“You sure?” he asks with a stupid grin on his face.
I shrug and turn. He follows suit, and we walk down the hallway. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Using the bathroom,” he responds. “Unlike you, apparently.”
I glance up and shake my head. “Jesus, give me patience.”
He laughs.
“I mean, why are you here in Alexa’s home? Weren’t you supposed to meet them at Rentown?”
“I changed my mind. What about you? What are you doing here?”
“My aunt found out Alexa’s parents had plans to post flyers today, so she offered our help.”
He nods and says nothing. We continue to walk in silence.
Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Ocampo are waiting at the bottom. “Josephine! We’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh, sorry.” I toy with my zipper to stall. “I, uh, made a phone call outside.”
She looks at me confused. “But you were upstairs just now.”
Oops. I’m not good at this.
My eyes dart to Julian, then return to Mrs. Ocampo. “Uh, I needed to go potty again afterwards.”
“I can vouch for that. I came in after her. Phew!” He waves his hand in front of his nose.
Mr. Ocampo laughs, but Mrs. Ocampo looks concerned. I snap my head at Julian and glare at him. But he grins and winks.
“Oh no,” She says. “Is it the food?”
“No,” I reassure her. “I over-ate today. I had a big breakfast, plus that delicious food Jacinta prepared.”
“Do you want Imodium, dear?”
Oh, man. This conversation is beyond embarrassing.
“No, Tita.” The heat from embarrassment burns my cheeks. “I’m ready when you are.”
But Julian pipes in the discussion. “Better bring the Imodium, Mrs. Ocampo. You know, to prevent accidents?” He makes the sound of explosions to emphasize his statement.
I turn to him and punch his arm.
“Ow!” he cried, rubbing his biceps. “Damn, Lightning Jo! Whatchu got under those knuckles? Iron?”
I glare at him, but he smiles, giving me a glimpse of his dimples.
Mrs. Ocampo laughs. “I miss having young people around.”
Suddenly, her face clouds, and she turns away. Mr. Ocampo catches the change in her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. After a moment’s pause, she regains composure.
“Uh,” she says, clearing her throat. “Jacinta packed us lunches. Let me get them. Then we can go.”
Mr. Ocampo heads outside as his wife leaves for the kitchen. Julian and I stay at the bottom of the stairs.
“Friday was supposed to be Alexa’s 18th birthday celebration at Hotel du Mar,” he said. “Her cotillion.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I lean on the railing. That explains her parents’ increased somber mood and Mrs. Ocampo’s emotions.
“That’s why Jordan and Dee had the house party last Friday. We were emotional, and we just wanted to celebrate her birthday together.”
At the mention of the party, Julian’s lips on mine flashes in my head, and my body heats. I avert my gaze and stare at the wall, praying I’m not turning tomato-red.
Julian steps closer, and my stomach flutters. “I’m glad Dee invited you, and I’m surprised you came.”
I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah.” I furrow my brows. “She really has taken an interest in me.”
“So does her brother,” he mutters.
I wrinkle my forehead and ask him to explain, but he’s already at the door.
Chapter 32
Josephine
I’m riding shotgun in Julian’s Camaro. Again. He convinced Alexa’s parents that he drive his own car and my aunt to have me ride with him. I protested, but my aunt, forever the matchmaker, practically pushed me to the passenger seat.
We ride for the next hour in silence while tuning in to his playlist of current mainstream hip-hop artists. He’s listening to Drake’s, “God’s Plan,” and I huff. I’ll keep my thoughts on that to myself.
Julian makes a right turn, and we’re surrounded by farmland. Herds of sheep, cows and horses dot the grassy expanse of land. “Wow. Talk about the boonies.”
“Tell me about it,” he said.
Ten minutes later, a sign that says, “There’s no town like Rentown!” directs travelers to the town center.
“Mrs. Ocampo said to meet them at the main strip.” I point my finger to the right.
Julian nods and follows the signs until we end up in Rentown’s main drag. Littered with dirty brick buildings, establishments with peeling paint, dusty curio shops and diners with grimy windows, Rentown has seen better days. No wonder Mrs. Ocampo opted for packed lunches. She did her research.
