Exotic - Chapter 20: Chapter 20

Caleb was standing by the open hood of his car when Reece pulled the pickup truck in at Whitley Park. The shirt he'd been wearing the night before had been buttoned up, but his hair was mussed from a restless sleep. His face was pale, and his spring water eyes dragged down by black bags, shoulders were hunched by his ears.
I slammed the pickup truck door, crossing the road with my hands stuffed in my pockets. Caleb's shoulders dropped into a dejected slump, and he circled his car to meet me.
I stopped about a foot from him. "Sleep well?"
He laughed severely, eyes drifting closed. "Think I threw out my back. Trout is going to kill me."
"Well, no one would have faulted you for sleeping at home," I reminded him. I felt Reece approach before I heard him, just stopping short of barging into me with towing cables hanging over both shoulders.
"Hey, mate," he said brusquely, sticking a hand-out to Caleb. Caleb took it tentatively, meeting my gaze as he gave it two short pumps. Seeing their skin meet made my skin crawl. "Car troubles?"
"... yeah," Caleb looked visibly uncomfortable. "I'm clueless. Thanks for coming out."
Reece nodded brusquely and passed me to get the car, taking a quick look under the open hood. Caleb automatically moved away from him, like pepper skirting around a droplet of detergent. Greasy detergent. He ended up much closer to me than I would have expected him to be comfortable with. He smelt overwhelmingly like last night. It took all the ill-formed logic in me not to stick my face into his neck and inhale.
"By the way," I muttered to him. "He thinks I'm dating your sister."
Caleb's lids peeled back as he gawked at me. "He what?"
I hushed him urgently. "I needed an excuse for your makeup slathered clothes."
"How are you blaming me right now?" he demanded, skirting his eyes over to Reece. "You still have those?"
Foot, meet mouth. "Not anymore. Look, he saw you both when you dropped me off last Tuesday. I didn't think you two would ever meet. I can't exactly break up with her while your car is at his mercy. It's probably the only reason he's helping right now."
Caleb's eyes drifted closed once again.
"He thinks her name is Steph," I added. Caleb sighed loudly through his nose, barely maintaining composure as Reece approached, itching his chin.
"Your distributor cap's cracked, that's your issue," he told Caleb, who stared blankly. "You probably want to get your timing belt checked on a car this old, too. How many miles?"
"Haven't checked lately," Caleb replied. "It's a handed-down hand-me-down. I was kind of anticipating for it to die on me."
"Well, let's get it to the shop before we diagnose," Reece suggested, and tugged the cables from around his neck to shove into my arms. "Come on."
I balanced the weighty tow ropes in my arms, screwing up my face in distaste. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"You can learn," Reece countered, and patted my shoulder as he passed in a mockery of affection, turning to Caleb. "How old are you, mate?"
"Eighteen," Caleb said automatically, and I could hear the unspoken sir beneath it. I could have puked in my mouth.
"Then you should learn, too," Reece grunted, and jerked his thumb back at the car. "You boys hook up that cables. Find the mounting point and thread it through. I'll bring the pickup around."
He shuffled back to the truck as Caleb and I exchanged bewildered glances. Reece was completely playing into his 'stand-up-guy' routine, a blokey act that generally worked wonders on the wider population and made him so easy to hate. Only I was privy to the Reece who took up space and breathed down my neck, controlling as he was slobby. It was nice to see someone else wasn't buying it, as indicated by Caleb's un-minced words once he was out of hearing range.
"Fuckwit," he muttered, as we trailed back to his car. His staunchly negative opinion of Reece got me all hot under the collar. "You shouldn't have asked for his help."
"He offered," I lied. "Besides. I assume your crisis evolved from what happened last night, so I feel like I owe you."
I watched his jaw tense, and his eyes drop to the ground, hooded by spidery lashes. "You were wasted. You shouldn't feel bad for something you barely remember."
First drunk. Now wasted. Caleb's head was deeper in the sand than it was in the closet.
I tentatively dropped to my knees in front of his car and ducked under the bumper, searching for an appropriate nook to hook the cables through. I found a metal doughnut a decent way under the hood and reached for it. I was not blessed with the kind of arms that could reach that far, and although I was skinny enough to slide completely underneath, I was the kind of person who needed more than gentle prodding to army crawl under a car older than I was at ten in the morning.
