As I read her reply I let go of my breath. My brother is spending the weekend thirty miles south in Charleston with our aunt and uncle. Like always, I’m happy that he’s having a good time but that doesn’t stop me from feeling weird about it.
Playing catch with Mike.
When was the last time I played with him like that or was able to afford a trip to the movies? A sense of shame swells deep in my gut, but before I can examine it too closely, a big guy with tanned leather skin and grease stains on his baggy overalls approaches.
“Sir,” I say, hiding the phone behind my back and putting on my customer face. “What can I help you with today?”
From his pocket he pulls out a glossy square of orangey-brown paper and sets it down face-up on the paint counter. “How do, son. I’m lookin’ to cover about 2000 square feet of exterior with this color. Can you make me a deal if I buy the primer from you at the same time?”
I stow my phone and get to it. I don’t have time right now to worry about what kind of job I’m doing raising Carter because it’s time to mix up five gallons of Campfire Blaze. “Let me see what I can do.”
***
“It’s Saturday.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say, hefting a second box of hose fittings onto my shoulder.
“And Carter is in Charleston for the weekend.” Seth follows me through the swinging black doors of the storeroom back onto the main floor. He’s got a bag of chips in his hand and he’s chewing them loudly.
“Again—I’m aware of this.”
“So what I’m saying is that you don’t have to be home tonight to watch him.”
I stop halfway down aisle seven and squat to unload the boxes. “True enough.”
Seth looks irritated that he has to spell this out for me. “Bash, let’s go out and have some fun for a change. I think I can get us into The Tap Room.”
“The Tap Room is a piece of shit biker bar.”
“Okay then we’ll go to Byron’s house. Everyone is going to be there.”
“Who’s everyone?” I ask as I start scooping the hose fittings out and placing them into the right bins.
He stops chewing on the chips and swallows. “Sheyna, Clay, Monica, Leo… and probably Rachel.”
The thought of getting drunk or worse with a bunch of my former friends and my ex doesn’t exactly thrill me. “You know I don’t talk to them anymore.”
“But I do,” he says on an exhale. “And, for once, I want to see you acting like normal.”
“I act normal.”
“No you don’t. All you do is work and worry and stress out about stuff that you can’t make heads or tails of.”
The last of the hose fittings is in place so I pick up the empty boxes and start toward the front of the store. “Seth, I hate to break this to you, but that is my normal now.”
“I thought that with Carter gone you could have fun. Like the good ole days.”
I don’t get a chance to respond because the chime over the main door sounds, indicating that I’ve got a new customer.
I turn to the left and just about trip over my own feet because Amelia Bright is walking into the store. Today she’s got on an olive green dress with loose, kind of hippie sleeves and yellow leggings covered in a geometric print. Not for the first time, I wonder what is up with this girl and leggings.
I exchange a quick glance with Seth, who looks about as bewildered as I feel, and then I rein it in, remembering that she’s a customer.
“Hey,” I say, shooting for casual as I set the boxes down so they are out of the way of foot traffic. “Welcome to Kane’s.”
“Um, hey,” she says back.
It’s strange. How many times have I watched Amelia Bright stand up in front of the entire school and give a speech or ask for donations for one of her causes or inform everyone about a new school policy? But right now she seems nervous as all get out. Her steps are hesitant and she’s gripping the strap of her purse like she’s passing through a crowd of pickpockets.
A couple seconds pass like this, catapulting us past strange territory and into an awkward lull. Finally, I suck it up and ask, “Was there something I could help you with today?”
Amelia’s eyes dart around the store. “Right. Paint. I’m here to get some paint for an accent wall in my bedroom.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Seth says and sweeps his arm to the side like a game show host to point out the paint chips.
His easy tone seems to loosen her up and she even rewards him with a small smile. For reasons I won’t try to analyze right now, this irritates the hell out of me so when Amelia turns away, I give Seth a steady look.
What? he mouths back.
I shake my head and try to gesticulate a few choice words. He must take the hint because all of a sudden he acts like he’s getting a text on his phone and he makes himself scarce as hen’s teeth.
“What color are you picturing?” I ask, trailing behind Amelia.
“Ummm… Maybe white?” she says, chewing on her lip thoughtfully.
“A white accent wall?”
She pauses in front of the display and runs her fingers over the tops of the violet color cards. “Is that silly?”
“Nah, it’s just usually people go with a brighter color when they’re doing an accent wall. What color is your room now?”
“It’s white.”
I feel my eyebrows climbing my forehead.
“But it’s a totally different shade than what I want to get today. I was thinking more like an off-white. Like a beige,” she adds and I can’t stop myself from chuckling.
“Whatever you think. You’re the customer here.”
Her mouth twists into a self-deprecating grimace and she says, “I’m not being very adventurous, am I?”
Shrugging, I tell her, “Everyone has different taste when it comes to home decorating. White is fine if that’s what you want.”
“Honestly, it might be time for something new; at least, that’s what my sister would tell me. But there are so many options. I have no idea how to choose.”
