by Sara Hubbard
“Well, as long as you’re okay,” Mom says. “Should I take you to the doctor? What if it’s fractured?”
“I’m pretty sure I’d have more signs than a scratched cheek and bruising if it was broken.”
“If you’re sure.”
Amanda groans. “Stop fawning over her. She said she’s fine. You know she’s always hurting herself.”
Mom holds up her hands. “All right. All right. I’ll drop it.” Her eyes flicker to Ozzie. “So who’s your friend?” she says quickly.
My babcia and Amanda stare him down.
“He’s leaving.”
Ozzie chuckles as he tries to move around them, but Mom is planted in the doorway. She holds out her hand and Ozzie takes it. Mom holds up her other hand and nonchalantly covers the side of her mouth so he can’t see her speak. “Firm handshake.” She doesn’t whisper or mouth her words.
“He can hear you,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Of course, he can,” Mom says.
“I’m Ozzie,” he says, and Mom shakes his hand a little too long. She studies him, all of him. I want to die.
“Marlene, Charlie’s mother. And this is Charlie’s babcia, Mila, and Charlie’s sister, Amanda.” Amanda forces an insincere smile while Babcia gives him the stink eye. He tips his head to both of them. “Nice to meet you.”
My grandmother surprises me. “Good for you. He’s big. Strong. I like him.”
God help me.
“This one-time thing?” she adds, her accent thick.
Ozzie purses his lips, fighting laughter. “I hope not.” He flashes a wink in my direction, earning me a groan from my sister.
“That’s enough, Mom,” my mother says. “No need to make him uncomfortable.”
She’s one to talk.
“Well, I hope we see you again,” Mom says. “Maybe at your sister’s engagement party next weekend?” She looks in my direction and then so does everyone else, including Ozzie.
“Is that an invitation?” Ozzie asks her.
“It certainly is.”
“Mom!” I say. I don’t want him to come because he feels forced. And chances are good I’ll have screwed things up by then. My story is set to come out the day before.
“Well, that’s great,” Mom says. “I’d arranged for Jonathan Mayberry to take you so I’ll tell him that there’s a change of plans.”
Grandma rolls her eyes, feigns snoring. “I no like.”
“Jonathan Mayberry?” Ozzie asks. All teasing aside, he seems curious and maybe a little confused.
“There’s nothing between us. Remember I told you Mom likes to play matchmaker?”
“Right,” he says. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. But you can tell Jonathan she’s taken now.” He winks at my mother, and I swear to God she swoons. Lets out a giggle and fans herself. I am definitely going to die.
Emily raises her eyebrows, and I shrug.
“How long have you two been together?” Amanda asks, her resting-bitch face showing.
“Guys, you're overwhelming him.” I move forward, wrap my hands around his arms, and push him out of the room. With Mom, Amanda, Babcia, and Emily inside, I shut the door behind us. When I turn, all I can do is shake my head. “I'm. So. Sorry.”
With a single finger, he tips my head up to force me to look into his eyes. “I’ll see you later.”
I nod, my mouth dry and begging to be kissed, but instead he strokes my cheek and backs away. After a few feet, he turns and disappears down the hall. I heave a sigh as I digest everything that’s happened. I was so focused and now I’m confused. Not about him—surprisingly. About everything except him. This isn’t like me. For a moment, I don’t recognize myself, and this should scare me, but I feel a weird sense of peace, a warmth in my chest that bubbles over to the rest of my body. I’m relaxed, even when faced with what awaits behind my bedroom door.
Inside, Amanda is scrolling through something on her phone. Mom sits on my bed, beaming. Babcia is sitting to her left, looking bored. Emily collects the rest of her laundry that's fallen into her closet. Embarrassed by our room, I suppose Em's trying to make her side look a lot less chaotic. Like my mother would care. Amanda, sure, but not Mom. And Babcia, who the hell knows what she’s thinking. She surprises me still, after all my nineteen years, usually in a good way, though. She keeps me on my toes.
Mom’s hands go to her mouth, and she lets out a quiet squeal. Amanda rolls her eyes.
“How have we never heard of this guy before?” Amanda asks, suspicious.
“It’s new.” I take a seat beside Mom, and the mattress depresses from the added weight. She wraps an arm around me before squeezing me in tight against her.
“I like him,” Mom says. “Handsome, charming…tall…dark…please tell me you like him. You’re not going to pick him apart and forget about him, are you?”
“Why would you think I’d do that?”
“Oh, please, Charlie. Ever since you lost the weight, you've brushed off every guy that shows an interest in you.” Amanda rolls her eyes at me and goes back to using her phone.
“What guys? Please tell me, because I must have missed every one of them.”
Mom waves off Amanda. “Don’t be negative.”
“No, really. What’s she talking about?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
Mom sighs. “Nothing. Just the boys I’ve tried to set you up with.”
“Mom, one was my second cousin.”
Emily tries to pretend like she’s not listening but she straightens with Mom’s last comment, a couple of dirty socks hanging from her fists. “Is that legal?”
I shrug. “Legal or not, I'm not interested in dating family.”
“He was a step cousin. Not a blood relative,” Mom says.
