The Wallace Girl: The Feud Series

by Scott, Eliot

  12.

  Alex, One Week After Meeting Jojo.

  “I told my father about you. Told him you’re a Sinclair,” Jojo says, her hair a tangled mess, freckles hidden by a new sunburn, and wide eyes glowing with reflections of me inside of them as she moves closer. I can’t look away because I love being inside those eyes. “He wants you to come to dinner. Can you?”

  Jojo and I are lined up, and we’ve been diving off of what we’ve now deemed to be “our favorite rock.” It’s a long flat plate of smooth and ancient sandstone that, on the lakeside, has a small cliff drop off that juts out and shades part of a very deep pool.

  She dives in before I can answer, and the beautiful clear water momentarily swallows her up whole. I watch her curls fan out around her as she does a few underwater strokes, and wait for her to resurface safely before I line up to go with my toes curling over the sharpest edge of the rock.

  As I leap to her left, she locks on me and grins when I surface. “Did you hear me? I told my parents about you, Alex Sinclair! Will you come to dinner?”

  I swim up to her, loving how drops of lake water always stick to her long lashes and reflect off those kaleidoscope eyes. “You told them my last name?” We tread water together, as though it’s as natural as taking a walk together. “I don’t think I mentioned that to you?” I frown, feeling my heart sink—feeling nervous that she knows who I am—that it may taint her opinion of me somehow. My dad isn’t well liked by a lot of people around here. “How do you know it? And for that matter, what’s your last name? Unfair.”

  “Mine? It’s Wallace.” She grins, and I feel my heart sink even lower, then slow some with a feeling of dread and worry. I’ve got this odd gut wrench happening, because her name, it’s a name I know well. “Your last name was on your books. Each one has a fancy sticker inside of it.”

  “Bookplate,” I correct her.

  “Bookplate, then,” she repeats, flourishing her hands wide out of the water for a moment. “From the Library of Alexander Sinclair. Very impressive.” She jerks her head to my forgotten backpack. “Do you have a real library in your house? With sliding ladders and marble floors.”

  “My father does. The floors are wood, though. Grady and I have one wall of it.”

  “Wow.” She processes that for a moment. “So then…you are from the Tacoma founding-fathers Sinclair family? One of those Sinclairs”

  “Yes…I am,” I answer, praying that it doesn’t matter—that it won’t change things between us.

  She shrugs.

  “Well, how cool is that. I’m from the founding-fathers Wallace family. One of those Wallaces that’s featured in the museum, just like you,” she finishes, sounding proud about that. “Though…we have no library. Only one big bookshelf. All mine. If it helps, we also have wood floors. Recycled barn wood. Based on our family history and all, though, it sorta feels like destiny that we are hanging out now.”

  “It does?” I shake my head at her, trying to process what she said, but I’m distracted some because I love the way her wet hair looks when we’re swimming, the water taming her curls and making her usual brown color black as coal. The effect makes her wide blue eyes pop even more than normal against her pale, freckled cheeks.

  I also love way her two-piece Speedo clings to her curves and stretches thin across her breasts where rivulets of water stream in every direction. I force my gaze away and flip myself to float on my side so I can be a gentleman and not openly stare at her chest, even though, these days, that’s all I want to do.

  I wish I could get the courage to kiss her. I know that one week of being friends is probably too soon for that, or for me to even ask, but still…I want to kiss her.

  I try looking up at the sky, wondering if she thinks stuff—crazy longing, potential making-out-kind-of-stuff—about me? It’s probably so obvious to her that I’ve got zero experience.

  I wonder if she has any experience. I toss her another sideways glance and almost crack up because she’s doing this goofy underwater flip she calls the dolphin spin. Yeah. No. She’s probably got no experience either.

  When she’s out of breath and facing me again, I ask, ”What did you tell them—your parents? About me?” I’ve sunk myself lower in the water and have been repeating the word parents, parents, parents in my head, because nothing kills endless boner-spikes like the word parents.

