Finding Wonderful (The Perfect Rebels Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  “Get your lazy ass out of bed,” she says, kicking the side of my bed with the tip of her shoe. “I can’t believe you’re lying around when there’s a ton of stuff to do.”

  I set the baseball down on the nightstand and sit up. “What do you need me to do?”

  She crosses her arms and stares me down. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Come downstairs and set the table. After we eat, you and I are going to have a talk.”

  Without waiting for me to respond, she walks out and slams the door.

  What the hell? Since when does she make dinner? Better yet, what the heck does she want to talk about?

  Probably not anything good.

  No talk with Aunt Louisa ever ends well.

  Worry creeps inside me.

  What’s going on?

  The moment I step foot in the kitchen, I quickly realize three things.

  That after nearly eight years of living off TV dinners, I finally get to eat a homemade dinner.

  That my aunt does own plates made of a material besides paper and even salad forks, whatever the hell those are.

  And we have company—a fifty-something-year-old dude with thinning hair and wearing a brown suede suit with leather elbow pads that looks straight out of the 70s.

  When I approach the table, he shakes my hand and introduces himself as Glen. At first, I can’t figure out why he’s here. Is he Aunt Louisa’s date? Since she hasn’t dated since I moved in, I highly doubt it. But after I set the table and we sit down at the dinner table, he covers his hand over hers, causing her to smile like a giddy teenage girl.

  Well, would you look at that? Aunt Louisa can smile.

  But her smile hastily fades when she notes me watching them with mild interest.

  “Gaige, we need to talk,” she announces, picking up a large bowl filled with mashed potatoes. She slaps a heaping spoonful onto Glen’s plate and then gives herself a smaller portion before setting the bowl down.

  “About what?” I ask, reaching for the bowl of potatoes.

  She slides the bowl out of my reach. "Let's talk first, and then you can eat."

  “Holding the potatoes hostage in case I try to bail out, huh?” I say dryly.

  She scowls at me. “Now’s not the time to joke. I need you to be serious for a moment. It’s important.”

  I eye the food and then her. "Is everything okay?"

  "Everything's fine, and that's what we need to talk about." She takes Glen's hand, and he gives her an encouraging look. She smiles at him, but her warmness melts as her gaze glides to me again. "Glen and I have been dating for a couple of months now, and things are starting to get really serious."

  They stare at me expectantly.

  “Um, great… Good for you.” Figuring the conversation is over, I start to reach for the potatoes again.

  “We’re not telling you this to congratulate us,” Aunt Louisa says curtly. “God, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Easy, honey. You need to calm down,” Glen says. “Remember deep breaths. Air in. Air out.”

  I glance up, curious how my aunt will react. She doesn’t normally react well to people telling her what to do, so when she sucks in an inhale and releases it, I think, Well, holy shit, this Glen guy might be pretty cool, even with the brown suede suit.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says in a foreign sugary sweet tone. “He just frustrates me sometimes.”

  “Remember what we talked about? Don’t let him get to you.” Glen squeezes her hand. “Be strong and confident. You’re the boss.”

  Okay, he just lost all his coolness.

  My aunt nods and then looks at me, squaring her shoulders. “Gaige, it’s time for you to move out.”

  I blink, blindsided. “What?”

  “My lease is up in less than a week, and we decided that the best thing for us to do is move in together. He only has a one-bedroom apartment, so there won’t be any room for you. Plus, he lives all the way out in Alpine Valley, which is way too far away from your school.” She looks at Glen with her hand stuck out “Did you bring the card?”

  Glen fumbles a card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Aunt Louisa. “Here you go, hon.”

  She slides the card across the table toward me. “I know you have a few weeks of school left, so I arranged for you to stay here until you graduate.”

  I don’t look down at the card. “What about after I graduate? Fall semester doesn’t start until August… I wasn’t planning to move out until I could get into the dorms.” Fuck. Where the hell am I going to live?

