by Emma Scott
She didn’t look happy.
“You trust me, right?”
“Of course, I do. Evelyn? Not so much.”
I cleared my throat. “I mean, not to point out the obvious, but you’re going to Prom with another guy.”
“You definitely have nothing to worry about, there,” she said with a funny smile, then met my eye intently. “But I mean it. I trust you, Miller.”
“I trust you too, Vi,” I said. And I did, but the idea of River touching her, dancing with her, and taking photos like they were a couple was like rubbing salt in a wound after this morning. Violet was the last good thing that was mine, and I didn’t want to share her.
You’re being a possessive asshole, I told myself. A Chet. Don’t be a Chet.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said as we drove out of the beach area and onto Cliffside Street in her SUV. I’d texted Evelyn to meet me at the Whole Grounds café instead of my apartment to avoid any more shit with Chet.
“You too,” I said. “And I’m sorry to miss your birthday.”
“You and me both,” she said with a sly smile.
Violet parked the car in a spot in front of the coffee shop. She turned to me, kissed me softly. “Break a leg. Call me the second it’s over.”
“I will.” I cupped her cheek and kissed her again. I tried to take a little bit of eternal optimism with me; let her sweetness wash away my bitterness. But my stomach was a tangle of knots and my thoughts filled with doubt and fear.
“I’ll call you tomorrow night. And have fun at the Prom. I know you’ll be so beautiful.”
“I’ll be wishing I was with you.” She kissed me a final time, and then I got out of her car, taking my bags and guitar case with me.
I was walking into the café when a screech of tires sounded behind me. Violet had backed out of the parking spot, then pulled back in. She threw open her door and ran to me, stood in front of me, breathless, with her eyes alit. The pale porcelain skin of her cheeks was flushed, and her red lips parted.
“I love you,” she blurted.
It whacked me so hard in the chest, taking my breath away.
“I started to drive away, and I couldn’t do it. I can’t let you go to Los Angeles without you knowing that I love you. I’ve always loved you. Since we were thirteen and stupid and scared. Scared about how much I loved you. How deep it went.” She shook her head, deep blue eyes shining. “Because it’s so deep, Miller. I can’t see the bottom.”
I stared as her speech sank in to me like warm rain. Each word melting away the anxiety, loosening the fear, filling me with warmth instead.
Violet studied my dazed expression. “You don’t have to say it back—”
I silenced her with a kiss, holding her face in both hands, kissing my love into her—four years’ worth of unspoken love behind us and a lifetime ahead.
“I love you,” I whispered against her lips. “I’m so in love with you. God, Violet. Things were utter shit and then one night, I came out of a dark forest, stumbling and lost, and there you were.”
Tears filled her eyes, but her smile was wide and brilliant. “Well,” she huffed, teary and breathy. “Glad we got that settled. And for the record, that’s the best…birthday…present…ever.”
She kissed me again, holding my hands in both of hers, then backed away and headed to her car. She gave a little wave from the window and was gone.
I sank down at a table outside the café, amazed at how a single day could be both the fucking worst and the absolute best at the same time.
A few minutes later, a black Escalade rolled into the parking lot and pulled up parallel to the shop. The passenger window rolled down, and Evelyn lowered her sunglasses at me. “Hey, baby, need a ride?”
I smirked and opened the backseat door to stow my stuff, then climbed in the front.
Evelyn took off her glasses. “Holy shit, what happened to you?”
I stiffened. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” she screeched. “You’re a mess and…Jesus, what’s that on your neck?”
Holden’s scarf had fallen down, and I yanked it off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry…? God, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but…it looks bad, right? For the interview?”
“It’s not ideal,” Evelyn said, putting the car in drive and heading out. Her eyes were suddenly full of thoughts. Calculating. After a few minutes she said, “I’ll give you some concealer to put on your neck. I use it all the time for that sort of thing.”
I whipped my head. “All the time for what sort of thing?”
She swallowed hard, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “Never mind,” she said taking us north out of Santa Cruz toward the San Jose Airport. “The time has come.”
“Your demands.”
“Think of it more as a quid pro quo. I helped get you to where you’re going, now I want you to help me in return.”
“I haven’t signed a contract yet.”
“But you will. And when you do, they’re going to ask you to move to Los Angeles to cut a record. An EP, probably. They’ll want you to shoot some videos, maybe even do a tour as someone’s opener. And when all that happens,” Evelyn said, “I want to be there, too.”
“What does that mean?”
“I want you to take me with you.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
“Miller, listen to me—”
“I’m not taking you to Los Angeles, Evelyn. To live with me? I’m with Violet.”
“This has nothing to do with her,” Evelyn said. “And I’m not asking you to take me on as one of your damn groupies, for God’s sake. Ego, much?”
“Then what do you want?”
“I need a foot in the door. Contacts. You can’t make it anywhere in the world without knowing somebody. You’re going to be that somebody, and I’m going to be your personal assistant.”
I barked a laugh. “A personal assistant? No. I can’t do that, Evelyn. I don’t have the clout anyway.”