I shuffled back out, wiping my hands free of grit and my shirt clean. Caleb wordlessly held his hands out for the cables and took my place, sliding his upper body under the bonnet.
Reece stopped the truck a metre from the sedan and slammed the door on his way out. He looked me up and down with his hands shoved in his pockets. "What, you scared to chip a nail or something?"
My fists clenched into the fabric of my pants, but I kept my lips pinched together as Caleb wriggled out from beneath. His shirt rode up as he withdrew, hitching up over the smooth bronze skin of his lower back. I regarded this with the straightest face I could, very conscious of Reece's eyes on me.
Caleb wiped his hands off on his shirt and passed off the other ends to Reece. He tugged at them and trailed them back to the pickup, linking up the cars without another word from either of them.
The air was fortified with tense silence. For once, I didn't feel responsible for filling it.
Reece's truck only had two seats, so I ended up perched awkwardly on the centre consoles, legs splayed over either side of the gearstick, and tensed in an effort not to brush against the men either side of me. Reece wound down the window to smoke, and I fixed my eyes to the low ceiling. Every time the cabin jousted I bumped my head against it.
"What are you planning after graduation, Caleb?" Reece asked when his cigarette had shrunk down to a stub.
Caleb wet his lips nervously. "University, I guess."
"You guess?" Reece said, audibly ribbing him. "Which one?"
"Uhm. Same as my dad, I guess," Caleb said after a pause. "I was thinking sports science. Maybe physiotherapy."
Just like every other eighteen-year-old soccer prodigy who didn't really want to go to university. Reece had made that joke before, I was surprised he held it back. Personally, I was intrigued by the idea of Caleb learning massage therapy. "Ah, cool. What do you play, then?"
There was a thinly-veiled insult in that. Caleb didn't seem to pick it up, though his brief answer suggested he was trying desperately to end the conversation. "Soccer."
"Football," Reece mused.
We passed over a speed bump and I fell partially off the centre console, pressing up against Caleb's thigh. I scrambled quickly back, muttering a low apology. Caleb didn't accept nor acknowledge it, drumming his fingers against his knee and adamantly staring through the window.
"What grade is Steph in, Miles?" Reece asked out of the blue. I swallowed down my immediate response, which was to freeze up and stammer out further mistruths and did my best to keep my cool.
"She's fifteen," I muttered. Caleb's fingers stopped drumming, tensing over his kneecap.
Reece turned at the traffic lights without indicating, dragging Caleb's car over another speedbump with an ominous thud. "I'll tell you what, I wasn't friends with anyone trying it on with my little sister. You're not just buying time to do away with him, are you?"
Caleb laughed sharply along with him, back as straight as a ruler against the seat. "You got me there. Nah. Miles... Miles is chill. We've got stuff in common."
Reece laughed in a way that felt particularly cruel. "Don't let him take advantage of you, mate. I've been trying to get him to learn to drive for two years, he won't do it while people keep giving him lifts."
"It's fine," Caleb said tersely. "Cars are overrated. They sap up all your cash and then break down."
"True," Reece pondered. "Though women tend to do that as well, and that doesn't stop us buying in."
I raked my fingernails up the seam of my jeans. Thankfully, we pulled up to the garage before he continued down that road and I wound up hitting him. He was under the impression we were cool, and while he was, he would help Caleb. I just wish he knew when to shut up, among many other things. Reece slipped out of the trunk, and Caleb and I let out a long breath in uncanny unison. Caleb slumped over, and I slid to the left into the driver seat, putting some much-needed separation between us.
"This was a terrible idea," I voiced what we were both likely thinking.
"Probably," he exhaled unsteadily. "I might kill him."
As if Caleb could get any more attractive, he shared my active hatred for my sorry excuse for a father figure. The mere fantasy of Caleb going a little Mickey Knox on Reece set my heart off in a wild flurry. In my defence, it had been an unusually stressful morning.
Reece slapped the side of the truck twice. "Oi! You can chat later, ladies!"
With a united deep breath, we stepped out of the truck and circled back to Caleb's sedan. It was easier to unhook than it was to link up, leaving my arm smeared in minimal grease. A few of Reece's drinking buddies came over to greet him, showering me with typical questions which I deflected with easy smiles and firm handshakes.
