by Beth Bishop
I straightened my shoulders. “I’m not trying to do anything. He can change if he wants, and judging by our conversation downstairs, he doesn’t want to.” I brushed past Derrick, and he followed on my heels back to the stairs.
From the overlook, I saw Whit and Linc engaged in an intense argument. “They never fought before you,” Derrick said.
I thought it was more likely that Linc never stood up to Whit before me, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to be the reason their friendship ended. It was ridiculous, really. We were children. It wasn’t as if I was going to marry either of them.
My plan was to slip down the stairs unnoticed, sneak outside, and call a cab. That didn’t happen, as both of them saw me. Luckily, instead of causing a huge, embarrassing scene, I managed to herd them into the kitchen, where our first unpleasant, three-person conversation had taken place. They glared at each other, so I moved to stand between them and put a hand to the chest of each boy.
“Don’t fight,” I said softly. Instantly, they eased and looked at me. “You’ve been friends a long time. I’m not—”
Linc cut me off by saying, “Yes, you are to me.” He put his hand over mine and gripped it before looking at Whit. “I love her,” he said almost breathlessly. “Do you? Can you say that?” Whit looked down at me and then back at his friend. He shook his head. “Then, let it go, or that’s it, man.”
I took a deep breath, but before I could speak, Linc cupped the back of my neck and brought his lips to mine. Not surprisingly, I let go of Whit in favor of gripping Linc’s upper arm with my free hand. When he ended the kiss, he gazed into my eyes for a few moments before looking over my head to address Whit. “Let it go.”
Taking my hand, Linc led me out of the house and put me in his car. When he got in and started the engine, he said, “Don’t tell me not to end my friendship over you. It isn’t your fault. Whit knew how I felt. The ball’s in his court, and if our friendship is over, it’s his fault.” He looked at me as the interior light of the car slowly dimmed. “You’re worth it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I stayed in New York for two more weeks. I helped the live-in nurse take care of my daddy. I cleared out the pantry and stocked it with lower-fat foods. I downloaded recipes and cooked him healthy meals. I made runs to the pharmacy for his medicines. I avoided reporters and paparazzi as much as possible and told them simply, “No comment,” when they shoved microphones or recorders in my face.
My daddy was a good patient, and even though I would’ve wanted the circumstances to be different, I cherished those two weeks. Hank visited a few times and had my father sign more documents that would cut Lizette from his life. He was heartbroken, and his heart was broken. He needed me, and thankfully, my teachers understood that. They let me keep up with my schoolwork by e-mailing my completed assignments to them.
I made daily calls to check on the remodeling of my youth home and to check in with Terrell and the gang. For them, things were better every day. Formal searches were made for Carly and Dee’s mother. The two of them were the main caretakers of the house. Nate and Gina volunteered at an after-school camp for inner city kids. AJ and Isaac focused on just being kids. Terrell was graduating and wanted to study counseling. I offered to pay his tuition as long as he agreed to shift into a staff position. When we hung up, it was a done deal.
Linc and I called and texted when he wasn’t in class. The first weekend after Spring Break, he drove to the city and officially met my daddy. We went out to eat, watched movies, and made out a few more times. He even brought some of the short stories he had written for me to read. He had never shared his writing with any of his friends. Three of them had been published in journals under his pseudonym, and my heart swelled with pride for him. I was the only person, beyond his parents, who knew he was published, and my heart swelled again at his level of trust in me. He also let me read part of the novel he was writing—a futuristic true crime.
“I love it,” I said when I finished the fourth chapter.
“When can I read more?”
He smiled. “I have to write it, first. I was hoping to get some time this summer, but I don’t know. My father wants me to clerk for his law firm.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Go with you to New Orleans and write.” He kissed me softly. “You have no idea how happy it makes me that you like my writing.”
“Why should my opinion matter?” I asked. “What do I know?”
“Your opinion matters, because you matter.”
* * * *
At the end of my time in New York, Linc drove me back to Irstwitch. There were more whispers than usual, less name-calling, and more looks of curiosity than derision. A few reporters tracked me there, but the school did an unusually good job of keeping them off campus. With all the studying I needed to do, I had little time to worry about any of it.
It was the beginning of May, so I spent most of my time preparing for finals. I still tutored Whit, and our relationship—if it could be called so—settled into something vaguely resembling friendship. He and Linc were still friends, and in the time while they were at school and I wasn’t, the fight simmering between them had cooled.
During those last few weeks of school, Linc and I spent most of our free time together—talking, eating, and kissing. I was too nervous to venture beyond heavy petting on top of clothes without the security of utter privacy, and Linc respected that.
I longed for school to end so I could have some alone time with him, but I also dreaded the end of school. He and his father hadn’t resolved the issue of how he would spend his summer. The thought of him in New York while I was in New Orleans depressed me. I didn’t want to be apart from him, and that was how I realized I was in love with him.
Near the end of finals week, Whit found me in the library to tell me he passed Trig with an A-minus. A smile spread over my face, and I bounced excitedly as I grabbed his hands. He hugged me and pressed his lips to mine and then again.
I stopped bouncing and said, “Whit.”
“What?” He grinned. “It’s just a hot, congratulatory kiss.” He released me from the circle of his arms. “Linc says the building in New Orleans is coming along.”
“Yeah, I’m going to spend my summer there.”
“Then, Linc and I will have to take a trip south this summer—swing by and say hi.”
