Olivia Twisted (Entangled Teen)

by Barnes, Vivi

  “Hey there,” Derrick says, walking in with his briefcase and newspaper. “Thought you’d be home by now. Sorry I couldn’t make it earlier; I got stuck at the office. How was school?”

  “Oh, it was okay. Do you usually get home so early?”

  He laughs. “Well, it’s your first day of school. I didn’t want you to have to come home to an empty house.”

  I can’t find anything to say to that.

  “Want a snack?” he asks, dropping his stuff on a chair and walking toward the kitchen.

  “Sure.” I sit back down and face the black screen. Damn it, the session timed out. All sections were saved except for the one I was working on. I grind my teeth in frustration and start the search through the temp files to see if it saved.

  Derrick returns with a plate full of cookies in his hand. “How about joining me in the kitchen?”

  “Thanks, but I have to finish this. Otherwise it’ll time out again.”

  I reach for the plate but he pulls it away. “I’ll put this on the table for you. Denise doesn’t like people to eat anywhere but the kitchen or dining room. So how much homework do you have?” he asks over my shoulder.

  “Just some trig.” I purse my lips. I know he’s trying to be nice, but I wish he’d just leave me alone.

  “That’s good. I need to log on and do a little work from home soon. I was thinking I could do this most days, you know. Leave work early to be here when you get back, that way you won’t be alone.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Translated: Please don’t do that.

  “I don’t mind. I can work from here as easily as the office.”

  I want to scream out in frustration but have to satisfy myself with rolling my eyes when his face is turned. Although…

  “Mr. Carter—”

  “Derrick, please. Mr. Carter was my father.”

  “Derrick, don’t you think it would be easier for you if I could use my laptop? That way you could have the computer when you come home. I would keep it out in the dining room so you know I’m doing my homework.” I can’t believe I have to talk him into something so stupid as getting my own laptop back.

  He frowns a little. “I’m sorry, but Denise is very strict about those kinds of things. She’d get really upset if I gave it to you. Don’t worry, you take all the time you want doing your homework. I can always go for a run if you’re not done.”

  Cursing to myself, I finish up the homework. Derrick slides into the chair almost as soon as I vacate it, leaving me to find my way to the plate of cookies. I wonder how hard I’d have to fling the stupid dish at the wall to break it.

  The clock shows that I have fifteen minutes to get down to Slice of Happy. I grab my backpack and head out the back door, shouting to Derrick that I’m going for a walk. I don’t know how he’d feel about me working there, but the less I have to argue with him, the better.

  Okay, so the word “restaurant” is a bit of an exaggeration when it comes to describing Slice of Happy. A glorified Domino’s Pizza is more like it. There are only a few plastic tables crammed into the small space, with a couple more scattered outside and a handful of customers sitting at them. Mr. Bronson, the owner, is nice, though he seems a little too frazzled for the place being so slow. I wonder what he’s like when the restaurant is full.

  After completing the paperwork and talking with him for a few minutes, I’m hired. He only needs me on Saturday nights, Sunday afternoons, and some Monday evenings, with the opportunity to pick up an occasional extra shift. Judging by the looks of the place, the money probably won’t be rolling in as fast as I’d like, but it’s the only place within walking distance. Maybe I’ll be able to at least get a down payment for a car so I can find something else farther away.

  Denise is already home preparing dinner by the time I get back. She nods at me when I come in through the back door but she doesn’t say anything. I’m okay with that, though the ongoing silence while she fiddles around the kitchen is eerie. Maybe she’s one of those creepy Stepford Wives from Bernadette’s favorite movie. That’d be something different, at least.

  Over steak and potatoes, I deliver the good news. “I got a job today.”

  Blank faces are my only response.

  “At Slice of Happy. I’ll be there Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays.”

  Derrick glances at Denise, who looks mildly surprised but not too concerned. “Oh,” he says. “Well, that’s okay, but I wish you had said something to us before applying there. Will you need a ride?”