“I’ve been too focused on school and my future to ever consider the distraction that comes with dating.”
“Until now…” Amanda says, her tone a tad snide.
Why can’t she ever be nice? I take the high road after sucking back a deep breath. We never used to act this way toward each other. I can’t pinpoint the moment things changed. We were friends, playing in the backyard and at the park nearby, and then the next minute she was taking shots at me, first in private, and then in front of everyone else.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I grab my day-timer from the drawer in my desk and flip through it. There is nothing here about them coming today. “I didn't think I'd see you again until next weekend.”
“Your sister was concerned you might not have anything to wear, so we thought we’d come down and help you find a dress.”
Emily stops folding some sweaters and meets my eyes. She glares at my sister and turns her back to all of us. She’s probably fuming. Begging me to say something, to stand up to my sister, but I don't. I never do.
“Mom, I wish you’d called.”
“Obviously,” Amanda says with a chuckle.
“I’m sorry, but your sister woke up this morning and decided we had to do it this morning. I called your cell, but it went straight to voicemail. What’s a mother to do?”
Stop enabling her step-daughter? “It’s fine.” It’s not. “But I feel bad you’ve come here for nothing. I was just going to wear the flowery summer dress I wore to graduation.”
Amanda tuts at me as she lowers her phone. “Not a chance. You’re going to be in my wedding party, and I'd like photos taken at the dinner to accompany the engagement announcement going in the paper.”
Emily picks up her school bag and drops it on the floor on purpose. The loud bang distracts Amanda and keeps her quiet long enough for me to get a word in.
“Emily, I'm wearing the dress. Besides, as much as I love that you guys came here to see me”—not really—“I have something I need to do this morning.”
“What is it, dear?” Mom frowns, touches her hand to my shoulder and rubs it gently. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, not wrong.” A lie. “I just have to meet with a profes
sor.”
“Is there a problem with one of your courses?”
“Stop giving her the third degree,” Amanda says, jumping in. “We’ll just have to pick one out for her.”
I sigh before forcing a smile. “Sure. Whatever.” I agree just to please her and get her out of here. I’d love to spend time with Mom and Babcia today, but I don’t have the patience for my sister. She has taste; I know she’ll pick something nice, and I'd rather make her happy than deal with the drama that invariably follows if I tell her I will wear what I want.
“Well, we came all this way…” Mom says.
I shake my head, smiling. “Mom, you and I both know there aren't any decent dress stores in Hebbville. Amanda would have to come here regardless, and she'd probably rather pick out the dress herself than accept my input.”
“There, Mom,” Amanda says.
I hate that she calls her Mom. She has her own. Sometimes I think she does it because she knows it bothers me.
“We can go, and we should,” she continues. “We don't have a lot of time. I have to be back home before three for a conference call with work.”
Grandma makes a face at my step-sister. She mutters something under her breath. God, I love this woman.
“Well, I suppose if you can't come…” Mom says.
I kiss Mom and Babcia goodbye while Amanda leaves the room. She waits for them in the hallway while texting on her phone. I wave at her. “So nice to see you!”
She turns her back to me. I want to throw my pillow at her. Or worse, the paperweight in the shape of a horse that holds up my text books on the top shelf of the desk.
“Just ignore her,” Mom says quietly. “She's been so cranky since she got engaged.”
“I can hear you,” Amanda says.
“Eat a dick,” Emily says in a sing-song voice so Amanda can hear her, too. Mom shakes her head at Emily, but she fights a smile.
“Heard that, too!”
They leave a few minutes later, and when the door is firmly shut, I listen to Emily while I brush the knots out of my hair and get changed. She’s so torn between bitching about my sister and talking about Ozzie that it's almost comical how quickly she changes back and forth between topics.
“I hate that bitch.” Emily rings her hands at chest level. “If your mom and grandma hadn't been here…” She glowers in my direction, but then her lips lift from a tight line. “But holy shit, Ozzie spent the night! I mean, what?” She slaps at the air, making groaning noises. “Please tell me you slept with him.” She frowns. “And what the fuck is with you? You need to tell your sister to fuck off once and for all.”
“I don't know what to respond to first.”
I pause brushing my hair, and she grips my arm, pulling me forward to sit next to her on her bed. “Fuck your sister. Tell me about Ozzie, because no matter what I say, you’re never going to stand up to that bitch.”
“Nothing happened.”
She tips her head to the side and raises her brows, looking incredulous.
“I’m being honest! Nothing happened. I mean, we kissed, and it was amazing, but that was it. We just talked and fell asleep beside each other.”
“Oh, my God. That’s so cute. I’m going to throw up now.” She makes retching noises.
I elbow her. “It was nice. He was a complete gentleman.”
“Are you together?”
I shrug. “I don't know. We didn't talk about that. I mean, he definitely seems to like me.”
“And you?”
“Of course, I like him. What's not to like? He doesn’t exactly fit in with my plan, though. He’s a distraction from school, and I can’t be with him and do the story I’m supposed to do. Liking him is beyond inconvenient. Just when I’d finally got through to Jack, Ozzie takes me by complete surprise and threatens to ruin everything.”