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to get yourself a job, won’t you,” she says, picking up her fork and knife.

  “I already have a job, but it won’t pay for my own place.” My job moving sprinkler pipes pays crap, but the hours work well with school.

  “Well, I guess you’ll just have to get another. It’s time for you to grow up. I’ve taken care of you until you turned eighteen. You’re an adult now. You’re old enough to start taking care of yourself.” She slices her steak, the knife making an ear-cringing noise as it scrapes the plate. “Call that number on the card. Mrs. Marlow is expecting your call. And she’s being very generous by letting you live there for a month rent free, so make sure you don’t mess it up by being… Well, you.”

  I open and flex my hand, taking a deep breath. You can handle this. You hate living with Aunt Louisa anyway. And you’ve handled way worse.

  I dare a glance at the card and my confusion doubles.

  If you ever need any help, just remember who to call. Mrs. Marlow!

  For some reason, the Ghostbuster tune plays through my head.

  I look up at my aunt in time to see her giggle as Glen whispers in her ear.

  “Who is this person?” I interrupt their teenage lovefest moment, holding up the card. “It doesn’t really explain on here, but her name seems familiar.”

  “It’s Livvy Marlow,” she says like it explains everything. When crickets literally start to chirp, she huffs in annoyance. “You know, that woman who stands outside the grocery store trying to get people to sign up for the food drive. She wears that funny hat with the yellow flower on it.”

  Fuck. Willa’s mom?

  “Oh, yeah.” I don’t know whether to feel comforted by the revelation or concerned. The woman seems nice and everything, but wonky. “Wait. How did she even find out I needed a place?”

  For the first time during this conversation—maybe even for the first time since I moved in—my aunt appears guilty.

  “I might have mentioned to her that I have a nephew who is about to be homeless soon,” she says then stuffs her mouth full of steak.

  “Did you tell her you’re my guardian?” I ask.

  She avoids eye contact with me, staring at her plate. “I don’t see why that would be relevant. And you’re eighteen now, so technically I’m no longer responsible for you.”

  My jaw ticks. How long has she known she was going to kick me out? Days? Weeks? Months? At least if she’d given me some notice, I could’ve tried to save up some money to get my own place. Now I’m going to either have to sleep in my car or live with a woman who chased me across the parking lot once, yelling, “Good deeds warm the heart and soul!” like she was selling soup instead of trying to get me to commit to a week of handing food to people.

  “Just think about it.” She’d shoved the card into my hand.

  “Sure.” I’d walked away and tucked the card into my back pocket where it was long forgotten.

  Okay, maybe I deserve what’s happening to me.

  "Just call Mrs. Marlow," my aunt says, taking her aggravation with me out on her steak, hacking the meat to pieces. "She told me you could move in this weekend, so make sure to get started on packing tonight. Don't take any of the furniture. That all goes with me."

  I swallow hard. “Okay.”

  A smile lights up her face. “Thank you for being cooperative about this.”

  It’s probably the first nice thing she’s said
to me in years, and it’d be great if it didn’t happen right before she had to kick me out.

  Pushing my chair away from the table, I rise to my feet. “You know what, I’m not really that hungry.”

  “Sounds good.” She grins at Glen, looking happy as can be.

  And even though I fucking hate it, my heart aches a bit that she’s so happy to be getting rid of me

  Turning around, I hurry out of the room. By the time I reach the stairway, my hands are shaking and my phone is buzzing in my pocket.

  Digging it out, my heart sinks as I see who the message is from. My blackmailer. Well, not just my blackmailer but all of the Perfect Rebels as well.

  TPRL: Heard a little rumor you were moving in with Brecken’s little friend. I think it’s time you got your hands dirty again and did a little digging to see exactly what secrets he was keeping about me.

  God, news travels fast around here. Too fast. But that’s small towns for you.

