Lorna snorted. “Right? I don’t understand why he’s so pissed we moved when he can, like, be himself here. So, this is my room. Nothing special. Yet.” She grabbed my hand again and led me back out to the living room, where she gestured for me to sit on the sofa. She plopped down beside me, turning her knees toward mine.
“Okay, we’re going to be best friends, agreed?”
I nodded, getting the feeling I might not have a choice in the matter.
“There are rules in friendship. Rule number one: Always have each other’s back.”
I could do that.
“Rule number two: Don’t give each other shit about the things that we like or don’t like. For instance, you enjoy drawing and art and stuff, and I enjoy shopping. At least I think I’ll like it.”
I grinned at that.
“Rule number three: No liking the same boys. Friendship is more important than boys. That’s if you like boys?”
Considering my crush on Zion Reynolds in the sixth grade, and the way my heart still raced after the run-in with Jamie, I’d say so. I nodded.
“Cool. Though it would have been cool with me if you didn’t.”
I liked rule number three. Loyalty was important to me. I didn’t have a lot of experience with it, but I’d like the chance to prove I was capable of it.
“Rule number four.” Her eyes narrowed on me, as if she could see right into my soul. “And this is the big one because I’ve lost friends to this shit.”
“Okay?”
“You can’t crush on Jamie like every single one of my other friends, and you can’t become best friends with Skye. You’re my friend.”
I blushed. Could she see I thought Jamie was cute? Not that her fifteen-year-old brother would ever pay attention to me. As for Skye … I liked Skye, but she was older. I doubted she wanted to become best friends with her little sister’s best friend.
“Okay.”
Lorna grinned and clapped her hands together. “Sick!”
I smiled, feeling another flutter of nerves. This time I realized these were butterflies of nervous anticipation. Maybe my final year at middle school wouldn’t be so bad now that I had a best friend. And not just any best friend—a tough-talking Bostonian who seemed as fierce as she was determined.
Chapter 2
JAMIE
Sixteen years old
* * *
My phone buzzed, interrupting the Silverchair track I was listening to. Probably one of the guys. Pulling my cell out, I discovered I was wrong.
The text was from a girl.
Hey, Jamie, it’s Julie. Trewitt. Wht r u up 2 2nite? Xx
The plans I had for finding a girl to hook up with that night came to fruition in one text. Julie was a senior, and she’d been checking me out lately. Who she got my number from, I didn’t know. And I didn’t care. Everyone knew Julie was a sure thing, and she wasn’t interested in a relationship. The girl just wanted to have fun—who was I to stop her?
My fingers hovered over the keypad, about to tell her where to meet me, when something whacked softly against the back of my head. A cushion.
I spun around, ready to chew out Lorna, and instead found Skye standing in my doorway.
She mimed pulling earbuds out of her ears and I did as she asked, “Ana’s Song” fading into a murmur.
“What’s up?” I didn’t have much patience for my annoying little sister, but I had all the time in the world for my big one.
At first, it pissed me off to leave Boston. I was pissed about everything. My mom being selfish and bitter her whole life, my dad taking off because he couldn’t stand being around her anymore, my mom dying when I never got a chance to stop being mad at her, and then having to leave behind what I knew for California, of all places. LA couldn’t be more different from Boston.
However, the last year and a half in LA hadn’t been so bad. I joined the track-and-field team, something the guys back in Boston would’ve ripped me apart for. But my new buddies on the team were cool. Not cool enough to tell them I was a writer, but safer than the friends I grew up with who were already getting into seriously shiesty shit back in Dorchester. A couple guys back home had been good friends; the rest, not so much. All of them, however, were heading down a dark path toward prison.
I was glad to be away from all that.
Skye did that for me and Lorna. Gave us a safer place to live. Only a few years ago, I was so pissed at her for leaving us behind, but when Mom died, Skye stepped up.