She laughs and wraps an arm around me. “You can’t pick who you like or how much you like them. I’ve never known you to change your plans for a guy. Come to think of it, I’ve never known you to really like a guy, period. If you have feelings for this guy, you need to see where it goes.” She rubs my shoulder and looks at me expectantly. “So what are you going to do?”
“I can't be with him and do the story. It’s wrong and it’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to.”
“You’re giving up on this? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? It’s not like you to budge for anyone or anything, least of all for a guy.”
“I’m not giving up what I want. I’m going to do an amazing story, and I’m going to get a spot on the paper. I’ll just have to convince Jack that there’s another story here. A better one.”
“If anyone can do that, it’s you.”
I place my hand on top of hers and squeeze. “Thanks, buddy. You’re always there for me. No matter what.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
She pulls me into a hug, and when I let go of a deep breath, my entire body sighs and the tension in my body fades for a moment. After I let her go, I scoot off the bed, looking for my shoes that I left at the bottom corner of my bed. Where I always leave them. Somehow, they got kicked under the bed, so I get on my hands and knees to grab them. When I stand back up and slide into them, I say, “What’s Ozzie going to say when I tell him the truth?”
Emily holds up her hands. “Pump the brakes. You want to ditch the story, fine. But why tell him? Brad told me that this guy doesn’t give people second chances. If he finds out you lied…”
“I already tried to tell him. He asked me if it would stop him from wanting to get to know me and I told him it would, so…he told me not to tell him. But when he wants to know, I’m going to tell him everything.”
She groans at me. “Telling him is about you, not him. To ease your conscience. Just let it go. Trust me. It won’t make anything better. It will only wreck things.”
I drop my head to my hands and shake it. When I look back up, Emily is grimacing.
She stands and takes my hands in hers. “It’ll be ok. I promise.”
But we both know this is one promise she can’t make.
Chapter Eight
Jack Douglas' office door is shut. I knock three times and take a step back. I wait a full minute without a reply. To the left of his door is a simple, dark-stained bench that matches the wood on the bottom half of the hallway walls. I lower myself and lean back to rest my back against the wall. Students walk past me, talking and laughing. The floor vibrates a touch from their movements. Each of their voices blend into indecipherable noise.
I give Jack ten minutes and then another ten. I have another class in forty minutes and will wait the entire time if I need to. But I don’t. Through the busy crowd, I see his messy hair sticking up above two girls who can’t be taller than five feet. He wears the same jacket he always wears, the one with the patches on the elbows. I stand and smile, and when he sees me, his hurried pace slows to a stroll. Even from twenty feet away, I see him roll his eyes. Part of me once thought he enjoyed seeing me—at least a little bit. Because he never tried to avoid me. I always found him each week in his office, though he surely knew I was coming. Maybe not at first, but after six months, I’m sure he considered my visits a forgone conclusion.
He gives me a curt nod when he’s a few feet away and turns to his door to fiddle with the lock. “Damn these old locks.” The brass knob and lock looks original, and the key is larger than most you’d see in modern houses. It’s a tarnished brown, much like the lock. “I thought I wouldn’t see you until next Wednesday,” he says with a sigh.
“Well, I didn't expect to see you this soon either.”
“You’ve given up!”
Don’t sound so excited. Jeez.
The key in the lock clicks, and he turns the knob and pushes it open. I file in after him, though he doesn’t explicitly invite me in. He hangs up his jacket while I wait between the two chairs opposite his desk.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Morrison?”
“Well, I wanted to ask…are you sure…I mean…is Ozzie…I mean, is Clayton Ozmore really someone interesting enough to warrant an article in the paper?” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth.
He studies me with more scrutiny than my sister did when I tried on bridesmaid’s dresses. I roll my shoulders and keep my head up like my dad always told me. Never show fear. Confidence. Always. It will inspire others to have confidence in you.
“Sit down, Charlotte.”
“Yes, sir.” I sit up straight, refuse to lean back, and sink into the plush seat and backing on the chair. Full attention.
He leans back in his, though. His gaze is intense. Piercing. “What have you found so far?”
I grab my day-timer. All the notes I took from last night are now included. Not because I’m still considering this story, but because going over the total of them might help inspire another idea, one that Ozzie might be okay with. I’m not keeping my fingers crossed, though.
“Not a lot. He went to Blandford Prep, but I couldn’t find anything about his family, though he hinted that both of his parents are deceased. He grew up in Meadowville—or that’s where he claims to be from. He told me his mother was a nurse, but I haven’t followed up on that yet. He was benched for some reason, but no one seems to know what that something is.”
“That’s it?”
I click, click, click my pen. “So far.”
“I see. So, have you talked to him directly yet?”
“I have.”
“And? What is your impression of him?”
I bite my lip a moment, careful to keep anything I feel for him to myself. I want to appear professional and objective, but it’s hard. I’m not used to crushing on anyone, and I have to admit that’s where I’m at with him after last night.
“I think he’s a nice guy. Really easy to talk to. Maybe a lot more thoughtful and introspective than people would think.”
“He didn't run you off?”
I shake my head. “No. He's a really nice, genuine person.”
