Fragile Facade

by Sophie Davis

  Go, Raven, I thought. Way to introduce yourself to the neighborhood.

  Reluctantly, I turned and met his gaze. The guy was tall and tan, like he’d just returned from some exotic locale. His warm, brown eyes shone with amusement, though he spared me the humiliation of openly laughing. Without asking, he retrieved my suitcase from the sidewalk.

  “Where you headed?” he asked.

  “405 Gibson,” I replied, pointing.

  “You’re renting Kim’s place?”

  “How did you know?” I asked, suspicion sparking.

  “I live on the first floor,” he explained with a smirk. “Not stalking you.”

  My embarrassment was reaching all new levels. “No, I…. I didn’t mean…. You just caught me by surprise,” I finished lamely.

  “My name is Asher.” He held out a strong hand to shake mine. Something about him set me at ease. “And I’m new-ish to the neighborhood, too.”

  “Oh?” I asked distractedly.

  “Maybe three months doesn’t qualify as ‘new’? I don’t know,” Asher waffled. He shook his head “Regardless, I’m from up north. I’m starting at GW Law next month and moved here early to intern for a law firm. Kim was nice enough to play tour guide for me over the summer.”

  At least one of my neighbors is friendly, I thought with relief as he gestured me up the front steps.

  Asher used his key to unlock the downstairs door and held it open for me. Self-consciously, I led the way up the staircase, cognizant of the fact that sweat was trickling down my legs. Not to mention, he was basically face-level with my butt.

  Awkward. So awkward.

  “The whole Paris thing coming together was really a coup for Kim,” Asher continued. “She was really excited that you answered her ad, she was scrambling to find a renter.”

  “It worked out well for me, too.” We’d finally reached the landing in the middle, only one flight to go.

  “You never told me your name, by the way,” Asher pointed out.

  “Raven,” I replied over my shoulder.

  “Oh, like the bird.”

  “Uh-huh.” After a lifetime with the name, I was used to the comparison.

  At the door to apartment three, I fumbled with the key ring. The nondescript gold key fit poorly in the lock, so I launched into my key-wiggle move.

  “Let me,” Asher offered after my attempts failed. He took the key from me. “You need to press really hard while holding the knob, then turn both at the same time.” He demonstrated the maneuver. Just like that, the door popped open. “Mine’s the same way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Where would you like your things?” Asher entered the tiny foyer behind me without waiting for an invitation.

  “Um, just set them down there.” I pointed to a spot next to the kitchen counter.

  Asher set my suitcase down and stood, hands on hips, in the small kitchen. The sight was rather amusing; the small appliances looked almost miniature with Asher filling the space. His flip-flop-clad feet covered an entire square of the linoleum floor.

  “Well, thanks again,” I said, hoping he would get the hint.

  Asher ran one hand through his sandy-blonde hair, causing several pieces to stick out at odd angles. Slowly, he spun in a small circle, taking in the apartment’s interior.

  “Kim left all of her stuff for you.”

  “Um, yeah. I’m new to the city and don’t have any furniture or anything.”

  For some reason, the fact he’d obviously been in the apartment before bothered me.

  “Are you starting school soon?” he asked.

  “Just working for now,” I dodged.

  “Cool. Where?” Asher smiled, showing off his straight, white teeth.

  The sight reminded me of middle school, when my crooked teeth had been wrenched with braces until perfectly straight. He’d definitely gone through the same torture.

  “Not sure yet,” I admitted reluctantly.

  “There are a lot of cool bars and restaurants around here,” Asher offered. “I bet a girl like you could make a lot of money bartending.”

  “A girl like me?” My hackles went up.

  His cool, confident demeanor slipped for a moment. His cheeks colored, a barely visible red underneath his tan. “Sorry. It’s just that cute girls usually make good tips.”

  “Oh.” Now I was the one embarrassed. “I’m only eighteen, so bartending probably won’t work out. Something will, though. It always does.”

