by Marie Powell
This summer was going to be good for Lucy. Harper had known it would be, even if Lucy’s uptight parents didn’t think so.
She could still remember the total hatred in Mrs. Gosling’s eyes when she’d seen Harper for the first time after that stupid car crash. Harper had just wanted to see Lucy, to know she was okay, but instead, Mr. Gosling had led her out into the hospital parking lot and coldly explained that Harper was no longer welcome in their home or anywhere near their children.
Harper had cried for hours that night. Not just because of Lucy; the Gosling house had been her second home — the one place Harper knew she could always find dinner and company when her parents were out of town or at work until all hours. One stupid mistake had ruined it all. The long nights at home, alone in her empty house, had almost been more than finally dating Rafe was worth. Almost.
She wouldn’t have to worry about being home alone this summer. That was one of the best parts about life in LA: coming home from exclusive restaurants and awesome clubs and being sure that a late-night swim with the girls was waiting.
The new tradition had started on their second night in LA, when Harper and Robyn and Iza had come back from Basement to find Toni and Lucy splashing around in the heated infinity pool under the dim Los Angeles stars. They’d all jumped in, Robyn still in her clothes, and just chilled out together for almost an hour before heading to bed.
They’d done the same thing the next night, and the next. It made everything that happened in the day better, somehow. Funnier. Easier. Less intimidating. Knowing it would soon be just a story to share with the girls.
The SUV turned away from the water then, winding its way up a narrow, twisted road into the yellow hills. Fifteen minutes of steep inclines and hairpin turns later, Ash pulled up to a set of enormous stone gates and rolled his window down to reach for the buzzer.
“Wow,” Iza said. “Is this all for the one house?”
“Nah.” Ash shook his head. “It’s a gated community. Just a fancy suburb really.”
The gate swung open and they rolled down a narrow access road lined with mailboxes and long driveways, many of which plunged steeply downward, making it impossible to see the houses they led to from the road.
Ash picked one of the blind turns and eased around it, cautiously following the big bronze arrow that directed cars to enter the oblong driveway on the right.
As the house came into view, Harper burst out laughing. Not only was the house ginormous, it had been designed to look like a log cabin. “OMG, it’s like someone put Little House on the Prairie on steroids.”
“Only in LA,” Ash said as he parked the SUV.
Harper stepped down from the car and drew in a deep breath. It was at least five degrees cooler here than it had been at Crush House, and the tangy sea breeze was delicious.
“Watch out!” A pair of unfamiliar hands clamped around her waist and yanked her backward as a white open-topped jeep plowed through the space where she’d just been.
“Every time,” muttered a soft baritone voice near her ear.
Harper clutched her pounding heart and turned to look up at her rescuer — a tall boy with warm caramel skin and a flop of black hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead. He wore thick leather gloves and she could see a pair of gardening shears discarded on the driveway behind him.
“Thank you so much,” Harper breathed, her hands shaking a little as she smoothed her hair. “You saved my life.”
The handsome boy nodded distractedly. “De nada, señorita.”
Then he shot a deadly glare over her shoulder and called out, “You’re going to kill someone someday, cabrón, coming the wrong way down the driveway like that.”
She followed his gaze to see Rafe getting out of the jeep.
“Go trim a hedge, Cesar,” Rafe snapped, striding toward them, eyes flashing. “I don’t need driving advice from the help. Come on, Harp.” Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the gardener and into the house.
Two hours later, Cesar Delgado retreated into the cool dark of the garage with his ancient laptop and his lunch. He’d avoided working in the pool area for as long as he could, hoping that Skye and her guests would get tired of swimming and go inside so he wouldn’t have to watch them while he worked. But of course they hadn’t. Instead he’d had to watch Rafe shamelessly flirt with the British Barbie doll whom Skye seemed determined to pretend was her new best friend. Cesar wasn’t sorry to see Rafe putting his slimy moves on someone who wasn’t Skye, but he hated the humiliation he’d seen flash in Skye’s eyes when she thought no one was looking.
Cesar was glad to escape into his writing for a while. Having Rafe in the house always made him want to write gory murder scenes full of unrealistically creative violence, which was just what Skye thought his newest screenplay needed. The serial killer genre wasn’t his thing, but if Skye thought it would help him sell a screenplay and become a real writer faster, then he’d do it. Especially if Rafe Jackson kept showing up to provide the inspiration.
The garage was soothing. Comfortable. Uncomplicated. He’d eaten all of his lunches in there when he first started working for the Owen family. He’d been too intimidated by Skye’s mother, Jennifer, with her overstretched face and the Bluetooth earpiece that might actually have been surgically implanted in her ear, to take a break anywhere he thought he might run into the family.
But then Skye had stumbled on him eating his sandwich in the cave-like dimness one day. She’d been looking for a vintage Gucci bag that she thought might have been tucked into one of her mother’s carefully sealed storage boxes, but she’d lost interest in it when she saw Cesar. The next thing he knew, he was sitting at the kitchen table across from Skye as the chef scooped fresh salad and seared tuna onto his plate.
