stuff and headed out, prepared for the long, chilly walk home. It wasn’t too bad until I emerged from the neighborhood surrounding the school onto the extremely busy Wyoming Boulevard, one of the major north-south thoroughfares in uptown Albuquerque. It was now around 5:00 p.m.—I guess. My cellphone was missing, remember? Nobody wears watches anymore—and the heavy northbound traffic from Kirtland Air Force base was humming along. Dusk comes early in November, which added to the chill. I had managed to get myself fairly wet when I picked up my clothes from the shower, so I was especially chilly in the wind that was now whipping around the more open boulevard. I think I also looked like I had been competing in a wet t-shirt contest. Shit. I want to make it known that the tears beginning to make their way down my cheeks were tears of anger. How dare someone break into my locker and steal my stuff! I felt so violated! I was so immersed in stewing in my own rage, that I was startled to hear my name. I turned, and life suddenly got a little bit better.
chapter five
“Truth without love is brutality, and love without truth is hypocrisy.”
–Warren W. Wiersbe
“Ally!” It was Jack, now jogging up to me. I could see his car, headlights still on, driver’s door open, parked in front of the Acapulco Taco Stand. I turned and he could see the tears, the wet t-shirt—yikes—and probably the goose bumps. “What the hell? Why didn’t you take the bus? Where are your clothes?” He was taking off his jacket as he spoke and wrapping me in it.
“My wallet and my iPhone and my bus pass got stolen and my clothes got thrown in the showers and I tried to call everyone I know on Veronica’s phone but nobody answered so I had to walk home,” I babbled through chattering teeth.
“Come on.” He picked up my bag and guided me to his car. “I’ve got the heater on. We need to get you warmed up.”
I sank gratefully into the warm passenger seat, pulling his wonderfully soft leather jacket around me. I could smell him on it, the delicious warm, spicy scent and, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to say it— man. He rooted around in the trunk, coming back a minute later with a blanket.
“It’s got some dog hair on it,” he apologized as he tucked it around my legs. “But it will help you get warm.” He shut my door and went back around to the driver’s side to get in. “Now…” He turned to face me, taking my hands between his and beginning to chafe them. “What happened? How did your stuff get stolen?”
So I told him, more coherently now that I was beginning to feel my hands and cheeks again, how I had returned to the locker room after my run to find my locker broken into and my stuff gone.
“Do you still have the lock?” I nodded my assent. For some reason I had felt the need to pack it up with my other stuff. “Can I see it?” I bent down to the floor to fish it out of my bag and handed it to him. “Yeah, they popped your lock.” I shot him a questioning look. “Well, these are pretty easy to break into. All you need is a table knife or a screwdriver and you stick the tip between the u of the lock and the locker handle and give it a good whack. It’s actually pretty simple physics: levers, you know?” In response to my raised eyebrows he gave one of his little half-smiles. “My misspent youth, remember?” He reached down past me to put the broken lock back in my bag. “You should have called me. I would have come to pick you up.” When he sat up his face was close to mine.
“I don’t have your number,” I said ruefully. We stared at each other for a moment. He looked at my mouth and I really, truly thought—hoped—he was going to kiss me, but then he cleared his throat and sat back behind the steering wheel.
“Yeah, well, I’ll make sure you have it from now on. As soon as you get a new phone.” He put the car into gear and began to pull out onto the
chapter five
“Truth without love is brutality, and love without truth is hypocrisy.”
–Warren W. Wiersbe
“Ally!” It was Jack, now jogging up to me. I could see his car, headlights still on, driver’s door open, parked in front of the Acapulco Taco Stand. I turned and he could see the tears, the wet t-shirt—yikes—and probably the goose bumps. “What the hell? Why didn’t you take the bus? Where are your clothes?” He was taking off his jacket as he spoke and wrapping me in it.
“My wallet and my iPhone and my bus pass got stolen and my clothes got thrown in the showers and I tried to call everyone I know on Veronica’s phone but nobody answered so I had to walk home,” I babbled through chattering teeth.
“Come on.” He picked up my bag and guided me to his car. “I’ve got the heater on. We need to get you warmed up.”
I sank gratefully into the warm passenger seat, pulling his wonderfully soft leather jacket around me. I could smell him on it, the delicious warm, spicy scent and, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to say it— man. He rooted around in the trunk, coming back a minute later with a blanket.
“It’s got some dog hair on it,” he apologized as he tucked it around my legs. “But it will help you get warm.” He shut my door and went back around to the driver’s side to get in. “Now…” He turned to face me, taking my hands between his and beginning to chafe them. “What happened? How did your stuff get stolen?”
So I told him, more coherently now that I was beginning to feel my hands and cheeks again, how I had returned to the locker room after my run to find my locker broken into and my stuff gone.
“Do you still have the lock?” I nodded my assent. For some reason I had felt the need to pack it up with my other stuff. “Can I see it?” I bent down to the floor to fish it out of my bag and handed it to him. “Yeah, they popped your lock.” I shot him a questioning look. “Well, these are pretty easy to break into. All you need is a table knife or a screwdriver and you stick the tip between the u of the lock and the locker handle and give it a good whack. It’s actually pretty simple physics: levers, you know?” In response to my raised eyebrows he gave one of his little half-smiles. “My misspent youth, remember?” He reached down past me to put the broken lock back in my bag. “You should have called me. I would have come to pick you up.” When he sat up his face was close to mine.
“I don’t have your number,” I said ruefully. We stared at each other for a moment. He looked at my mouth and I really, truly thought—hoped—he was going to kiss me, but then he cleared his throat and sat back behind the steering wheel.
“Yeah, well, I’ll make sure you have it from now on. As soon as you get a new phone.” He put the car into gear and began to pull out onto the
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