  “Right…,” Asher trailed off, jamming his hands into his shorts pockets. “Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. It’s apartment one, just knock.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  Once Asher left, I moved my bags to the bedroom. Without stopping to rest, I trekked back downstairs to clean up the mess my lotion made in the trunk. The toiletries from my train case were covered in the slimy substance and scattered.

  “Great,” I muttered, wiping my hands on my khaki shorts.

  Using a plastic grocery bag to contain the mess, I collected the hair products and makeup. My new bottle of shine serum was noticeably absent once I’d gathered the strewn items.

  “Please tell me I didn’t forget you at the hostel….” The stuff wasn’t exactly cheap, and the humidity in D.C. made it a necessity.

  I crawled up on the bumper and into the trunk to reach the back corners. There was a two-inch gap at the back where the lining didn’t quite reach the edge. Reaching my fingers into the space, I blindly felt for stray toiletries. My fingers brushed something smooth. It wasn’t my shine serum, but it didn’t feel like the spare tire either.

  Curious, I scooted farther in and peeled back the corner of the carpeting. The inside of the trunk was dark, making it hard to see what lay beneath the lining. I fumbled clumsily, groping in the well beneath the carpet until my fingers made contact again. The mystery item came out with a yank. Wedged in the very back corner of the trunk, I’d found a small, leather book.

  I sat up straight, knocking the back of my head against the trunk’s lid in the process.

  “Oww!” I exclaimed loudly, rubbing the sore spot with one hand.

  The book was the size of a paperback, with a solid green cover. The leather was soft, like the interior of an expensive car. A gold clasp held the covers closed but didn’t do much to prevent prying eyes; when I slid the small button from left to right, it popped open. On the first page, the word “Journal” was printed in large script that reminded me of calligraphy. Below that, “Property of” was printed, followed by a blank space for the owner to write her name.

  I hesitated before flipping through the other pages. Reading another person’s innermost thoughts was voyeuristic. A journal was personal and not for a stranger’s eyes.

  After several seconds of internal debate, I decided against reading the contents. I’d try to figure out who it belonged to later, but I wouldn’t succumb to curiosity and read more than necessary. When I turned to climb out of the trunk, a heavy envelope dropped from between the pages of the unclasped diary. It was expensive stationery, thick and textured. The creamy exterior was blank and crisp.

  I turned the envelope over in my hands. The flap on the back was tucked inside instead of sealed shut. For some reason, my heart began to beat faster. Without thinking, I opened the envelope and peered inside. A matching sheet of cream-colored paper was neatly folded in half with the open side down. The envelope was heavy—something more than words lay inside the fold. Before I could continue debating the moral issues, I pulled the paper out. A slim, white card and single key slipped from inside. The card was plastic and roughly the size of a credit card. Two words were emblazoned across the front in all caps: THE PINES.

  “That your car?” a heavily accented voice asked. Startled, I jumped, once again bumping my head on the trunk lid.

  “Excuse me?”

  I looked up to see a woman standing on the sidewalk. A little boy clung to one hand, and a boxer tested the strength of his leather leash
in the other.

  “That your car?” the woman repeated, nodding her head toward the Corolla.

  “Yes, ma’am, it is,” I replied. I was sitting in the trunk, I would certainly hope it was my car. Or was that her point?

  “You need to get a visitor’s parking pass if you want to park it on the street for any length of time,” she explained. “Parking enforcement is really strict around here, they ticket cars with out-of-state plates.”

  My shoulders relaxed. The woman was being nice, trying to help me out.

  “Thank you,” I said warmly. “I really appreciate it.”

  She nodded, then tugged the dog’s leash and continued down the sidewalk.

  Deciding that I was attracting too much attention sitting in the trunk of my car, I tucked the envelope back inside the journal and snapped it shut. I grabbed the bag of lotion-covered toiletries and used my elbow to close the trunk. With my hands full, the wiggle routine with the trunk lock was difficult. After several tries, I took it on faith that the car was indeed locked.

