by Tiffany King
She sighed. "Butch and I have no problem financing your other wants, but we can't justify wasting money on new clothes when there are dozens of thrift stores offering the same thing for so much less. Now, if you want us to buy you a sewing machine so you can try your hand at making your own, that's a different story. Maybe you'll have more success than I did," she added, shuddering slightly since her own attempts at making clothes had been a complete bust. Buttercup had mad skills when it came to gardening and making jewelry, but she was a disaster when it came to sewing.
"Pass," I answered, heading for the front door. This would be why I needed a summer job. Clothes may not define a person, but the right clothes certainly didn't hurt as evidenced by the success of my pink bikini. Now that I was finally sixteen, I could earn money for the things I wanted.
Chapter 4
I woke the next morning with Player curled up on my forehead. This did not surprise me. I'd come to the conclusion the night before that Player had dominance issues. After he had successfully scaled everything in my room and perched on the highest obstacle, he was where he wanted to be. Lording over everything below. Waking with him on my forehead was simply another way for him to show me who was boss. Scooping him up in my hands, I rested him on my chest. He started purring loudly as I stroked a hand over his small head.
"You're too big for your furry little britches," I cooed as he stood up and stretched before hopping down to the floor. I could hear him chasing something around as I continued to veg in my bed, reflecting over the past twenty-four hours. I was pleased with the progress I had made in my personal life. I had met a guy. Technically, I met two guys, but I wasn't sure I should count Turtle Boy, no matter how cute he was. I'd also managed to secure a job at the small ice cream shop that was less than a mile from my house. My past experience working in concession stands at craft fairs swung the job in my favor. Things were falling into place like giant-sized jigsaw puzzle pieces.
I was in the process of debating whether my bathroom needs were important enough to get up out of bed when Player jumped on my blanket with a big disgusting spider dangling from his jowls. I shrieked and slid back on my mattress, trying to put distance between us. As if he thought I was playing with him, Player followed me and dropped the spider on the bed before pouncing on it again. I scrambled off my bed and reached over cautiously to pat Player's head, rewarding him for his capture. Satisfied at being acknowledged, he sat back and proceeded to munch on his kill right on my bed. "Gross," I gagged, turning away after one of the spider's legs landed on my sheet.
Note to self: wash sheets before going to bed tonight. "You're lucky you're cute," I said as he licked his chops. "Maybe, though, you can eat your trophies on the floor from now on." Of course he ignored me and jumped off the bed to chase dust mites floating in the air. No respect.
I left my room to find Butch and Buttercup in the backyard prepping it for the garden they had mapped out the night before. With the exception of my room, the backyard was my favorite part of our new house. There were a few palm trees littered around, providing patches of shade, and a rather large magnolia tree with a gazebo perched underneath in the far corner of the yard that was a perfect spot for reading. The gazebo was painted white to match the house and screened in on all sides to keep out pesky bugs. Inside sat an oversized lounge chair built for two, flanked on either side by little round tables. The space practically begged you to lie down and chill.
"How about helping me hoe?" Butch asked cheerfully.
"Is that any way to talk to your own daughter?" I teased.
He laughed at my joke. That was our relationship. It may have seemed at times as if my parents and I had grown apart during the past few years, but that didn't mean we didn't like to cut up with each other.
"Sorry. Do you want to help me with the garden hoe?" he clarified as Buttercup threw a handful of dirt his way.
"Babe, I was just asking our child for some assistance," he said, smiling mischievously. Buttercup reached into the ground for another handful of dirt to threaten him when he once again reworded his question. "Rainbow, my sweet lamb chop, do you want to help us till? There, how was that?" he asked.
"Nice attempt, but sorry, I can't. I have plans today," I said, allowing the "Rainbow" slip to go without comment.
