by Evans, Katy
Maybe we can’t. Part of me thinks that we can do everything in our power, but if we aren’t working together, it won’t be enough.
But I’m done.
If she’s happy in her lily-white prison and she don’t want to face facts, there ain’t nothing I can do.
Still, every once in a while I’ll catch a glimpse of her, and I’ll think, Hell, it’s such a damn shame.
She’s beautiful and has no idea how beautiful she is. She closes herself off to the rest of the world because she thinks the only thing she has to offer is that big brain of hers. She has absolutely no confidence in herself otherwise. I don’t know why she feels that way, but I see those cracks. Every so often, I’ll see that person she’s trying so hard to hide, the hot, sweet, sexy Penny she’s keeping underneath . . . if only she’d pry that fucking stick out of her butt. Trapped in a fucking cage she doesn’t want to leave.
She pulls her coat around her body, zips it up to her chin, and looks down at the frothing black water. She’s wearing these orange rubber waders, and she still makes my cock twitch. I think about that night, lying next to her in bed, how much I wanted to touch her, to strip her bare, to claim her mouth and the rest of her body. How can she possibly think that she doesn’t make men hot?
“This is your thing, right?” I say to her as Will Wang strolls by in his parka and earmuffs. “’Cause you grew up around here?”
She pushes up her glasses and gives me a look that screams Get away. “No.”
The fishing boat coasts up to the pier, full of grizzled old guys who look like they’ve lived their entire lives on the sea. Will Wang says, “These men are going to give you a little lesson on pulling in lobster traps. Then you’ll have to pull in one hundred lobsters. If you catch a rare blue lobster, you’ll get a special reward at the end of the day when you arrive at your next outpost. Ready?”
I climb onto the boat, offer her my hand. She doesn’t take it.
She spends most of the time talking to the lobstermen, learning what needs to be done. So, ignoring me. The wind whistles through our ears, and the fog is so thick it settles between us as I’m working the left side of the boat and she’s working the right. I don’t see her as we start pulling in the traps. All I hear is the lobstermen calling: “Three here.” “Six.”
They’re counting up to one hundred, but I’m keeping score.
I want to get more than she does.
I don’t know what proving I can bring in more lobsters even means. But I get it in my head that if I do, things between us might change. She might actually think I’m worthy of talking to. Or maybe, just maybe, she might be so excited by me that she’ll jump into my arms and kiss me again.
Yeah. Snowball’s chance in hell.
We’re neck and neck; I have fifty, and she has forty-eight. I pull in a trap to find it empty, and then I hear her squeal excitedly.
I look over at her trap. She has three.
One of them is blue.
Fuck it. I lost. We’re on the same team, but I feel like I lost.
As we go back to the shore, she’s smiling. It ain’t from anything I did, but still, I’ll take what I can get.
“You did good,” I offer, taking advantage of her rare good mood.
“Thank goodness for Dramamine,” she says, rubbing her gloved hands together. “What do you think the blue lobster will get us?”
I shrug. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and won’t get eliminated.”
She sighs. “You think we’re close?”
We’d shown up to the outpost last night in Lubec, at this bed-and-breakfast, thinking we were at the end of the line. We’d only learned we were still alive when we found out that Cara and Zach hadn’t yet checked in, since they’d missed their flight.
We pull up to the dock and leave the boat. All the other teams must’ve gone out before us, so I’m sure hoping that we can make up some time. As much as she drives me crazy and makes me want to throw up my hands and go back to Atlanta . . . I don’t want to leave the game. As crazy as it is, I don’t even want to leave her. No, I just want to take some time and figure her out.
But time is something we don’t have.
Will is at the end of the pier to hand us our next envelope. She opens it and reads. “Boston. The Freedom Trail. This I know.”
“Does it say what we got to do?”
She shakes her head. “It just says to meet at the head of the Freedom Trail.”
We take a taxi to the airport, where we board a prop plane to Portland, and then we take a train down to Boston. By then, it’s evening.