  “No, it’s only a couple blocks up, so I should be good.”

  He continues eating but seems disappointed, though whether it’s about my not saying anything before or my not needing his help, I’m not sure. I know he didn’t agree with me getting a job, but I don’t really care.

  I head off to my room after dinner. I can’t take much more of the awkward silence. It’s too Twilight Zone–ish out there. I’m convinced that at some point soon, Denise will sprout another head and reveal herself as a word-eating alien. The mental image makes me snicker.

  For some reason, my thoughts drift back to Z. He’s a friend of Sam’s, so if I end up becoming friends with her, does that mean I’ll be hanging out with him, too? There’s something about the guy that I can’t put my finger on. Something off, in both an exciting and frustrating way. It’s like he knows something I don’t, so I’m not really sure what to think.

  And I’m not sure I want to know.

  …

  Z

  “Slice of Happy? Really?”

  Sam slams her car door with her foot as she tries to balance her latte, keys, and backpack. “Sure. Wait ’til she gets her first crappy paycheck. It’ll be easy after that.”

  “I guess.” I rest back on my bike, idly rotating the grip. I don’t know if it’ll be as easy as that, but I’ve got to hand it to her, it was pretty quick thinking on her part to refer Liv to that pit.

  She stops walking when I don’t follow. “You coming?”

  “In a few. I have to find out what’s going on with Jen.”

  Her face sobers. Even Sam gets it—you don’t screw around with Bill. And I have to do this outside, as I don’t want anyone else to hear the conversation. Right now, the kids in the house look up to me. It’s the way I want to keep it, and no way can they think somebody I recruited can’t handle the job.

  “Wait,” I call to Sam as she starts up the steps to the house. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I hold out my hand expectantly.

  She grins. “Not until you admit it,” she says, her voice teasing.

  “Just give it to me.”

  “Nope.”

  “Sam…”

  She reaches into her jacket pocket to remove the flash drive that contains Liv’s school file. She flips it around her fingers as she walks toward me. “Admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “That I found her.” Sam’s close to me now, waving the bright-green stick in front of my face.

  I don’t change my bored expression. “Fine. You found her.” I reach up to grab the flash drive but she yanks it away.

  “Admit that I’m better than you, and I didn’t even have to rely on my sex appeal to get her.”

  Sex appeal? I grab her wrist and yank her close. Her eyes widen—does she think I’m going to kiss her? The thought almost makes me laugh. Talk about crossing the line. Sam and I don’t work that way. Instead, I use my other hand to tickle her, making her squeal and jerk away from me. I grab the flash drive from her hand.

  “I don’t think so,” I tell her, smirking.

  She turns to go into the house in a huff. I pull the laptop out of my backpack and prop it on my leg, inserting the drive. I browse through the data, copying select information into my files. Current and past foster parents, date and place of birth, test scores. Everything that will give me background on this chick and anyone she’s connected to. It’s not hard to find talented kids; the complicated part is making sure there are no attachme
nts that could interfere down the line. At least, as in my case, not on record.

  Glancing through her file, I notice she’s bounced around to a lot of different foster homes. Sometimes only six months or less between. Probably not very good ones, either, considering there are a couple of psychological evaluations noted. I remember the foster system very well. I hated it, and I have to admit that part of me hopes this works out just so she doesn’t have to do it anymore.

  Her picture from her last school is in the next folder. She’s giving the forced “say cheese” smile for the yearbook. Her hair is as long as it is now, pulled over one shoulder. The corners of her eyes are creased, like she’s actually happy. Surprising, considering the conflicting evidence in the file. My eyes are drawn to the gold heart-shaped locket she always wears. Like Sam, I’m curious about whose pictures she’s hiding inside.

  I can hear the engine spitting before the old blue pickup pulls into view. Jen’s the only one who hasn’t been able to upgrade her transportation yet, so she’s stuck driving a dump that I could beat home by walking. I close the laptop and slip it into my backpack.