"Oh yeah?" Buttercup commented. I tried not to bristle when she and Butch exchanged an apprehensive glance. Obviously they were worried about whether I would get into trouble like I had back in Huntsville. I couldn't deny that their concerns were justified, even though they were the reason I started my pranks in the first place. That was the part my parents still didn't understand. All I wanted to do was shift the attention off the town's favorite freak show spectacle, to do something to get the kids at school to stop laughing and talking about us behind my back. Now all the distrust between my parents and me had caused a chasm in our relationship that was never there before.
"Look, you can relax. I have to go back to Tasty Freeze to fill out my paperwork and do some training," I finally admitted, throwing them a bone.
I could almost see the tension leave their shoulders. "Look at our Rainbow, all grown up," Butch said, pretending to wipe away a tear. Unlike the reluctance Buttercup had shown, Butch was all for me getting a job. He appreciated the fact I wanted to work for what I wanted.
"Aw, don't cry, Creston," I said, patting him on the back.
"Butch," he corrected.
"Rain," I countered.
"I'll never understand why you'd want to change the name we felt suited you so well," Butch grumbled, churning up the ground with the hoe.
"I'm sure your parents felt the same way," I pointed out, heading for the main house so I could grab some grub before I headed to Tasty Freeze.
"Creston is not a name. It's the gooey stuff in the corner of your eye in the morning," he griped, stabbing at the ground.
"That's gross, dear, and you need to turn the earth, not pulverize it," Buttercup said, humming to herself as she sorted through her seeds. She already seemed to have moved on from her mistrust from moments before. Buttercup embraced harmony and refused to rise to conflict. It was nice most of the time, but a pain when you were itching for a fight.
***
"How did it go at Tasty Freeze?" Buttercup asked when I returned home a couple hours later. I could tell she was waving the white flag.
I returned the smile, ready to accept her olive branch. I hated being at odds with my mom. I missed her. This move was supposed to make things better. "Great," I replied, sinking down on the stool next to her.
"If you're hungry there's hummus and a vegetable pasta salad in the refrigerator," she said, looking up from the necklace she was crafting out of delicate purple wire.
"I'll eat something later. I met a couple guys yesterday who seemed cool. They invited me to hang out today," I answered. "They're having a party tonight."
"Guys?"
"Huh? Oh, girls too. You know what I mean," I added, bracing myself for a barrage of questions.
"Sounds fun," she answered, stringing an iridescent bead.
It was hard to tell by her tone of indifference whether she truly objected, but her interest at least seemed genuine.
"Yeah. I'm sure there'll be drinking, drugs, and probably some sexual shenanigans too," I teased, slipping back into my old persona, the one that wasn't constantly on edge.
"If you're lucky," she answered, returning my grin as she bent and contorted her piece of wire with a tool that looked like mini pliers.
I laughed. At least our exchange hadn't turned into a fight. That much I was grateful for. "I'm going to go change into my swimsuit," I said, leaving her lost in her beading.
Twenty minutes later I headed across the street with my chair and towel in hand, scanning the beach for the group I had befriended the day before. Figuring they would be somewhere near Evan's house, I walked into that general area and swept my eyes over a countless sea of sunbathers before coming to the conclusion that my new friends
weren't among them. I was about ready to give up in disappointment when I squinted into the sunlight behind me at the sound of my name. Placing a hand over my eyes to block the sun's blinding rays, I spotted Evan leaning against the wooden rail of the lowest of his house's three decks. Smiling in relief, I toted my beach chair through the sand toward the wooden steps that led to where Evan was standing.
"Hey," he greeted me. "Come on up. The gate's unlocked."
"Hey yourself," I answered, smiling coyly. "No beach today?" I reached the top of the steps to find a spectacular pool, complete with its own slide and custom-made waterfall. Leslie, Farrah, and Paris lounged on padded chairs with cucumbers covering their eyes. Their bodies glistened in the sun from tanning oil and all three appeared to be tuning out the world with their earbuds while they listened to music. Trevor and Steve floated on rafts in the pool, offering up halfhearted waves as a greeting.