This is her turf, so she knows just how to get there. We get out of North Station, and she takes off running. I follow behind her, weaving through all the crowds, until we see the platform. Will Wang is already there, waiting. Somehow, no matter how fast we go, he always seems to get there faster.
We come to a stop.
“Welcome, travelers,” Will says. Is it me, or does he not seem as happy as usual? “You’ve arrived at the Freedom Trail in Boston. Unfortunately, you are the last remaining team to arrive.”
Shit. It’s over.
I look at Penny, whose eyes widen. This is it. The end. Now there’s nothing left to go back to in Atlanta, and . . .
And what, exactly?
Fuck. Just then it hits me how much this sucks. How much I’d do anything to stay in the game. I think about all the times we could’ve worked together and cut our time and . . .
FUCK.
“But there is good news,” Will says. “This is a non-elimination round. You two are still in the game. You will start out last tomorrow. But for tonight, you can rest assured that you will be continuing on.”
I stare at him. My mind’s so full of thoughts of my bar and how I’m going to have to sell it that for a minute it doesn’t sink in.
“Not only that, but because you two were the only team to find a rare blue lobster, you two will be treated to a dinner unlike any other, at the world-famous Chart House on the pier. Head on up to your room and get on some clean clothes, because you’re going to have a night to remember in the great city of Boston, with all the lobster you can eat!”
I look at Penny, who looks like she’s going to cry, her lower lip trembling. She grabs my arm, and I pull her into a hug, one she doesn’t seem to want to step away from.
And I fucking breathe it in. She hasn’t touched me in days, so I bask in this rare opportunity. I smooth her hair, dip my head down, and inhale her scent as I take her against my chest and let the calm settle over us.
“I can’t believe it,” she says, looking up at me, and now there are tears in her eyes.
Arms entwined, we grab our bags and start to follow the guide to the hotel, but then Penny suddenly slows to a dead stop. I follow her line of vision. A gray-haired man in a black coat and suit.
“Oh my god.” She swallows and loosens her arm from mine. “One second.”
Then she goes to the man.
He has her eyes. Her chin. And I can tell from the way he’s talking at her, making her shrink smaller and smaller with every passing second. It’s her fucking dad.
She touches his arm tentatively and says something to him, motioning to me.
Will Wang says, “I’m sorry, but speaking with—”
I grab his arm. “Give her a minute.”
I can see his face better than hers because he’s faced my way. It’s red, twisted. I can make out the words. “This is what you’re doing with your life now? Running around with cameras on you? And this loser? What for? Jesus, Penelope, I thought we raised you better than this.”
She shakes her head and whispers something, but I can’t make it out.
He says something to her, something curt, like a warning, and she hangs her head.
Then she nods and goes to give him a hug. But the goddamn bastard just stands there, stiff, with his hands in his pockets. His eyes are on me, cold.
Fuck you too, man.
Then she runs over to me. Wil
l Wang starts to remind her that talking with any family or friends during the game is strictly forbidden, but I move her down the street and into the hotel lobby as fast as I can, so we lose him.
She’s still frowning as we step into the elevator, her brow wrinkled with worry. “I get the feeling he wasn’t here to welcome me to the family.”
She doesn’t even smile.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She’s silent for a long time, watching the numbers above the door climb. Then she nods. “But I’m not in the mood for lobster.”
I shrug. I’ve never had lobster, so I don’t give a shit either way. “That’s all right. If you want to—”
“I’m in the mood to get drunk,” she says, not looking at me. “Are you in?”
I almost choke. I stare at her, wondering if she’s really okay. Either way, there’s no way I can turn down an invitation like that.
“Yeah. I’m in.”
“LOBSTER” REWARD
Nell
Yes. It was a very nice night. We went out for . . . lobster. It was a nice reward.
—Nell’s Confessional, Day 7
My father.
My annoying, absent, never-impressed father actually showed up at the taping of my show.
He treats my mother like crap. He spent eight years ignoring me. Didn’t come to a single one of my graduations because he thinks my degrees are worthless. And yet somehow, when I least want him in my life, he’s there.