"How's school going? Dropped out yet?"
"Got a girl up the duff yet?"
"Learned stick yet?"
"Y'gonna be joining us in a few years if your grades are anything like Reece has been telling us."
At that last one, I stuck Reece with a glare, and he averted his gaze. Caleb stood awkwardly off to the side, hands shoved in his pockets and eyes glued to the filthy garage floor. His co-workers buzzed around the car like hornets, throwing stinging remarks about how poorly maintained it was. One of them asked Caleb directly if he'd ever changed his own oil, and Caleb shrugged feebly. The guy, a balding man doing his best to hide it with a cap on indoors, tutted at this and turned to Reece with an incredulous look. "Kids these days are fucking fairies. Hope you're teaching yours the ropes."
Caleb flustered but didn't try to defend himself. I clenched my fist, bit my tongue, and just smiled semi-pleasantly until Reece told us it was time to leave.
"You should be able to pick it up by the end of the week," he advised Caleb as we piled back into the truck. I grumbled a little as I perched on the centre console, arranging myself for the longer stretch of the drive.
"Hey," Caleb leaned over his seat. "We can switch, if you want."
Before I could respond, Reece chirped up for me. "He's half your size, mate."
"It's okay. If one of us is going through the windscreen, he wants it to be me," I translated. There was a beat of silence before I prompted a laugh with my own, dry and witless. Reece made a humming noise as he started up the engine, fishtailing out of the garage so fast I nearly fell against the dashboard.
I was seconds from biting out the kind of remark that would get us both kicked onto the street when I felt the gentlest brush of fingers against my calf. I glanced down to see Caleb's hand overlap with the exposed skin of my lower leg, bringing goosebumps to the surface and rightly making me forget my name, life story, and current predicament in an instant.
For a second I thought it was an accident because Caleb was staring staunchly forwards. But his fingers travelled slowly down, and his thumb curled around my ankle with just enough pressure to tell me the gesture was intentional. My breath hitched. I was very conscious of Reece, only millimetres away from me on the other side with fully functioning eyes. I couldn't make myself care; Caleb's fingers were hot against the curve of my Achilles heel, sending electricity up through my thigh.
He might as well have been giving me a hand-job. My body was reacting as if he was, forcing me to lean forwards and thank heaven that I'd chosen to wear a baggier pair of shorts than usual. Reece didn't seem to be paying any attention, but it wasn't like Caleb was looking at me either. The game was dangerous, but there was a little bit of me – probably left over from last night –that was thrilled.
He dropped his hand by the time we turned into his street. I had been preparing to tell Reece to park down the street, but Caleb's gesture had scrambled my brain. Caleb's house looked completely different in daylight, red brick, and yellow grass, with a mailbox painted like a cow and a meticulously kept native garden. It was a delightfully precious family home, emphasised by the fact Caleb's entire family seemed to be camped out on the front porch; Lauren and Jake, with another younger boy who I assumed to be the elusive 'Seth', the only Proust sibling I had yet to run headlong into. There were two older, willowy women talking animatedly on the steps, one with a toddler on her hip and the other with a dishevelled galah tangled in her hair, and a mountain of a man in shorts and slides over socks. His dorky ensemble lessened the effect of his intimidating height somewhat.
Caleb swore under his breath, running an anxious hand through his hair as Reece pulled into the curb.
"At least it's not been taped off?" I offered. "Though the cops could be inside gathering evidence."
He shot me a tight-lipped grimace, thanked Reece curtly, and stepped out of the trunk, shoving his hands in his pockets as he trudged up the driveway. Two chubby dogs broke off the front porch, tumbling down the stairs to greet him enthusiastically. I watched in morbid fascination as the woman with the galah follow them with equal passion, though she didn't give off the same unrequited adoration energy of the dogs. Even with the bird flapping on top of her head, she radiated the kind of energy my mother had on her bad days, mouth set in a hard line, and chin held high as she stormed down the driveway to meet Caleb halfway. She stopped just short of bowling him over, folding her arms and demanding answers in a frankly terrifying stare-down.
From the porch, Lauren waved at me. Reece noticed.
