by Paula Stokes
Ebony peeks her head into the office. “I made you a prep list.”
“Thanks.” I snatch the list from her tattooed fingers. There are only four things on it.
Brownies
Midol
Tissues
Ryan Gosling movies
“What the hell is this?”
“You look like you’re about to cry,” she says. “Or punch someone. Or cry while punching someone. I thought maybe you were PMSing.”
“Funny.” I crumple her list into a ball and toss it into the office trash can.
Ebony follows me into the prep area. C-4’s worktable is cluttered with food scraps, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Probably out back having a smoke. “Seriously, what’s going on with you?” She furrows her brow. “Wait. Is this the time your dad—”
“Yeah. Last night.” Ebony was a fan of Hangman’s Joke back when my dad died, and that’s how she knows what’s up. “Amber came over, but I kind of blew her off since I wasn’t in the mood.” I grab a paper towel from the dispenser and start making a real prep list.
“Does she know?”
“I tried to tell her but I couldn’t quite spit it out.” I turn away from Ebony and head into the dairy cooler to get eggs and milk to make quiche custard.
She follows me, propping open the door with her back. “So instead you rejected her and sent her home feeling all undesirable?”
“I don’t think Amber feels undesirable,” I say hotly. “One of the reasons I didn’t tell her is because every time I opened my mouth, she got another text from Nate.”
“Who’s Nate?”
“Their new bassist.”
Ebony shakes her head as if I am being epically stupid. “She’s in a band with all guys, Micah. She’s going to get texts from them.”
“I know,” I mutter. “I just don’t like him.”
We head back into the prep area. C-4 is still missing, and breakfast orders are mounting up on the computer. “I’d better cover for him,” I say, relieved to end the conversation. Setting the milk and eggs to the side, I grab a loaf of bread and start prepping two orders of French toast.
Ebony squints at the screen. “I’ll get that Belgian waffle going.” She sprays the waffle iron with a liberal amount of cooking spray and then pulls a clear plastic container of batter out of a reach-in cooler. “So are you guys cool now?”
“Mostly. But she wants me to go see Arachne’s Revenge play in Chicago next Saturday, and I have to work.”
“So find someone to cover you.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then do something else nice for her.” Ebony ladles batter onto the iron and shuts the lid. “And while you’re at it, tell her if you’re worried about the band coming between you. This is the kind of stuff she’ll want to know.”
I roll my eyes. “So that’s the big secret? Confide in girls? This is what women want?” I dip my slices of bread into a mix of egg and milk and sprinkle them with cinnamon. The flat top sizzles as I lay out the French toast.
Ebony bites on her tongue ring. “That’s the G-rated list, anyway.”
“You’ll have to tell me the R-rated list sometime.” I give her a sideways glance.
Ebony snickers. “It’s $4.99 the first minute and $1.99 each additional minute.” She grins as she slugs me in the arm. Then her smile fades. “Hang in there. I know this time of year is tough for you.”
I flip the French toast over and start working on the next order, a pair of fruit plates. “Trin says pushing Amber away was just this year’s version of me self-destructing. Better than last year, I guess. She actually hid my car keys so I couldn’t go tag something.”
Ebony snickers again. “Sometimes I swear your sister acts more like your mom than your mom does. But you have been known to do exceptionally dumb things when you’re feeling shitty. You’re the only I know who got arrested even younger than I did.”
Before I can reply, Lainey hollers from her spot at the cash register. “Hey, Ebony, I’m getting kind of backed up out here. A little help?”
“I’m covering for C-4 until he gets off break,” Ebony yells back.
“Break?” Lainey’s voice gets shrill. “We’ve only been open for like an hour.”
Ebony makes a face. “Apparently, no one is allowed to take more breaks than she does.”
“It’s cool. I got this if you need to go up front,” I say, plating up the French toast.
C-4 appears from the back, the odor of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. He sees the computer full of orders and yawns, seemingly unconcerned. “Go back to your baking, Mrs. Fields,” he tells me. “The master has arrived.”
Ebony starts to say something, but then stops. “You make it too easy.” She smirks. “I’m off to rescue the princess. Think about what I said.” She gives me a meaningful glance as she turns toward the front.
I grunt in acknowledgment and then start working on the quiche custard, combining the milk and eggs in a mixing bowl and adding half a jar of mayonnaise. First Trinity. Now Ebony. Everyone thinks I’m a screwup. And Ebony was talking about last year, when the cops caught me at the airport. She doesn’t know the first time I got arrested was long before that—five years ago, when I was only twelve.
Chapter 5
April 5, five years ago
The day came at me like a train collision, one you could see approaching for miles but couldn’t do anything about. My dad wasn’t just dead anymore. He’d been dead for an entire year. And my mom had picked today to tell me about her new boyfriend, as if she had suffered through a waiting period for replacing Dad and was relieved that it was finally over.
She stared at herself in the hallway mirror as she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress. “Dave and I won’t be out too late.”
Dave. The guy who lived downstairs and always “accidentally” bumped into Mom and me at the mailboxes. He wore cop sunglasses and called me “buddy.” Probably listened to country music. I did not like Dave.