It’s just my luck. He works in downtown Boston. I’d thought the town was big enough that I’d safely escape him. Apparently not.
He was so angry. Expecting me to explain myself? I’m an adult! Why should I have to?
I’m still fuming about it when I go to my bag to pull out a fresh change of clothes. Part of me wants to just hide in my bed, but I know that’s what my dad wants. To keep me out of the public eye and not embarrass him.
So I’m going out, hoping I get my plastered face plastered on the front of the damned Boston Globe.
But when I peek into my bag I realize that most of my clothes are not there. Just a bra top, a T-shirt, a bathing suit, and a few pairs of socks. I’d been running short of clean clothes last night, so I’d washed them in the sink and hung them out to dry on the line over the bathtub at the bed-and-breakfast in Maine. But I was so tired . . . did I put them back in?
Oh god.
I left most of my clothes in Maine.
Like I need any more reasons to break down into tears right now.
My father’s made me so furious, though, that it’s spurred me out of my comfort zone. Natalie doesn’t answer her door, so I end up knocking on Ivy’s door. I tell her what happened, and she’s more than accommodating. She gives me a fresh change of clothes and tells me to have fun tonight at my reward dinner.
I shower and put on the clothes. Actually, it’s more like I have to pour myself into the clothes. The jeans are so tight, and the shirt is only half of a shirt—a little tank top with a plunging neckline. I look at myself in the mirror, and . . . Whatever. Maybe I’ll get my boobs plastered on the front of the Boston Globe too.
I stalk out of the bathroom and grab my phone, wallet, and hotel card. “Ready?” I say, not looking at Luke, who’s watching playoff baseball.
He’s silent. That’s when I realize he’s actually looking at me and not the television. His mouth a little open.
“What?” I snap.
“Nothing, just—”
“I left my clothes in Lubec,” I mutter. “These are Ivy’s.”
“Huh. You look . . .”
I cut him off. “Don’t say it.”
He holds up his hands in surrender but doesn’t avert his gaze from my cleavage. Feeling naked, I pull the shirt up to cover myself a little better. Not that it helps much. I throw on my jacket. He follows me out onto Charles Street, and I look up and down the road. “Where to?” he says.
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve gone out to . . . you know, before.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never gotten shitfaced before?”
I shake my head.
“Well. I live to be shitfaced. So . . .” He looks up and down. “Let’s go.”
I follow after him. “Where are we going?”
He shrugs and points behind him. “Somewhere without them.”
I look over my shoulder and realize there are cameras following us, though on the other side of the street. He picks up the pace and grabs my arm suddenly and pulls me into an alley. “You seem to be awfully good at evading people,” I note.
“Yeah. Well.”
He doesn’t say more. But funny, even if he is a thug, even if he’s stolen from half the people in Atlanta, I still feel safe with him.
After we leave the alley, I don’t know where we go—a bunch of rights and lefts—but eventually we look behind us and the cameras are gone. Straight ahead there’s a tequila bar I’ve never seen before.
We go inside. It’s a crowded, dark hole-in-the-wall. My pulse skitters as we sit at a long bar. “Is this like your bar? Back home?”
He smirks. “Shit, girl, this is the Ritz compared to my place. My bar’s a dump. Tim’s used to be a nice place when my grandparents were running it. But it’s falling to shit now.” He drums his fingers on the bar. “What’ll it be?”
“Oh.” I study all the liquor bottles, confused. “Margarita?”
“I thought you wanted to get shitfaced? None of the fruity shit.”
“Then what?”
“Cuervo,” he says. “Two.”
The bartender pours two shot glasses for us. I lift it and stare at the amber liquid. I stick my tongue out to taste it as he watches me, a small, amused smile on his face.
“You ever do a shot?” he asks.
“No. Is it hard?”
He shakes his head, scans down the bar, and finds a couple of lime wedges and salt. “So just do what I do. Lick, sip, suck.”
He licks his hand below his index finger, pours the salt there, and lets me do the same. Then he licks his hand, lifts the glass, drains it easily, and stuffs the lime wedge into his mouth. “Now you.”