  I want to ask them what secrets he thinks Brecken was keeping. But they wouldn’t tell me. No, every time I even try to get personal information from the blackmailer, they threaten to turn me and my friends in to the police. Then they show me the video footage they took of that night to prove that indeed they could get us all arrested.

  Me: How am I supposed to do that? Willa hates me. And besides, I don’t even know who you are. Not really anyway. All I have is a first name and I’m sure it’s fake.

  TPRL: I’m sure you can figure something out. Just do what you do best and charm her into thinking you’re a great guy she wants to hook up with. That is what you do, right? And as for the little dilemma about knowing who I am, I don’t need you to find out if she knows secrets about me per se. I just need to know if her friend Brecken told her anything about what happened on the night of Oct. 31st, 2015.

  I clutch the life out of my phone. God dammit, I hate this shit. For over three years I’ve been putting up with it because of that stupid fucking mistake.

  But you kind of deserve this, don’t you? Think about what you and your friends did.

  Memories of driving and laughing with the windows rolled down creep into my mind. It started out as such a great night, but ended up being one of the worst nights of my life—right up there with my parents dying—as the sound of brakes squealing and screaming cut through the laughter.

  We made so many bad decisions that night. I wish I could go back and do things differently, but I can’t. And now I’m going to spend the rest of my life being blackmailed and being crushed with guilt.

  Me: Fine, I’ll do it.

  I just wish I knew exactly what I was finding out. What happened almost two years ago that my blackmailers so worried about?

  TPRL: That wasn’t a question. You’ll do what I say no matter what. Always will or else your friends and your’s little secret from that night will get out. And then you’ll be answering to the police.

  My hands begin to shake as I realize how right he is and send a message to my friend Phoenix about what happened. By the time I make it to my room, he’s replied.

  Phoenix: Fuck, Willa, really? How the hell are you going to make that happen? The girl fucking hates us.

  True. Willa does hate us and not just because of today. My friends and I haven’t been that nice to her or her friend Brecken. I wish I had a good reason why we treated people like shit, but I don’t. The truth is—at least for me—I treat people like shit to push them away, to pretend I’m someone else, to put up walls, to keep my secrets safe, and honestly, sometimes I just do it as an outlet.

  God, I’m such a terrible fucking person. I wish I was better. Wish I could just walk away from this and turn myself in. But I’m selfish. And afraid. Selfishly afraid.

  So, I put my phone away and start plotting how to win Willa over.

  Chapter 3

  Willa

  After bailing out of school on Friday, I spend the rest of the night and well into Saturday locked up in my room with "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd stuck on repeat and longing for simpler times when I didn’t have to worry about going to school and getting made fun of. But anxiety creeps up on me and makes it complicated to breathe.

  Rolling onto my side, I take a deep breath and focus on the photo collage on the wall that maps out my life and all the people I’ve lost. I miss everyone and sometimes wish I could go back in time to moments the photos captured.

  I continue to daydream, planning on staying locked in my room all through the weekend just to avoid my mom's nagging me to get my do-gooder deed quota up for the month. But I should know better than to think some old school tunes and a locked door would keep my mom away.

  “Knock. Knock,” she singsongs, rapping on my closed door.

  I stay glued to my unmade bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting the lyrics suck me away to a happier time when Brecken was here. We were drinking wine we snuck from the cabinet in the dining room and Brecken was doing an impersonation of Porter getting kicked in his precious jewels by Bailey Alingmany after he tried to dump her at a party. I wasn’t there—parties aren’t really my scene—but Brecken was art buddies with the guy throwing the party, so he went.

  After he delivered a very theatrical and quite comical performance of Bailey bashing the tip of her four-inch designer heels straight into Porter's special man goodies, he flopped down on the bed beside me.

  “It was so funny, Willa,” he said, all giddy. “I wish you could’ve been there to see it.”

  “Ha! Me go to a party. That’ll be the day.” I tucked my hands under my head and stared at him as he grinned at me.

  “One day you will,” he said, patting my head. “You’ll see.”