“Have you even bothered to watch any of your videos?” she asked, weaving her car through traffic. “Have you read any of the comments? You’re going to be huge, Miller. Where you’re going tomorrow? It’s not a job interview. It’s going to be to sign a record contract.”
I leaned back against the leather seat of her Escalade, contemplating her words. Then shook my head.
Impossible. Isn’t it…?
“You’re getting way ahead of yourself,” I said. “And no. Sorry. I can’t do that, Evelyn. I can’t do that to Violet.”
“I have to get out of here, Miller,” Evelyn said, and I was shocked at the sudden tears filling her eyes. “I have to. What happened to you today? It happens to me too.”
I stared, my brain trying to comprehend what she was telling me. All the times I’d been in her house, I never got a sense of anything sinister. Happy photos on the walls, joking around with her dad, an indulgent mom who was clearly proud of her.
“Who?” I asked. “I’ve never seen—”
“So, if you didn’t see it, it never happened?” Without taking her eyes off the road, her hand went down to the hem of her mini skirt and pulled it up. A rectangular-shaped bruise, four inches long and two inches wide, ran across the top of her thigh. She pulled her skirt down.
“He hits me there. So it doesn’t show.”
“Fuck,” I breathed. “Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. Jesus, Evelyn, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said, waving a hand. “I can take care of myself. And I will, once I get to Los Angeles. Promise me, Miller. Promise you won’t say anything. Promise me that when your dreams come true, you’ll help me with mine.”
Nothing had happened yet, but if by some miracle she was right, and they did offer me everything I could hope for, it was my responsibility to help other people. My duty. I’d lived in a car. I’d been homeless once, and I was ho
meless again. If the universe was going to take care of me, I had to pay it back.
“I promise,” I said, sealing the deal. My word was unbreakable. I just prayed to God that Violet would understand. That it wasn’t asking too much of her…
“Thank you, Miller,” Evelyn said, letting out a shaky breath. “You’re one of the good guys. You know that, right? That’s why they love you so much.”
“Who?”
“All those girls on my vlog. That’s what they all want. Someone like you, looking at them the way you look at Violet. They all want to be the girl in your love song.” She glanced at me, her usually sharp eyes soft now. “Gold Line Records knows that. They’re going to bottle you up and sell you, Miller. Are you prepared for that?”
I thought of my mom’s face, etched in hopelessness. Covered in dust.
“Whatever it takes.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I finished my check-up at the Medical Center. As I suspected, my head was just fine, no residual effects of the concussion I’d had months ago. But to be safe, I’d sat on the bench for the rest of the soccer season, cheering the team from the sidelines.
I’d just arrived at my car when Ms. Taylor, my counselor, called. “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”
“The bad,” I said, shutting the driver side door and climbing behind wheel. “Then hit me with the good to take the sting out.”
“I’m afraid it’s a pretty big sting. UC Santa Cruz has awarded you the Joan T. Bergen scholarship in the amount of $5,000.”
“That’s a good thing. Per year?”
“Total. There was a lot of competition this year, and most scholarships were already awarded. That leaves you needing to cover about $55,000 over four years. Not to mention housing, food, books, et cetera.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay. That’s not impossible. I can survive the first year with financial aid, then reapply next year for more help.”
“Are you sure? That’s a lot to take on.”
“I can do it. I’ll live at home, get a job…” I let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I can do this.”
I could hear Ms. Taylor’s smile color her words. “Good for you, Violet. But before you make any decisions, the good news is pretty good. Baylor University was quite impressed with you. They’ve awarded you the Physicians of the Future scholarship.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s…huge.”
“It is. And accepting it would look incredible on your med school applications when the time comes. They’re going to cover your tuition in full so long as you maintain a 3.5 grade point average.”
“In full? Holy crap!” I bit my lip.
Baylor was in Texas, so far away from friends and family. And Miller. He was already in Los Angeles, probably building a future there. Santa Cruz was a short flight, hardly an hour. But Texas…
“You’d have to cover your own housing,” Ms. Taylor continued, “but considering tuition is higher for out-of-state students, this is a huge win.”
I nodded. My first years of college, debt free. “It’s an enormous opportunity, but UCSC has been my dream since forever. Santa Cruz is my home. I know you said to be flexible but let me talk to my parents before I make a decision. It’s a lot to think about.”
“Well, let me know what you decide, and I’ll help you answer the schools and figure out the details.”
“Thank you, Ms. Taylor. For everything.”
“Of course. And have fun at the Prom. You’re going with River Whitmore?”
My brow wrinkled. “How did you know?”
“He told me. I’ve been helping him with his college apps. That boy is destined for great things. The NFL, even.”
“Oh, he’s still pursuing that?” I asked casually.
“I can’t give particulars; I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it at Prom. But the Big Ten are all clamoring for him.”
I smiled thinly. “I’m sure they are.”
I hung up with Ms. Taylor, thinking River and I had a lot in common. We both wanted simple things: to stay in the city we loved and build our futures there, but life had its own plans.
I got home to an eerily silent—but not empty—house. It breathed with tension and anxiety. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I entered the kitchen, colored in twilight’s amber light. Mom and Dad were sitting at the table, papers strewn all over. The logo for the IRS jumped out at me more than once.