I lick the salt, but the liquid burns my tongue the second it touches, and it keeps burning all the way down. Somehow I manage to get it down, tears pouring down my face. He quickly hands me the lime, and I suck, feeling like I’m going to gag because my throat is on fire. “Oh god,” I choke out when I catch my breath.
“Bad?”
“No. Different.”
“Okay. You need to pace yourself. One is probably enough for you if you’ve never—”
I slam my fist down on the bar. “Bartender! Another round.”
Luke stares at me. “Hey. Wait.”
The bartender pauses, but I urge him on. “I don’t want to wait.”
The bartender pours the drink, and I hold it in my fist, feeling brazen now. “Why’s your place not doing so well now, you think?”
He lifts the shot glass, contemplating that. “Part of it’s that my grandfather mortgaged the place to the hilt and didn’t tell anyone until the banks came knocking down my door six months ago. But a bigger part of it is that I’m just a shitty manager, probably. I was a high school dropout. Lots of shit goes right over my head. Even with my granddad’s help, I don’t know much of nothing.”
Oh, gosh. He’s so wrong. I rush to correct him on that.
“That’s not true. A lot of what I learned in school is knowledge that’ll never have any practical application outside the classroom. I think you have something better. You understand how things in the world work. You know how to talk to people. To make people like you. What do I have? A title and a bunch of worthless degrees. I’m not equipped to handle anything outside the walls of my university.”
I motion for more lime wedges.
He gets them without removing his gaze from me. I can tell he’s trying to figure me out. “This has to do with your old man, huh?”
I nod. I lick, sip, and suc
k. This time it doesn’t burn nearly as much as it did the first time.
I motion for another.
“Hey. Doctor. I don’t want you leaving here on a stretcher,” he says, downing his drink without the lime this time. “What’s the deal?”
“Oh, nothing. Same old thing. Haven’t seen him in years, and is he happy to run into me? No, he accuses me of wasting my life. He tells me someone needs to talk some sense into me before I embarrass him. Can you believe that? I’m embarrassing him. Like he isn’t doing that enough on his own, cavorting around with his secretary, a woman five years older than I am. He basically told me to get a real job and stop acting like a child.”
“Yeah? I hope you told him to fuck himself.”
“Not in those exact words. I told him that I don’t care what he thinks. That it’s my life, and if he doesn’t like it, there’s nothing he can do.”
The bartender fills our glasses again. I’m feeling a little tingly, like I could tell my dad and Gerald and whoever else to go to hell.
“Fuck, girl. That’s hardcore.”
“I had to. I wish he would just be proud of me for once, but that’s obviously never going to happen.”
There’s a new kind of appreciation in his eyes. “He should be. What I’m saying is that you’ve got balls. You come across as this mild-mannered little church mouse, but damn, you know what you want. And you go after it. And fuck your dad if he don’t see that as a good thing.”
I smile. I think I kind of love Luke Cross right now.
“He makes everything I do seem like a failure. All I’ve ever done is try to impress him, but it never works. And now I’m too scared to step out and leave school because I’m afraid I’m going to fail. Because in his eyes, I always fail. Always. So it’s the only thing I can do.”
“Some people you can’t impress, no matter what you do.”
He’s trying to make me feel better. I admire that. “Really, what do you know about that? You impress everyone.”
He laughs. “Not your dad.”
I cringe. Did he hear the awful things my dad said about him?
“That’s the thing! He doesn’t even know you! He wants me to marry up. Marry a guy like him who treats his wife like crap? No thanks,” I say miserably. “I’ve been thinking about it. And you’re right. I am frigid. And Gerald is an asshole. You know, I dated him for six months, and five months into it I gave in and gave him my virginity. Because I was saving myself for real love, and I really did think that I loved him and he loved me. But I always felt like I was doing something wrong. ‘Move that way.’ ‘Not there.’ ‘Do it this way.’ All sex ever was was him barking orders at me. Of course I felt like I was doing something wrong. Everyone in my life except my best friend is constantly telling me what a screwup I am.”
