Chasing Impossible

Abby offers a side glare full of pain to three girls who were three steps away from approaching me. They scurry off like they’d met the reaper.

“Block much?” I mumble, even though the most interesting and gorgeous girl in the room is the one standing in front of me.

Abby smirks. “You can do better. Back to business. What do you want me to do? Run naked through the club? Steal the wallet of a frat boy? Flirt with a bouncer and steal his club keys?”

Abby’s a loaded gun, and if you get within a few feet of her, the click of the safety switching to off is audible. People with an ounce of sense back off this girl in an instant, but to me her intensity is an addiction.

“Same thing.” I tilt my head in the direction of the wall. “Start climbing.”

Abby wraps her fingers around my bicep, or at least tries. Her small grip doesn’t fit all the way around. She squeezes the muscle and a jolt of electricity races through my bloodstream. Wonder if she feels the crackle of energy whenever we breathe the same air.

“I don’t have your muscles,” Abby says as an explanation. It’s a pity when she lets go.

“So I win.”

Her hazel eyes narrow on me, unhappy with the idea of losing. “Fine. Lift me up.”

“You didn’t lift me up.”

“I don’t bench-press two hundred pounds with my pinkie.”

I sweep my hand for Abby to head to the wall, but a ball of blond slips in between us. “Nope. Not happening. This is my first night dancing and you two will not get us thrown out. Do you hear me?”

Rachel’s a short thing, but full of spunk and she’s wearing a don’t-mess-with-me expression. She’s been waiting months for a night like this, and neither Abby nor I would want to be the reason it was ruined.

I toss my hands up in a show of submission. “Games for the night are done.”

“Good.” Rachel extends her hand to her boyfriend. Isaiah links his fingers with hers then leads her to the dance floor, leaving me and Abby alone.

Abby sucks in her lower lip like she’s trying not to laugh and I understand the feeling. That was the equivalent of being reprimanded by Mom and Dad for having our hands caught in the cookie jar. Abby and I met because of Isaiah and Rachel. We were two separate parts of Isaiah’s life and then we wound up fighting side by side with Isaiah when things got rough for him and Rachel on the streets a few months back.

“To be continued,” I say. “Unless you’re chicken.”

Abby skims her eyes over me as if she likes what she sees. “I’m not scared of you or your crazy dares.”

“Good to hear.”

Abby steals my bottled water and keeps direct eye contact as she drinks more than half of it in several continuous gulps. When she finishes, she maintains that steady stare. “Remember when we were best friends in kindergarten and we got crazy and messy when we were locked in the art room because we hid under the desks because we didn’t want to do nap time?”

Abby has this devilish glint in her eye that has attracted me to her from the moment we met and that glint has a habit of brightening whenever she looks at me.

I’m attracted to her, she’s attracted to me, but we have a habit of ignoring what’s brewing between us. But that’s all right. Life for us is a game, and we both love to play.

Our group claimed a corner in the back of the club a few hours ago. It’s teen night and the place is crawling with people our age—seventeen, eighteen, a few sixteen-year-olds who should be put in protective custody due to their lack of common sense. Most haven’t been outside their safe bubble and this is their first taste of protected freedom.

Table was easy to claim as three of us in our group are over six foot and scares the hell out of everyone. Isaiah has enough tattoos that most people assume he’s been in prison even though he’s only eighteen. Then there’s West. He’s the golden-haired rich boy who sports a nice shiner from an amateur MMA fight last weekend. It’s the type of bruise that makes you wonder how bad off the other guy is. And me? Doesn’t take long for people to figure out I’m bat shit crazy.

I rest my elbows on the high table and ease into Abby’s space. “I remember. You couldn’t just chill with the clay and decided to go Picasso with the paint and redecorate the walls. Principal was pissed.”

The floor beneath us vibrates from the drums and the bass guitar and the place has a sweet smell. Like too much cleaner combined with spilled soft drinks. But the scent that absorbs me is an aroma that’s distinctly Abby—wild honey.

Her forehead crinkles and a bead of sweat drops from her hairline. Before she bounded over with her dare for me to climb, Abby had been dancing with Rachel and I enjoyed watching.

Abby’s like a mythical creature—rare, unique. One of those people you think only exists in your dreams, and she draws the attention of everyone. Long dark brown hair, hazel eyes and she’s blessed in all the right places.

