Page 12 of The Wrong Side of Kai
“The revenge, for sure,” I say. No lie there. Having a hot partner-in-crime just so happens to be a bonus in this mission. I point my spoon at her. “You mentioned slashing the tires of Harrison’s truck. I like that idea. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Vans. . . Are you sure you want to do this?” Chyna questions, looking worried. She doesn’t seem entirely convinced about the morality – or legality – of my plan. She’s good like that. Always nice, always sensible. Except for her magpie stationery habits. “Sure, go ahead and get even, but don’t get into trouble.”
Honestly, what with the ice cream and the encounter with Kai, I’m managing to squeeze thoughts about that video being shared all around town out of my head for a minute or two at a time. Instead I’m focusing on getting my revenge on Harrison and all the possible ways to do it. It’s almost thrilling. I’m realizing that it’s much easier to channel my energy into payback rather than to let myself be consumed by the hurt and the betrayal, the shame and the embarrassment. “Do you have any other ideas?”
“I don’t know about trucks, but Iamgood with computers, so just holler if you need me to do any hacking rather than slashing,” Chyna murmurs under her breath, picking at her ice cream as though she’s wary of getting involved now that the idea’s caught fire in my mind. She glances up. “It’s lunch period, you know. Call this hot weirdo. I want to find out what he says.”
I glance up at the vintage Hershey’s ice cream clock on the wall, watching it tick on for a few seconds. It’s only been a couple hours since I met Kai in the office. “Shouldn’t I wait until tonight?”
“Call him,” Chyna orders, more firmly this time.
I don’t put up much of a fight. I’m desperate to know exactly how my arrangement with this guy is going to play out. Like, what’s first on our agenda? Is he on board with potentially slashing some truck tires? “Okay. Okay. Calling him.” I grab my phone and pull up the number forKai Washington (Partner), then call it before I can hesitate.
It rings for so long that I think it’s going to go to voicemail, but then someone answers, “No, I don’t want to claim your free prize for some contest that I never entered, and no, I’m not prepared to disclose any of my info.”
Maybe Chyna’s right. Maybe heisa weirdo. “Kai? It’s Vanessa,” I say, but my voice sounds pathetic. I sound. . . nervous. Which is crazy. I’m used to calling up guys and making my voice sultry while I flirt, but maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m not used to talking to a boy under more platonic circumstances.
“Hey, partner,” Kai says, and now he’s totally unsurprised to hear from me so soon. His voice has a smooth, husky undertone to it that I notice more over the phone than I did when he was standing in front of me. “Should we have code names for each other? I’ll be. . . Captain Washington for now until I think of something cooler. You?”
Okay, definitely a weirdo. “Um. . .”
“Nessie, then,” he says without a pause.
“Excuse me?”
“Listen up, Nessie,” he continues. “Captain Washington here. We should meet up tonight to discuss our battle plan. My place or yours?”
I blink, taken aback by how forward he is. For all that we are total strangers to one another, Captain Washington sure does move fast. He’s calling me nicknames and inviting me over to his house already?
“I hope this isn’t just some ploy to get me upstairs with you.”
“Again, Nessie, you’re not my type,” Kai says firmly.
Right. He likes blondes, and I’m the darkest shade of brunette you can get. Chyna is on the edge of her seat across from me, eyes wide, impatiently waiting for my feedback on what Kai’s saying, but I quickly shake my head at her. I can feel a smile playing on my lips as I turn to face the window.
“Let’s meet somewhere more public,” I say. I’m not worried about Kai murdering me or anything. I just don’t want to go to a stranger’s house, and I certainly don’t want to invite him into the unwelcoming, cold house that is mine.
“Okay. Meet me at the library at eight.”
“The library?” I snort. I’ve never once stepped foot inside the library. I stare out the window – I can see the library from here, just across the street. Uptown Westerville is only a small district of the city – most people just head to downtown Columbus instead.
“It’s low-key, isn’t it? Who do you know that would ever go anywhere near the library at night?” he questions, and I go quiet. “Exactly,” he says. “And Operation Harr-assassinate is strictly a secret.”
“Operation Harr-assassinate?” Did he seriously just say that? Either way, it makes me laugh. He’s taking this way too seriously, but he’s being playful about it too. I didn’t know plotting to screw with someone’s life could be so. . . fun. “Okay. Library at eight. Wear all black. Don’t forget a dark hoodie and gloves, Captain Washington,” I say, joining in with his charade. Two teenagers hellbent on revenge, conjuring up a secret masterplan from within the silent depths of the Westerville Public Library. . . I can roll with this.
“Roger, Nessie. See you at the library,” Kai declares. “Captain Washington, over and out.”
He hangs up and the line goes dead, but yet I keep the phone pressed to my ear for a while, so lost in a trance that I’m blissfully unaware of the couple of hipster dog-walkers outside the window who think I’m grinning at them.
When I snap out of it and turn back to Chyna, she looks utterly horrified. “Surely I need to get my hearing tested because there’s no way in hell you just called that guyCaptain Washington, right?”
“Sorry, private information,” I tease, clamping my lips shut for dramatic effect.
Chyna looks like she might hurl the remaining slop of her ice cream at me, but her attention is diverted when her phone buzzes on the table. She reaches for it and sighs. “My dad,” she says. “Time to explain why I haven’t been in classes. Don’t worry, I’ll just say you’re going through some guy drama and you needed your best friend for moral support.” She answers the call and angles away from me.
I glance down at my own phone, like I’m expecting a call from my dad to come through any second. I should know better. I can’t remember the last time my father so much as texted me. A couple weeks ago, maybe, and that was only to ask me to drop by the store for milk. I would do anything for him to call me up right now and yell at me down the line. I would do anything for him to demand to know where I’ve run off to. To know why I’m stuffing my face with ice cream rather than taking notes in English Lit. And I would do anything for him to ask me if I’m okay, because then maybe I could take a chance and tell him that I’m not.
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