Notable (Smith High)

by Marni Bates

  Crap.

  I had completely forgotten that Houston was a total narc, which was incredibly stupid because he kept reminding me of that fact every freaking chance he got. So I said the first thing that came to my mind.

  “What happens in Cambodia stays in Cambodia.”

  “I told you, Houston!” Ben announced proudly as he sipped his newly purchased beer and lowered himself into another one of the massage chairs.

  “Still not a real thing, Ben.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re going to keep your mouth shut about this, Michigan,” I snapped out so angrily that the woman massaging my calves looked up at me in concern. “Whatever happened years ago with Jake is none of your business. And if you say anything about him to my parents—”

  “He won’t,” Liz assured me. “He’s just messing with you. And for the first time . . . I agree with Ben. I don’t care if it sounds stupid: What happens in Cambodia stays in Cambodia.”

  Ben pumped his fist into the air. “Yes!”

  “Shut up, Ben,” Houston said without any real heat.

  I laughed and for a second I thought that we might all go back to hanging out and relaxing. Maybe do some more shopping in the stalls of the marketplace.

  “Your secrets are safe with us, Chelsea. So what happened with Jake?” Liz waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  The one question I had no intention of answering.

  Ever.

  Chapter 9

  I forced myself to laugh.

  “You’re going to have to get me plastered if you want to hear that story. And since a certain someone”—I glanced pointedly at Houston—“will never let me do that, you’re just out of luck.”

  Liz rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  Ben turned the power of his dark chocolate eyes on her. “What about you, Liz?” he asked smoothly. “Any secrets you want to share with the class?”

  “My love life isn’t all that interesting right now. My girlfriend is studying abroad in Australia, and since we’ve been together since freshman year, there’s not much to tell.”

  “Wait, girlfriend?”

  She burst out laughing at Ben’s surprise. “You didn’t know? Really? It’s not like I’m in the closet, guys. I’ve been leading LGBTQ events for years.”

  Amy’s eyes softened as she tapped her finger against the leather of her chair. “Wait a sec. I think I know her. Sara, right? She was in my Shakespeare class.”

  Liz smiled, and for the first time it hit me that she was disgustingly pretty. She might not look conventional, but one mention of Sara and she practically glowed.

  “She’s amazing.” Liz laughed self-consciously. “And if you get me started, I won’t shut up. So . . . your turn, Amy.”

  “My turn for what?”

  Classic stalling tactic. I would have called her on it, except I didn’t want to draw any more attention to my love life either. Especially since I had already let Jake’s name slip. Damn but that had been clumsy of me.

  “The details on your love life, Ms. English Major. Spill.”

  Liz was even nosier than I originally thought. Amy turned bright pink and began fiddling with her purse. “Um, nothing to tell.”

  I doubted that was an exaggeration, so I interrupted to distract Liz before she could embarrass Amy further.

  “I think it’s time for Texas to have a turn. After all, he claims he knows so much about me.”

  Houston merely smirked. “Listen, jail bait—”

  “Keep it up with that nickname and I will feed you to those flesh-eating fish.” I pointed behind us to a huge fish tank that I had made the mistake of checking out earlier. Apparently, the pool was fully stocked with little fish that ate the calluses off people’s feet.

  Gross.

  “He just broke up with a girl named Carolyn because he didn’t want to do the whole long-distance-relationship thing,” Ben volunteered. “That’s what he told me, anyway. I think he just wanted an excuse to stop seeing her.”

  Liz perked up at that. “Why would he want an excuse?”

  “I wouldn’t and I didn’t.”

  “Because she’s about as bland as oatmeal.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong with oatmeal?” Amy protested. “It tastes good to me.”

  “Yeah, but would you want to date it?”

  “No. Then again, I don’t form romantic attachments with any breakfast items.”

  “Well, take my word for it, Carolyn was nothing special.”

  I waited for Houston to defend his ex-girlfriend’s honor,

  but he didn’t say a word. “Are you really not going to stick up for her?”

  He shrugged. “Ben’s entitled to his own opinion. And no offense, but I’m not sharing the details of my love life with a kid.”

  A kid.

  I saw red. Admittedly, I was younger than all of them—kind of obvious, considering that I was a high school junior and they were a mix of college sophomores and juniors—but that didn’t make me a kid. Not the way he meant it at least. Then again, it was probably all part of his stupid “protecting her as a favor to her dad” plan.

  All things considered, I thought I had done a damned good job of looking out for myself. The last thing I needed was someone else deciding that they would be better at it. Not to mention that if my dad had really wanted to make sure I was safe, he should’ve done something himself instead of sending me off with his freaking teacher’s assistant. What exactly did he think Houston would do if I got into trouble, anyway? Write it down in a grading booklet for further evaluation?

  “Fine, Houston,” I snapped, handing my masseuse a five-dollar bill, effectively giving her a 300 percent tip. “Keep your secrets. I really don’t care. I’ll see the rest of you back at the hotel.”

  Then I quickly started moving so he wouldn’t be able to follow me through the crowded streets, where vendors urged tourists to check out their wares and guys on temperamental-looking motorcycles with carriages attached weaved around on the dirt road, hustling to pick up new customers.