  I didn’t say anything, just stared at him.

  Brecken was one of those pretty boys with long dark lashes and full lips. I think if he weren’t such a weirdo and didn’t dress like a character from Alice in Wonderland so much, he’d have had a million girls lined up to date him. But I was glad he didn’t. I liked that he belonged to me, not in a girlfriend/boyfriend way, but as my best friend in the entire world. And he always made me smile. All the time. Such a happy person.

  At least I thought so.

  How did I miss how sad he really was?

  That is if he really did take his own life.

  But what if he didn’t?

  My thoughts drift back to the final message I got from him.

  I’ve got a secret. A really good one too about a lot of people in this town. Share with you tonight! But we need to go someplace where no one can overhear us. I think I know the perfect place. But you’ll have to trust me, like a freakin’ ton, and not be angry with me for not telling you the truth earlier.

  He never said what that place was and I never found out because before we met up, he died. I had told his mom about the message afterward and she passed it along to the police, but Brecken collected secrets like people collect buttons, bugs, or dolls, so no one thought too much of it. Except me. I can’t seem to let it go. I mean, why would he tell me to meet up with him if he knew he was going to take his own life that night? And what was the secret? And who was it about? And what was he not telling me?

  “Knock. Knock,” my mom tries again, louder this time.

  Ignoring her, I crank up the music, roll over, and slip my hand underneath the mattress. I feel around until my fingertips brush the edge of an envelope.

  About a week after Brecken's funeral his mom showed up on my doorstep to hand deliver a manila envelope with my name written on it with a note that said: DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU ARE WILLA. AND TRUST ME, I'LL KNOW BECAUSE I SEE EVERYTHING. BECAUSE I'M FREAKIN' AWESOME.

  "I found this in Brecken's room." Her hands shook as she gave me the envelope. "I didn't open it... I wanted to, but clearly, he didn't want me to." She sniffled, her eyes ringed with red. She'd been crying. Probably had been since she found him. "If it's anything I need to see, you'll let me know, right?"

  "Of course." I hugged her, and she held on tightly.

 
I felt so bad for her, not just because she lost a child but of how she lost him. And Brecken was her only child.

  “I miss him so much,” she whispered with a tremulous breath.

  Me too. But I couldn’t say the words aloud. It felt like if I did, I’d be accepting that he was gone, and then I’d be forced to feel the pain that came with missing him.

  So I stayed quiet while she hugged me until she pulled away. Then we said goodbye, and I went to my bedroom to open the envelope. My fingers shook as I tore the seal open and dumped out the contents onto my bed; a map of the town and a note in Brecken’s handwriting.

  This will lead you to the answers. Just be careful, please, and don’t let anyone find out about any of this.

  I traced my fingers along the tiny red heart drawn across the center of the map. I didn’t know if Brecken had created the map before or after he decided he was going to take his own life, what the purpose of the map was, or where it leads to, or why he warned me to be careful. I looked up the latitude and longitude online, but sadly, it was just my house. Deep down, I think I wished if I’d find some magical place where Brecken was waiting for me. That maybe he didn’t die. That these last few months of hell were only a dream.

  “I said, knock, knock,” my mom repeats, yanking me away from my thoughts.

  She sounds about as cheery as a cartoon character preparing to break out into a song. Worried she just might do that, I drag my butt off my bed and throw open the door.

  She’s sporting a pair of denim overalls, work gloves, and the brimmed hat with the yellow flower, which can only mean one thing. She’s about to go out and help someone in need, probably by doing something like cleaning out an elderly person’s garage or pulling weeds at the shelter. And since she’s here, smiling at me like I’m the most beautiful, kindest soul in the world, it means she’s going to ask me to come with her.

  "What's up, Mom?" I shoot for upbeat tone but end up coming off more anti-depressant.

  She gives me a look. “I said, knock, knock.”

  I breathe in and out, reminding myself that my bad mood has nothing to do with her. “Who’s there?”