  Jen slides out of the truck and doesn’t notice me until she passes my bike. My arms are crossed, and my expression is as serious as I can make it. Her eyes harden when she sees me.

  “What?” she asks, her voice steady despite her clenching and unclenching hands.

  “You know what. Do you know what it means when Bill shows up in person to ask me about someone who can’t even do her job?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

  “Not that bad?” I grit my teeth. “You’re risking everyone here, Jen. You’re screwing up and I’m the one who has to take shit for it.”

  Her face lights up, and I realize that I just said the wrong thing. She steps toward me now, a glint in her eyes. “You don’t like me messing everything up? You’re the one who left me on my own from the very beginning. Like I’m supposed to know how to do everything.” She waves her arm around. “Maybe you should’ve stayed with me, at least until you showed me what the hell I was getting into. Maybe you still should.” Her eyes soften slightly.

  No. Way. She knew exactly what she was getting into. Oh, yeah, she’s good at trying to make me feel guilty, but getting back together with this girl would be like stabbing myself in the eye with a fork. I can live with the guilt.

  “You know that’s never going to happen,” I tell her.

  “Then I guess you should free up time for more social calls from Bill.” She swivels around to march toward the house, her hair whipping across her shoulder.

  “Well, remember this,” I say in a voice just loud enough to reach her ears. “Bill might blame me now, but do you think he’ll let you get away with this? I’m valuable to him. You aren’t. Keep that in mind.”

  Instead of going inside, I start up the bike to ride away, but not before I notice that Jen’s smug expression has been replaced with a look of dismay.

  Chapter Four

  “Surprises, like misfortunes, seldom come alone.”

  —Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

  Liv

  In the two weeks that I’ve been at this school, Z has said maybe five sentences to me.

  And I’m okay with that. He intimidates the hell out of me, he’s so damn smart. He makes the exercises in Computer Science look like first-grade work. Every time I finish one, way ahead of the rest of the class, I peek over my shoulder to see him with his arms crossed and eyes shut, as if he’s done and now bored. I set a personal goal to finish before him on at least one thing, but I haven’t done it yet.

  Sam, on the other hand, never stops talking. She’s funny and makes me laugh, but sometimes I feel exhausted after being around her at lunch. She seems to especially enjoy barraging me with questions about my past. I quickly realized that making up a whole lot of stuff was easier than telling her truths I’m not ready to share with anyone. Z doesn’t seem to buy it. He occasionally glances at me with a raised eyebrow, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything. I wonder if he’ll ever say anything.

  I half listen to Ms. Walsh talk about Unix and Linux systems, stuff I already know. Sam is playing an online game, engrossed in a battle with weird-looking creatures. I tap a finger on the mouse, staring at the Explorer icon in the corner of my screen. Screw it. I click on the “e.” The school’s got to have information on Z, and it’s too tempting to pass up. I use the secretary’s password again, which works. I don’t know anything about Z except that stupid initial. I put the initial Z in the field for first name and several pop up. I find the one that lists Z Z—that’s got to be a typo—and open the file. There is an address and the name Nancy under contacts, but nothing else.

  Pay attention.

  I stare at the box that popped up on my computer, then quickly close out of the admin site, my throat going dry. Crap. I sit up straighter and glance over the monitor at Ms. Walsh. She’s still going on with her lecture, not looking at me. Maybe she just has warnings scheduled to go off here and there on random computers to make sure we’re listening. I wouldn’t have expected something like that from her—she seems so disorganized.

  The pop-up box appears again. If you wanted to know something, you could’ve asked.

  If I… What? I look at Sam, who’s engrossed in her game, then slowly peek over my shoulder at Z. His eyes flicker up once to meet mine, a tiny smile tugging the corners of his lips. Trying to look completely unaffected and doubting that I’m succeeding, I turn back to my computer, clicking on the “OK” button. Of course, no conversation box opens. That’d be too easy. I have a funny feeling he wouldn’t tell me anything anyway.