  Unpacking took all of twenty minutes. I’d only brought the one suitcase with me, holding shorts, polos, tank tops, and my two favorite sundresses. By the time colder weather arrived, I planned to be making enough money to buy new jeans and sweaters. Once I was done hanging my clothes, I set my laptop on Kim’s roll-top desk and connected the power cord.

  Unsure what to do next, I paced the small apartment. The previous day had been all about house-hunting. With that done, I wasn’t sure what my next move was. I needed a job, for sure, but I figured my best bet was to stroll through upscale neighborhoods and look for “Help Wanted” signs in restaurant windows. Since the temperature outside was in the upper 90s, I wasn’t eager to start that search.

  “What to do. What to do,” I muttered to myself after several turns of the apartment.

  All the quality time alone was unusual. At home, my true friends had been few and far between. Some days, I doubted that I had any at all. Nevertheless, there were always people around—teachers, peers, parents. Here, I was finally alone. I was free to be who I wanted and live how I wanted, without judgment. The problem was…I wasn’t sure who I wanted to be or how I wanted to live.

  A quick check of the kitchen cabinets told me that Kim either loved or hated tuna fish; cans of the stuff were stacked five deep in the cabinet closest to the fridge. Unfortunately, there was no mayo or bread. I still had two granola bars left, but I was pretty much granola-ed out.

  Splurge, I told myself, order delivery from some local hot spot.

  While I headed for the bedroom to look up local eateries, a thought popped into my head: Asher. He’d said to let him know if I needed anything. Restaurant suggestions were absolutely in the realm of neighborly advice. Maybe if he weren’t too busy, Asher would even offer to join me.

  I shook my head to clear the ridiculous notion. Sure, he’d said I was cute. But that was before he learned about my propensity for sweating and less-than-ambitious life plans. Asher probably already regretted carrying my bags in. He was about to be a law student, and the ink was barely dry on my high school diploma. College was something I aspired to, but not in my immediate future. He was preppy. I was…not preppy. Besides, he probably had a girlfriend.

  “Raven?”

  I darted out of my bedroom, and found Asher framed in the front doorway. He’d exchanged his old t-shirt for a navy polo.

  “The door was cracked open,” Asher explained sheepishly. “I knocked a couple of times, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “Guess not,” I mumbled.

  How did I miss his knock? How long had he been standing there? Did he watch me pace the living room?

  “I was just gonna run out and pick up some food,” he continued. “I figured you probably didn’t make it to the grocery store yet. Do you like Ethiopian?”

  Just the thought of the flat, grey bread made my stomach turn. Not to mention the wild spices that scorched my taste buds. But Asher’s smile was hopeful. And kind of adorable.

  I beamed back. “I love Ethiopian food.”

  Four

  Lark

  After the energy it took to make it through the school day, both mental and physical, Downtown Downs provided a welcome wave of calm. The clean but scuffed tables, the overstuffed couches, the dark hardwood floors, and the ever-present struggling musicians provided exactly the atmosphere I was craving. Standing in the doorway, I scanned the crowded café and searched for an open spot to settle in. Amid a sea of students and hipsters enjoying their salads, sandwiches, and triple espressos, there was one face that stood out. Blake Greyfield’s green gaze found my blue one, and a slow smile spread across his handsome features.

  My phone buzzed inside my school bag.

  Blake: Fancy seeing you here. This couch was made for two, care to join me?

  Me: I don’t know….

  My boyfriend might not like that.

  Blake: It’ll be our little secret.

  Suppressing a smirk, I made my way over to a plush loveseat in the back corner. Blake stood as I approached, his eyes following my every move.

  “Hey, you,” he said softly, the teasing tone of our text exchange no longer present.

  “Hey,” I replied, staring up into a face that I knew better than my own.

  Even before his hand slid into mine, my heart fluttered in my chest. Thrill uncoiled in my stomach as Blake leaned in and brushed his lips across my cheek.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered into my ear.

  As always, the moment of intimacy was not enough. I wanted more. I wanted to feel his arms around my waist, to feel his heartbeat beneath my palm, to feel his mouth on mine. But that much physical contact in public was reckless. Even the cheek kiss—hell, just being there with him—was a risk.

