by Katie French
Dad turned away from the window. “Mercedes asked me to convince you to go, you know.”
“She does that every year. And every year, she fails. You know, I think it’s more about the failure than actually wanting me to go. That girl cannot stand to lose.” I finished my coffee, heading over to pour a new cup for the road. “Besides, I have to study for a couple of quizzes, and it’s not like there won’t be another party next summer. They’ve only had one for the last gazillion years.”
“I know how you feel about it, but I really think you should join your friends. Just this once.”
I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
He smiled, and I took that as my cue to run upstairs to my room and get my backpack.
Our small bungalow had two bedrooms. Mine was the biggest. When Mom died, Dad refused to sleep in the larger upstairs bedroom, the one they’d shared for all those years. After I’d spent a few years sleeping in bed with Dad, which was a fact I might commit murder to keep secret, I’d moved into the attic bedroom. Now it was my leaky, drafty sanctuary.
The stairs led up into the center of my room, displaying everything in its messy glory. It was double the size of the bedroom downstairs. I had a lot of space, but I also had a lot of stuff. And since the peaked roof made half the floor plan too low to stand in, there were lots of areas I couldn’t fully utilize.
My old bureau took up one wall, piled with clothes. My great aunt’s old desk was cluttered by books of all shapes and colors. There were two seventies-type bean bag chairs near a wicker table and Mom’s old lava lamp. Rag rugs and scraps of carpet covered the drafty wooden floors, making it look like Mary Poppin’s carpet bag had thrown up. I loved it.
I ran into the closet and grabbed a light hoodie for class since Mrs. Gable liked to keep the lab like a meat locker. On my way out, something I should have ignored caught my attention. I shifted my eyes in its direction, trying to pretend it wasn’t calling my name. It was always the same around this time of the year. Too many closed doors opened in my brain.
My eyes swept over the nightstand beside the bed. Beneath the stacks of magazines, mail, and random earrings was the hand-carved wooden box. My mother’s jewelry box.
Unable to fight the urge, I sidled up to the nightstand and dusted the lid. My fingers tingled with the desire to open it and uncover its forbidden treasure. I almost gave in, but I’d promised Dad to leave this part of Mom in the past. I had yet to disappoint him, so I grabbed my backpack, and headed out.
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table with his second cup of coffee, staring at the wall as if he were a thousand miles away.
I stopped, a hand on the doorknob, and said, “Don’t forget about Fernando.”
Dad blinked at me as if I’d turned into an alien. “Fernando?”
I pointed toward the caged gull.
Dad raised an eyebrow. “It could be a Fernanda, you know. Besides, that’s a terrible name for a seagull.”
“Don’t worry. He likes it.” I winked at him and left.
Outside, the breeze coming from the lake ruffled my hair. The surface of the water was as deep blue and tranquil as ever, like there’d never been a storm last night.
A memory flashed before my eyes: a large shape rising from the surf, backlit by rumbling clouds. I shook my head and got in my car. With the commemoration party and the bonfire tonight, all everyone talked about were dragons. The old stories were hauled from the attic, dusted off, and repeated ad nauseam. So I wasn’t to blame for all the dragon crap resurfacing from my memories.
It took two tries, but my old Mustang came to life with a roar. One day, when I had more than two cents to rub together, I would get it restored like brand new. I planned to keep it for life. It’d been Mom’s, after all.
At school, I parked in my usual spot, then jogged to the front door. Mercedes was waiting for me, her beautifully styled braids hanging on either side of her face as she thumbed through her phone. She sensed me coming and glanced up. A large smile stretched her lips.
I’d always thought she resembled a young Kerry Washington with warm brown skin, big dark eyes, and that look in her eyes like she could take on anyone and come out on top. Her fashion sense was way better than mine. Nearly every day, she sported cute tops, matching bracelets, and designer jeans. Today, she had on a flowery skirt and a form-fitting tee with ballet flats to match.