What she wears is simple. Always simple. Tonight, it’s jeans, a pair of black knockoff Chuck high-tops, and a dark blue lace tank that sparkles. There’s something mysterious in how she chooses simple yet soft. Abby’s possibly the strongest, most hard-core girl I know, yet she’s exotic and feminine. She’s definitely one of a kind.

“Yeah, the principal was mad,” Abby says. “But we didn’t get caught because, if you recall, I had the brilliant plan of climbing out the windows and then sneaking back into our class before our teacher missed us.”

“It was my strength that pushed you through the window back into our classroom.”

“My knight in shining armor.” She flutters her eyelashes at me before finishing the water.

None of this happened as we haven’t even known each other a year yet, but Abby spins stories of a past we never shared and I go with it. Sometimes, she’s so convincing I begin to question my own memories. Maybe she’s not so convincing and it’s more that I would prefer her version of our make-believe past over my real life.

My cell buzzes and it’s Ryan, my best friend from Bullitt County. Abby bumps my hip so that I’m out of her way and she confiscates my cell. I grin because the girl is incorrigible and I love it.

“Let’s see.” Abby angles the phone so I can’t read Ryan’s text. “Ryan says he’s been eaten by alligators and that he’s left you a million dollars.”

“That so?”

“That’s so.” She taps buttons on my cell and she glances up from dark eyelashes to see if she’s found a way to push my buttons. She can keep trying. It’s tough to find buttons I care enough about to be pissed they were pushed. “I just told Ryan we eloped.”

My cell buzzes again, and I’m immersed in her sexy grin. “He’s pissed you skipped the bachelor party. He said you promised him naked chicks before you got married. Wow—I didn’t know guys actually had those conversations.”

She scans my face and when nothing she said fazes me, she slides my cell back in my direction. “Can I go?”

I study the convo between Abby and Ryan. He’s confirming that I’m going to Chris’s grandfather’s farm in southern Kentucky again and baling hay for the week. We’ve been doing it for the past few years. It’s backbreaking work, but we make nice money. Abby demanded we take her along, signing her text as Abby, Queen of Logan’s World. Ryan told her she had to talk to me.

“It’s boys only,” I say.

“Rules don’t apply to me. You should know that by now. Anyhow, you guys let me hang when you baled hay at Chris’s farm.”

“That was one day and this will be for a week. Camping and dirt your thing, Abby?”

“I can make anything my thing.”

I believe that.

“I heard that Noah and Isaiah are going. Noah’s going to use that money to buy Echo an engagement ring.”

I heard the same thing from Noah, Isaiah’s best friend, but it’s not my business. “Point?”

“If Noah gets to go, I want to go. Maybe I want to buy myself a diamond ring.”

“You’re going to help bale hay?”

Abby scowls. “Hell, no. I just want to go and get paid.”

I laugh, she smiles and the drummer of the band onstage begins the count. For the third time this evening, the electric guitarist comes in late and starts off beat. I came here tonight because I heard this band was on the verge of kicking him out. I’ve been searching for a new high, at least for the summer, and this just might be it.

“Dance with me, Logan.”

That rips my attention away from the guy making a fool of himself onstage. I examine Abby and wonder what piece she just moved on the chessboard. Wouldn’t put it past Abby to sacrifice a pawn in order to kill a queen. Abby is nothing if not strategic.

“I don’t dance.” I don’t.

She slowly raises her eyebrows, and I fight the tilt of my lips. Abby doesn’t like being told no. “You’ll dart into traffic to run after a stranger’s balloon, but you won’t dance with me?”

I ran into traffic because I was curious if I could make it to the other side. The balloon made it interesting. “I don’t dance with anyone.”

“You were the one that suggested we come here.”

I shrug. I’m here because an opportunity presented itself and I’m fascinated by the new and shiny.

“Dance with me, Logan,” she says again, and I have to admit I like how her hips sway to the music. “Why else would you come here if it wasn’t to touch me on the dance floor?”

I chuckle because that caught me off guard and Abby laughs, her real laugh. It doesn’t happen often and I like when it does.

“Rachel said she wanted to dance,” I say.

