Breaking Rules Page 2

  Two

  I rolled out of bed at six the next morning. It was the earliest I’d ever pulled myself up on a weekend, but I’d made a commitment, and in spite of my sister’s bad attitude, I planned to see that commitment through to the very end. Rule #5: Never make a promise you don’t intend to keep.

  An hour later, after I’d had a long shower, dried my hair, and squeezed in a few minutes for minimal make-up, I tiptoed out of my room and down the hallway. I could still hear Dad’s sound machine running as I passed in front of his bedroom, so I tried to walk as quietly as possible as I snuck by; on weekends, he allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in until nine, so he still had a couple hours of beauty rest ahead of him. I imagined my sister did, as well. I could tell from the gap under Bailey’s door that she hadn’t turned on her light, nor were there any sounds coming from beyond her door other than faint snores. So that settled that. She was staying home.

  Just down the hall and past the bedrooms, I stopped off at the kitchen and grabbed a banana to go. I left a post-it on the counter and scrawled a note, reminding both Dad and Bailey that I was off to school for the orientation.

  And then I set off, taking the car that I shared with my sister.

  The school was only a ten minute drive from the center of Sugar Creek, but the drive seemed much faster on a quiet, Saturday morning. As I turned off of Main Street and onto Highway 6, I stretched over to the passenger’s seat to dig my cell phone out of my purse. After I found it buried at the bottom beneath my wallet and a pack of gum, I let my eyes wander down to check the screen. I punched in the four-number passcode, opened up my messages, and felt my heart sink to my stomach.

  No new messages.

  But that wasn’t much of a surprise, was it? Part of me hoped that Bailey would roll out of bed and send a last-minute text, begging me to drive back and pick her up. But there was nothing there.

  I dropped my phone to my lap.

  I settled my hands back on the wheel and focused my stare on the road again. With no time to think about Bailey or my budding agitation for her self-absorbency, my eyes centered on something barricading the road up ahead: only ten yards away, a man stood directly in the middle of my lane, unaware of the car headed straight for him. With his hands propped on his hips and his eyes focused off to the side, he studied the park entrance gates as if he had not one reservation about blocking the middle of an open highway.

  The car closed in on him in a matter of seconds, and with no time to hit the horn, I jerked back and slammed both feet down on the brake pedal. Even with the added force of an extra foot, the car still didn’t stop, but took a rough thrust forward. The front bumper clipped his legs, jerking the car again. With the tires finally screeching to a sudden halt, the force of the man’s entire body slammed against my hood, rolling halfway up the windshield until the side of his face met the glass with a violent blow.

  “Oh God,” I said under my breath, and then I killed the engine. I jumped out of my car just as the man peeled himself from the hood and backed away.

  Breathing heavily, he let his arms fall flat to his sides. I watched him, feeling just as breathless as he looked. I noticed the way his dirtied, blond hair was mussed beneath a crooked, baseball cap and clinging to the top of his sweaty forehead. His gray shirt was stained and ripped, and the filth on his angular face matched the color of his dirtied jeans and scuffed up shoes. Somewhere, buried beneath his short, scruffy beard and a clump of dried mud, his lips thinned.

  Although young, he looked nothing short of beaten-down, exhausted, tired, and burned out. I wasn’t entirely convinced, judging by the state of his appearance, that being hit by a car was the worst thing that had happened to him in the last twenty-four hours. He was a hot mess.

  “Hello?” I said, waving a single hand in front of his face, but he still didn’t move. My heart was racing, pounding so quickly against my chest that I could almost feel it on the brink of explosion. What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say? I knew that I had to say something. I’d nearly killed the guy!

  It wasn’t until I tasted the salty tears on my lips that I even realized that I started crying.

  Pull yourself together, Mandy. Do not let him see you cry!

  I quickly wiped my tears away with the backside of my hand and took another step forward.

  “Are you going to say something or…?”

  As if the impact had knocked him senseless, his pale eyes wandered aimlessly from the street to the park and then back to the car. He finally lifted his head and straightened his stance—not that he needed the added height. He pressed his lips into a thin line and furrowed his brow, and then he focused his narrow stare in my direction.

  Although I was a little frightened by his silent gaze, I mimicked his posture and stood straighter, refusing to back away. I squared my shoulders and stared directly at him, waiting for him to answer my question. Just when I thought that he wasn’t going to say a word, he suddenly opened his mouth and licked his bottom lip.