  “Everything. That I’ve got a new friend. A great and smart and maybe a new best friend to start school with. Do I? Are we?”

  It’s the cutest bunch of questions. Her eyes are steady and hopeful, and I get why they call it a crush—because it’s crushing my heart and lungs flat every time she looks at me.

  “Damn, Jojo. Hell yes. I can be that. Sure. Best friend, signing on. No problem.” I’m so pleased by this request that my heart’s flipped more than once, and of course I’m now wishing even more stuff about her—or about me. And I’m talking like some kid from one of those sixties TV shows. I almost said golly.

  “It won’t make anyone else—jealous? Push off another best friend…or girlfriend, or anything?”

  “Oh. No.” My heart thunders with worry that she’s going to find out that I don’t have any close friends. I don’t want to lie to her so I answer honestly with, “Until you…I’ve been a bit of a loner.”

  I wish I had the guts to say more—say that I want to be more than friends. Much more, but for that, I’m going to need time. I have to figure her out, and work on how the hell to make some moves so I don’t look like an idiot.

  “Have you told your parents about me?” she asks.

  “Nope. Not yet.” Another honest answer.

  “But you will? You’ll tell them you’re teaching a girl, your best friend.” She beams, trying on my new title. “How to read better?”

  “Eventually. Yes, I will.” I evade her eyes, willing her to understand that I don’t talk to my parents. Not about things that are important to me, and she, in a few short days, has become way more than important.

  "Well." She side-strokes around me in circles, and I, to defend myself from her beauty, begin to side stroke in the opposite direction because she’s clueless of my efforts to control what’s going on in my swim trunks. “We’re really open with each other. I give my parents daily updates on our activities, too. They want to meet you. So…can you come to dinner—like tonight?”

  “Um…I don’t know.” I shake my head, wondering what it would be like to have family meals where people talk honestly about their days. Where people might laugh and actually enjoy each other’s company instead of just get through it, which is how I approach going to dinner with my family. Sinclair family meals are a study in the judgmental surveillance of my parents, who pick apart everything from my hair, my choice of outfit and my manners, all peppered in with glares and snark coming from my brother.

  “Is it because you’re worried about the rumors—about the history between our families? The feud?” She swims up to me, blinking comically.

  “What? What are you talking about? That’s ancient history. Folklore.”

  Because the urge to plant a kiss on her is too huge, I dunk my head underwater and pop back up.

  “Well, my dad wondered about it. He told me to tell you he swears he doesn't care about stuff like that old feud either, that you are very welcome in our home. So I'm a Wallace, and so you're a Sinclair. So what! The major stuff between our families was a million years ago, right?“

  “Or…a hundred and fifty years ago, considering a million years ago nothing was here. But, Jojo…I don’t know what you’re talking about. What major stuff was between our families?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but there was a very real, and very bloody, feud between our families.” She flashes her eyes wider to show she’s serious.

  “I’ve never heard of it being…bloody. I know there was some competition, maybe some oil and water rights, or land stuff. Typical history junk.” I shrug. “And like you brought up, we both know the museum has the displ
ay about our families founding the town, because our last names are part of the history here. But no one in my family says the word ‘feud’ or, for that matter, speaks about the past.”

  “My parents do. They kind of freaked when I told them your full name—thought I was playing some sort of prank at first. My mom acted kind of crazy; she threatened to lock me up and homeschool me forever. I heard her beg my father to move away from here. But she does that sometimes. Freaks out? She does it more now that she’s been sick. She just flies off her rocker and hugs me so tight, begs me not to go outside. Cries a lot, too. I think it’s the medicine she’s on for the chemotherapy, that or the pile of pills she has to take for the cancer. It all makes her act off. Way off.”

  I sigh, feeling sad as I watch the light fall out of Jojo’s eyes as she speaks of her mom. “I’m sorry she’s going through that, Jojo. Will she be okay?”

