by Nicole Snow
I shrug. “Why do a stupid thing like that when there's money to be made? Big coin.”
That gets him smiling. Or maybe he's got me half-tuned out already, picturing his latest conquest. Georgia Evans goes down easy for most guys, and for Jace? He'll probably be home early with her panties in his pocket.
“Seriously, man, I like those ideas you floated a couple weeks ago. Started brainstorming in my little black book. It's a nice distraction during Euro history.” He reaches into his backpack, grabs his small leather notebook out of it, and flips it open. “This solar shit...it's gonna change everything. Won't even be hard to line up the venture capital with my old man's connections. You've got the brains, and I've got –”
“People,” I finish for him.
I don't need him saying the other word, money, rubbing in his status.
I have an idea what it takes to grease the wheels if you want to get anywhere in life. I also know how high a mountain I'd have to climb alone, without him, raising funds for an untested technology startup.
I nod, trying to be encouraging. Truth is, Jace barely understands what a solar panel is.
He hasn't spent the hours like I have, ass deep in government white papers, exploring markets and pinpointing needs that'll make this thing a success, right out of the gates.
“Yeah, that's it. People.” His phone starts buzzing. Throwing his notebook back in his bag, I watch him toss it over his shoulder, and race toward the elevator leading to the garage.
Yes, their house has its own elevator, as insane as that is.
“Gotta run! Email whatever you've got over by midnight and I'll pay up tomorrow. Thanks again, dude, I owe you.”
“Bye, Jace.” He's already out the door.
I should consider myself lucky he's taking this business talk so seriously. His support, his family, can open more doors than any degree. I'm lucky we're friends, even if it's frustrating as hell sometimes.
Whatever his faults, we make a good team.
“Alone again, Mr. Usher? Where's Jace?” Maxwell Chenocott appears behind me a few hours later, dropping his usual formal greeting. He's a strapping older man who looks like one of the playboy executives from Mad Men. He's a lot more reserved than the guys on TV, though, and more buff than any guy in his fifties should be. Probably the hikes in the Cascades he does religiously.
“Oil change and a library run, I think. Said his car really needed it. I decided to stay here and get cracking on our paper. How's business anyway, Mr. Chenocott?”
“Another day, another dollar.” He smiles, throwing his raincoat on the bamboo hanger by their door, then returning a minute later with a drink in his hand and a coffee for me. “Will you look at that view? Goddamn magnificent this evening.”
I turn to where he's staring out the massive windows. It's late evening and the city's lights are a half-smeared twinkle, distorted by the rain and darkness like a Grimshaw painting.
“Always is, Mr. Chenocott. You've got an awesome place.” I'm honest.
Deep down, maybe I'm a little jealous. They've always been good to me, but my folks will never have anything like this. Sometimes the chasm their money opens between us swallows me.
“Don't be covering for my boy if he's left you high and dry, okay?” His voice sharpens and he casts a sideways glance. “Jace has to learn to sink or swim on his own. No carrying his load if he's off screwing around, you hear?”
I do.
Doesn't change the fact there's only one sane thing to do every time he probes me over Jace: lie through my teeth.
“He's getting better at the details. Honest, he is. Just last week, we knocked around business ideas all evening. Even seemed excited to take another crack at the SATs.”
“He'd better. I didn't raise a loser. Hoping something rubs off before he finds himself in a world of hurt, Trent. You're a good kid and a better friend. He'd be worse off without you.”
Before I can say, “thanks,” the door swings open. There's a clatter of shoes.
Mrs. Chenocott sways across the room, falling into her husband's arms, greeting him with an enthusiastic kiss. She's a slender, regal woman. An admiral's daughter, supposedly. I burn my eyes into the screen, ignoring the fifteen year old shadow materializing over me, stabbing my fingers at my keyboard. Harder and harder so I don't have to live her torment.
“You again? Guess that means he isn't here,” Amy Kay whines, lowering her eyes. Her parents stop making out in front of us long enough to give a concerned look. “Jace promised he'd run me over for my uniform tonight.”
“Oh, Orcaettes?” Mrs. Chenocott smiles. I've heard she was on the academy's dance team back in the day, too, which is probably why she still has a trim figure. “I'll take you, hun. Where is Jace, anyway?”
Shit, shit. His cover story's growing thinner by the second. And picturing Amy Kay in the black and white tights that make up our school colors for the dance team does me no favors.
I've never been able to figure out if the Orcaettes get their name from the islands north of here, or the whale. Either way, the girls all look more like mermaids than any lumbering ocean beasts.
“Oil change and library books, Mrs. Chenocott. Should be back soon.” Yeah, I'm a royal heel for BSing like this. But there's a chance it could still be true, if my blood brother finishes getting his dick wet sometime this century and calls it an early night.
“Mom, forget it,” Amy says, shooting me a lingering look. “Too bad you don't have a car yet, Trent.”
“Yeah, too bad.” My family's relative poverty slaps me in the face. I try not to bite my tongue.
“Peanut! Not nice. Mr. Usher does perfectly well with his bicycle, just like most kids. Vehicles are very expensive to operate and often unnecessary. Hideous carbon footprint.” Mr. Chenocott's hand slaps my shoulder, trying to be reassuring.
Fuck, my guts just want to turn inside out. I don't need him coming to my defense, getting on his moral high horse about the environment or the logic of urban living. “Listen to your mom. She'll run you over for the uniform. Why don't you two go now while I figure out dinner?”
“Oh, Maxwell, not more takeout from that sushi place again?” His wife gives him a knowing look.
“Never, dear. It's so much better fresh. We're all going out tonight. Assuming Jace gets the hell back here in the next hour to join us.” He looks at his ten thousand dollar gold watch and taps the glass. “On second thought...screw it. We're not waiting up for him. Trent, I hope you'll join us. Proxy for Jace. It's the least we can do for not having a home cooked meal ready after helping him out.”