And she is, with Isaiah. While everyone else is grinding it out to the hard beat, Isaiah is slow dancing with his girl. Her head’s on his shoulder, his arms are wound tight around her waist. They look like they could die now and wouldn’t notice they had landed in heaven since they’re already there. That right there is love and it’s one in a million.

I’m not foolish enough to believe I’ll find something like Isaiah and Rachel share, but I’m fine with that. Emotions are overrated.

My cell buzzes on the table and I swipe it before Abby can read this one. Dad: Stay out of trouble. I texted your mom to see if she knew you needed to be up in the morning for the meeting and she said you never told her. Don’t do this, Logan. Not again.

My jaw twitches with annoyance. I shove my phone into my pocket. Abby’s watching me with a baffled expression, which means she must have read over my shoulder. “That was sweet of him. What type of trouble is he referring to? The type where you drag race with Isaiah or where you jump out of towering trees or play in traffic?”

All things I’ve done and those weren’t even the top three dangerous feats I’ve taken on recently. “Remember when I told you to mind your own business?”

“That never happened. Get your memories straight. And what’s this meeting in the morning?”

Nothing I’m interested in attending. “Let it go.”

This time, Abby is the one who leans forward on the table and she knows what she’s doing as she hugs her waist so that her cleavage peeks out. She’s the tiger after her prey. “Now that I think about it, you never talk about your parents. In fact, you really don’t talk at all.”

“We talk.”

“We play,” she says, and my gaze meets hers with the raw honesty. “What was that text about?”

“Not your business.”

“Make it my business.”

“I’m telling you to back off.”

“Not sure if you noticed, but I’m not the back-off type.” Abby scans the room like she’s searching for someone, and it’s not the first time she’s done that tonight.

“Who are you searching for?” I ask.

She sneers, so I know I called that right. “I’m not looking for anyone.”

“You are.”

“Topic of conversation was you and your dad and that text. Stick with the subject.”

Anger begins to bubble up in my bloodstream. “I told you, let it go.”

As if she’s a toddler, Abby stomps her foot. “Well, I’m not. I want to know.”

Abby and I usually don’t play this way, but if she wants to go there, then I’m throwing both of us over the edge. “You’ve been off all night. Acting like the boogeyman is out to get you. What’s your deal?”

Her expression blackens. “There’s no deal.”

Bull. “You think you’re unreadable, but I got your number.”

“Back the fuck off, Logan.”

Like she backed off of me? “Is it the drugs? Are you bringing trouble to Rachel’s doorstep? This is the first time she’s been out like this since the accident. She doesn’t need any more problems than she’s got.”

She blinks like I backhanded her and I hate the heaviness in my stomach. Yeah, tonight was about me checking out the band, but tonight was also a scheme created by Rachel. She’s bent on saving Abby. All of us are. It’s a feeble plan. Hang together, have a great time, ask her to leave with us and hope she ignores her chosen path for at least one night. It wouldn’t win the war, but we’ll celebrate any small victory.

Abby’s head jerks in an angry way. “I would never put Rachel in the line of fire.”

“I may not understand what you do, but I’m not seeing how you can minimize those risks. You’re not God.”

“What? You judging me now? Do you think I’m a threat? Do you think I’m unworthy of her friendship? Of yours?”

“No. Just trying to understand you.”

“We play, remember?” And the ache in her eyes cuts me deep. “We aren’t real friends so stop acting like you care.”

Damn me for hurting her. “Abby—”

It’s as if a mask covers Abby’s face, and where there was pain, there’s now a smirk. A fake smirk. A mere shadow of the girl who was playing make-believe a few minutes ago. “You’re too serious, Logan. We get along because neither of us does emotion. Let me know if you change your mind on the dance.”

I’d almost consider the dance if it would erase the past few seconds, but even I know there’s no changing the past.

“You’re wrong,” I call out as Abby has turned her back on me to slip into the crowd.

She pivots to face me again, but still walks backwards. “That never happens, but to placate you, how was I wrong?”

“It was my brilliant plan to sneak out the windows in kindergarten and then sneak back in. I’m the one with the massive IQ, remember?”

That devilish glint reappears in her eyes along with her heart-stopping smile. “I only let you think it was your plan, but it was really mine. And on the IQ? I’ll put my test scores up to yours any day and I’ll win.”