"Some crap-ass daycare decided to bring, like, a hundred rugrats to this section of the beach earlier. Talk about ruining a perfectly good day," he complained, grabbing a beer from a stainless steel ice chest on wheels that was parked by the hot tub. He handed it to me without asking and pulled another out for himself. I accepted it without hesitation. I was no stranger to drinking. Buttercup and Butch prided themselves on making their own wine, and Butch had also spent a few summers perfecting his whiskey-making skills. After a few years, he was a pro at the whole fermentation-and-distillation process. Not that they allowed me to drink whenever I wanted to. They believed in moderation and saw nothing wrong with me sampling a drink or two on special occasions. I enjoyed the taste of wine, but discovered early on that whiskey wasn't for me. Actually, beer was my adult beverage of choice. Buttercup disliked the smell of it, and Butch could take it or leave it.
Holding out the bottle so Evan could twist off the top for me, I followed his lead as we sat on the edge of the pool, dangling our legs in the cool water that lapped at our knees.
"How was your thing last night?" Evan asked, scooting closer so our thighs were pressed against each other.
"What?" His movement momentarily distracted me as I glanced over at the others to see if they were watching us.
"Your date or whatever, last night. How was it?" he repeated nonchalantly. He was trying to act cool, though he was clearly digging.
I laughed, flattered that he assumed there was another guy in the picture. "Not a date. I had a job interview."
"A job, really?" He acted like he'd never heard the word before.
As if his house that looked like a small hotel wasn't evidence enough, the bewildered expression on Evan's face indicated that I might be out of my element with this group. Obviously, he had never held a job in his life. Was that really someone I could seriously consider dating? Not that I judged him. I just wondered how we could relate to each other. Back in Kansas, part-time jobs for kids our age were a given if you were lucky enough to have parents who allowed it. Considering there weren't that many part-time jobs to go around, you were envied if you had one. Having a job in a rural town meant freedom and independence.
"Yeah, at Tasty Freeze," I said, trying to interject enthusiasm into my voice.
"That's cool," he said, shrugging as he took a swig of his beer.
Neither of us commented on the matter further, which led to a stretch of awkward silence. I did the only thing I could think of, which was to slide into the pool, hoping the water might kick-start the conversation in a different direction.
"Sorry. I was hot," I said, observing Evan's questioning look when I came up for air.
"You were, huh?" He winked confidently as he slid into the water to join me.
Go figure, I thought, rolling my eyes. Boys were all alike—hormonally driven. "I think you need to cool off too," I said, devilishly splashing water his way.
A sinister smile spread across his handsome face. He really was good looking. Even in the pool with his hair messed up and water dripping down his face, Evan was hotter than the average guy. I giggled, trying to dart away from his stalking advances.
A huge cascade of water hit me square in the face before he could reach me. "Water fight," one of the twins bellowed. I think it was Steve.
"You're dead," I said, flipping him off his raft before he could paddle away with his hands.
Steve's brother, Trevor, dove off his own raft and an all-out water fight ensued with lots of splashing and dunking. It was lighthearted and fun. Only when I was gasping for breath did I throw in the white flag and stagger toward the steps to leave the pool. Water dripped from my body, and I couldn't help noticing Evan and the twins eyeing me as I wrung the water from my hair with my hands. Maybe they thought they were flattering me, but it felt kind of creepy. I had a strong urge to wrap a towel around me as their stares not so subtly rested on my chest. Turning away from them, I looked to Farrah, Leslie, and Paris, who had removed their cucumbers sometime during our water fight.
Leslie eyed me critically as I stood near their lounge chairs, dripping water on the deck. "You guys just wake up?" I asked, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Girls had been judging me for years, so Leslie's attitude was nothing new.
"Cute," she said, setting her phone to the side.
I returned her look balefully. I wasn't looking to make any enemies, especially since I'd just arrived in Turtle Bay, but I also wouldn't bow down to the apparent queen. Just when I thought neither of us would budge, she looked away with disinterest, giving me a mild victory.