“What’s going on?” I asked slowly, moved slowly, breathed slowly. The air felt like glass.
Mom sniffed and dabbed a tissue to red eyes. “Sit down, Violet.”
On stiff legs, I sat between them at the table and folded my hands. I looked to my dad, and my heart cracked. I’d never seen him so wrecked—unshaven, disheveled, thinner.
“Daddy?”
He smiled weakly. “Hey, pumpkin. We have some bad news.”
“I’m sure she gathered that,” Mom snapped but without much energy. She waved a hand. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Just tell her already. Or I will.”
“Be my guest.”
Mom huffed a breath and faced me. “First, let me say this isn’t your fault. You’re going to think it is, but it’s not. It’s the result of years’ accumulation of bad ideas, compounded by mistakes we made.”
“Okay.”
Mom heaved another breath. “Your applications for financial aid have triggered an IRS audit of our finances. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a big deal. But…”
“But we’re broke,” Dad said. “More than broke.”
“We’re completely screwed.” Mom sipped from a coffee cup that I wasn’t sure contained only coffee.
I stared between them. “What happened?”
“A few years ago, I got in some trouble,” Dad said. “I developed an app. It was supposed to be a smash, but the deal fell through.”
“It fell through because your father stole code from another developer working on a similar app,” Mom said.
Dad shook his head at her, his lips drawn down in pure malice. “I stole nothing,” he seethed. “But yes…there was a patent already pending that I foolishly ignored. They sued me, and it took everything we had to keep it quiet or else we’d be ruined.”
“That’s where my college fund went?” I asked. “To cover the lawsuit?”
“Not just that,” Mom said, shifting in her seat. “The lawsuit judgement was more than we could handle. They were set to take our house, the cars. The lifestyle we have would vanish.”
“And your mother couldn’t handle that,” Dad said acidly, and I realized with a pang, there was no love left between them. Not one iota.
“And you could?” Mom snapped back at him. “To admit to the world we were ruined? I plugged a hole in the leaky damn.”
“How?” I asked, despite having no desire to hear the answer.
“I stopped paying the taxes,” Mom said.
I gaped. “You did what?”
“To keep money in the bank. I fired our tax guy and told him we were going with another firm. Your father assured me that his next deal would put us back on top. We could pay it all back. But no new magic deal ever materialized. Somehow, we stayed under the IRS’s radar until now.”
“Until I filed for financial aid.” I slumped back in the chair, my gaze going to the papers on the desk. “That’s why you couldn’t get a divorce.”
Dad nodded. “We didn’t want to show a judge the true state of our finances.”
“What happens now?” My glance darted between them, fear squeezing the breath out of me. “Not paying taxes is a big deal. Are you…going to jail?”
“No, thank God,” Dad said. “My friend, Charlie…you remember him? He’s an attorney, and he’s agreed to help us get out of the mess, pro bono. We have to sell the house, all of our assets, and put it toward the IRS debt.”
“Sell the house…”
The house I’d lived in my whole life. My home. I gripped the kitchen table where I’d once sat in a hi
ghchair, Mom spooning me food and Dad making silly faces. Where we’d eaten thousands of meals together, laughing and happy, in a time that was growing more faded and distant by the second.
“Where will we live?” I asked.
“Your father and I will separate,” Mom said. “I’ll be moving back in with Grandma in Portland.”
“I’ll be staying with Uncle Tony,” Dad said.
“In Ohio?”
He nodded miserably.
“And…what about me?”
Mom bit her lip and looked away.
Dad tried to smile. “Well, honey, that’s up to you.”
I stared. “You want me to choose between you and Mom?” The idea made me sick, but then I realized my fate was already decided for me. “No, forget it. I’m not going with either one of you. Baylor is going to give me a full ride.”
“Baylor?” Dad’s eyes widened. “That’s a wonderful school. Congratulations, honey.”
His tearful pride threatened to wreck me.
“Are they paying for everything?” Mom asked.
“Almost,” I said,. “I have some savings. I’ll find a place. Get a job. I’ll be fine.”
“We’re proud of you, pumpkin,” Dad said. “So proud. So much potential…and we failed you—”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said abruptly. Nothing was okay, but I needed him to stop talking. His brokenness was too much to take. He was my father. He was supposed to be strong. Protective. Mom was supposed to be strong, too, and nurturing. They’d both been those things, once upon a time.
Mom took my hand, tears pricking her eyes. “Violet…I’m sorry. So sorry. And Jesus, tomorrow is your birthday…”
A sob burst out of her that she immediately covered with her hand. She pushed back from the table and ran from the room. Dad stood up too and patted my shoulder. He bent and kissed my head.
“We’ll make it up to you,” he said. “Somehow.”
He left, and I was alone in the kitchen. The house went silent again, a quiet that felt permanent. Empty. It swallowed the echoes of happier times until there was nothing left.
The next day, Shiloh came over to help me get ready for the Prom. She brought me a white gift box wrapped in gold ribbon. Inside was a ring she had made herself. A beautifully intricate mix of bronze, gold, and silver strands twining together.
