Betting Blind Read Free

and Kyle trade looks. “Really?” said Forrest. “Was that a cool place?”
    I grinned. “You don’t have to be subtle, dude. It’s straight ghetto.”
    Forrest laughed. “Hey, you said it.”
    White Center was ghetto. We used to call my old school “Destination KCJ,” meaning King County Jail. The hood was a weird mix of whites, blacks, Mexicans, and Vietnamese, with families dealing weed out the front and raising chickens out the back.
    “Remember that basketball tournament where a guy got knifed a couple years ago?” said Kyle. “That was at Jefferson, right?”
    “Yeah, Dre Franklin got stabbed,” I said. “He’s my boy Devon’s brother.”
    “You know him?” said Forrest. He opened the Land Rover, and we all hopped in. As Forrest drove, we talked about the crazy thug from Tacoma who’d knifed Dre right on the court. Dude had a blade strapped to his waist under his basketball shorts. That was the kind of thing that happened at Jefferson.
    The Mexican place was small and packed, but the girl quickly got our food—burritos the size of my head—and big paper cups of Coke. It cost ten bucks, which was more than I usually spent on lunch, but I was guessing it was pocket change to those guys.
    We set up at a table, and as we were opening our food, Forrest said, “You guys going to Morton’s on Friday?”
    Kyle dumped salsa on his burrito. “Definitely.” He looked at me. “One of our Overlake friends is having a party. You should come.”
    Forrest said, “Yeah, bring Irina. But watch it, or I’m taking her off your hands.”
    “Better put a bag over your head if you’re going to try that, so you don’t scare her off,” I said.
    Kyle and Matt hooted.
    “Nah, she’s blind. I mean, she gave you her number, right?” Forrest threw back.
    Kyle crumpled his wrapper into a ball and said, “Morton’s looking for somebody to hook up some party favors. You got any connections at Jefferson? I mean, since all you guys do over there is get high?” He made it sound like a joke, but he and Forrest were both watching me. Matt looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.
    Actually, I had all kinds of connections. I could have driven forty minutes and swung by my friend Damon’s dad’s meth shed, or called my buddy Tim to hook up molly and Oxies, or bought dirt weed by the tire load from the Mexican family on South Street. So yeah, I could hook it up. And I could probably add a rich-kid tax, and they’d never know the difference.
    I glanced at Matt, who obviously felt like he was stuck in some after-school special.
    “Don’t pay attention to him,” said Forrest. “He’s straight-edge, but he’s cool.”
    Matt rolled his eyes. “You guys are idiots. That shit kills people.”
    I smiled. I liked these dudes, even Matt. “I’ll see,” I said.
    Kyle said, “Cool. And if you don’t bring Irina, my girlfriend’s friend wants to meet you.”
    “Who?” Forrest demanded. “Becky?”
    Kyle nodded.
    “Lucky fool.” Forrest slugged me in the arm.
    By the time we got back to school, we’d all traded numbers, and I felt better than I had since I moved.

    Wednesday night before Irina’s concert, I was like a cartoon character, dropping crap and sweating bullets with my heart beating out of my chest in big valentines. Why? I had no idea. I didn’t even know the girl! And I’d been out with a million girls.
    I think it was that violin. It was sexy that she was so good at something. And yeah, I’m a typical guy. It was also that she wasn’t throwing herself at me—at all. In fact, I’d texted her, and she hadn’t texted back. So of course I was whipped.
    I spent so long getting ready, my mom knew something was up. She peeked in the bathroom at me (I was fooling with my hair) and said, “You have a date, don’t you?”
    I didn’t say no. She squealed and said, “Tell me about her!”
    “Nothing. Just some girl.” I smashed my cowlick again—stupid thing would never stay down—and pulled