Chapter 5: Ricky
I pulled the van into the self-service bay of the local car wash, the engine sputtering a bit as I cut the ignition. I needed to focus on something—anything—that wasn't the freezing blue gaze of the girl from first period. I grabbed the vacuum hose, determined to suck up the old french fries and empty soda cans that had accumulated during the cross-country move, but my brain was stuck on a loop.
We had nearly every single class together. It was like some twisted cosmic joke. Science, History, even English—she was there, usually two rows ahead of me, radiating an aura of pure "don't even look at me." The only break I got was Music, but even then, I spent the whole period wondering why she avoided me like the plague in the hallways. I wasn't sure what I’d done to end up on her permanent blacklist, but I was determined to find a way back into her good graces, even if I had to crawl.
“Eww, who actually drives a white van like this? It’s giving very much 'stranger danger.'”
The voice was unmistakable. I turned my head so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. There she was, standing next to a sleek, expensive-looking SUV in the next bay. She was with the same curly-haired redhead from this morning. Her blue eyes widened as she realized it was me holding the vacuum nozzle.
“I do! And for your information, I have the coolest van in this zip code,” I replied, my voice cracking just enough to ruin the cool factor I was aiming for.
“Are you stalking me now?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Because if you are, I should probably tell you my dad is a lawyer and he loves filing restraining orders.”
“No, no, no—I’m not stalking you. I just needed to clean the van out. It’s a literal biohazard in here after three days on the road.”
The two girls stared at the side of my van with expressions of genuine confusion. I stood there, awkwardly leaning against the sliding door, trying to look like a nonchalant rockstar instead of a guy who just got rejected by a girl whose name I didn't even know. I wanted to ask her right then and there, maybe see if she’d be into grabbing a burger, but the way she was looking at my hubcaps made me think the answer would be a hard "no."
“It looks like the kind of van a creepy old dude would use to lure people in with the promise of free puppies,” the blonde snorted, brushing a stray hair out of her face.
I forced a chuckle, trying to play along. “Well, I guess I’m just ahead of schedule on becoming a creepy old dude. I'm a trendsetter.”
She scoffed, a tiny smirk threatening to break through her icy exterior before she suppressed it with a massive roll of her eyes.
“What does 'Rocket Starz' even mean?” the redhead asked, squinting at the faded, DIY lettering on the side panel. She mispronounced it, making it sound like a brand of cheap fireworks.
“It’s Rocket Starz,” I corrected her quickly, my pride stinging. “With a 'z.' It’s my rock band. Or... well, it was my band.”
“What do you mean by 'was'?” she inquired, tilting her head.
“The guys replaced me the second the moving truck crossed the state line,” I muttered, tossing a crumpled fast-food bag into the trash. “Turns out the 'Starz' didn't align for me.”
“Can't you even spell, loser?” the blonde chimed in, stepping closer. “It sounds like you’re trying to be edgy but ended up at a third-grade spelling bee instead.”
“Roxie, come on, let’s just go and clean your car,” the redhead said, tugging at her sleeve. “Just leave him and his struggle-bus alone, okay? I’ve got that art thing with Julie later and I can’t be late.”
Roxie. I felt the name click into place. I love her sass. It was sharp, mean, and totally addictive. She turned her back to me to start the high-pressure spray on her own car, but I just stood there for a second, repeating the name in my head. Roxie. This school year was going to be a disaster, but at least now the disaster had a name.