  Sam should attack.

  I stare at the message on my monitor. Sam should attack? Sam’s intent on her battle, looking like she’s about to attack a goblin. Her elven character is brandishing its sword right and left as she gets closer to the creature. I notice what looks like a statue of an archer in the corner that moves slightly as she advances.

  Okay, fine, hotshot.

  I lean over to Sam, obstructing Z’s view, and point to the archer statue. “He’s going to kill you if you attack,” I whisper.

  She raises her eyebrows. Her character starts to walk toward the goblin, then turns and throws the sword at the archer statue. It collapses, and I can hear Z groan as his character dies. Sam turns to simultaneously give him the finger and me a quiet high five. I snort in laughter, but sober up when Ms. Walsh looks in our general direction. She goes back to her lecture like nothing happened.

  Another pop-up box: The statue was a weak link. So thanks.

  I click “OK” and glance over my shoulder to see a grin on his face. Typical guy to make it look like his idea.

  The bell rings and Sam logs out of the game. Z walks by without stopping to say anything to me. His aloofness leaves me standing next to Sam, surprised and a little annoyed. He could’ve at least said hello.

  “Hey Sam, does Z ever say anything out loud? I mean, other than ‘yeah’ or ‘no’?”

  “Sure. Well, not much, I guess, until you get to know him or if he wants to talk to you. He’s a loner, really. Has been since I’ve known him.”

  “So he doesn’t date?” Now why did I ask that?

  She smiles knowingly at me as I grab my backpack and follow her out of the room. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. But it’s what I’d call ‘dating with a purpose.’”

  “What do you mean?”

  She doesn’t respond, but that he dates at all surprises me if he’s such a loner. Which makes me wonder…

  “Have you ever been out with him?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not really into the strong, silent type.”

  “So what’s his story?”

  “He doesn’t have one. Not that he tells anyone, at least. In fact, I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can pry any personal information out of him at all.”

  A snicker escapes me. “Do you even have a hundred bucks?”

  “Not
on me, but I can get it.”

  She says it so casually, confidently, that I know she’s telling the truth. Yesterday when I asked her again if she had checked about a computer programming job for me, she was pretty vague, simply saying they were looking into it. She won’t tell me anything except that she figures out system weaknesses. Which to me translates into, I’m a hacker for hire. Something I’ve heard companies do to discover and fix their system issues. I could do it, too, if she’d just introduce me.

  I switch subjects. “I thought you knew everything about everyone. You sure knew a lot about me on my first day.”

  She grimaces. “I can find out anything about anyone except him. He legally changed his first and last names to Z. He’s got no known aliases, no past. All I really know about him is his current residence at Monroe Street and that he’s a genius when it comes to…”

  “What?”

  “The social side of the net, I guess you could say.”

  Great, a social media junkie. Though he doesn’t strike me as that type of guy. And his name… “So let me get this straight. His name really is Z…Z? Isn’t that, like, snoring or something?”

  She bursts into laughter at that. I laugh along with her, but now I’m even more curious. Who refers to a seventeen-year-old as someone with “no known aliases”? He dresses like a normal, smart kid—glasses, Polo shirt—but his demeanor is too confident, even arrogant. The word asshole occasionally comes to mind, until he smiles. Then my clueless heart skips a beat.

  Like I said, he intimidates the crap out of me.

  “Hey, check it out,” Sam says, grabbing a purple flier taped to the wall. I read over her shoulder:

  RAVE Friday night

  7pm- midnight

  It all goes off tonight

  “What does that mean, ‘it all goes off tonight’?”

  Sam laughs. “It means it’s going to be a kick-ass party. Wanna go?”

  “Oh, no. I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? You don’t work on Fridays, and it’s just a dance. Not some crack house meeting.”