Now she was doing so well as an actress, she’d moved us from the apartment into a three-bedroom house in Glendale, close to the apartment we first moved into.
A house.
None of us had ever lived in a house.
And this one had a pool and views of the Verdugo Mountains from the back deck.
“I hope you don’t have plans for tonight.” Skye looked apologetic.
Any hopes of finding satisfaction between Julie Trewitt’s gorgeous thighs hovered precariously out of reach. “Why?”
“I have a meeting.”
I frowned. “It’s Saturday night.”
“I know, but I can’t skip this meeting. It’s with a very important guy who could do amazing things for my career. Amazing things.” She stepped farther into my room. “Which would mean having the financial freedom to give you and Lorna whatever future you dream of.”
Shit.
Why couldn’t Skye be even a little like my mom and Lorna? Selfish to the core. Instead, she genuinely cared about making life better for us.
I tried to argue anyway. “She’s fourteen.”
Skye gave me a look that pricked my guilt. “If something happened to Lorna while she was alone, neither of us would forgive ourselves.”
“Fuck.” I slumped down onto the bed. “I had plans tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I know babysitting your little sister and her best friend is not what you had in mind, but it’s just one night.”
That meant I was babysitting Jane too.
Shit, I could deal with Jane over Lorna anytime. “She’s such a brat when you’re not here, Skye.”
“Uh, she’s a brat when I am here. But she’s our sister and we love her.”
“She’s Mom.” I gave Skye a concerned look. “She’s Mom through and through.”
Skye sighed heavily. She knew I was right. My little sister was selfish and self-involved and intensely focused on money because until last year, she’d never had it. She was also exhausting. No one ever loved her enough. Cared enough. Paid her enough attention.
Mom through and through.
“I’m not sure that’s true. I think she’s fourteen, and fourteen-year-old girls can be hard work.” She shrugged. “You weren’t exactly a picnic a year ago.”
I grunted.
“And Mom didn’t have Jane Doe in her life. Jane’s a good influence on Lorna.”
I snorted. Jane was a pushover. That kid was so desperate for someone to care about her, she let Lorna bulldoze her. I felt a little guilty thinking that, knowing what I knew about the kid. As bad as we’d had it in the parental department, we hadn’t been left outside a police station as a baby.
I’d never met anyone who was a real-life Jane Doe before.
Skye smiled, her eyes flicking to the hall. “I love that kid,” she confessed. “I love that our kid is hanging out with a great kid like Jane.”
I already knew that. Skye didn’t hide her affection for the little orphan. I sighed. I guessed if anyone could temper Lorna, it would be Jane.
There went my night. “Do I have to be in the same room as them?”
My big sister chuckled. “No, drama king. But I want you in the living room and not hiding out in here. They could sneak out if you do that.”
“Sneak out where?”
“This is Lorna we’re talking about. She’s unpredictable.”
That was true. “Fine.” I pushed up from the bed and kicked off my shoes. Grabbing my copy of The Stand by Stephen King from my bedside
table, I followed Skye out of my room. Down the hall came the sound of giggling beneath the strains of Kings of Leon’s “On Call.” I smirked. Another point in Jane’s favor was that when she was around, she improved my little sister’s taste in music.
As we made our way downstairs, I texted Julie back that I was babysitting, but we should catch up tomorrow night. Passing the coffee table, I saw the open sketch pad sprawled across it and stopped to look. I turned the pad by the corner so I wouldn’t smudge the drawing. It was a sketch of Skye. She was staring off into the distance, fingering a strand of hair, wearing a thoughtful expression.
Jane drew it.
I felt Skye’s chin rest on my shoulder. “I love how that kid sees me.”
I smiled.
“She’s so freaking talented, it’s unreal.” Skye moved away. “That sketch is just the tip of the iceberg.” She returned to my side and pushed her phone in my face. “Her freshman art project.”
I blinked in surprise at the structure of 3D wooden boxes of various size. They created what appeared to be a city skyline. On every single box was a sketch of a different face. Familiar faces. They wore a variety of expressions, together conveying a plethora of emotions.
