I walk until I come to a well-lit street. It appears I was in an alley. No wonder no one saw me. Why was I there, though? I can’t even see the riverwalk from my location. How did I get so far away from the festival?
I walk for a couple of blocks, confused and disoriented, before I stumble upon an open restaurant. Should I go in? I need a bathroom badly; I need to evaluate my appearance before I call a cab or continue my walk to the hotel, wherever that may be.
Eventually, I will be around more people and heavier traffic. I need to see what I’m dealing with.
I quickly strut inside with hopes of going unnoticed. A whiff of fried food and hamburger grease blasts me in the face as I pull the door open. The hostess chats up the bartender in the dark bar area. She doesn’t even turn toward the sound of the door swishing open. I luck out again with the bathroom being just to the left of the entrance. I push through a large, heavy door—I don’t even bother to look at the gender sign—and lock it behind me. I just need to be inside and hidden. It’s a single restroom with a lock on the door. Perfect. Just what I need.
I walk toward the mirror and my heart falls into my gut again. I look worse than I imagined.
Streaks of dried blood run the length of my face, stained with my splotchy tears. I fill the sink up with water, reach over for a handful of paper towels, and begin to scrub my face until it’s no longer red with blood but red with irritation instead.
Dark, dry blood cakes my hairline. I wipe it the best I can and use the soap from the dispenser, which smells like lemon, to clear the crusted-on bits. It looks like it’s just a small gash. How did that little cut produce so much blood? I’ve done worse to myself and have bled less, that’s for sure. I rush to evaluate my entire head but don’t see any other gashes or lacerations, but I notice more blood streaks along the back of my arms. This can’t all be my blood.
Just a tiny cut—it’s not possible.
Did I hurt Quinn? This doesn’t make sense. I couldn’t have. I wouldn’t have.
I grab my phone and call her again. No answer.
Why isn’t she answering? She has no reason to be mad at me. Nothing is adding up right now. Do I go to the police? And tell them what? I’m drunk and I can’t find my friend.
The police are useless in my opinion. They didn’t believe me last time.
Jenny.
I need to get back to the hotel. Maybe she’s sleeping. That’s probably it. It’s nearly eleven now.
I scrub the rest of the blood the best I can and flush the paper towels down the toilet. No evidence. I wipe the sink clean.
I’m dizzy but I have to keep it together.
I call for a cab before I leave the safety of the bathroom. I take one last glance in the mirror. My irritated, puffy red face stares back at me. My hairline wet but cleared of the blood. A small cut that’s no longer bleeding hides under my hair. I did what I could.
I put my head down, hold my breath, and pray for the best.
The hostess, still flirting with the bartender, doesn’t even flinch when I close the door behind me.
I find a grassy area off to the restaurant’s side to sit and wait for my cab. I hope my cabbie doesn’t think anything about me. I’m sure cab drivers see all sorts of things or couldn’t care less what their passengers look like as long as they get paid. I continue to call Quinn over and over while I wait. Still no response.
A yellow cab pulls up.
“Hey, are you, Charlie?” the driver asks.
I smile and slip into the back seat.
***
I’m back at my hotel. A place I couldn’t be happier to see. I run inside and rush through the lobby and into an empty elevator. I sprint down the hall and anxiously use my key card to open the hotel room, receiving an error light the first two times. Come on, come on. Finally the green light. I push the door open and I barely let the door close behind me and I’m hollering for my friend.
“Quinn!” I rush over to her bed.
It’s empty.
I check the balcony and every corner of our suite. Quinn’s not here.
I can’t control my breathing. My chest tightens. I feel like I’m suffocating. I yank my dress down to my ankles until it’s a little yellow pool at my feet. I fall down to the floor and sob between wheezes. I don’t understand what’s going on.
I crawl to the shower and turn the water to hot. It burns my skin. The hotter the better right now. I scrub my entire body until my skin feels raw. I close my eyes as I hold my face under the scolding water.
Visions of Jenny smiling wash over me, making me feel happy again, making me forget for just a minute.
The shower splutters hot and cold water, and the pressure fluctuates. I don’t know how long I’ve been in the shower. I finally shut the water off, and as I dry myself, I replay what I remember.
Asher and Quinn fought. Quinn fled. I chased after her.
I may or may not have blacked out.
I don’t know where Asher went.
Quinn isn’t answering my calls.
I don’t know if I hurt Quinn or if maybe Quinn hurt me.
I had more blood on me than I should have for my small cut.
I wrap myself in the white hotel robe and grab my phone and text Quinn a series of texts.
I’m back at the hotel.
What happened to you?
Are you OK?
Are you with Asher?
Where are you?
Quinn, where the fuck are you?
I wish I had Jenny to comfort me right now. If only things had been different. If only. . .
PART TWO
2008
CHAPTER 20
Charlie
January 2008
Tiny snowflakes slide down my window as I stare at the empty street below. There is not a single tire track in the fresh powder yet. The beautiful view outside my window should calm and relax me, but I’m anxious. Today marks the beginning of the end.