They’d become friends. Then, out of the blue one day, Skye had leaned over and kissed him. From that moment on, they’d been more than friends. They’d been in love.
They’d also been a secret. Skye had dated other boys, but Cesar knew that was just to keep her mother from becoming suspicious. He’d been fine with it. After all, if Jennifer ever found out about them, he’d probably lose his job. But Rafe Jackson was different from the others.
Skye swore she didn’t care about Rafe, that she only saw him to appease her mother, who’d set them up in the first place. But no matter what she said, Cesar knew something had changed.
She was out there right now, hanging all over Rafe. She’d be with him all day every day now that they were interning together for his father’s company and that ridiculous reality show. Just another excuse to go out and party, Cesar thought. Another excuse to never be home. Another excuse to never have time to see me.
Before Rafe, they’d gone out sometimes — always in neighborhoods where she wouldn’t be recognized, but that hadn’t been a big deal. He’d thought she loved going salsa dancing and hanging around at his Auntie Lourdes’s, helping his family make dinner. But then Rafe had come along, and quietly, in almost invisible steps, she’d started to slip away from him.
“Cesar?” Skye called into the dim of the garage. “I know you’re back here.”
Part of him wanted to just walk away. Let her do the suffering for once. But he couldn’t do that. He loved her too much.
“I’m here, querida.” He stood and turned to face her.
Skye crossed the garage and laid her head on his chest, over his heart. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her closer, resting his head on her hair, feeling her lighter, faster heartbeat pull his into sync.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I know you don’t like it when he’s here.”
“So why do you bring him here? And his plastic friends?”
“They’re not plastic, they’re nice girls,” Skye said. “Don’t judge them just because they’re on a reality show.”
“Even the blonde? What’s her name — Harp
er?” he asked. He saw the flash of embarrassment in Skye’s eyes and regretted his words immediately, but it was too late. They were out now.
“Rafe wants to hang out with her,” Skye said, an edge sharpening in her voice. “Being a crazy jealous bitch isn’t going to help the situation.”
“Why do you even care?” Cesar asked, feeling the anger bubble up again. “Let him have his blonde and we can be together. For real.”
A long quiet. Each passing second made his heart heavier.
“C, you know I can’t do that.” Skye sounded on the verge of tears when she finally spoke. “Mom would —”
“I know she wouldn’t approve,” Cesar snapped. “She doesn’t think I’m good enough for her precious girl.”
“She doesn’t think you’re good enough for her friends,” Skye said. “She doesn’t care what happens to me, you know that.”
He held her away from him, forcing her to look him in the eye. “You don’t think I’m good enough either, do you?”
Skye shook herself free and glared up at him. “Of course I think you’re good enough, Cesar. I love you. What kind of person do you think I am?”
“I know who you are, Skye,” he said, “but I’m not sure you do. You’re too brave to be hiding your life from the world, just so your mother can have the trophy daughter she wants.”
“You don’t understand, babe. There is so much pressure on me right now. Mom just goes on and on about how I’m going to be producing movies before I’m thirty. And Dad is off shooting in Tunisia or something. He’s not here to back me up. I can’t just announce that …”
“You’re in love with the gardener,” he finished for her.
The tears started to slide down her cheeks.
“I love you so much. Please, C, don’t doubt that. We just have to do this until we can sell one of your screenplays. Then you’ll be the next big thing and she’ll be thrilled that we’re dating because that will mean she can convince you to reboot Attack of the Killer Tomatoes for her. God, I can already see it. She’ll act like us being together was her idea in the first place. But it has to be this way, just for a little while longer. You understand that, don’t you?”
Cesar wanted to keep arguing with her, to tell her she was better than this, better than her mother. But he couldn’t stand to see her cry.
He reached out and drew her close again, kissing away her tears. She caught his mouth with hers and, for a long time, his mind emptied of everything but her.
Lucy was relieved to step into the cool dimness of the house. It was a beautiful day but the white-hot sun was relentless, even through the oversized vintage sunglasses Debra Z had picked out for her. She needed some cold water, more sunblock and her iPod, in that order.
Who was she kidding? It wasn’t only the sun she needed to escape from. It was Harper and Rafe, who were flirting so enthusiastically that she’d thought they might start making out in the pool at any moment, right in front of Rafe’s girlfriend.
Was Rafe really falling for Harper again? That was the last thing any of them needed. With any luck, he was just flirting with her for sport.
Lucy felt like a horrible friend for wishing such a thing. She knew it would break Harper’s heart. But perhaps that was for the best. Dangerous things happened when Rafe Jackson was around. He’d already almost killed Harper once that day with his dangerous driving, and the disastrous car accident at Lucy’s fifteenth birthday party had been his fault as well. Rafe had been the one who had dared the already drunk Harper to do two shots of coconut rum and drive around the block.
Who knew what might happen if they started dating again?
Lucy suddenly realized that she was completely lost. The Owens’ enormous imitation log cabin had two wings, and she was evidently in the wrong one. The open doors on either side of her revealed sprawling bedrooms, an office and even a huge gym … but not the kitchen or the guest suite where Skye had told them to leave their things.