“What’s the population in this place?” I ask.
“About 200.” He smirks.
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic, but judging by the deserted commercial center, I’m leaning towards believing him. We see Mr. and Mrs. Ocampo’s Lexus SUV parked in front of a restaurant, and Julian parks his car next to theirs. The diners stare as we emerge, reminding us we are strangers in their town. Meanwhile, a police car distracts Julian, and now I’m really nervous.
The cops park, and I hear Julian chuckle. “Looks like the sheriff is in town.”
A brawny middle aged man emerges from the car. “Is this John’s boy? The one who used to play horsey with my poor dogs?”
“In the flesh.” He walks towards him and gives him a firm handshake.
Sheriff Reed places a hand on his shoulder. “You got tall, son. Just like your daddy.”
“Good thing I take after him.”
“Or else, you’ll be short like your mama,” said Sheriff Reed and they both laugh.
Then Julian turns around to introduce us. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Ocampo and Josephine.”
He reaches out to shake our hands.
“Thank you for accompanying us, Sheriff Reed,” says Mrs. Ocampo.
“Yes,” says Mr. Ocampo. “We spoke on the phone, I believe. We appreciate you and your team.”
“Nice to meet you both. I’m sorry we have to meet in such circumstances.”
Julian and I follow them as they talk about the case. As we stroll along, he explains to me his relationship with the sheriff. The Taylor family used to live in the next town. Chief Taylor and Sheriff Reed worked together for many years and became lifelong friends. He called his dad when the farmer found Alexa’s purse.
A few minutes later, we’re posting flyers wherever we find space. Meanwhile, I’m confused. On over one occasion, I’ll catch Julian standing behind me when I’m having trouble reaching high spots. He’ll take the flyers from my hands, nail them for me, and then leave without a word. When he’s ahead, he brakes, so I can catch up with him.
We’ve been indifferent to each other. But as he walks beside me, that statement no longer holds merit. As I staple another flyer, I wonder when our relationship transitioned from adversaries to reluctant allies.
High-pitched giggles erupt in the corner, interrupting my thoughts. I roll my eyes as the third group of girls gawk at Julian as he works. I’m surprised that teenagers exist in this decrepit town, but they do. Most of them control their hormones and keep their distance. But a handful of these heifers do approach, stalling our efficient system. One of these ladies, a busty brunette, even unzips her tight sweater lower to give him a peek of her ample cleavage. I shake my head.
But he handles the attention well. He ignores them unless they’re bold enough to talk to him. In those cases, he remains polite but never flirtatious. I guess if you’re a mini celebrity in your own school, you get used to these kinds of treatment.
Two hours later, we’re heading to a nearby park to eat lunch. Sheriff Reed stays with my aunt and the Ocampos as they sit at a picnic table. I follow them until Julian stops me.
“Joy,” he said, surprising me with his use of my nickname. “Let’s eat over there.”
He points to a shady spot
on the bluff, underneath a large tree. I furrow my brows as I glance at my aunt, but Julian is already informing her where we’ll be eating. She nods enthusiastically and gives me a wink, earning her a scowl from me.
“Let’s go.” He waves his hand to follow him, as if picnics on the bluff are part of our weekend routine. We sit underneath the tree and lay out our lunches on the grass.
“Damn.” He licks his lips as he unpacks his brown bag.
My stomach growls as I note the huge roast beef sandwich, the potato salad, the chips, sliced peaches, the slice of cheesecake, a can of soda and a bottle of Evian.
“I think I’m gonna marry Jacinta,” he said. “She knows her way to a man’s heart.”
“Better get that restraining order ready then. Bianca will murder you when she finds out.”
He chuckles and nudges me in the ribs. As we eat, I stare from the corner of my eye. He grins while chewing his sandwich, and it stays there as he demolishes his potato salad. He always had an enormous appetite. Goodness knows where he puts it. I’d kill for a metabolism that allows me to eat everything but still keep a six-pack abs. Life’s not fair.