  “So far, so good.”

  A short smile fixes on her lips. It’s a brave face.

  “My dad says she’s heading into remission, but only time will tell. She acted so extreme last week that now I want to go to the museum and ask the curator about this feud. Are you down for a little digging and investigating?” She waggles her brows in invitation. “My father says my mom and your dad were friends once, back during high school. I’ve never heard her mention that to me, though. Dad said it was her story to tell, not his. One day soon, I’m going to get the nerve up to ask her. Should I?”

  I’ve become so curious about what she’s said, I have to agree. “Sure. Why not? Let’s at least ask at the museum, huh? Maybe they know. We can also dig around the high school archives. Could be fun. And if it’s true, then my father just doesn’t bring it up on purpose. That’s how he is. A closed book. He always gives speeches about going forward. They are the most boring, endless speeches.”

  “What do you mean?” Her cheeks lift when she questions me.

  “He’s always preaching.” I pull in a breath and copy my father’s serious face as well as low-low voice. “Your job right now, Alex, as the youngest Sinclair son, is not to dwell on the past or on any town rumors, but to focus on being a good Sinclair, on making me proud, and on making a mark for the family.”

  I laugh when Jojo cracks up, adding, “He says because we have money, people are bound to talk about us badly. Maybe because of who we are, or because they’re jealous of what we have. He constantly says that I should only care about the present and the future, and making him proud.”

  “That’s good parental advice actually. My father would say the same to me. Look ahead, not back, right?” Jojo’s so sure when she speaks.

  She swims another lap around me, and as I follow her, I can’t resist bragging to her a little more.

  “He even told me I’m on track to learn the family business better than what Grady’s done, and without trying." I splash her as we pass each other. “I think that means he thinks I’m smarter than Grady.”

  “You probably are.” She agrees. “But wait. You’ll have to work for your father, doing his business, like…forever?”

  I nod.

  “Do you want to? I’ve never heard you talk about it.” She frowns, pausing to tread water again before kicking her legs to float some on her back. I do the same, staring up at the cloudless blue sky.

  “It’s just what I know will happen. It’s what’s expected. I guess I’ve never thought about it. I’ll go off to college, study business, and then I’ll run the business with my family.” I look over at her, wondering at her odd expression.

  “But what if you wanted to choose something else? Like…I’m going to study liberal arts—that means you study a little about everything. Everything! I have my eye on those ‘Colleges that Change Lives’ schools. The ones where they expect you to think outside the box and make art, or come up with something that changes the world. Find your true passion, I say, and then you live that passion forever.” I can tell by the light in her eyes that she can truly visualize this future.

  “Uh, my father would never go for that,” I say with a hard chuckle. “We, including my mom, are supposed to focus our efforts for the Sinclairs as a whole. And we all do what my dad tells us to do, down to the letter. It’s not like we’re not all allowed to go off and do our own things. Like, I have this lake and all of the surrounding lands to…uh…steward.”

  She laughs. “Nice SAT word, Alex Sinclair. Steward of the land.” She laughs again.

  “And I get to fish, which is my greatest passion. And Grady, he’s into football. I think he’s got dreams of playing some college ball, but whatever we’re into, we both know we’re going to return here to Tacoma when it’s all done. Our future is to learn the business. Be…you know…good Sinclairs.”

  It’s not lost on me that without my father’s voice layered on to drive that last bit home, my imitation made it sound lame.

  "What does your mom say about your dad deciding everything?”

  "Nothing. But…my mom hardly ever says anything to me anymore, except how to comb my hair and what to wear to political dinners—that kind of stuff.”

  "Your family sounds so cold. You don’t seem to match them at all. I’m sorry, but…” JoJo and I have made it to the shallow water by the rock so now we’re standing and she’s shaking her head at me. “It—you—sound kind of sad.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I don’t know anything different. It’s just my family, and I’m not sad. Not one bit.” I hold back my tone, not wanting to sound defensive. I’m not. Honestly, before Jojo, I never really thought about something different.