Lucy was retracing her steps when she heard the sound of someone retching. She hesitated, unsure what to do. If someone was ill and needed help, she hated to just walk away. But, “Excuse me, I know you’ve no idea who I am, but I’ve just been listening to you vomit and wondered if you needed a hand,” wasn’t exactly a great introductory line.
The noise stopped. Time to get out of here before whoever it was came out.
But it was too late. The door was already opening.
Lucy’s apology died on her lips as a pale and jittery Robyn stepped out of the bathroom.
“Hey, lady,” Robyn said, just a little too fast. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for the kitchen and my bag, but I got a bit lost,” Lucy said. “Are you okay? It sounded like —”
“Oh, yeah, that was nothing. Must have had some bad clams at dinner last night,” Robyn said brightly. “I think the kitchen’s that way.” She pointed down the hall. “See you outside?”
And with that, she was gone. Galloping off like a little kid who’d had too much sugar.
Robyn had been like that all week. Maybe it was all the extra coffee she was drinking, or all the food she wasn’t eating. Robyn hadn’t eaten much of anything that week, now that Lucy thought about it, and she certainly hadn’t had any clams at dinner the night before. She’d ordered a green salad and spent most of the evening pushing lettuce around her plate.
Lucy had been relieved to see Robyn stuffing herself with the barbecue at lunch, but now she’d clearly gone and thrown it all up again. And lied about being sick to boot. And Lucy was the only one who knew it.
If only she knew what to do about it.
Finally, Lucy found the guest suite. Their bags lay on the bed in a jumble — bits and pieces spilled across the spotless white duvet cover in their owners’ hurry to get to the pool.
Lucy grabbed Alexander’s iPod from her bag. Her new phone wasn’t there, which meant it was one of the three that were sprawled among their rubble. A Project Next sponsor had given all of the contestants brand-new iPhones, which was awesome, but they were all identical, which was clearly going to be a problem.
She shouldn’t check her phone, anyway, Lucy told herself. It wasn’t as though there was likely to be a text from Mum or Dad. Her brother, John, thought they’d forgive her eventually, but said at the moment they were still steaming mad.
Lucy wished eventually would hurry up and arrive. She was dying to talk to Dad all about the new stuff she was learning and to tell Emily about the movie stars she’d seen. And now she desperately wanted to ask Mum what to do about Robyn.
Perhaps Mum had called. Perhaps John was wrong. She’d just check, Lucy thought. It wouldn’t hurt.
Lucy grabbed for the first of the identical iPhones. When the screen came to life she could see Iza’s bright pink wallpaper. She put it back in Iza’s bag and picked up another.
This one had a text message waiting. From Jason.
Sounds beautiful. Send me a picture.
Lucy stared down at the phone. It was Toni’s. She could see that from the photo of Bella that Toni used as her wallpaper. Why was Jason asking Toni for pictures? That was the sort of thing John and his girlfriend liked to do when they were apart — not the sort of chat you’d expect between a musician and her manager.
No, no, Lucy thought, dismissing the very idea. Toni got along well with grown-ups. That was all. And Lucy was being an awful snoop, reading other people’s texts. They were going to have to get charms or stickers or something for these phones. It wouldn’t be good to have everyone grabbing the wrong one all the time.
Lucy put the phone in Toni’s bright red shoulder bag and reached for the third — her own.
No replies to her texts. No missed calls.
With a sigh she tucked it back into her studded white bag and headed in the direction she hoped would lead to the kitchen.
She
was standing in front of the sink guzzling water when she heard a soft moan from the open door into the garage.
Was everyone in this house ill? Lucy tiptoed to the door. Just to make sure someone wasn’t lying on the floor bleeding, she told herself. Not to snoop.
What she saw left her jaw lying on the pink marble kitchen floor.
Skye Owen stood in the middle of the garage, wrapped in the strong arms of the gardener who’d saved Harper from being knocked down by Rafe in the driveway. Their lips were locked with the kind of passion you just couldn’t fake.
Lucy slipped back into the kitchen and half ran through the maze of a house, not stopping until she found the family room that opened outside. Toni and Iza were splashing in the pool and Harper was standing on the diving board, belting out “Natural Woman” while Robyn giggled and strummed along on her guitar.
They looked so happy.
Then again, they hadn’t stumbled onto every deep, dark secret in a five mile radius today. Lucy didn’t want to know any of the things that were jostling around in her head now, unraveling visions of potential disasters in their wake. But she did.
“You’re the drummer,” she said to herself. “It’s your job to keep them on beat. To hold it all together.”
But how the bloody hell was she supposed to do that?
6. Light in the Dark
I’m trying to focus, Lucy thought grumpily. I am. But the tangle of beat-marks that danced across the page just refused to make sense today. They were taunting her, picking at her brain like tiny little fingers. With claws.
Christ, she wasn’t even hungover. What was wrong with her?
Secrets, Lucy thought. It’s all the secrets destroying my brain. She didn’t want to know any of the things she’d learned that Saturday at Skye’s. But you couldn’t un-know something, no matter how hard you tried.
