I cut him off, grabbing his arm and yanking. "Here, let me refresh your memory."
He frowned, but followed after me anyway, allowing me to drag him by his shirtsleeve. "Nicole, I didn't do a damn thing to your car," he said.
"Then who did?" I demanded. "Who else but you would write 'whore' on my window?"
His frown deepened, but he didn't say anything.
When we got to my car I stopped and pointed, showing him the window and the tires. "My car looks like it has feet, Derek. It looks like it could get up and walk away if the mood hit it."
He tried to stifle a smile, but that made me mad, too.
"This isn't funny! All four of my tires are slashed, Derek. This isn’t my car! My father doesn't even like me, so he sure as hell isn't going to buy new tires because I have an enemy. I don't even know how much tires cost!"
"Okay, calm down," he said, lightly touching my arm. "No one died. It’s just a car. It's okay."
"It is not okay!" I was humiliated that I felt tears burning behind my eyes, but I didn't dare let them fall. "Who would do this, if it wasn’t you? Why? Who else would know enough to write whore on my window, Derek? Who did you tell?"
"I didn't tell anybody," he said absently, kneeling down to inspect the gashes in my tires. “Somebody sure doesn’t like you though.”
All I could think was, How am I going to pay for this? How am I going to get this fixed without telling Alex?
I walked up to the window and tried to use the flat of my hand to rub the marker off, but it didn’t work. Aggravated, I smacked the window and hid my face in my hands, resting my forehead against the door and closing my eyes against the reality of the situation.
Alex was going to kill me. I would never be allowed to use his car again. I only had maybe 10 hours at Wendy's that week, and after taxes that might leave me about $40. That wasn't enough for even one tire, and I had my cell phone bill and the internet bill to pay, too.
What the hell was I going to do?
I felt Derek come up behind me, his body pressing up against my back, his hands on either of my shoulders, a gesture of support that I wasn't used to. Honestly, it made me feel better. For just a moment, he rubbed my arms, then I heard him say quietly, "Come on.”
I turned to face him, oddly missing the feeling of his weight pressed against my back. "What?" I asked tiredly.
He just nodded in the opposite direction of my car, where he started walking.
I glanced back at the car, hesitating to leave it alone with a vandal on the loose, but I slowly followed him. "Where are you going?"
He didn't answer me immediately, so I repeated my question.
"We're blowing off school for now," he said.
I stole an uncertain glance back at the school. "What? Why?"
"When will your dad notice the car missing?" he asked, not answering my question.
"At seven, when I'm supposed to pick him up," I responded, dread settling in the pit of my stomach.
He got into his car and unlocked the doors, telling me to get in. I listened, hoping I wouldn't get into too much trouble for it, not even sure what he was doing.
"Okay, I'm in the car," I said. "Now where are we going?"
"To get you some tires," he said, putting the car in reverse. "If we don't take too much time, I might just be able to put them on your car before it's time for you to pick your dad up."
I could only stare at him in a vague state of shock as he pulled out of the school parking and took off down the road, his only motivation being to help me.
Apparently Derek had a friend who worked at some tire and alignment place, and he left me in the car to go in and talk to him.
I sat in the car by myself, angry that someone vandalized my car, confused as to why Derek would actually help me. I also didn’t understand why when I was upset, not only did he offer me a little bit of physical support, which I had never experienced in my life, but he went into rescue mode and took me out to get new tires before my dad found out.
When Derek came back he leaned in my window and said, "I can get you four tires for $310."