A smile stretches across my face and Abby winks before disappearing. And the game continues. We both moved pieces and neither of us is any closer to winning, but I’m not sure what’s at stake to be won.

Abby’s a drug dealer.

I’m a ticking time bomb.

Neither Abby nor I are reliable or stable. We’re like a tidal wave of gasoline approaching a nuclear power plant, but we still like to play with matches.

Doesn’t make sense. I guess it doesn’t need to. I work well in the undefined.

I pull out my cell, ignore the text from Dad and scroll through the trail of messages between me and Sly. He’s an ex-boyfriend of Mom’s. He was around before either of us learned not to get attached. Sly was a hard lesson for me and I was an even harder lesson for him.

Me: I’ve heard the band. I want in.

Sly: I’ll get you ten minutes with them this week. Don’t fuck it up.

Me: Won’t.

Sly: You’re good with the traveling?

I scan the bar. Isaiah and West are playing pool on the other side of the room. When Isaiah catches my eye he jerks his chin for me to join them. I tip my head to let him know I’ll be there soon. Another sweep of the room and I spot Abby dancing with Rachel again. They’re holding hands, twirling together, and laughing.

Like Ryan and Chris, Isaiah and West also graduated this spring. Moving forward. Moving on. Rachel’s still in school, transferring this year to my new school in fact. We’re friends, but not close friends.

All I’ve got left in this life is Abby and nobody knows Abby. She doesn’t belong enough to anyone for her to have friends. Just the way all mythical creatures should live.

Me: Yeah, I’m good on the traveling. I’m good with starting a new life.

Abby

“I’m going to kiss him tonight.” From the back of the club, I point at the hot guy playing electric guitar onstage. He has gorgeous red hair that’s a little longer than most guys wear it and a body made for sin.

Sitting beside me, my best friend, Rachel, squints through the haze of dry ice and dancing beams of light, and when she spots my prey, her mouth pops open. Rachel’s the anti-me with her blond hair and blue eyes and this is her first time at a club. I’m dark hair and hazel eyes and continuously walk the line of selling my soul.

It’s Sunday and we’re at one of those teen nights for the local bar. This for her is wild. This for me is tame. But kissing the guy who obviously can play a guitar in a way that causes me to blush can make this evening worthwhile.

“It’s either that or kissing Logan,” I say over the pounding beat of the drums and she laughs. She thinks I’m kidding, but I’m not. Talk about another guy built for sin, but I’ve been warned off of him by several friends of ours that I respect. Logan’s my type of crazy, but he’s also the type I can easily mess up in the wrong ways.

I’m not interested in jacking up anyone’s life other than my own. At least not the lives of the people I care about. Anyone else is fair game.

Rachel brushes away the strands of hair sticking to her face. We’ve danced tonight, her and I. Not much, but enough that it’s worn Rachel out. An accident a few months back killed her stamina, and for a time her ability to walk, but she’s on her feet again and loved the idea of dancing and I love her enough to make her happy.

Rachel, Logan and I will start our senior year of high school this fall and thanks to Logan’s IQ and having divorced parents, he’s now attending school with Rachel and me. We only have a few weeks left until life becomes completely complicated and chaotic.

Isaiah, Logan, and Rachel’s older brother, West, left a few minutes ago to bring Isaiah’s car around and they’re taking too long. I was banking on them leaving by eleven-thirty, but West tagging along with us bought Rachel another half hour of time. Her damn older brother doing some damn interfering. She needs to leave because I have an appointment, and I don’t like mixing my friends with clients.

Ricky told me not to sell, but he didn’t tell me I couldn’t hold an interview.

“Stay the night with me.” Rachel rests her water bottle on the seat beside her. “We’ll pick up tacos and maybe some queso on the way home.”

My eyes snap to hers at the mention of queso, and I hate that my stomach rumbles. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She knows why not. “I told you, there’s a boy that needs to be kissed. Just think how lonely he’ll be when no one kisses him on his upcoming break. It’s seriously a tough sacrifice on my part, but someone needs to boost his ego. No one wants to watch a sad and broken guitar player unless they’re a hipster at a coffee shop.”

Lying for me is easier than telling the truth. Plus, I’d rather live in a world where I was going to kiss the boy instead of crucifying my soul.