It is the first day of my last semester of high school. Just a few short months and everything will be different. I want to talk to someone about it, but no one is home. Jenny told me she’s working late tonight and my parents . . . Well, who knows when they will be home. I have already called my friends, Zoey and Mike, and both of their parents said they were at club meetings. I forgot Zoey has French Club on Mondays and Mike has Sierra Society. My extracurriculars are lacking, but I’ve already been accepted to Oregon State University, so I don’t really see the point in trying so hard anymore. I will keep my grades up and keep looking forward. That’s all I need to do. Just a few short months. I can do this.
I’m going to miss my parents, but I will miss Aunt Jenny even more. Everything else I’m OK leaving behind, yet I can’t help but feel anxious about it.
Ugh, hurry up someone, get home.
I gnaw on my fingernails, chewing them down to the quick. The metallic taste of blood causes me to pull back and finally stop. It’s a habit I have to break.
The snow has picked up now, with larger snowflakes flying against the window. A loud, rattling noise takes my attention back down to the street as an old beat-up red car rounds the corner by our house.
Dang, get a new muffler.
I’m taken aback when the car stops directly in front of our house. That’s odd—we aren’t expecting anyone, and I don’t recognize the vehicle. I stare out the window but stay slightly tucked behind my tan curtains, out of sight. A guy exits the beat-up car, cautiously leaving his door ajar. He puts his hand on his chin like he’s thinking. Large snowflakes land atop his head. He reaches back into the car. A piece of paper appears in his hand.
I watch as he stares at the paper, then gazes at our house and back at the paper again. He runs his hand through his hair and scratches his head. He shrugs his shoulders and walks away from his car toward my house. I keep watching him from my window. I almost lose my breath when he comes into clearer view.
Wow. He’s hot.
I don’t think I’ve ever said that be
fore about a real person. Sure, I’ve said that about movie stars, but no one in real life. This guy is hot, and he’s coming toward my house.
Is he going to knock on my door? Who is this man?
I jump out from behind my curtains and rush into my bathroom. I run a brush through my messy hair.
I’m startled by my actions. This is not a normal reaction for me.
The doorbell rings.
Oh my gosh, he’s actually coming to this house. What on earth does he want?
I rush down the stairs while running the brush through my hair once more. The doorbell rings again. I toss the brush back toward the landing and hear it thump back down a couple of steps.
I’m in too much of a hurry to look back to see where it landed. I quickly glance down at my attire as I approach the doorway. I cringe at my oversized gray T-shirt and tiny little pajama shorts with little red hearts on them. Too late to turn around. Of all the things to be wearing to answer the door for the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen . . . He rings the doorbell a third time.
I swing the door open a little too enthusiastically. “Hello?” I greet the beautiful stranger.
Goosebumps line my bare legs as the cold wind and snow waft their way through the entryway and around my body.
The stranger flashes me a wide, confused grin. His right eyebrow rises up, and he scratches his head like he did outside earlier. I stare at him, waiting for him to get his words together. “Um, yes, um, I have an appointment with Dr. Jenny.” The words come out as more of a question than a statement.
My aunt Jenny prefers that her patients call her “Dr. Jenny.” She says it is more for their comfort than her own. I think it makes her sound unprofessional, but what do I know?
He stares at me, as if waiting for me . . . Oh, shoot, I forgot to speak. I was in my own head again. Boy, he’s beautiful.
He stares at me awkwardly, and I can’t help but gaze at him as he continues. “I don’t think I’m in the right place, but I can’t seem to find the correct address.” This time he is more confident with his statement.
I’m speechless and completely stunned by his appearance. I realize I still haven’t said anything besides hello. He probably thinks I’m so dumb, but still, he proceeds. “The address Dr. Jenny gave me is 435 1/2 Lemmings Way, but all I can find is 435. I’m sorry to bother you.” He smiles as if he had done something wrong and wanted me to tell him it would be OK. He is like a cute little puppy.
Speak, Charlie, use your words.
I’m about to answer him, explain that my aunt’s house is behind our home, but he continues to talk and talk, and his beautiful bright white smile has me in a trance. “Dr. Jenny told me it was behind a house or a small house next to a house. I really can’t remember.” He scratches his head again.
I continue to listen to him ramble about his confusion as I take in his features. He has light brown hair that hangs slightly over his left eye. I could get lost in these large brown eyes, and I can’t help but stare at his insanely long eyelashes. I’ve never seen a man with eyes this gorgeous. His face is sun-kissed. But it’s winter. Perhaps he is a snowboarder? My imagination runs wild about what he would look like under his black Patagonia coat.
He knocks me from my trance when he says, “Um, I’m sorry, this clearly isn’t the right house.”
I stare blankly at him and I try to speak, but his attractiveness makes me stutter.
“I, I, I, um, you do have the right place. Well, kind of. Dr. Jenny is my aunt, and she lives in the house behind ours. She usually tells people to park on the side street and walk down the alley.”
“Oh,” replies Mr. Handsome. “That was the one thing I forgot. I’m so sorry to bother you, but what is the best way to get there from here?”
I gleefully respond, “I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but you can walk through the house, and I will take you out back.”
He smiles graciously at me and replies, “I’m Liam, by the way. I just have sleeping issues, that’s why I’m seeing your aunt.”