“It’s a cityscape of comedians and comedy actors, and then actors and writers famous for playing more serious roles. She’s drawn them wearing expressions opposite to what they’re known for. The comedians are sad and reflective. The writers are laughing or in love. It’s supposed to be an artistic discussion about how faces get lost in a city, and because of that, we don’t know who people really are until we take time to actually look.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline and Skye grinned. “She’s fourteen,” she reminded me.
Sometimes I couldn’t work out Lorna and Jane’s friendship. Jane was mature and introspective for her age. Lorna was ambitious and smart, sure, but she was also more than a little shallow.
My phone buzzed, drawing my attention from Jane’s artwork. I slumped on the large sectional in the open-plan living room/kitchen and opened the text.
That’s so cute xx
I sighed. Was that a no to tomorrow, then?
My phone buzzed again.
I can’t 2morro. Dinner with parents’ friends, ugh. Meet me @ school 1 hr early Mon? I’ll make it worth it ;) xx
Heat flooded my groin at her meaning.
You got it.
I threw my phone on the couch, feeling a little better about missing out on getting laid tonight. By all accounts, Julie would be worth the wait.
Still, I wondered if Bethany was free tomorrow night? I reached for my phone to text her.
“Texting all your ladies?” Skye teased as she pulled on a light sweater.
I shrugged.
She sighed. “Just don’t break any hearts, Jamie. Believe me, you don’t want to be that guy.”
Annoyed by the insinuation I was that guy, I scowled. “They know the score. I never make any promises.”
As she grabbed her purse and keys off the coffee table, she eyeballed me in that big-sister way of hers. “I know you’re only sixteen and I don’t want you getting too serious with anyone when you’re this young … but can I ask if there’s a reason you’re not interested in dating just one girl?”
I did not want to have this conversation.
Sisters were a killer.
“Skye,” I groaned.
“It’s just a question.”
“Yeah, it’s the kind of question sisters ask each other … not … Guys don’t talk like this.” I gestured between us in aggravation.
She laughed. “Some guys do. It doesn’t make you less of a guy to have feelings. Or are you just typing random words on that laptop of yours at night?”
I squirmed at her dig.
So, okay, I had plenty of fucking feelings that I put into my stories. That was different. Hoping if I answered, she’d go away, I bit out the words, “It’s not that I’m not interested in dating one girl.”
“Really?”
“Oh, Jesus,” I huffed. “Is that not enough?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sixteen.” I gestured again, the paperback in my hand flapping around so I lost my place. “I haven’t met her yet. End of story.”
“Met who yet?”
Sororicide was a crime, right? “The girl that makes me want to stop screwing around with other girls. Now can we please be done with this conversation?”
She looked smug. “I knew a writer had to be a secret romantic. But remember, there’s no need to settle down too soon. Keep playing the field for as long as you can, but do it safely. Use protection and don’t be an asshole.” On that annoying note, she sauntered toward the door. “Call for takeout. Remember to ask the girls what they want first.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“And thank you.”
“You owe me.”
“I know.”
I looked up from my book. “And good luck with the meeting tonight.”
My big sister grinned, gave me a little wave, and breezed out the door.
Sometimes it was difficult to have a big sister your friends all wanted to have sex with, a big sister who was always in my business, and a big sister who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.
But secretly, I wouldn’t trade Skye for any other sister in the world.
Snorting and shaking my head at her, I cracked open my book and tried to forget that she’d cock-blocked me tonight.
A little while later, my belly grumbled. It was tempting to just order a pizza without asking Lorna and Jane what they wanted, but Lorna would complain all night if I did. It would be worth the effort to climb the stairs and ask them just to avoid her whining.