  “Were you texting just now?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When you hit me,” he said, raising his voice, “you were on your phone, weren’t you?”

  “I was only checking—”

  “You could’ve killed me!”

  “Yeah, I get that,” I said. I took another step toward him, but he backed away. I noticed with his step that he had limped, and it almost seemed as though he had to drag his left leg with him as he moved. My heart grew heavier as I watched him struggle to make it back to the sidewalk.

  “You’re hurt,” I said quietly and mostly to myself.

  “Imagine that.” The thick mockery in his voice rattled me as he limped away.

  “Give me a second.” I turned back to my car to get my phone. As soon as I had my back to him, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Trying to keep my nerves from coming through my voice, I said, “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “Yeah, don’t bother. I think you’ve done enough.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I hissed at him. “You’re hurt, and you need to see a doctor.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine!”

  “I’m great.”

  “You’re limping!”

  “So what?” he snapped, and I jumped as he turned back to me with a pointed finger. “There is no excuse for what just happened here.”

  “Yeah, no joke,” I said. “You were standing in the middle of the road!”

  “And you weren’t paying attention!”

  “Okay, dude, listen,” I said, “I don’t know what to say.” I clenched my teeth. “What happened here was not my fault. Now, I can call for help—”

  “I don’t want your help,” he said, dropping his hand. “Just go.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Go,” he said, turning to walk away. “And here’s a grand idea: put your phone away before you kill someone.”

  I stood and watched him for a minute, feeling my chest rise and fall a little heavier with every, broken breath. The man kept limping away, slowly making his way back through the park gates and farther from the road. He disappeared down a side-path a few seconds later, and I turned back to my car.

  What was I supposed to do? Call the police? Call Dad? I had to let someone know, right? Keeping it quiet could seriously come back and bite me in the butt. But what if it didn’t? Could I just get in my car and pretend it had never happened?

  At a complete loss as to what I should do, I slid into the driver’s seat and dropped my phone into my purse. I buckled my seat belt, started the engine, and with the heavy weight of a guilty conscience, I put the car into drive.

  “Rule number ten,” I said quietly to myself as I slowly pulled away. “Keep moving forward.”

  I didn’t exceed thirty-five miles an hour the rest of the way, although part of me wanted nothing more than to gun it. I was torn between my fear of hitting another pedestrian and being followed by the p
sychopath I’d just left injured back at the park. I would be lying to say that there wasn’t a tiny part of me that feared he had just gone back into the park to get his own car, only so that he could follow me, wait until I got out of mine, and then get his revenge by running me down. Some people were just vengeful that way.

  I was relieved when I finally arrived at school and happy that I didn’t have to weave in and out of dozens of cars to get to my spot. I was used to fighting an endless line of traffic as my fellow classmates scrambled into the lot each morning, but there were very few cars parked near the school entrance when I arrived.

  A creature of habit, I parked in my assigned, weekday spot. I dropped my head against the steering wheel and rested there for a few minutes.

  I stretched my neck from side to side. With closed eyes, a few deep breaths, and a slow count to ten, I managed to slowly calm my nerves, collect my thoughts, and pull myself back into a volunteer-mindset.

  Guided by my ten self-imposed rules, I found it a lot easier to retain control of my life. I was the one standing at the helm, so it was my responsibility to make sure each day was smooth sailing from start to finish. Right then, I knew that the only rule that would suffice would be Rule #4: Never let one moment define the rest of the day.

  I stepped outside and hustled up to the building, entering through the auditorium doors. For the first time since leaving home that morning, I didn’t have to remind myself to breathe.

  “Mandy?” a familiar voice said as I crossed through the doors. I turned to greet Lashell, one of the head program staffers for the Raddick Initiative.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding to confirm that she’d remembered me correctly.

  “Good morning.” She beamed a smile. “I’m so glad you could make it out today.”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to bury my insecurities, but I knew that I failed miserably. I closed my eyes and attempted to shake away the guilt and fear that still lingered deep inside me.

  “Honey, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, nodding a few times, and then I managed to feign a halfway believable smile.

  She watched me closer, and her wide grin slowly faded into a sympathetic one. She knew I was lying.