I move closer to the samples. “Let’s try this: Why don’t you describe to me what other colors are in your room? On the bed? Or maybe in the artwork on the walls?”
“Hmmm…” Amelia’s eyes fall closed and she takes a deep breath. “My comforter is ivory and it’s dotted with soft yellow and teal flowers. There are pale green leaves in the trim and on the pillows.”
“Uh-huh,” I encourage, selecting a couple of the paint chips.
“And I have a framed poster of a beach sunset above my desk and it has reds and yellows and blues and pastel pink and purple.”
I pull a couple more colors then I fan the cards so that she can see. This time when she grins, it’s for me. And damn it all if she doesn’t have one dimple in the middle of her left cheek.
She delicately rubs her finger across one of the sample cards I’ve chosen. We’re standing so close that I can smell her shampoo and the lotion she uses. I think it’s something citrusy. Oranges or maybe lemons.
“Which one would you pick if it was your room?” she asks.
Trying not to think about that dimple or how good she smells, I study the colors and eventually settle on two options: a buttery yellow and a shade of turquoise. “How about one of these? I think both of these would work with whatever you’ve already got up on the other walls.”
Now she goes back to biting her lip. “What are they called?”
I flip the cards over. “The yellow is called Daffodil and the blue is called Sky Magic.”
“Sky magic.” As she tries it out, the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile as warm as a Lowland summer. “That has to be the one. You can’t help but love something called Sky Magic, can you?”
Before I know what’s what, my chest is on fire and, like an idiot, I’m smiling back at her. “Definitely not.”
***
“You should invite her to come with us tonight,” Seth suggests.
/> From my position behind the paint station I look down the aisle to where Amelia is choosing a 2-inch angled brush and the plastic sheeting that I suggested.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s a party and that’s what people do when there is a party happening.”
“I haven’t even said that I’ll go with you in the first place.”
“Fine by me. I’ll go ahead and invite her myself.”
With a final rumble, the paint-mixing machine clicks off and I use that as an excuse to sink down to my knees so that I can avoid Seth’s gaze. Making an effort to keep my voice steady, I say, “You’re not going to invite her.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Seth, it’s not happening so shut it,” I warn as I carry the can over to a small rectangular workspace and use the paint key attached to the belt loop of my jeans to open the lid.
“If we invite her, she’ll probably bring Audra Singer with her.”
“So?”
“So? Audra Singer is fine. Did you get a look at those tight cut-offs she had on this week? She’s like a country bumpkin with claws,” he says with a smirk. “And have you seen Amelia’s sister?”
“I have and I think she looks a lot like Amelia.”
“They’re twins and all, but Daphne is…” He makes a sound of deep appreciation. “She’s smokin’ hot in that cute little cheerleader uniform she wears around. And, Bash, this could be it. My in with her.”
I shake my head. “You’re not going to invite Amelia to go to a party because you’re hoping it’ll somehow land you a spot in her sister’s pants.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s a shitty thing to do.”
“See,” he says, cocking his head to one side, “I think it’s called thinking outside the box.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” I reply, smearing a small strip of paint onto the lid of the can. “Because hanging out at Byron’s house with a bunch of crusty rednecks who live on the east end of town is not the kind of thing Amelia Bright and her cheerleader sister or her best friend would ever waste their Saturday night doing.”
“What about me?”
I crane my neck to the side and see that Amelia’s standing at the counter next to Seth. Her arms are full of painting supplies. I want to laugh when I see that she’s got a pack of latex gloves and three different sizes of painter’s tape.
“Bash was just saying that you probably wouldn’t be interested in going to Byron Scott’s party with us tonight.”
Her eyes narrow infinitesimally. “Why not?”
“He doesn’t think it’s your scene.”
She looks from Seth to me and squares her shoulders. Aw, shit—this can’t be good. I think I’ve offended her. Again.
“And why isn’t it my scene? Let me guess,” she says snippily, “I’m too preppy? Too big for my britches to be at a party?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Or is it that I’m not enough of a hipster,” she presses, “or a punk or whatever I need to be to make your list?”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I explain as I grab a nearby rubber mallet to hammer the lid shut. “And there is no list. All I meant is that a party at Byron Scott’s, where a bunch of idiots are going to be stupid drunk and will most likely wind up mudding through Westmoreland Field at three in the morning or setting off a shit-ton of fireworks, doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”
“Then you might be surprised because Marcel Pruitt mentioned the party to me yesterday and I’m already planning on being there.”
The ins and outs of the high school social caste system have long confused me, but this makes no sense at all. Amelia Bright is going to Byron’s party? It’s like finding out that LeBron James is going to be subbing for gym class.
“You’re already going?” I ask, my voice leaden with skepticism.
She nods her head vigorously. “I am.”
Seth asks, “Are you bringing Audra and your sister with you?”
“Oh, you can count on it,” she tells him.
I say, “Then I imagine we’ll see you there?”
“That’s right—you will,” she answers before turning away and striding swiftly toward the front of the store.
When she makes it halfway down the aisle, I stop her. “Amelia?”