“If you’re going to kiss a boy, I’d prefer for you to kiss Logan.”

I laugh, but it fades when I notice she’s not laughing or smiling with me. At times, Rachel’s too serious for my taste.

Isaiah swept Rachel and West into my life a few months back, and during that process, Logan also became a fixture in my life. Before them, I didn’t do friends, but Isaiah was already exempt from my nonfriendship rule and I made another special exception for Rachel and West. But I did that for my father. Neither of them knows that and neither is aware of the why. Because of how my life works, it’ll stay a secret on my end.

But Logan...Logan is a selfish indulgence. I like him and that’s not fair to either of us.

“Let’s do tacos tomorrow. I’ll buy.” I won’t. I’ll con West or Isaiah into buying, but I’ll still take credit for the tacos because that’s how I roll.

“Logan’s a great guy, and even I notice how he looks at you.”

Logan looks at me like he also really enjoys queso, but there’s nothing serious going on between us. We play. Sort of like we’re seven and playing tag and we’re both continuously “it.” Plus he deserves better than what I have to offer. Even Logan’s aware of that, hence why he asked about my current employment.

My cell buzzes and Isaiah informs me he’s outside and ready to leave. Thank freaking Jesus. “Let’s go before the boys stalk in here looking for you and ruin my chances with guitar boy.”

Before she can say anything else, I grab her hand and lead her through the crowd. A few times I turn in her direction and encourage her to dance with the beat. Rachel doesn’t mind using her body for the purpose of music and neither do I. My body is meant to be used, I just wish sometimes I used it a little less.

Sometimes I’m lonely, sometimes I chase after lust. A few times I’ve been used and there are a few times I’ve used in return. Any way about it, there’s never emotion. Just bodies and it’s pretty hollow and meaningless.

At school, a lot of people call me names, say that I’m evil, label me a slut and even a killer. Maybe it’s all true. Maybe it’s not. Regardless, I don’t have time to overthink anyone’s thoughts or judgments.

People who live in the luxury of a steady paycheck and food in their bellies get too caught up in right and wrong, moral and immoral, good and bad, heroes and villains, even truth and lies. As if we’re all either one or the other. As if we all have a choice. As if I have a choice. But I don’t believe in choices. I believe in survival.

The moment we step outside, the heat of the August night hits us in a way that reminds me why I love being awake after midnight. It’s like walking into a warm bath surrounded by starlight. I was made for warm weather. Maybe that’s because I often feel emotionally cold.

Isaiah’s Mustang growls in front of the club. Logan hops out of the passenger side and moves the seat forward so I can enter the back. His black hair moves with the gentle breeze and he studies me like he thinks I’ll slide in. “Come eat with us, Abby. I’m buying tacos.”

I tilt my head in an annoyed way and he adds, “For everyone.”

I toss a glare into the backseat where West is sitting. If he told them that I only eat when his boss decides to share his lunch or dinner I will publicly castrate him. Because West doesn’t cower, not even from me, he meets my eyes and shakes his head that he’s kept my secret. Not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.

“Tomorrow,” I say and circle back for the club.

Seconds before I’m about to step in, a strong hand catches my wrist and Logan’s dark eyes bore into mine. I suck in a breath. Yes, this boy is definitely made for sin. The type of sin that involves his shirt off, my hands sliding through his mess of black hair, and his lips devouring mine.

“Doesn’t have to be tacos,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be food at all. Just leave with us.”

Logan’s one of the good guys, and my heart honestly twists with the silent expectation he has that I can be one of the good people, too. He’s a poor soul who believes I have a choice and that’s the reason why I won’t kiss him.

I look over at the car and see three other people who also believe I’m more than what I am. Three other people who see the world in black and white. What they want from me isn’t possible.

I fix my tank top over my jeans and straighten as if to pretend I’m just as tall as Logan. I’m no longer the Abby I wish I could be, I’m the Abby the streets have taught me that I am.

A shadow crosses over his face as I permit Logan to meet the girl the rest of the world is scared of. I hate this, but sometimes even I get tired of lying. “You need to go and I need to work. Don’t stop me again.”

“Doesn’t have to be like this,” he says like I expect of him. Even with jacked-up parents, in the end, he gets to choose the hand that’s dealt to him.