“You’re staring,” he said. “That’s rude, so as penance, tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Nothing.” I bite my sandwich. After a pause, I indulge him. “I guess I’m still trying to figure you out.”
“What? My personality or my glow up?”
“Both.”
“What’s confusing? What you see is what you get.”
“So, if I’ve been seeing a cocky bastard, I should take that at face value?”
He doesn’t flinch at my insult and continues to slice his cheesecake with a fork. “Sure.”
“Are you only like that to me or you’re an equal opportunity douche?”
“Only to people who have wronged me.”
I nod. “Fair enough.”
“In terms of my God-given glow up,” he said mid-chew.
I roll my eyes. “Boy, please.”
He laughs. “I still have freckles on my nose. Does that help?”
“Maybe a little.”
He points to his hair. “It’s still big.”
“Hmm. Nah. That’s maintained now.”
He keeps silent, thinking. I cut him off before he speaks. “Do you still smack your forehead when you realize you’ve forgotten something?”
He grins. “Yup. Just did that this morning.”
“Do you still pick your nose, then eat the boogers from your finger?”
He bursts out laughing and chucks a piece of chewed peaches from his mouth. “I never did that!”
“Yeah, dude. You did.”
“You’re lying.”
“You do it when you think I’m not looking.”
He laughs. “Ok, not that I’m agreeing with you, but no. I don’t do that. Ever.”
“Whatever you say.” I give myself a private smile.
He chuckles as he shakes his head. We eat the rest of our lunch in companionable silence. Then he beams at me, so I face him. But I was wrong. He wasn’t staring.
“What are you thinking now?” he asks.
“Do you make a habit of prying into people’s
thoughts?”
“Only yours.”
I turn to him. “Why?”
“Just trying to figure you out,” he responds, borrowing my line.
My attention returns to the view. We’ve been interacting for the past fifteen minutes. Underneath this willow tree, away from prying eyes, we’re becoming acquainted again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Only if I can do the same.”
“Fine. You first.”
“So, what’s up with the recent casual outfits? You went from J. Crew to Urban Outfitters in a week.”
I eye my favorite black Run D.M. C shirt, cuffed distressed boyfriend jeans, and Chuck Taylor’s. “My mom’s not here. She chooses my clothes.”
He nods. “Why does she do that?”
I take a sip of my soda. “She likes to control my life. Make sure I don’t embarrass the family.”
“And picking out your clothes and dictating how you style your hair will ensure that?”
“Those aren’t the only things she controls. Have you forgotten?”
He furrows his brows. This shouldn’t surprise him. She was controlling when we were kids.
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I’m a real sob story. The end. My turn.”
He nods. “Shoot.”
“What was Alexa like?”
Julian’s face darkens as he looks into the horizon. His forehead creases, and I know he’s deep in thought. “I thought you dismissed her case. Why bother asking about her?”
I shrug as I pluck a wildflower from the ground. “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart. I don’t know.”
He reaches over and takes the flower from me. “What made you change your mind?”
“The sound of her mother grieving.”
His nose flares as he stares at the grass. Then, after a minute, he starts. “Lexie is sweet… and obliging. She’ll be the first to laugh at anyone’s jokes, especially if it’s Bianca’s. She likes what Bianca likes, and she does what Brandon does.”
I crease my forehead. I’ve only interacted with her at last year’s mother-daughter luncheon. Even then, we only exchanged words once. I didn’t belong in her circle, and I didn’t catch her attention. She was glamorous and popular, and I was weird and awkward. To be honest, she was a snob and didn’t smile unless praised by her mom and her mother’s peers. “Ok, so you’re saying Alexa is a pushover?”
Julian snaps his head at me, surprised at my candor.
“Well, I wouldn’t call her that. I guess she’s easily influenced by the folks in our circle.”
“Is she a people-pleaser?”
“Well… she’s very accommodating, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, but I get what you’re telling me.”
“Hold your judgements, please.”
“I’m not judging,” I said. “What else? What makes her laugh or cry?”
Julian winces. He avoids my gaze and leans
his head on the tree. “If you weren’t judging then, you’ll be judging now.”
“Try me.”
The Night Orchid Page 18