  Though I’d only met her the day before at the information assembly, I’d quickly pegged Lashell Dunham as one of the most giving and caring souls I’d ever met. Nearing her sixties and having committed decades of her life to charity and volunteer work, Lashell knew a thing or two about the best programs to get involved with. The Raddick Initiative was the best of the best.

  While I’d sat and listened as she told us all about the program and her many, many years of working toward a brighter future, I felt inspired to take that leap and sign my name. With my signature, along with Bailey’s, I promised Lashell I’d see her bright and early for the orientation meeting today. I’d made no such promise about my sister.

  “No Bailey?”

  “No Bailey.” I matched her disappointed expression. “I figured it’d be a long shot.”

  She nodded. “You can go ahead and have a seat with the others, hon,” she said, nodding to my few classmates who’d also signed up. “But, first,” she turned to a table she’d set up at the doors, pulled a white t-shirt from a cardboard box, and tossed it to me with one swift throw. “Slip into this. The colors are school-specific. We’d like you to wear that to each of your events over the next six weeks. It’s just for pictures and identification purposes. The SCHS volunteers are in white, and the staffers,” she looked down at her own shirt, “blue. Everyone affiliated with your team will be wearing navy or white with the RI emblem.”

  “Noted,” I said, slipping the crisp, white tee over my own shirt. I looked down at my chest and observed the emblem on the left pocket. Underneath a small global illustration, a bold text read: RI Volunteer. “Thanks.”

  I joined my classmates in the first row, and fifteen minutes later, we were a complete group of eleven students, one teacher, and Lashell.

  “I have packets and pamphlets,” Lashell said, passing them around to each of the eleven students. Our teacher and school supervisor for the project, Mr. Davies, also took a set. “There is one important thing to remember as we start and progress through the project. You are not here to raise money for the Raddick Initiative. RI exists to raise money for nonprofits and bring people together to create positive change in our communities. Every penny you raise will go directly toward local charities.”

  Lashell paced the floor in front of the first row.

  “Today is going to operate as a basic, brainstorming session. We’d like you to break into small groups and come up with some charitable ideas.”

  “Like fundraising?” one of the junior girls asked.

  “Fundraising-focused events are not at all discouraged,” Lashell said. “But don’t commit all of your time and resources to just those events. Remember that the program stresses the importance of educating and collaborating with others to positively impact your community. It’s not all about raising money, but also about making a difference.”

  “Can you give us an example of what’s been done in the past?” I asked. “What are your expectations for us?”

  “This is our first time working in the schools, so this whole process is just as new to us as it is to you. But if you look in your packet,” Lashell said, turning to the first page of hers, “there’s a list of events the organization has hosted in the past. Food drives are always popular with our volunteers, as well as highway trash removal. Simple donation boxes at high-traffic businesses could be a good place to start fundraising. Your options are open here, so don’t be afraid to think outside the box.”

  Mr. Davies stood up and turned his attention to the group.

  “Keep it school appropriate, charity-oriented, and follow your instincts,” he said. “The projects you choose will represent our school. The more unique your ideas are, the better chance you will have at distinguishing our team from the others.”

  “And what about the scholarship?” the same girl from before asked. “How do we win that?”

  I perked up as Lashell stepped in to answer.

  “There is only one scholarship, and it will be awarded to the student at the winning school who exhibits the most drive, the most commitment, and the best attitude within the project,” Lashell said. “It’s not solely dependent on the outcome of any specific idea or action you may bring to the table. Consideration for the scholarship relies on many qualities and criteria, so please remember that we’re always watching for the best of the best. All I ask is that you keep that in mind over the next six weeks.”

  When no one had any more questions, we were split into smaller groups. I ended up working alongside two juniors. Fletcher, whom I’d met once or twice in passing, settled in next to me in the back row of the theater. Carla, the curious, question-asker and probably my biggest competition for the scholarship, settled in next to him.

  Carla was the first to pitch an idea; she suggested setting up a short-term, soup kitchen at a local church. She mentioned that her uncle, a pastor at the Nazarene church on the corner, wouldn’t mind letting us use the kitchen and dining facilities as often as we’d need them. So we had one charity-oriented project to jump start the brainstorming session.

  Fletcher, the leading man in almost every SCHS theater production, said that he could probably talk the drama club into donating a portion of the ticket sales from the upcoming fall show.

