Page 131 of Crew Princess
“Don’theyme. Don’t do that.” Jordan stepped back, his jaw clenched. “It doesn’t work like that. I’ve grown. I’ve done a lot of growing, but when I see one of mine get arrested, then I have to help tackleanotherone of mine to keep him from losing his shit at the police station, and now what? Then his sister loses her shit at the after-prom party and what? No more buddy system, but what else? We’re all good? I’m not good. I’m pissed.”
He pointed at Z, at Cross, at me. “I’ve been the rock this time. I’ve been steady, taking on all you guys. Even the one night it was supposed to be about me, it ended up being about you.” His hands went up. “Which I’m fine with, I am, but I’m riled up, and I’ve been feeling threat after threat toward my crew, and now what? Nothing? Go to bed. Fuck your girl? I’m not down for that.”
“Jordan,” Z hissed, his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Calm down. Are you listening to what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” he snapped, jerking away. “I want to bust someone’s head in. That’s what we do. Threat comes at us, we fight it off.”
“No, man.” Z shook his head. “You never say you’re not down for fucking. Especially a hot girl that you love. That’s, like, sanctimony or sanctuary, or whatever. I can’t speak real good. I’m a little drunk.”
Jordan ignored him, seething. “I need to do something to protect my crew.”
“Jordan—” Cross stepped toward him.
“I need it!” His eyes were wild, his pulse pounding. I could see a vein bulging in his neck.
He was right. In the last couple months, Jordan had changed. He got a girlfriend. He fell in love. He moved from being the self-proclaimed leader and spokesperson to being the foundation. He was completely right, and because of that, because we could lean on him, we’d loosened the reins on our own shit. We were allowed to fall apart, because he wouldn’t. Because he would be there, pulling us back in, and now, when we were done and sated and had run the gamut of our shit, he wasn’t.
We’d cast him out, but no one was bringing him back in.
Cross looked at me.
There was no decision to be made. Jordan needed us, so that was that.
I murmured, “Let’s go find Drake.”
We piled into one of my brother’s trucks so we had a bigger cab so all four of us could fit. Jordan drove. I was okay with that. He had the edge, not me.
We went to Drake’s parents’ house. No one was there. We went to the local motel. Nothing. We went to the other two smaller hotels nearby. We checked the hotels in Fallen Crest. There was one motel in Frisco, but it was half burned down. Still, we went. We drove past. It was closed down, no vehicles in the parking lot.
We did a swing through the motor home park. Frisco. Fallen Crest. Roussou.
We even ran in and asked at the hospital while we were in Fallen Crest. And as a last-ditch effort, we checked at the Roussou Police Department. They hadn’t arrested him.
We never found Drake.
But we drove. And we drove.
We drove some more.
We drove the rest of the night, into the morning.
We drove until Jordan told us to stop.
When someone needed to eat, we stopped for early breakfast. When someone needed the bathroom, we made a pit stop. We went to gas stations, filled up on coffee, and hopped in the truck for another drive.
We did another full circle, going all the way out to Frisco, through the back roads into Fallen Crest, past Manny’s, and we went the long route that circled back to Roussou. When we neared the city limits, Jordan swung into another gas station. This time to fill up with gas.
Silently, one by one, we all trekked inside. More coffee. Snacks. Whatever we needed.
When we got back on the road, no one said a word. This was for Jordan. We’d keep going until he was sated, and finally, four miles north of Roussou, he turned onto the shoulder of the road and swung the truck around.
“I’m good,” he announced.
So we were going home.
No one made a joke. No one complained. No one did a damn thing. We were here for him in this truck, smelling, sweating, shivering (me), stomachs growling until we filled them, and now we were half sleep-deprived and half wired from the caffeine.
“Z, you first?”