“Thanks for siccing Dad on me again,” I grumbled. “That’s exactly what I need, more parental involvement.” I rolled my eyes for effect, but it didn’t faze her in the slightest.
“You need some involvement if you think missing the biggest party of the year is a good idea. And did it work? Are you coming?”
I shrugged and walked past her and through the front door. “Told him I’d think about it.”
It was Mercedes’s turn to roll her eyes. “I guess that’s better than a no,” she said, catching up with me.
As we walked toward our lockers, she elbowed me and tipped her chin toward the end of the hall. Tom was leaning against my locker, clearly waiting for me. My face grew hot. Not for the first time, I wished I at least had a tan. I always turned into a tomato when I blushed.
“Go get that fine ass boy. And do not mess this up.” Mercedes veered toward her locker.
“Wait. Don’t leave me.” I grabbed for her, but she darted out of reach.
Crap. Heart fluttering beneath my ribs, I took shy steps toward my own locker. Tom Palmer, the Tom Palmer, had finally decided to notice me in the last couple of months, and my normal confidence had shriveled into a raisin.
“Your locker has a distinct odor to it.” He turned and gave it a sniff. “I’m getting hints of gym sneaker, paired with old lunch. Am I close?” Big blue eyes peered down at me, twinkling with amusement.
I leaned in for a sniff, bringing me very close to his body. His cologne made my butterflies do swan dives. “I think it’s actually gym sock and leftover lab equipment, but you are close.” I fiddled with the combination to give my nervous hands something to do.
He moved out of the way. “So…” He let the word hang.
My locker door was warm to the touch. How long had he been leaning there, waiting for me? I took a deep breath, trying not to let this go to my head, but that was a mistake since it caused me to inhale more of his cologne. I’d like to have said it smelled of sandalwood and summer breeze, but I had no idea what it was. I just knew it made my head swim. He made my head swim.
“So what?” I finally said, which was clearly what he wanted from me.
“You and me? The bonfire. I’m excellent at sitting on warm sand and drinking out of red Solo cups. I think I’ll major in it at college.” His body exuded the confidence that drove all the girls crazy. He was hot. He knew he was hot, too, and that made every girl want to be with him.
And he was asking me out? Me?
I frowned. “Did Mercedes put you up to this?”
He frowned back, his dark eyebrows scrunching together. As I had many times before, I stared at his brows, wondering why they were nearly black when his hair was strawberry blond. I suspected foul play, and he’d never convince me otherwise.
“What do you mean?” he asked, appearing honestly confused.
“Um, nothing. I… I thought… never mind.” I waved a hand and closed my locker.
“That’s a yes then?” The words hung from his lips.
I stared down at my chem book, thinking of using my quizzes as an excuse.
“I’ll bring coffee. I hear you like it. Solo cups full of it,” Tom said in a singsong tone that made me raise my head.
His expression was so hopeful, so innocent, like he’d never asked a girl out and his heart would break if I said no. Such a lie. He was a player, and everyone knew it. Still, I found myself falling for it. It was Tom, after all. I’d wanted him to ask me out ever since his jaw became angular perfection and a day without a razor gave him a magical, too-sexy-to-ignore stubble.
“Sounds like… fun,” I
said, my mouth running on nothing but secret desires.
Tom smiled and his baby blues sparkled, whipping away the innocence. My stomach fluttered with sudden nerves as I wondered if this was a colossal mistake.
He pushed a strand of hair off my shoulder, gaze flashing to my lips. “Text you later, then.”
I nodded and smiled like an idiot, trying to remember if I’d shaved my legs this morning. He walked away. As he passed by Mercedes—who still stood by her locker pretending to look for something—he gave her a high five.
My jaw dropped. I stomped in her direction.
“What was that?” I demanded, my heart sinking at the thought that Tom hadn’t asked me of his own accord.
Mercedes shook her head. “Whoa. Chill. It’s not what you think. He asked me if you had a date for tonight. I told him you were dedicated to perpetual nunnery and weren’t even planning on going. He bet me he would convince you, and I didn’t mind him trying.” She stuck one shoulder up, offering no apology.