The puppy-dog gaze is back again. Oh, he has me. My knees wobble a little as I grin at him and reply, “I’m Charlie, and I understand. I know she treats all types of people and disorders. Not that she tells me about her patients or anything.”
I guide Liam through our house, then over across the yard and around to Jenny’s front door.
“It was nice to meet you, Liam. Have a good session.” I cringe as the last part comes out of my mouth. Why did I say that? Gosh, “Have a good session?” That sounded so corny.
I try to think quickly and act cute to redeem myself. “You should probably walk around to the street when you leave. I probably shouldn’t have let you walk through our house—the other patients might get jealous.”
Much better.
I smile a flirty smile, then prance away, remembering the short shorts I’m wearing, hoping Liam will turn to give me a second look.
Who am I?
I turn around once I get to our backdoor, and Liam is already inside Jenny’s place.
My actions stun me. Is this what a crush feels like? This is not normal behavior for me, especially around boys, or should I say men, in Liam’s case? I wonder how old he is. I desperately need to know everything about him.
CHAPTER 21
Charlie
January 2008
It’s a dreary winter day and the weather has me feeling tired and sluggish. I thought this semester would be a little more exciting as it’s my last, but I’m back into my old routine: coffee for lunch to avoid the cafeteria. I drink more coffee than a hard-working adult, Mom says, but I look forward to my midday pick-me-ups. It also helps break up the monotony of my day and lets me escape my mundane high-school life, if even just for thirty minutes. I’m ready for college to start. I’m over high school. I don’t care about sports or dances or any of the things normal girls my age care about. I don’t gush over boys at lunch with my friends like other girls do.
Although, there is a guy I can’t get out of my head.
Liam.
He’s all I’ve been thinking about since he accidentally walked into my life last week. Yesterday, I caught myself daydreaming about him and nearly missed my entire class. Thankfully, I didn’t get called on. I had to stay up late last night to reread all the chapters that were discussed. I didn’t want to fail my test today because I couldn’t get a stupid boy out of my head. If I had just paid attention like the good little student I usually am, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Sluggish, tired, and feeling all giddy and weird inside.
Get it together Charlie, this isn’t like you.
The line is unusually long at Coffee Loon today, and I keep to myself as it slowly inches forward.
The barista shouts out one name after another and then, to my surprise, I hear a name. His name.
“Liam. Medium Americano with room for cream.”
I adjust my posture and wait anxiously to see if it’s really him, if it’s my Liam. I keep my eyes fixed on the pickup counter.
Please be him, oh please be him.
Oh, my gosh. It’s really him.
My legs flounder below me. Oh, this has to be divine fate working its universal magic. I’m nervous and don’t know how to react. Do I say something? Do I hope he sees me and remembers the awkward girl from his therapist’s office? But why would he? He’s way out of my league. I’m not even sure I’m in a “league” at all.
“Line’s moving,” a voice whispers behind me.
Oh crap, I forgot to move. Pay attention, Charlie, you’re acting like a fool.
I don’t want to miss my opportunity to talk to him, but it would be awkward if I get out of line now to approach him.
I have butterflies in my tummy as I watch him move over to the condiment bar. His unforgettable swooshy brown hair and gorgeous grin have me giddy inside. I watch as he picks up a carafe and pours cream into his drink. It looks like we have the same taste in beverages. Something we already have in common, except he has t
o ruin his with cream. I will ignore that little infraction.
Finally, my turn to order. “Medium Americano, no room,” I say hastily, without giving the cashier the time to ask me what I want or exchange pleasantries. I promptly pay and step closer into his line of sight.
Please notice me. Please see me.
I quickly move over to the pickup counter.
He is now chatting with a guy by the condiments bar. Good, he’s not leaving just yet.
The barista yells, “Medium Americano for Charlie.”
I reach for my drink, and I see Liam shift his entire body when the barista shouts. Is he responding to my name? Did he hear “Charlie” and hope for it to be me? Maybe he couldn’t get our encounter out of his head either. Maybe I’m dreaming. I pinch myself and a little tingle pricks my skin. I feel something. I’m not dreaming. This is real.
He says goodbye to his acquaintance and is now taking long strides in my direction. My knees quiver and I feel faint. His hair whooshes with each stride. Before I know it, he’s standing directly in front of me. He’s taller than I remembered. “Charlie, right?”
Oh my, he remembers my name. The butterflies multiply by a thousand.
I want to play coy and pretend he didn’t leave an impression on me, but I giddily respond, “Yes, and you’re Liam.”
“Ah, you remember me,” he says with a cocky smirk.
“How could I forget the lost little puppy at my house,” I say.
Oh, my gosh, did I really just say that? I want the floor to open up beneath me . . .
He laughs. “Touché. To be fair, though, it’s quite a confusing setup Jenny’s got going on. Her office is tucked off the street and hard to see.”
“Well, that’s why you have to follow her directions and listen when she tells you to park in the alley,” I say, confidently defending my aunt.
“Well, checkmate, Charlie. Hey, would you like to join me?” he asks and points toward the tables along the wall facing my school.
The Pretty Ones Page 9