"You want to say hello?" he asked rhetorically. I still responded with a shake of my head, slipping off the centre console.
The woman, who I suspected was Caleb's mother, had begun lecturing him with animated hand gestures. I could make out a few words, the classics worried sick, irresponsible, disappointed... and a hearty amount of fucks thrown in, which surprised me. Caleb appeared to be taking it lying down, head hung and shoulders hunched. The rest of his family seemed to recognise it was the kind of lecture which needed solitude, and headed inside; all save Lauren, who seemed content to watch. It was a curious sight, mother lecturing son as a pair of beagles nipped at his heels. Worth leaving the house for.
So I thought until Caleb's mother turned away from him and began marching towards the car.
"Shit," I tore my eyes off the window in a blind panic. "Drive."
Reece frowned at me. "You know, you'll never be completely ready to meet the parents..."
"Holy fuck Reece, just fucking drive."
But it was too late for him to even start the car. Caleb's mother rapped her knuckles on the window, and I sent Caleb, who was disguising his look of complete horror very poorly, a fleeting call for help with my eyes. Reece hit the button for the window on his door, and slowly my barrier descended. Caleb's mother was a skinny woman, with darker skin than he or any of his siblings and the same unrelenting blue stare. Her hair was piled up in a sloppy bun, and she was wearing a pale pink dressing gown. Somehow, she looked twice as glamorous as I did fully dressed and showered. I could see plainly where Caleb got his frustratingly attractive face.
"Hello," she had a low voice and very white teeth. The Proust family taught good dental hygiene, it seemed. "Miles?"
I nodded, transfixed by her steady glare. It softened slightly, though that did nothing to calm my racing heart.
"Lauren told me you managed to get hold of him," she told me. Her thick accent curled the ends of each word. Caleb had told me she was Greek. "Thank you. You didn't have to drive him home. He could have walked."
"It's... no problem," I stammered out. "I... just wanted to... help, ma'am."
"Selene," she corrected, and turned to Reece. "He is a good boy, usually. You know how they get when they get mixed up with girls."
"I know it well," Reece reached across me to shake her hand through the window. Her hand was decorated with gemstone rings; the galah had walked down the side of her head, nesting quietly on the arch of her back. "Reece. I've taken his car to my shop; I'll get working on it as quickly as I can."
"You are too kind," she insisted. "I will fetch you the money..."
"Don't worry yourself. I only take payment when the job is deemed satisfactory," Reece grinned, an expression I found as unpleasant as it was foreign to his face. I couldn't remember the last time Reece had smiled. He probably did it behind closed doors, lording over everything he'd gotten out of my mother's will.
Caleb's mother, who I deemed Mrs. Proust because Selene was way too familiar, smiled warmly in return. She turned her attention back to me, "You are a good friend. He has never mentioned you before, are you on the team?"
Reece snorted, which I thought was completely uncalled for.
"No, uhm..." I stammered. "We're just... not... we have mutual... friends... we're not... that..."
"I get the gist it's quite a new thing," Reece bulldozered over me, and I felt the blood drain from my face. "I mean, apparently Caleb has been driving him all over the place, so it's the least he can do, really."
I snuck another glance to Caleb. He was whiter than a bleached sheet, teetering slightly on his heels as Reece and his mother chatted over me, reaching dangerously friendly territory. He shook his head microscopically, and I shrugged my shoulder tightly, pinching my lips together in frustration.
"It's so early," Mrs. Proust was musing. "Would you like to come in for breakfast? It's the least we could..."
"No!" I said, a little too forcefully, and Mrs. Proust reeled back a little in surprise. "Sorry, no. I have. To study. I'm failing modern history. Sorry."
Mrs. Proust nodded in understanding, and then tilted her head. "Are you the same Miles that my girl is tutoring? If so, thank you again. You're giving her a reason to open those damn textbooks we mortgaged the house for."
Reece laughed openly at the word tutoring. I hoped that my glare would voice my plea to stay quiet, but he had never been one to look out for my best interests. "Studying, huh? Is that what they call it these days?"
Mrs. Proust's galah flapped wildly, but it hardly deterred the conversation. I appreciated his efforts non-the-less. "Pardon?"
"I don't know how much studying they'd be getting done," Reece said snidely.