“I can’t believe you’re going out tonight,” I said. “It’s not right.” I pulled the brim of my Cardinals cap down low over my eyes. I couldn’t even bear to watch my mom fussing over her looks to impress some other guy. Trinity sat next to me on the couch, her pale face impassive and unreadable.
“Dr. Harper would disagree with you,” Mom said.
Our shrink visits had dried up a couple of months ago, insurance covering only enough sessions for Dr. Harper to offer us mood-stabilizing drugs and pamphlets on grief. I had quit taking my meds about two weeks after I started. I figured Trin probably had too.
“The timing is unfortunate, but he has ballet tickets that are only good for tonight,” my mom continued. “I offered to do something as a family, but no one was interested, remember?”
She had a point. I had straight-up refused to go to the cemetery or to go see the remaining members of Dad’s band play without him. Either activity would emphasize just how gone Dad really was. How was that supposed to make me feel better?
Mom’s voice softened. “I don’t want to abandon you two if you want me here. Would you rather I reschedule for a different time?” She ducked into the bathroom. I heard her plug in her hair-straightening thing. Wow, she was really going all out for Dave. Suddenly, I hated him even more.
“I would rather you reschedule for never,” I said.
“Well, this isn’t up to you,” she snapped, returning to the living room. “I’m trying here, Micah, but I’m allowed to have a life. Your father would want me to be happy.”
“He’d want you to have higher standards.”
“You need to watch your tone, young man.” She glared at me. “There’s nothing wrong with Dave.”
“What about that story you used to tell? How you met Dad at a concert when you were only seventeen. How you knew before you graduated that he was your one true love.” My voice was drenched with sarcasm. “Did you tell that story to Dave yet?”
“Can I go to my room?” Trinity’s fac
e was still a stone mask. Even her voice was granite.
“Me too,” I added.
My mom sighed. “Fine. Go. But Micah, are you going to watch your sister or do I need to call a sitter?”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Trinity said. She shuffled off toward her room.
“We’ll be fine,” I added. “Just the two of us.” It was a hurtful thing to say, but Mom was doing hurtful things, so I didn’t care. Besides, she had Dave to console her.
She ducked back into the bathroom, but not before I saw her face crumple. Her voice wavered as it floated through the open door. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait.” I followed Trinity down the hallway, slammed the door to my room behind me, and punched the lock. I didn’t come out until I knew for sure my mom was gone for the evening.
Trinity didn’t come out at all.
I tried to distract myself—I tried music, I tried TV. I even tried to do some homework. But there was no escaping what today was. My whole room was practically a shrine to Dad—his four guitars lined up against the wall and all his old punk CDs still scattered across my dresser. I had other things too, which my mom didn’t know about—notebooks full of guitar tabs I couldn’t begin to play, the newspaper article from the day after he died. One tiny column on page four. That was what my dad’s life was reduced to.
I slipped the thin piece of paper out of a shoebox, but I could read only the headline, “Local Guitarist Killed in Robbery,” before tears blurred my vision. I shoved the box back under my bed, but Dad was still everywhere. The room started to feel like it was running out of air. I had to get out of the house. Flinging open my bedroom door, I hurried down the hallway and knocked on my sister’s door.
She opened it a crack. “Yeah?”
“If I go for a bike ride, will you be okay?”
Trinity lifted her sharp chin and glanced up at me with her big hazel eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“And you won’t tell Mom?”
She shook her head quickly. “Maybe when you get back we can play Flat Cat?”
Flat Cat was this old board game my dad had found at a garage sale. It had this doghouse and you had to roll a die and turn the doghouse so many clicks and occasionally a giant pit bull would come racing out and knock over your game piece. We never had much money for toys and stuff, but Dad was great at finding used games and movies for Trinity and me.
“Yeah, we can definitely do that,” I said.
“Okay. If Mom calls I’ll tell her you’re in the bathroom and then call you on your phone.”
“Thanks, Trin.”
My sister gave me a wan smile and then closed her door.
Grabbing my bike from the storage locker in the basement, I took off down the street, heading for the nearest park. Two girls from school were kicking a soccer ball around. They both looked up at me as I rode past, but neither of them spoke. That was my world since last year. Everyone looked at me but no one said anything. I was surrounded, but alone.
The suburbs of Hazelton where I lived grew dense, the apartment buildings and ranch-style houses with their green lawns giving way to strip malls and brick houses tucked tightly together. The sun had almost completely disappeared, and I realized it had to be after nine o’clock. I didn’t know how long my mom would be on her date, but I figured I still had an hour, at least.
A redbrick house loomed in front of me, its windows boarded over, a notice on bright yellow paper pinned to the door. I hopped off my bike for a closer look.
CONDEMNED, the notice read. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. I can’t remember why I wanted to go inside. I think maybe I just wanted to be alone in my aloneness for once. No one staring. No one judging.
No one pitying.