I eyed her suspiciously, but her honest face didn’t lie. “Well, good, because I didn’t want to have to share that picture of you from middle school in your Cartman Halloween costume.”
Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I smiled mischievously. “Wouldn’t I?”
Mercedes wrapped an arm around my shoulder, guiding me toward class like my threat was nothing. She knew me so well.
I leaned my head into her shoulder. “I might not survive until tonight. I’m pretty sure I’m not woman enough to date Tom Palmer.”
“Oh, you’re woman enough.” Mercedes squeezed my arm. “And Tom might find out tonight, if you decide to let him.”
Chapter Three
“Lila, are you listening?”
My head popped up from my desk, a mild panic stirring in my chest. “Yes, Mrs. Hovanik. I’m totally listening.”
Mrs. Hovanik narrowed her eyes, giving me her patent-pending teacher stare. The one that said no way did she buy what I’d just said. “Then, what did you get for the answer to number seven?”
“Number seven?” I stared frantically at the worksheet in front of me.
To be honest, I’d been thinking about the bonfire, not the discussion sheet. Chapters six through eight of Frankenstein had nothing on the fact that Tom Palmer had asked me out. Yep, clichéd as it was, I’d been thinking about Tom. His big blue eyes. The way his dark eyebrows folded down when he was thinking particularly hard about something. And he always seemed to be thinking hard about something.
Tom was the smartest kid in school as far as I could tell. One of those kids who didn’t even need to try. He aced all the tests and flunked all the homework. His C average totally covered up how Tom seemed to know everything. He’d be paying absolutely zero attention in math class until the teacher called on him. Any question, even the hardest ones Mr. Hernandez could throw at him, didn’t stump Tom. He’d answer with a smirk, then lean back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.
But besides his good looks and understated intelligence, I didn’t really know Tom well. There were rumors his parents were strange. His mother was the local vet of a clean, well-run clinic and seemed okay, though not social or friendly. I’d never met Tom’s dad, and no one else seemed to know him, either. There was a rumor he was in banking or stock trading. It had to be big business because how else did they own that giant house on the lake?
The Palmers were private people, Tom included. Even though he’d been enrolled here for the last four years of high school, he didn’t have many friends. He stayed mostly to himself, which drove the girls crazy.
He’d had plenty of girlfriends. They just didn’t last. A week or two and his latest fling would be sobbing in the bathroom while her friends tried to tell her what a jerk he was. Which was why having a crush on Tom Palmer was as cliché as it came. And also completely unavoidable.
Did he really want to go to the bonfire with me? Or was there more to the bet with Mercedes than each was letting on? I had spent every moment since his invite telling myself that I didn’t care. That Tom was not important in the grand scheme of things. What was important was finishing high school, going to college, and getting the heck out of Dodge.
Truthfully, however, I cared too gosh darn much.
“Lila?” an annoyed Mrs. Hovanik repeated.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Um… Number seven. The answer was… foreshadowing?” I looked up, adopting a hopeful smile.
Mrs. Hovanik crossed her arms and tilted her head with a raised eyebrow. She was one of those teachers who seemed to get extreme pleasure from dominating seventeen-year-olds on a year-by-year basis. Two years ago, she’d been a science teacher, but due to budget cutbacks, she now taught AP Lit, which she did not seem to enjoy. We’d sometimes catch her staring longingly at the lab equipment still housed in old cabinets at the back of the room.
“Right, but what are the examples of foreshadowing in the book? Give me more, Lila. I need more.”
What you need is to get laid, I thought. Mrs. Hovanik had a way of sucking the life out of books like she was literature’s Edward Cullen. Frankenstein was a creepy classic full of torment and struggle, but she was making us dissect it like a frog pinned on a dissection board.
I stumbled over my answer—something about how Victor Frankenstein’s relationship with his monster reflected his views on himself, sage words pulled directly from my posterior. She shook her head, then moved on to some other unsuspecting victim. It helped that when she called on Trent Costner, he said Frankenstein had green skin and bolts in his neck.
