! or faking a seizure. Somehow, both seemed more humiliating than braving a conversation between Patch and my mom.
'Nora tells me you're a swimmer,' Mom said.
I felt Patch shake with laughter beside me. 'A swimmer?'
'Are you on the school swim team, or is it a city league?'
'More… recreational,' said Patch, passing me a questioning glance.
'Well recreational is good too,' Mom said. 'Where do you swim? The rec center?'