  After the initial ideas were pitched, we all jumped into conversation, bouncing ideas off of one another, and trying to think outside the box, just as Lashell had asked us to. But my mind wasn’t fully focused on the task at hand. I couldn’t get my thoughts centered on anything happening inside the auditorium. I was distracted, and no amount of counting or cleansing breaths seemed to do the trick. My mind only wanted to focus on one thing: the man I’d hit out on Highway 6. I kept seeing his face, picturing the pained look in his eyes as he’d turned an
d limped away from me. I knew that I’d hurt him worse than he’d been willing to admit, and my stomach wrenched at the thought of how quickly I’d let myself drive away without really trying to rectify the situation. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get past the sinking feeling in my gut that I’d done the wrong thing by leaving him without help. I should’ve called someone.

  “So what’s your big idea, Mandy?” Carla asked, snapping me back into the conversation. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

  “Hmm?”

  She and Fletcher both watched me carefully and quietly, and then Carla leaned forward and whispered, “Are you okay? You’re sweating.”

  “Yeah,” I said, wiping my forehead. “But you know what? I think I need some air. I’m just going to step outside for a second.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, no,” I said, standing up. “I’ll be fine.”

  She nodded, but I felt her eyes glued to me as I left the room and stepped through the door.

  I sat down on the top step outside the school and let a slow breath pass between my lips. I buried my head inside my hands and then dropped them forward onto my knees. I sat in that bent-over position for a while, trying to collect my thoughts through a budding migraine. It wasn’t until the faint sound of footsteps rounded the corner that I lifted my head.

  I watched a familiar face turn the corner, and the man began his slow ascent up the auditorium steps.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I mumbled, and then I stood up. I watched as he limped up the stairs, only a little faster than he’d moved earlier. “Seriously, dude? You followed me here?”

  His head snapped up and in my direction, and his eyes widened as his gaze swept over me.

  “You,” he said, and never had I heard a single word sound so full of hate.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I offered to call an ambulance, anyone who could’ve helped you. You refused my help, so you can’t follow me here and harass me. I’ll call the cops.”

  “And tell them what, exactly?” he asked. “That the guy you ran down with your car while texting is out for revenge?”

  I felt my mouth gape open.

  “Is that why you followed me here?” I asked. “You want revenge? It was an honest to God accident!”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, as if he couldn’t bear to hear me say another word. “I have much better things to do with my time than track down irresponsible, teenage drivers, even the ones who run me down.”

  “I didn’t run you down,” I said, appalled that he’d phrased it so hatefully. “Let me remind you that you were the one standing in the middle of the road. I tried to stop!”

  For the first time since he’d walked up, I noticed a water bottle clutched in his hand. He gripped it tightly for a few long seconds, and then pulled it up and twisted the cap off. Taking a long swig from the bottle, he closed his eyes and savored the drink.

  I took another step closer, and he lowered the bottle.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to say. So just go, okay?”

  He blinked his heavy lashes, and then his gaze trailed down to my shirt.

  “Ah, you’re part of the program,” he finally said, nodding at the RI emblem on my pocket. I looked down at my shirt before looking back up to meet his stare.

  I nodded, but didn’t let his change of subject distract me. It didn’t surprise me so much that he’d heard of the project. The Sugar Creek Gazette had published a front page article on Thursday morning about the Raddick Initiative, and we’d even had the assembly at the school just yesterday. Not to mention, the guy who started the whole program had a great reputation, and from what I’d gathered in passing, he was supposedly a man of admirable influence and character. With all of that information circulating in a place as small as Sugar Creek, I would’ve been more surprised to learn that someone hadn’t heard that the RI project had come to town.

  “Yes,” I finally answered. “I am part of the program, and no, you can’t be here.”

  He was about to take another drink just then, but the bottle stopped short of his lips. He tilted his chin downward and blinked as if confusion had gotten the best of him.

  “The school is private property,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure he cared. “The program isn’t open to the public. So leave.”

  “Oh, there you are,” Lashell interrupted me as she poked her head out the door. “Carla said you weren’t feeling well. Is everything okay, sweetheart?”

  I turned to her.

  “Yeah, absolutely,” I said, nodding, but then I turned back to the man. “I was just asking this… gentleman, if you can call him that—”

  “Oh!” Lashell straightened up at the sight of him, and her cheeks grew a darker shade of pink. Her smile only stretched wider as she watched him, and then she stepped outside and let the door close behind her. “Good morning, Gabe.”