I couldn’t hear the music anymore, not until I had almost reached Lorna’s bedroom door. They’d turned it down so they could talk. Knowing how much talking Lorna and Jane did was one reason I didn’t want a girlfriend. I wasn’t sure I was the kind of guy who could put up with someone chattering at me nonstop.
“It’s rule number two,” I heard Lorna snap.
Her bitchy tone made me halt. I didn’t want to talk to her when she was in a mood. I loved my little sister, but most days, I did not like her. I didn’t care if that made me an asshole. Skye told me repeatedly that Lorna would grow out of her bratty shit and turn into a cool person I might one day call friend. Yeah, right.
“That’s not rule number two,” Jane replied in her quiet voice, steel in her words. Her tone surprised me.
“It is so,” Lorna argued. “We’re supposed to support what the other likes and have each other’s back.”
“We’re also supposed to support what the other doesn’t like. I don’t like Greta. She’s a bully. I don’t have time for bullies.” Jane didn’t raise her voice, but there was that steel again.
About to knock and interrupt, I stopped when Lorna snapped, “It’s just a party. And I’m sick of not being included in anything because you’re a baby!”
I scowled. Jesus, my little sister was a pill.
“I’m not a baby.” I heard a tremor in Jane’s voice. “I just don’t need to befriend the kind of people who bitch about each other behind their backs and wouldn’t know what the word loyalty meant, even if Gucci brought out a bag with the word printed on it. I don’t need to be popular to be happy. I’m not a sheep.”
My eyebrows rose. Who was this kid?
“Are you calling me a sheep?”
“If the shoe fits.”
I kind of wanted to high-five Jane Doe right then.
“At least I’m not an orphan loser! No one but me wants you, Jane. Think about that before you say anything else you might regret.”
Anger churned in my gut. Lorna McKenna, mistress of manipulation. And she was only fourteen.
A creak of the floorboards alerted me too late and the door flew open. Jane charged out, almost colliding with me. I reached out to steady her and felt my annoyance with my sister grow tenfold. There were tears on Jane’s flushed ch
eeks.
Great.
A crying teenage girl. Let me count the ways I loathed being in this kind of situation.
Jane swiped at the tear tracks and then jerked out of my hold, hurrying past and down the hall.
It occurred to me that her apartment complex was a half-hour walk from here. Skye would kill me if I let the kid walk home alone.
I could kill Lorna.
With an aggravated sigh, I stuck my head into Lorna’s room and saw her sitting on her bed, glaring at the wall, two bright red spots of anger on her cheeks.
She had the bigger of the smaller two bedrooms after throwing a fit when Skye wouldn’t let her have the master suite. Skye was paying the rent. The master bedroom was hers. Made sense to me. Try telling Lorna that. How a kid who grew up like we did could be so spoiled, I had no idea. I just gave in and took the smallest room in the house. Even though Skye was happy to fight for me to have the larger one since I was older.
“I’m going to see that Jane gets home okay.”
Her gaze flew to me. “What?”
I seethed. “I’m walking Jane home. You leave this house while I’m gone, and I’ll make your life a fucking misery until I go to college.” I reached in and slammed her door shut.
Hurrying down the stairs after Jane, I thought about grabbing my car keys and giving the kid a ride home, but I needed the walk to cool off before I returned to my little sister.
Outside, I found Jane hurrying down our sidewalk.
“Jane, wait up,” I called after her.
She whirled in surprise, her long, dark hair flaring around her shoulders. She waited for me.
As I approached her, the last of the sun caught in her hazel-green eyes, and it hit me out of nowhere—like a lightning bolt or a Mack Truck or some other cliché—Lorna’s best friend was kind of beautiful.
The thought caught me off guard as I drew to a halt in front of her.
Only a year ago, Jane Doe had been an awkward little thing. Big eyes, big ears, big mouth. She’d looked like a cartoon character.
But now, I saw she’d lost the roundness of youth in the angles of her cheeks and jaw, and she’d grown into her features.
She’d really, really grown into herself.
Keep This Promise Page 199
