Well Played

Zayn had a shitty car. That was a fact that he was very well aware of. After all, it was hard to ignore the bumper that fell off once every couple of days, the broken passenger’s side mirror, and the torn and stained seats.

But his shitty car, named Ralph the second day he owned it, was far better than what most of his friends had. Which was absolutely nothing.

“This is boring,” Steve whined, pulling down the visor above his head, revealing the cracked mirror, so he could re-comb his hair back into perfect complicated swirls. “We’re just driving around in circles.”

“Then what do you want to do, Einstein? ‘Cause, I hate to tell you, but there’s nothing else we really can do. Evie ditched you for the night.”

Steve glared at me. “She didn’t ditch me. She’s hanging out with her girlfriends.”

“Which means that she’s going to be picking up some guys with those friends.”

“Not true.”

Steve had far too much faith in his girlfriend. And while it’s nice that he felt he could put trust in his girlfriend, he was sorely mistaking. That girl hit on everything that moved, swinging her hips back and forth, working the tight jeans she always wore. She tried to reel Zayn in once, but he turned her down immediately. She wasn’t his type, and his friendship with Steve was too important to him.

“Okay,” Zayn allowed with a sigh. “What do you think of going to the drive-in?”

“We’ve already been to the drive-in,” Steve sighed. “I’ve seen that Paul Newman movie that’s showing about three times.”

“There’s nothing else to do!” Zayn shouted at his friend. “So if you’re such a genius, why don’t you think of something?”

Steve pondered that for a second, staring out his window. “Hey, there’s a girl walking down the street,” he pointed out.

Zayn looked out of the windshield at the girl, squinting to try to put her into focus. “She’s a Soc,” Zayn expressed under his breath. “What is she doing?”

She walked under a streetlight, pulling her sweater more tightly around her torso, shivering a little bit.

“Holy fuck, that’s Rose,” Zayn grumbled. “Steve, get out.”

“What? Who’s Rose?”

“Get out of the car,” Zayn demanded, pulling over to the sidewalk and unlocking the door. “Now.”

“Where the fuck am I supposed to go?!” Steve shouted as he ripped the door open. “I’m over three miles away from anything.”

“Sucks,” Zayn commented drily. “Leave.”

“You owe me, dickhead,” Steve snapped as he slammed the door shut. Then he pulled the collar of his leather jacket up to create a windbreaker for his face and stormed down the street.

Zayn drove along the sidewalk, driving as slowly as possible, making sure that he didn’t scare Rose. When he caught up to her, he rolled down the window and called out to her. “Hey!” he yelled, hoping she heard him.

She turned cautiously, as if she were afraid Zayn was a pedophile trying to abduct her. When she looked into his eyes, she relaxed a little. “What are you doing?” she questioned, making her way over to the car, pulling a small lock of hair away from her mouth.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zayn responded. “Why are you walking down the street alone on a Friday night?”

She nibbled on her lip, which Zayn had already figured out was a nervous habit of hers. In spite of himself, he found it pretty sexy.

“I’ve had a rough night,” she finally answered him. “I’m walking home.”

It was at least ten miles to the other side of town, and there was no way he wanted her to walk that far with some of the greasers wandering the streets, the ones who liked to take advantage of girls. Although some greasers were misunderstood, some really did like to grasp the full meaning behind the word “hoodlum”.

“You’re not walking. Climb in,” Zayn insisted.

She looked at him skeptically. “Am I going to go through the same situation as Patty Richardson?”

Zayn laughed lightly and threw open the door. He didn’t want to answer because he knew she wouldn’t really like what response was running through his mind: that there was no way he’d turn her down like he’d done to Patty.

But despite the fact he hadn’t answered her, Rose climbed into the seat of the car, gathering her hair so it spilled over her right shoulder, giving Zayn perfect access to sneaking looks at her face.

As he pulled away from the sidewalk and sped up down the street, he squirmed in his seat and clenched onto the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t know where you live, so you’re going to have to give me directions,” he told her as he pulled to a stop at a red light, watching the cars zoom by from the opposite direction.

“I figured,” she responded lightly. But Zayn could sense the fakeness in her demeanor.

“You going to tell me what happened tonight that made you want to walk home?”

Rose let out a sigh. “I’m a controlling girlfriend,” she answered shortly.

Ah, so Zayn had been right about what the varsity jacket meant. Not that it especially mattered to him. He knew in his heart that he could treat a girl better than a Soc ever could.

“You gonna elaborate on that?” Zayn asked as he fired the car forward the second the light turned back to green.

She took a long breath, and Zayn fully expected her to tell him to fuck off, but she ended up launching into the story. Zayn made sure to pay attention, knowing that girls liked guys who listened.

“John told me that he was going to the drive-in tonight with some of his friends, so he had to cancel the date we had planned for tonight. But I never understood why he didn’t ask if I wanted to go with them instead, since I get along really well with his friends. Putting my trust in him and figuring he was telling me the truth, I went to the drive-in alone to find him, to give him a little surprise, you know? But instead, I found him with some half-naked girl in the back of his car, steaming up the windows.”

Although her voice was wavering with emotion, Rose showed no signs that she was going to cry. Zayn felt relieved; he hated when girls cried. He was never sure how to react, since greasy girls didn’t cry after they reached three years old.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn told her, and he was shocked how much he actually meant it. “That’s really terrible.”

“I know,” she agreed.

A thick silence settled between the two teenagers before the greaser cleared his throat and started to speak again. “Do you think you’re going to break up with him? He’d deserve it, you know.”

“I know.” Rose caught her bottom lip between her straight, white teeth again, turning her attention out the window instead of at the rebel sitting beside her. “But I don’t know. John and I have been together for a long time. Breaking up would be hard.”

“Breaking up is never easy,” Zayn told her honestly, speeding up to make a yellow light, which made Rose lean back in her seat, grimacing with fear. “But did you really expect that you and John would stay together forever?”

“Kind of,” Rose admitted. “It was the fairytale, anyway.”

“Fairytales aren’t real, babe,” Zayn told her shortly, sneaking a glance at her. She was staring at him, her eyes filled with awe, clearly surprised that a greaser had so much worldly knowledge. “And the sooner you start realizing that, the easier your life is going to turn out.”

“Maybe fairytales can be real,” Rose mumbled. “Maybe I just haven’t found my Prince Charming yet.”

Zayn let the words hang between them, and he wondered if Rose was thinking the same thing he was: was she possibly considering the idea that Zayn Malik, hard and tough greaser, one with an awful reputation that was concocted by hateful Socs, was that prince that would come through, riding on a white steed to save her from her problems?