“That’d be nice, Whit,” and with worries that I would spend my entire summer apart from my boyfriend, I went back to my books.
* * * *
At the end of May, enough of the renovations on the bed and breakfast had been completed that there were ten usable rooms and a working kitchen. The move to New Orleans was bittersweet—I was leaving Linc behind, but I would be sharing a roof with the friends who inspired the youth home. My daddy was tremulous about letting me go, especially with the on-going media coverage of the attempt on my life, his heart attack, and the impending trial; however, if anything could convince him that I would be okay, it was that I would be spending my time with seven other people, whom he could trust would help me look out for myself. He let me go with promises that he would visit often and especially on my birthday.
Terrell, Nate, and Gina met me at the airport, with the guys acting somewhat as my bodyguards. After rounds of hugs, and tears on my part, we rode to the new center. The core seven had moved in only a few days before me, and Nate took me on a tour of the place. Less skittish than when we first met, Gina had become a sort of spokesperson for the house, feeding the media tiny bits of backstory that kept them sated while simultaneously promoting the center. Overall, my friends handled themselves quite well, and I was excited, thrilled, overjoyed, and humbled by all the lives I could change.
Detective Gimble dropped by and, to my surprise, returned my pendant. I burst into tears when he let it slide from the small, yellow envelope i
nto my palm. The next day, I went out and bought myself a new chain for it. With it next to my heart, I knew things were going to be okay.
I threw myself into work. With help from Hank and Linc’s mother, I tentatively took the reins and began learning how to operate a non-profit business. I sent out press releases, e-mailed my daddy’s business advisors for help, acted as head cook, cleaned, and kept the little ones when the older teens were at work. It felt good to do something, build something, and care for it. Nights, I sat around with my friends and chatted about our hopes and dreams. I knew this place I was building would be my work. It was my calling, college degree or not.
On the fifth of June, my daddy flew down for my birthday, and when I answered the door, I found Linc with him. I launched myself into Linc’s arms, squealing. “What are you doing here?”
“Your dad invited me to fly with him. I wouldn’t miss your birthday,” he said before kissing me.
When he set me down, I gave my daddy his hug and kiss. “You’re growing up on me, darlin’,” he whispered in my ear.
I pulled them inside and taking one of each of their hands in mine, I showed them the house and introduced my daddy to my friends. After helping bring in luggage, I set them up in two of the rooms, putting us at full occupancy for the time. While Carly, Nate, and I made dinner, Linc and my daddy sat at the small in-kitchen table and listened while I told them about construction and finances.
My daddy felt well enough to start easing back into work, so he excused himself to borrow my laptop before dinner. When he was gone, Carly jerked her head toward Linc, indicating I should take the opportunity to get in some alone time with my boyfriend while my daddy was busy. We went to the vast family/gathering room just off the foyer and sat on one of the large sofas.
“Happy birthday,” Linc said, kissing me and producing from his pocket a small, felt box. “Your friends here and I…we went in together on this one.” I opened the box to find a charm bracelet with eight hearts that looked like my pendant. “I put the eighth one on there for me.” He looked at me. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. You belong, and I love it,” I breathed as he clasped it around my wrist. “I love you, Linc.”
His hand froze, and then he pulled me into his arms. “I told my father I was staying here with you. After lots of screaming and yelling, and my mother joining in, he agreed to let me stay a month. “
I leaned back from him, a tentative smile on my face. “You’re staying a whole month?”
“Yep.”
“Here with me?”
“Yep.” He grinned at me. “When my month is up, I’ll argue for another.” He frowned a little. “Maybe I can convince my father that you are better for me than law school.”
“For now, you’re here.” I beamed. “And you’ll write?”
“I’ve got another short story set to publish, and I’m going to work on my book. Right here. With you, Skye.”
“That’s the best birthday present ever,” I said and pressed my lips to his.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I sat in the mess hall of the prison, deliberately not eating whatever ‘food’ was on my plate. I was so stupid. Why, oh why, did I not get rid of that damned pendant? Although in truth, the phone conversations Colby recorded and the call list in my own cell phone sealed my fate. The rat would get out in six months. But me? A minimum of seven years.
Lucky little twit. If it hadn’t been for the street urchins she met, she’d be dead, and Winston would have one foot and one hand in the grave. Well, she wasn’t, and he would probably recover, because she’d take care of him.
I was stuck. No more jewelry, no more Chanel, no more high-priced art or top shelf booze. No more booze period, and drying out was more difficult than I expected. I got the sweats and the shakes every morning and every evening. I looked down at my hand to find it trembling and the palm damp, so I pounded it on the table. I hit my fork, and it slung muck from my plate onto the creature nearest me.
“Sorry,” I grumbled at her and shifted my napkin in her direction.
She stood, and shortly thereafter, I felt something slam into the side of my neck. Heat flooded my shoulder, and my hands felt so cold. I coughed or gurgled and looked down at my hand again to find it red. I lifted it to feel something sticking out of my neck. When I pulled it free, I discovered it was a shank made from a plastic fork.
My head felt light, and I fell forward. My face splatted into my plate. As my blood mingled with my food, I said, “It’s just not fair.”
About the Author:
Beth Bishop is a YA author putting a fresh, new spin on old fairy tales. She lives in Alabama with her husband and son.
Visit her online at:
http://bethbishop.blogspot.com
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