She stops abruptly then looks back and lifts one eyebrow in a frank challenge. “Yes?”
Tamping down a smile, I hold the gallon of paint up to eye level and nod my head toward it. “You might want to take this with you. It’ll make painting that accent wall a heck of a lot easier.”
The blush that spreads from her forehead to her neck could probably power all of Green Cove. She can’t even meet my eyes as she scuttles back to the paint station and snatches the gallon can from me. “Oh, right. Thank you.”
“You’re perfectly welcome.”
Seth and I watch her struggle to balance and keep hold of all her items. I want to go offer to help her but I’m getting the distinct impression that trying to behave gentlemanly and help her to the front of the store is the last thing Amelia Bright wants right now.
At the cash register, she unceremoniously fumbles everything onto the black conveyer belt. Then she blows her brown hair out of her face and hands Lina, the cashier, a credit card. Not once does she look back at us.
Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Seth asks meaningfully.
“Hell if I know.”
“But I take it you’re in for tonight.”
Still watching Amelia, I hook my thumbs into my back pockets and nod my head. “I’m in.”
CHAPTER SIX
Amelia
This was such a bad idea.
Country-pop is blaring from the sound system in twangy, stomach-churning thumps. The whole house reeks of a noxious mixture of liquor and what I’m guessing is weed. A string of blue and green Christmas lights tacked unevenly between the wall and the shoddy aluminum ceiling is the only source of light in here.
Crowded. Chaotic. Dark.
Despite the fact that I’m walking with my arms out in front of me, every few steps I bump into something new. This time it’s some girl’s leg. She lets out a howl and glares up at me from under the rim of a camo-print hat. She’s got on a red halter, dusty cowboy boots on her feet, and a micro jean skirt that makes Daphne’s sense of style look like it was developed in a nunnery.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to get back to my friends,” I mumble, pressing my hand to the corner of a cheaply-made end table so that I don’t topple over. What I should have said was, What did you expect to happen when you decided to sit on the floor in the middle of a packed room?
Basically, this party meets all of my criteria for a nightmarish situation. And the worst part is that I put on this kelly green low-cut blouse myself, piled on my favorite Kendra Scott jewelry, and came here willingly. To what? Prove a point? Well, the joke’s on me because it doesn’t look like Sebastian is even here.
At least my sister seems to be enjoying herself. She was pleased as punch when I told her this afternoon that I wanted to go to a party and immediately started calling up everyone in her massive social sphere and telling them to meet us. And the minute we walked through the door, she grabbed three cups from some guy I’m positive she’d never seen before and shoved one in my face and handed another to Audra.
I tried to tell her I didn’t want it but she insisted, swearing up and down that hard lemonade is good for the soul. Then Audra promised to only have one and be in charge of the keys and my fate was sealed.
Forty miserable minutes later, here I am, nursing the same drink, trying to avoid most conversation, and wishing I could spontaneously teleport to my bed. Or maybe even a bookstore. The new mystery I’ve been waiting on for the past four months came out earlier in the week and it’s killing me to know that I could be snuggled up under my covers right now with that book but, instead, I’m at this awful party.
&
nbsp; Lord, what was I thinking? Sebastian was absolutely right when he said this place wasn’t going to be my scene. It’s soooo not my scene.
I finally clear the rest of the obstacle course that is the living room and find Audra leaning against a wall.
“Where’s Daphne?” I ask, trying to peer out into the darkness.
Audra points in the direction of the back porch. Through the window, I can just make out my sister sitting on top of Spencer McGovern’s lap. He’s wearing his football jersey and jeans, and to my total and utter disgust, there’s a cigar hanging out of his mouth.
“Joy,” I mutter. “I’m so glad that she invited him and all his football team friends to come out with us tonight.”
“Okay, spill it,” Audra says. “What on God’s green earth has Spencer done to make you dislike him so much?”
“I don’t know,” I start, reluctant to put it into words. “Can’t I just not like him?”
“Sure you can because I don’t like him much either. It just doesn’t seem like you is all and it has me thinkin’ there’s somethin’ I don’t know.”
I shrug. “Let’s just say that Spencer gives me the heebie jeebies. It’s almost like he has an imbalance of neutrons or protons or something.”
This gets a laugh out of her. “Amelia, did you just up and compare your sister’s boyfriend to an unstable atom?”
“We’re talking about radionuclides in chemistry and I guess I have them on the brain.”
She shakes her head. “We’re at a party—the first one you’ve attended all year I might add—and you’re talkin’ about chemistry.”
“I’ll stop.”
She laughs some more. “Amelia, I don’t think you can stop even if you want to and that’s one reason I love you. Girl, if you hate the party as much as your face tells me you do, let’s just hightail it out of here. Truth is, I’m not feelin’ things either.”
“We could go over that Homecoming action plan again,” I suggest. “I promised Mr. Brickler that I’d turn it in on Monday.”
“Or we could pop on over to Cacciatore’s to pick up a large pizza with extra cheese and binge on Netflix and junk food for the rest of the night.”
The Bright Effect Page 5
