Page 2 of Off the Mark
“I haven’t seen you bail on a jump in a long time,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I was a little distracted. This is my first time on this track.”
A single eyebrow raised. “Does your distraction have anything to do with you going on a bender in Philly with a few other racers I assume arealsogetting lectured by their agents right now?”
I scowled, pushing up to sit again. “Abender? I went out to the bars with some friends and had one too many shots. I’m not some teenager on her first spring break.”
Thoughone too manywas a slightunder-exaggeration. But I wasn’t too hungover to admit that the crisis call I’d received right before deciding to go party—and the very real panic in my dad’s voice on the other end—had contributed to my “teenager on spring break” choice of tequila.
Dempsey helped me stand, brushing dirt from the side of my pants like an aggravated older sister. She had faded tattoos on her fingers and a manicure that would cost me a week’s worth of groceries. “But Bettencourt is your sponsor now, and a company like that isn’t too happy about the many,manypictures of you on every sports website, looking wasted.”
I tore off my helmet and shoved my bangs to the side. “Are you being serious right now?”
She nodded grimly.
“So…what? Am I in some kind of trouble?”
Dempsey shot me a look of pure exasperation. “Does violating multiple clauses in your brand-new, lucrative contract sound liketrouble?”
2
ROWAN
Ileaned against the doorway and raised a Styrofoam cup of coffee at the beauty with sleep-tousled hair.
“Thanks for this. And for last night,” I said.
Carla bit her lip with a grin. “I had a nice time with you. Areallynice time.” She gave my body an exaggerated perusal that had me matching her smile. “But I shouldn’t be surprised by that.”
I tossed her a wink before starting down her steps and onto the sidewalk. “Always happy to be of service, ma’am.”
“Yeah, that angelic act doesn’t fool me one bit,” she called out with a laugh.
I spun back to her and pressed a hand to the center of my chest. “As if I’deversin.”
“Tell that to my broken headboard.”
Chuckling, I sent her one last look before hooking a left turn onto Eighth Street, whistling under my breath as I walked to work. Carla didn’t ask to call me again, and I didn’t offer.
She knew what I was about.
It was a hot and humid morning in South Philly with not a single tree in sight to offer any shade. I crossed the narrow street, dodging the 47 bus and setting off a chorus of beeping horns from the cars behind it. Neighbors perched on stoops, smoking cigarettes while sweeping their tiny patches of sidewalk. Shopkeepers rolled open corner stores, family-run delis, and panaderías.
Still whistling, I strolled past the Cambodian Buddhist temple that sat across the street—neighbors stood outside, lighting sticks of incense beneath an ornate red-and-gold awning. I called out a greeting, then jogged up the short path to the front door of the South Philadelphia Recreational Center. Then I twisted to the side to let a group of kids run past me to the basketball courts. There was a chorus of “Hey, Mr. Rowan” as they turned the corner, disappearing to go do the same thing Dean and I had done every day here when we were growing up.
“Mornin’,” I yelled back, “andcarefulon that asphalt. It’s hot out there today.”
I popped my head into the first large room on the left. Dean Knox-Morelli sat at a table with Edna Kozlowski, surrounded by piles and piles of eggplants. “Not even nine a.m. and you two troublemakers are up to no good?”
Edna stood, adding a few extra bags of carrots to her weekly food box. “Let’s not pretend that the biggest troublemaker at this place isn’tyou, Rowan Shane O’Callaghan.”
I winced. “Little early for the middle name, don’t you think?” I indicated the excess produce. “Do we have a plan for this eggplant surprise?”
Dean nodded and handed me a clipboard with a long list of names. “Eddie’s already taking it out to these folks. Some extra is going across the street to the Temple. The rest will get used in the cooking classes this week.”
I scanned the list, happy to see it get dispersed through Eddie, who always knew which of our elderly neighbors needed food this week. That was thanks to his many contacts at church, the Acme, and his favorite bingo hall off Oregon Avenue.
I passed the list back and tipped my head toward Edna. “Glad to hear it. You see Harper catch that fly ball in the bottom of the sixth last night?”