There were deep gouges in the front door where someone had jimmied the lock. I tried the knob and the door creaked open. Activating the light on my phone, I scanned the room: water-stained walls, threadbare carpet. The living-room floor was dotted with pieces of broken wood and shards of glass. I crept across the carnage into a kitchen where half of the appliances had been ripped out, leaving only a tangle of hoses and wires behind. At the corner of the kitchen, a door hung crooked on its hinges, a set of stairs beyond it.
They led to an unfinished basement littered with broken beer bottles and the remains of a fire, as if someone had squatted there recently. I wasn’t afraid of homeless people, but I wasn’t in a hurry to cross paths with any of them either.
I headed back up the stairs and through the kitchen, pausing in the doorway leading into the living room. I hadn’t seen it when I first entered, but one entire wall was made of mirrored tiles. I reached out to touch them, staring at the way my face distorted in the faint light from my phone. Before I even knew what I was doing, I picked up a piece of broken wood and swung it with all my might at the mirror.
If only we hadn’t stayed for the headlining band.
My reflection shattered into tiny fragments. I swung the board again.
If only there hadn’t been traffic.
And again.
If only I hadn’t been thirsty.
I wound up like a baseball player and took swing after swing at the mirror. Ten times. Twenty times. Each time the warped wood slammed into the glimmering surface, I felt a little better.
Until the cops came bursting through the front door.
At least they didn’t use the handcuffs that time.
Chapter 6
Someone coughs and I jump. I realize I’ve been staring down at this bowl of quiche custard for a very long time.
It’s Lainey. She peeks over my shoulder, the ends of her reddish blonde hair nearly ending up in the bowl. A smile plays at her lips. “You lose a contact in there or something?”
“Sorry. I kind of zoned out for a second.”
She leans in close to me, so close I can see the freckles hiding under her makeup. “Are you high? Your eyes are red.”
I step back. “No, I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep. I—”
Lainey cuts me off with a flick of her wrist. “Save it, Stoner Boy.” Her smile widens. “I don’t need an alibi. Just need another pan of Caribou Cookies for up front.” She rests her elbows on the prep table and leans back while she waits for me, managing to show every millimeter of PG-rated skin possible.
“One second.” I slide into the cooler where we keep the extra cookies and return with a tray of painted sugar cookies shaped like little caribou. The whole coffee shop is done in an Alaskan theme. Besides the cookies, which are our most popular item, we sell things like Death-by-Chocolate-Moose Brownies, Alpine Slammer Sandwiches, etc.
Lainey takes the tray out of my hand, spins around, and heads for the front. Halfway through the prep kitchen, the toe of her left sandal hits a crack in the floor and she almost drops the entire pan of cookies.
“Way to go,” I say, the beginnings of a smile forming on my face for the first time today. “I thought jocks were supposed to be coordinated.”
“Whatever, Two-Hour Quiche Custard,” Lainey retorts. She glances back at me before she turns the corner. “Better hope I don’t drop them or your prep list just got longer.”
My eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She smiles impishly, and for a second I see a flash of the girl I used to know. The girl she used to be back before life changed both of us.
A few hours later, my shift is over and I’m waiting in line behind Lainey at the time clock. I pull out my phone and start to text Amber. Then I change my mind and decide to call her. As the phone rings in my ear, Lainey flips her hair back over her shoulders and strides off in her insanely tall sandals. I think about her almost dropping a whole tray of cookies and laugh under my breath.
Amber picks up on the fourth ring. I can hear Eli playing drums in the background.
“Sorry,” I yell into the phone as I punch my employee number into the computer. “I forgot you were practicing all day.”
There’s
thumping and then the squeak of a door and then, thankfully, silence. “It’s okay,” she says. “I can talk.”
“Look, I was really out of it last night.” I head for Denali’s exit. “Obviously, since I didn’t invite you to come in.”
“So come to Chicago,” Amber pleads. “We can have a whole night alone together—no sisters, no sneaking around.” She pauses. “And it would help to have you there. This is all kind of scary for me.”
“You? Scared? You just got back from recording an actual album. You’re legit now.”
“Maybe.” She pauses. “But it’s easier to do studio stuff. Onstage there’s no redos, and this is our first show since we got the deal.”
“I’ll try to find someone to work for me.” I pause as a convertible Mustang backs out of a nearby spot and almost clips me. It’s Lainey and her boyfriend. Figures. I don’t really know him, but he seems oblivious most of the time. I resist the urge to give him the finger as he drives by. “But what about before then?” I ask Amber. “Your parents probably still don’t let you go out during the week, huh?”
“No. They’re demanding even more family time than usual since they know I’m going to be touring soon.” She sighs. “But tonight could work if you want to come by. Janne wanted us to work on a couple of songs, but we’re sounding pretty good. We should wrap things up by six.”
“Cool.” Hanging out with Amber at her parents’ house probably won’t mean much quality alone-time, but at least I’ll get to see her and make up for last night. “Don’t eat, okay? I can stop by Sub Station on the way to your house.”
“Ooh, delish!” She pauses. “Will you bring me one of those chocolate chunk cookies they sell? Janne was like the Diet Police in Cali and I am dying for chocolate.”