"Do you want to sit with us?" Farrah asked, smirking like my mild standoff with Leslie had amused her.
What I really wanted was to high-five someone or chest bump in celebration of my victory, but I settled for accepting Farrah's offer. "Sure," I answered.
"Are you coming tonight?" she asked brightly as Leslie and Paris began talking between themselves.
"I might swing by for a while," I answered. I liked Farrah. She was the most approachable and easygoing of the trio of girls.
"You should. Evan's parties are usually pretty legit. His parents aren't around, so we have the house to ourselves. My parents would rather have their fingers gnawed off by sharks before ever allowing me to throw a party," Farrah admitted wistfully. "How about you?"
I shrugged. Butch and Buttercup would probably be thrilled if I threw a party. I just wasn't sure how this crowd would fit in with them. It would be like trying to mix oil and water. "Our place is too small for a party," I answered honestly. "Plus, we don't have a pool."
"For some people, that hardly matters," she said, looking pointedly at Leslie and Paris, who were still ignoring us. "My parents love our pool though. It was a must-have when they bought the house. They're both writers who sit in front of their computers most of the day. They claim swimming and the ocean keep their creative juices flowing."
"Writers?" I asked, jumping on her statement. Writing was my passion. I had stacks of journals sitting in two boxes in the corner of my room. They were filled with short stories I had been working on all my life. Writing was my way to escape. When you read them in order, you would see how my interests changed during the years. Like my walk among the exotic animals of the jungle when I was nine. When I was ten my stories moved to the paranormal, where I became a superhero everyone looked up to. Puberty introduced stories about love and first kisses. Each story I penned contained elements from my innermost thoughts, almost like a diary. As much as I enjoyed writing, I had never reached the point where I felt comfortable letting anyone read my stories. Not even Buttercup and Butch. Thankfully, they had always been the types to respect my privacy. As far as they were concerned, whatever I was doodling or writing, at least I was being creative.
"Yeah, lame, right?" Farrah asked, looking over her shoulder to see if Paris and Leslie were listening.
"Why would it be lame?"
"Because it's not a real career," she said quietly, shooting another glance over her shoulder.
"Says who?" I asked. "I'd assume if they made money from it, it's a ca
reer." I didn't mention that my dream was to someday be able to support myself with my writing.
"That's what my dad says, but they write—well, adult novels. Some people think it's not reputable enough to be considered real literature."
"Yeah, her dad and mom write some freaky stuff," Trevor said, sitting on the foot of Farrah's lounge chair. "It's smoking hot," he added, whistling through his teeth.
"Gross, please tell me you haven't read their books," Farrah said, looking mortified as Paris and Leslie returned their attention to us.
"You're such a perv, Trevor. You know you don't need a book to get off. I'm sure Farrah would be more than willing to help you out in that area," Leslie added.
Farrah's face turned a deep shade of red. She looked at Leslie as if she had been betrayed. What a cow. Farrah must have had a thing for Trevor, and judging by the way her face now resembled a tomato, it was a secret.
"Read a lot of adult romance, do you?" I taunted Trevor, trying to take some of the attention off Farrah.
Evan snorted, sitting down next to me. "If it has pictures he does; otherwise, he can't make sense of what he's reading." He chuckled when Trevor flicked his towel at him.
"You wish, bitch. It's a good thing you're pretty 'cause your dumb ass is going to need it."
Steve and Trevor high-fived.
I shot a look at Farrah, glad to see that my comment had deflected the attention off her. The color in her cheeks was slowly returning to normal. The conversation after that flowed better with the guys trading insults and stories. Leslie and Paris spent the majority of the time on their phones, which suited me just fine. As the afternoon wore on I got to know them all a lot better. Steve and Trevor were total players, but it wasn't anything I wasn't used to. The more Farrah and I talked, the more I liked her. The jury was still out on Evan. At times he was cool to talk to, but his vanity had a way of obscuring that from view. Time would tell whether we would turn into something.