  What if someone sees us? What if someone tells my parents?

  “That’s how I greet everyone,” Blake joked, correctly guessing my sudden mood change. He tucked a piece of golden hair behind my ear. “We’re good here, Lark,” he promised, all traces of humor gone.

  “I know.” My smile dimmed a little, but I wasn’t going to let worry ruin our date.

  Blake tugged my hand gently and drew me down onto the small sofa, but released his hold once we were seated.

  “How was school?” he asked, angling his body to face me. The question was benign, and the answer didn’t really matter. The way Blake looked at me, as though he could see past the contacts and deep into my soul—that was all that mattered. It was what I lived for.

  When I shrugged, our shoulders brushed. Another jolt of longing coursed through me. I wanted to burrow into his side and feel the warmth of Blake against me. Just his proximity sent all thoughts of decorum flying out the window, though I resisted.

  “Not bad,” I replied, focusing on his bright green eyes. “How was your day?”

  “Soccer practice was rough. Coach made us run two miles at the beginning and suicides at the end. And I’m pretty sure I bombed my practice AP chemistry exam.” He leaned in closer. “But everything is better now that you’re here.”

  A silly grin curled my lips sky-high. It was a ridiculous schoolgirl reaction to the pretty words of a charming boy. I should’ve been embarrassed. I wasn’t. With Blake, I could be myself. The real me, sans pretense. And the real me was just a girl excited to spend an afternoon with her boyfriend.

  Blake ran a finger down my face, and for a second I thought he might give me a real kiss.

  “How are my two favorite customers?” a voice said, interrupting the moment.

  I smiled up at our waitress, both disappointed and relieved by her timing. “Hi, Shirley! Love the new haircut.”

  Shirley patted her freshly shorn and colored pixie hairdo and beamed. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re too kind.”

  “You look like a million bucks,” I replied.

  The waitress hesitated. “I feel like a million bucks. Someone left a gift card for Creations as a tip, and I used it today. Talk
about a fancy salon—they serve champagne and finger sandwiches.” She glanced down guiltily, as though ashamed for indulging. “I’m still not sure they meant to leave the gift card for me.”

  “I’m sure they did,” I assured her. “Sometimes you just need to treat yourself, and you deserve a little pampering.”

  It was true. Shirley was probably close to seventy and still hustling around, fetching over-priced coffee and sandwiches for the over-privileged.

  Shirley’s face turned the same shade of red as her hair. “Enough about me. What can I get for you? The usual?”

  “Something warm and delicious?” I asked hopefully.

  She nodded slowly. “I know just the drink.” Shirley turned to Blake. “And for you?”

  “I’m going to be boring. A cup of mint tea would be great.”

  “One tasty surprise and a cup of mint tea,” Shirley repeated. “Coming right up.”

  “Thank you,” Blake and I chorused as she retreated to the coffee bar.

  For a long moment, we sat in comfortable silence. Blake rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb, slow steady strokes that eased the tension in my body. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I let my head fall to his shoulder.

  “Why didn’t you tell Shirley you left the gift card?” he asked finally. “At least she wouldn’t worry that it was meant for someone else.”

  I looked down, but Blake placed two fingers under my chin, gently forcing me to sit up and meet his gaze. “It was a nice gesture. I’m sure she’d like to thank you,” he said softly.

  “I don’t know. I guess…I just don’t want her to feel like she owes me.” I shrugged. “It’s better this way.”

  Blake shook his head, a smile on his lips. “You can’t be everyone’s guardian angel, Lark.”

  Rolling my eyes, I scoffed. “I’m hardly an angel.” My thoughts continued, but I hesitated to verbalize them.

  Blake will understand, I promised myself.

  Before I made the decision, he drew me to his side. “I get it, Lark,” he murmured into my hair. “Life isn’t fair. Most people don’t have the luxury of our lives.” Blake squeezed, pulling me even closer. “Random acts of kindness go a long way, though. You’re a solid squeeze.”