  “Okay. Good.” She shakes her head, as though clearing her own mind. “Then dinner. You’ll get to see how my family is. We’ll feed you things like cobbler and meatloaf, because I’m sure you’ve never had those served up on your white tablecloths by that fancy live-in chef of yours, have you?”

  I shake my head, but don’t answer to that, because just like how I may be kind of sad—she’s pegged me hard on this point, too.

  “You can walk me home. Then you’ll know the way to my place.” She hops on the rock to wrap her bikini-clad body into a towel, and I don’t tell her that I already know the way to her place. I was curious about where she lived, so a few times I followed her to the edge of her property. “We’ll ask my parents about your dad and my mom, and the feud. We can ask them how they used to be friends. I’m sure she’ll tell us if you’re there. It has to be quite a story—something about how my mother left your father’s riches and fancy offers of diamonds and yachts behind, all so she could be a poor farmer’s wife."

  “You won’t do that to me, will you? Leave me for some poor farmer?” I ask, hopping out on the rock myself and taking up my own towel. I’m frowning at her, jokingly of course, but only slightly. I’ve been so caught up in our new friendship that…well hell, I simply can’t imagine it ever being over.

  “I will if you try to make me wear stupid diamonds, or if you make me get on a boat any bigger than a fishing raft, then yes. I will.” She folds her arms in punctuation.

  I laugh, smiling back. “Good to know. Very good to know.”

  She grabs my backpack and pulls out a bag of cookies. “These are still warm from the oven.”

  We pause to each take two, and I smile, watching as she folds the soft baked cookie in half and then takes a bite. “I bet it’s such a romantic story, how my father won my mother,” she says, mouth full. “We Wallace girls—we love honor and kindness above all else.” She sighs, staring up at the sky. “My mother, stolen away from your father by my romantic dad. The more I think on it, I think maybe this feud idea could really be true. My mom is the kind of woman people would fight over.”

  "Please. Your imagination is going wild again.” I laugh, trying to picture my father losing at anything. “No one has ever stolen away anything from my dad. Because if my father wanted something, he would never give up on getting it. So I’ll bet he wasn’t into her like that.”

  “I’m going to find out. Or better yet—
you start digging around your house. Ask your mom!” She winks. “She would be the girl that came after my mom. Girls always know about their competition—or in this case, according to you, who they beat out.”

  “Ha! You’re hilarious.” I grin. “And my mom probably does know. She’s the jealous type to be sure.” I laugh, but this time it’s sort of harsh and horrified. Her suggestion that I just ask my mom this junk has made the cookies swirl with nausea inside my stomach.

  “Look, Jojo. All joking aside, let’s not bring this up at dinner. My family, we’re not as free as you are. At my house, we have decorum and protocols. I’m sure no one is ever, ever allowed to discuss my father's ex-relationships. Ever. And…like I bet it will be just terrible and awkward if we bring this up at your dinner table when, for me, it’s going to be awkward enough.”

  “Fine.” She pins me with her gaze. “But this means you’re coming then. Right? You’ve just agreed?”

  “Yes. But what if your mom and dad try to poison me at the table. What if this is all part of some big scheme to murder me.” I joke.

  Laughing, Jojo stands and chucks the last of her cookie at me hard, but I catch it without a blink and eat it fast, happy with the thought that her mouth was just on the edge of what is now inside mine.

  “Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn't need my parents to poison you. I could drown you right here in this lake all by myself. You have no idea of my true, inner strengths."

  She suddenly rush-leaps on me with all of her might and pushes her entire body weight onto me. I'm so startled to find her chest pressed up against my back that I stumble into the lake, taking her with me. My arms have instinctively wrapped around her so she wouldn’t stumble and fall onto the rock.