  “Mornin’, Shelly.” He winked, and his demeanor changed in a split-second. He took a small step forward and leaned down to brush a gentle kiss to her cheek. He was very careful not to transfer any dirt on contact. Again, Lashell blushed. “We just finished up over at the park, and the rest of the team is headed out to Oakland and then to West Bridge for a quick meet and greet with the student volunteers. I’m tackling Sugar Creek and Desden, and then we’re wrapping up for the day.”

  “Oh, well goodie,” she said, clapping her small hands together a few times. “We’ve only wrangled up eleven here, but they’re a dedicated group. And Mandy here’s been a real trouper. She was very enthusiastic about signing up yesterday. This girl’s in it to win it.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, and his lip pulled into a one-sided smirk. He tossed the empty water bottle into the recycle bin outside the door, wiped his hand down the side of his dirty jeans to rub off the moisture, and then extended it forward to take mine. “Mandy, is it?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking between them. I shook his outstretched hand, and his calloused fingers brushed against mine. “Mandy Parker.”

  “Any relation to Mayor Parker?”

  “He’s my dad,” I said, watching his grin grow wider. Oh yeah, ha-ha, very funny. He probably knew my dad, and if that was the case, I’d be lucky to get through the rest of the morning without the entire town hearing some misconstrued version of what had happened on the highway earlier. I could already hear the rumors…Oh, did you hear? Mayor Parker’s daughter was out for an early morning, joy ride and just started knocking people over like bowling pins.

  “Mandy,” Lashell interrupted my thoughts. “This is Gabriel Raddick. He’s the founder and president of RI. He’s going to be stopping by from time to time to oversee your projects, offer a little bit of guidance, and just be around to support the cause.”

  “Founder and president,” I said under my breath, feeling my fingers fall limp inside his firm shake.

  “Oh, don’t let the title scare you, hon,” she continued, noticing how much blood had drained from my face. “No reason to be intimidated. Gabe’s just a big ball of smiles and can-do attitude. One of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. I’m sure you’ll grow to love him as much as the rest of us do.”

  He smiled as he held my hand tightly inside of his, even though the shake had ceased moments ago. It was only then that I noticed he was still holding on to my fingers, and I jerked my hand away. A jovial smile tugged at the corner of his lip, and I found myself quickly diverting my eyes.

  Smug jerk.

  “You’ll have to excuse my poor sense of fashion today,” he said. And though his hand was back at his side, he didn’t dare pull his stare away. “My group’s been down at the park gates this morning landscaping the entryway. We’ve been at it for hours, and,” he looked down at himself, “it’s not the cleanest of jobs. And then, like an idiot, I got myself hit by a car.”

  “You were hit by a car?” Lashell asked, and her eyes widened. “Oh, honey. Are you okay? How’s
your leg? Are you able to walk?”

  “It’s fine,” he shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m alive. Again, I was the one standing in the middle of the road. I got what was coming to me.” With a hint of mockery in his voice, he flashed a look at me and then back to her. “Now, let’s get in there and do this meet and greet—”

  “No,” Lashell said, putting a protective arm around his waist. “You get back to your car and go to the hospital. Have that knee checked out, or I’ll call your doctor myself.”

  He gave her a look that said he wasn’t at all impressed that she’d just threatened to take matters into her own hands, but something about the way she peered at him had me wondering if that kind of exchange happened more frequently than he would’ve liked. Gabe might’ve been the guy in charge, but Lashell was calling the shots.

  “I’ve got this all under control here, okay?” she said, and his gaze trailed to her. “You’ve got six weeks to get to know this group. So go on, and quit worryin’ about us. We’ve got this covered.”

  He didn’t seem to doubt that for a second. “Okay. Sure. I’ll go see the doctor.”

  “And you’ll let me know what he says,” she ordered. “The moment you’re out of the exam room.”

  He gave her a stiff, military salute, and she quirked a smile.

  Gabe headed back down the stairs, taking each with one, slow limp at a time. I wondered as I watched him leave, only because of how slowly he maneuvered the stairway, if he was moving slower than necessary so that Lashell wouldn’t see just how bad his limp really was.

  When she turned back to open the door, I kept focusing on Gabe as he managed to make his way across the parking lot. I knew that my chances of winning the scholarship had just gotten a lot harder.

  Gabe wasn’t going to make life at RI easy for me whatsoever. I’d already screwed up—big time.