  In my haste to hail one of them, I held up some of the cash from my wallet. Nothing like a twenty-dollar bill to get people’s attention. Although that might not have been the smartest idea, since I effectively created a traffic jam as four different drivers attempted to pick me up. Still, I dropped my wallet back into my enormous tote bag, slid into the contraption closest to me, told the driver the name of our hotel, and gripped the railing tightly . . . just as the entire thing wobbled from the additional weight of someone lurching in right behind me.

  For the first time I found myself relieved to see that particular plaid shirt and the scowl that went with it. As much as I disliked Houston, the alternatives for companionship in Cambodia could have been a whole lot worse.

  “Do you have a death wish or are you just an idiot?” he demanded. “Here’s a little tip for you, princess: Don’t wave wads of cash around before hopping into a freaking tuk-tuk alone!”

  “Into a what?”

  Houston raked a hand through his hair, making it stick up comically. Except I didn’t think he was going to be laughing about it, or anything else, anytime soon.

  “This!” He gestured at the glorified open-air carriage. “This is a tuk-tuk. God, do you listen to anything or are you too busy flipping your hair to pay attention!”

  Ouch.

  I lifted my chin and glared right back at him. “Can you even pretend to be a halfway decent human being, or is that asking too much of you?”

  The tuk-tuk began moving with a lurch that steadied out once the driver really started darting and dodging his way down the street.

  “You’re right,” Houston said finally. “You are absolutely right, princess. I’ve been stressing out over my babysitting obligations this entire time, and that’s not the experience I signed up for. It’s not my job to hold your freaking hand every step of the way. So . . . you’re on your own.”

  I sat in silence that was broken only by tuk-tuk horns and intermittent road rage�
�inspired swearing, while I stewed over his words.

  “I never asked you to hold my hand. In fact, I never asked you for anything. If you treated me like everyone else, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

  “Chelsea, you are three years younger than most of us. You might not want to hear it, but you are most definitely a kid.”

  I laughed even though his expression made it clear that he wasn’t kidding. But it was way too funny for me to squelch my grin.

  Because I hadn’t been a kid in years.

  Definitely not after Jake the Mistake.

  “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. We both know that a measly three-year age gap doesn’t make the slightest difference here. But maybe if you just keep repeating it, you’ll actually believe it, Walker Texas Ranger.”

  The tuk-tuk stopped at our hotel, and I handed the driver some cash before Houston could intercept and pay the bill. Normally, I don’t care if a guy wants to foot the bill for me, mainly because I never rely on it. My after-school job working as an assistant dance instructor for Mrs. P’s studio was more than enough to support my Starbucks addiction. In fact, I had even started a small Get Out of Oregon fund that my parents didn’t know about. Just in case their fighting ever got bad enough that I needed to bail for a while. It wasn’t much—maybe enough for a week at a cheap Oregon motel—but I’ve always been good at budgeting.

  But with Houston it was different.

  I had something to prove.

  Which was why I pretended to ignore him completely as we walked through the hotel’s fancy lobby, complete with marble floors, a gleaming concierge desk, and plush leather couches that reminded me of the one in my dad’s study. A sudden rush of homesickness threatened to overwhelm me. It was such an insignificant thing to make me miss home that I straightened my shoulders and decided not to even mention it in my email to Jane. But before I could ask the front desk about paying for Internet access, Neal approached us from the elevators with a big, goofy smile on his face.

  “Chelsea! Houston! How was your evening?”

  “Um, fine, Neal,” I said, glancing at the desk in the hope that he would take the hint and let me leave. “I think the others will be coming back pretty soon.”

  “That’s great!”

  I really wished someone could find his enthusiasm off switch—or at the very least dial it down.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” I couldn’t tell if Houston was asking to be polite or if he was actually interested, but either way he screwed up my plan for a quick getaway.

  “Well,” Neal began, “I wanted to take a shower earlier, but the plumbing in my room didn’t work!” He chuckled as if he were sharing an absolutely hilarious anecdote. “So I came down here to ask for a different room. And when I got to it, you’ll never guess what I found there!”

  Houston and I both kept our mouths shut and simply waited for him to tell us.

  “Two Buddha statues!”

  Okay . . . I was officially bored with this conversation.

  “Well, that’s great, Neal. I’m, uh, glad you got the plumbing issue fixed. I’ll just be go—”

  But Neal wasn’t finished. “I was just coming down here to thank them for the gift. Isn’t it the most thoughtful thing you’ve ever heard of happening in a hotel?”

  Um, no.

  “It sure is,” I agreed. “Well, I’ll just let you do that while I—”

  “The two of you should look at them! They will give you a whole new appreciation for the culture, Chelsea.” Neal practically swelled with excitement, and I knew Houston and I were stuck.

  Not that Houston seemed to mind. If anything, he actually looked interested in checking out the stupid statues, as if he hadn’t just seen thousands of cheap wood carvings meant to capture the hearts and wallets of tourists while exploring the marketplace stalls of Siem Reap. Neal’s statues were going to be more of the same. Maybe if our dork of a professor was lucky, he had been gifted a whole five bucks’ worth of wood in the shape of a fat man.