Made me look like a bona-fide genius—thank you very much, Mrs. Hovanik.
When the bell rang, the class breathed a collective sigh of relief. I grabbed my books and headed for the door, but not before bumping into a gaggle of lip-gloss queens clustered around the exit.
“Lila.” A girl by the name of Clare Gosh stepped in front of me. Clare was on student council and cheer, the very definition of a high school stereotype in a short pink skirt and fluffy top. “Are you coming to the party tonight?”
“She never comes to anything,” her friend, Hailey Sovinski, said. Hailey had been my friend until sixth grade when she’d gotten boobs before everyone else. Her new bosom had vaulted her into the popular group and, thus, out of my stratosphere. She tried to pedal back her comment when she noticed my frown. “I mean, no offense, but you don’t.”
I hugged my books to my chest and tried to smile. “I’m going, actually.”
Mercedes wiggled her way in, braids swaying. “She’s going with Tom Palmer. He asked her today.”
All the eyebrows in the group went up, and my face burned. I shot Mercedes a look that said, “First chance I get, I’ll kill you. Slowly.”
“Great,” Hailey said in a way that made it sound like it wasn’t. “See you there then.”
When the crowd filtered away, I bumped my hip into Mercedes’s, scowling. “Why’d you do that? Those drones don’t need to know my business.”
“They’ll know it when you show up with him tonight. Plus, I liked the expressions on their faces when they found out the hottest guy in school asked you.” Mercedes watched them walk away, smugness all over her beautiful brown face.
“He asked me because you bet him. And he isn’t the hottest guy in school.”
She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Then why are you always eyeballing him?”
I shrugged. “He has cool, ironic T-shirts?”
“Yeah, right. You love him. You want to ride the Tom Train to Boner Town.”
“Don’t be gross,” I said, bumping her again. My blush was back and in full effect.
“But while we’re on the subject,” I said, “he never mentioned whether he would pick me up or if I should meet him. Should I message him? Or is that too desperate? Should I try text? Smoke signal? Morse code tapped into his drain pipe?”
She stopped walking, using her height of at least six inches above mine to search the hallway
. “You should ask him yourself. Now. He’s right over there.”
My heart seized up as I whirled.
With his back to us, Tom stood down the corridor just outside the science wing. Two other guys clustered around him, engaging him in what looked like a heated debate.
“Who are they?” Mercedes asked.
She was right. I’d never seen the other two guys before. Summers Lake High only had one hundred kids per grade. There was no one in our class I didn’t know. Besides, the school year was almost over.
“I can’t ask him now. He’s talking. Morse code it is.” I started to walk away, but Mercedes turned me around.
“Don’t be a chicken shit. Go up to him. I need to know who those two savory characters are. The one with the dark hair has ‘Mercedes’ written all over him.” She demonstrated a floating headline in the air and waggled her eyebrows.
I tried to leave again, but she looped her arm through mine and herded me toward the boys.
“Damn your herculean strength,” I muttered.
“And I don’t even work out,” she mused.
The hallway was loud during passing time, but I still caught a snippet of Tom’s conversation as we approached.
“…shouldn’t have come here. If you wanted to talk to me, we could’ve met up later,” Tom said.
“There’s no time for that,” the darker-haired guy that Mercedes had claimed responded. “We need to talk. Now.” He spoke in accented English, holding himself the way a Latin Hollister model would. He was tall, with tousled brownish-black curls, round hipster glasses, and brown eyes. I could see what Mercedes saw in him.
The other was just as handsome, but in a clean-cut sort of way. He was Asian with dark hair and tan skin. The spiked haircut he sported worked well on him. Clothing wise, I could tell he wasn’t from around here either. There was something decidedly “other” about his jeans and the heavy jacket he wore despite it being nearly summer. His eyes landed on me, and he dropped his gaze almost shyly.