Mrs. Proust frowned, the cogs in her brain reflected in her eyes as they spun and churned and eventually set off a lightbulb behind her blue irises. God fucking damn you to hell, Reece. Mrs. Proust looked me up and down with new eyes, straightened, and called out. "Lauren!"
I only just resisted the urge to bury my head in my hands. The hammering of my heart made me worry another panic attack was sweeping over me, but I had no such luck. My airways were fully functional, so I had no excuse for staying completely silence as Lauren approached the car, shamelessly outside in plaid pyjamas and slippers.
Caleb caught her arm as she passed and whispered something which made her eyes go wide. She opened her mouth to respond, but Mrs. Proust shouted for her again and she was forced to continue down until she was standing at the window. Her glare was positively homicidal, and I didn't know who to be more scared of; mother or daughter.
"Hey," I said weakly.
"Lauren," Mrs. Proust sounded stricken. "Who is this boy to you?"
Lauren's teeth visibly gritted beneath her cheeks, and I sunk lower in my seat, prepared for the first layer of truth to come to the surface.
"That's my boyfriend, mama."
I swear my soul left my body for a fraction of time. It returned quickly, to gaze up in awe as Lauren smiled forcefully between her mother and me.
Mrs. Proust quirked an eyebrow. "Really."
"Just because I've never had one before doesn't mean I can't have one now," Lauren argued, her voice petulant. "Jake's dated half of Truman and most of my school as well. Caleb just slept over at a girl's house without telling anyone. Am I not allowed a boyfriend? News to me."
Mrs. Proust was less thrown off by Lauren's spiel than anyone I'd seen on the receiving end of it; although I supposed she had to live with her. "Of course not. Of course not. I was just surprised you hadn't bought it up. When did you two..."
We both paused for a suspicious length of time, before I carefully answered. "Officially, for a few weeks, now right?"
Lauren's cleared her throat loudly. "Since the 5th, babe. It's kind of the one date you're not meant to forget. Get your shit together, you're meeting my mother."
Mrs. Proust's laugh was high-pitched, and her hand landed on Lauren's shoulder. "They never remember asteri mou. You remember the dates, the chores, the fights, they remember nothing. How old are you, Miles?"
"Mama," Lauren protested.
I swallowed. "Seventeen. Ma'am."
Mrs. Proust hummed. "You look younger. Very skinny. You will come to dinner soon, meet her father, yes?"
In all honesty, I would have preferred being stared down by Caleb's father. At least he didn't have a bird on his shoulder and acrylic nails that looked as if they could gouge out my eyes. I was sure if I placed my foot wrong in regards to her daughter, she would have no qualms doing so.
"Mama..." Lauren started, but it was Reece who cut her off.
"He'd love that. Get him out of my hair for a night," his tone was hard to place; he sounded oddly reserved. Mrs. Proust nodded tightly. "We'll leave you to your breakfast, Selene. Lauren."
I never expected Reece to be the one to save me from such a situation. Although by the frustration bubbling below the surface of his composed manner, I wasn't sure if it was a better idea to take my chances with Mrs. Proust.
"Thank you again," she directed to Reece, and eyed me up and down. "Nice to meet you, Miles. In the future, any tutoring will happen under my roof. Is that plain and clear?"
I nodded, tongue thick in my throat. Apparently content that she had successfully intimidated me, Mrs. Proust let go of the truck door and allowed Reece to pull out into the street. He gave Caleb an affable wave, which was not returned. Our escape from the Proust residence was efficient, but I was quickly faced with a brand-new set of troubles.
"So Steph or Lauren, which one is it?"
I nearly groaned out loud, but just managed to contain myself enough to force out the final lie of the arduous morning. "It's an inside joke."
Reece made a face, but surprisingly had nothing else to say on the matter. Nothing except; "You're welcome Miles."
I glared out the window, mouth stubbornly closed.
"I said you're wel –"
"Thank you."
We drove in silence the rest of the way home. I was grateful for the peace. In a few short hours, I feel like I'd driven myself to the precipice of a very crumbly cliff face and was just waiting for the first stone to fall.
But my skin still tingled where Caleb had touched me, unprovoked. Or maybe that was just the adrenaline spike coming down. Considering the morning I'd had, it could have been either.