  Not exactly exhibit-worthy material.

  “Why don’t you show Houston while I—”

  My last-ditch attempt for freedom failed miserably when Houston tossed a casual arm over my shoulder and announced, “We’d love to see them, Neal.”

  Well, wasn’t that just fan-freaking-tastic.

  The three of us rode the elevator up to the third floor while Neal chattered on about how we were in for a real treat since we’d be visiting a working Buddhist monastery the next day. Then again, since Mr. Horny would still be the one explaining everything to the group, I had a hard time working up even fake enthusiasm.

  Yippee.

  Still, I couldn’t help being a little impressed when Neal swiped us into his room and I actually saw the statues. These weren’t the dirt-cheap market creations I had expected but legitimate works of art I could picture my mom buying for her office to make her seem more worldly. Purchased online, of course. Less hassle that way.

  Then again, beautifully carved or not, Buddha was still a beaming fat man. My mom would probably put him in her exercise room in order to steer herself away from the path of carbohydrates.

  “Wow, Neal. They’re really pretty.” I gently stroked the smooth wood that formed the head of one statue. “Nice gift.”

  He beamed while Houston examined the other statue. “Chelsea, I think you should keep one of them.”

  “Uh, that’s okay!” I instantly tried to backpedal as Neal held out the Buddha as if it were Simba about to be introduced to all the beasts in The Lion King.

  “I insist,” he said grandly. “They’re supposed to bring good luck. Or happiness. Not sure which, actually.”

  Great. I could’ve used some help turning down a gigantic wooden fat man, but Houston only smiled.

  “He’s . . . awfully heavy,” I lied, knowing that it couldn’t weigh more than five or six pounds when I had the stupid thing clutched in my arms. “You sure you don’t want to keep him, Neal?”

  “No, I really want you to have him, Chelsea, only . . .” He paused uncomfortably. “Maybe you shouldn’t show it to the others? I don’t want anyone getting jealous.”

  Right. Because everyone wants to haul a wooden statue around a third-world country.

  But I could tell from Neal’s expression that he was really worried about hurt feelings. And that was undeniably sweet. I mean, the guy was still plenty annoying, but at least his heart was in the right place. Which was how I became the not-so-proud owner of five pounds’ worth of his “good intentions.” I opened the dance tote bag that I was in the habit of carrying everywhere and shoved most of the Buddha inside. Half of his head and part of his enormous belly jutted out, but all things considered, it fit pretty well.

  “How’s that?” I asked Neal. “Discreet enough for you?”

  “Marvelous!”

  Of course, because everything in Neal’s world was daisies, butterflies, and happy fat men. The guy was growing on me, but he still put out a little too much good cheer for me to stomach.

  “Well, we’re going to see if the others are back yet,” Houston said as the two of us edged our way out the door and into the hallway. “See you tomorrow, Neal.”

  “Get a good night’s sleep, you two! Don’t forget, we have a busy day tomorrow.”

  On that note, he waved good-bye to us and shut his door with a soft click.

  Finally. Now I can relax in private.

  That’s what I was thinking when several men whose classy suits couldn’t hide the fact that they were built like tanks passed us in the hallway. Taking a nice hot bath before my roommates showed up was my top priority—right before the men used a swipe card of their own to enter Neal’s room.

  Which was when all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 10

  I’m used to arguments.

  Call them whatever you want: squabbles, disputes, moments of heightened dialogue; none of it fazes me. So when I heard indignant voices emerging from Neal’
s room, I remained rooted in the middle of the hallway, but it wasn’t from fear. It actually reminded me of home. Only this time I couldn’t try to drown it out with my music, and most of the voices spoke with thick Cambodian accents.

  “Who are you?”

  “What are you doing in this room?”

  I had no trouble imagining Neal’s good-natured smile as we heard him say, “Oh, this must be some hotel mix-up. See, I had this problem with my plumbing—”

  Except the Cambodian businessmen didn’t calm down, or chuckle, or say anything along the lines of, “Let’s just ask the concierge about this little mistake, shall we?”

  Oh no.

  There was the unmistakable sound of shattering glass and a startled cry of pain before I distinctly heard Neal gasp, “Wait! I can explain!”

  That’s when I began screaming.

  Loudly.

  I’ve always had the ability to project my voice really well, which was why Smith High School cast me to play the female lead in their musical production of Romeo and Juliet. It’s always better when the leads don’t have to wear mics in order to be heard at the very back of the theater. And to think that I had been disappointed to have the opportunity ripped away from me because of my stupid program in Cambodia.

  Nobody could miss the performance I was putting on now.

  Especially since I wasn’t just flat-out shrieking like girls always do in horror movies. Oh no, I was also bellowing for the police—until a large hand covered my mouth from behind. I tried my best to evade the tightening grip because there was no way I could let some insane business guys beat the life out of Neal.

  No freaking way.

  Someone was speaking rapidly in my ear while I writhed and squirmed, and it took me a second to realize it was Houston who’d grabbed me.

  “Run, Chelsea,” he ordered me firmly. “Go back to your room. Lock the door. And call downstairs for help. Now.”