“That's very kind, but I'd better check with my folks,” I say, reaching for my phone.
It's just a formality. Ma never says no. Hell, she loves when I hang around the Chenocotts. Their money, prestige, and class impresses her.
I also think it's balm for the guilt she feels, in a twisted way, adopting me and being unable to provide anything like the culture these millionaires can.
Amy Kay's eyes are on me while I'm deep in thought, dialing mom's number.
Despite hanging around Jace and his family, their high culture hasn't exactly rubbed off. Not in my soul. I'm a thousand times more at home in the salt of the earth fish markets by Pike's Place than eating fancy sashimi. Too bad I'd be rude and foolish saying no.
A quick call to mom goes off like I expect. She doesn't even hesitate, tells me to have fun, and enjoy. It makes me just as determined to buy her and Pops a four hundred dollar dinner someday.
While I'm busy talking, the door crashes open again. Jace drags himself inside. Amy Kay and Mrs. Chenocott instantly shoot him dirty looks.
"What? What'd I miss?" Jace locks eyes with me.
He's grinning ear to ear. It's insanely difficult not to shake my head.
"You're just in time," Maxwell says. "Go wash up and see if Trent needs help wrapping up your project. Soon as you boys say you're good, we're calling a ride and going to Satoshi's."
Dinner is s
urreal.
I sit next to my best friend, doing my damnedest to pick over raw fish and rice. I'm sure I'm breaching etiquette a hundred times overloading every bite on my chopsticks full of wasabi, but I can't bring myself to care.
Ophelia Chenocott prattles on excitedly, telling us how nice her visit to the local university was with Amy Kay in tow. She dragged her daughter to some cancer research benefit, one of many charities she has a hand in.
I barely hear a word. My eyes are drunk on the site across from me, shyly hoisting bites of sushi to her ruby red lips.
Merciful Christ, is Amy Kay wearing lipstick tonight?
If she is, it looks damn good. Also sends jealousy storming through my blood, imagining who she's wearing it for.
Is this practice for some guy?
Another rich fuckhead I see every day in the halls, rubbing his paws together, hoping he'll be her first? Hell, is she already seeing somebody?
I hope to hell not. And not just because everything involving her and me is a bad idea.
She's too young, too innocent. Practically bait for the rich pricks who make up the majority of Maynard's male population. They're more like Jace than I care to admit. A willing cock carousel who burn through girls like their parents' money.
"Hey, dad, you still going to that thing in Olympic Park this weekend?" The excitement in Jace's tone gets my attention.
"It's October, dear. Your father wouldn't miss his last good chance at the trails before they turn freezing for anything." Mrs. Chenocott smiles, waiting until her husband nods. "Speaking of getaways, if you boys promise to behave, we were thinking –"
"Ma, you can trust us anytime. Hell, me and Trent were just planning to box ourselves in all weekend so I can study my SATs,” Jace tells her cheerfully.
I don't even have to look at my friend to know he's already got something diabolical planned.
"You're trying awfully hard to sell us, son. Makes me want to think twice about breaking in my new hiking boots before the season's over." Maxwell stops mid-bite, eyeing Jace through his thick spectacles.
A plump shrimp roll slips out of Amy's chopsticks, slapping the plate underneath. She sighs. "Does this mean I'll be cooped up all weekend with these clowns? Mom?"
I hold her eyes, longer than I need to. Damn, those jade green irises are dangerous – the kind that'll drown a man in stupid if he lets them.
They're also mysterious. Unpredictable. Consuming.
I can't tell if she actually hates my ass or maybe there's another reason she wants under my skin.
"Hon, you can bring a friend over too, if you'd like. I'm sure it'll be okay...we've got Trent to keep everyone in line. Consider yourselves lucky." Mrs. Chenocott runs her hand along Maxwell's. He gives her a knowing look.
Gross. They really need that weekend getaway, probably to finish what they started after she came home today.
Mr. Chenocott nods. “Jace, I'm trusting you. You know the rules: no strangers, no drinking, and don't you dare set foot in the boathouse.”
Jace's eyes are on me, prickly as ever. I wonder if he resents having me appointed big brother, but it seems like he doesn't really care. Having the whole house to ourselves overshadows whatever weird anxieties his parents keep pounding through his head.
I know one thing: this weekend is going to be balls to the walls insane.
"Dad, I don't know. Seems like a bad idea." Amy Kay won't let go. I can't tell who's giving who the dirtier look – her, or Jace.
"Peanut, there's a lesson here for you, too, I'm sure. If it makes you feel better, keep an eye on them, and call us anytime. We'll keep our phones on." Maxwell never says what that lesson is.
Amy Kay's eyes meet mine again for a burning second, before she resumes stuffing her little mouth with sushi. Her hands stay busy the entire time. Clearly, it'll be a while before she makes peace with Jace running the house.
I just hope I'm able to diffuse the wicked heat this girl pumps in my blood, without blowing everything to kingdom come.
I'm at the Chenocott's place bright and early on Saturday morning. The beer I bought off an older kid's big brother last night swings under my coat, hiding from any servants who might still be lurking around. Same tactic I used with Ma and Pops. The Chenocotts rarely have their cleaning people by on the weekends, but I'm not taking chances.
Jace will be royally pissed if I screw up the booze. Sure, there's greater likelihood any missteps will be on his end, but a small part of me also wants to make the most of having this massive place to ourselves for the weekend.
I only ring the doorbell once. Jace's big hand comes out, grabs me by the wrist, and yanks me inside with all his might. "Get the fuck in here, my dude. We've got clear weather!"
"Weather?" The bottles rattle in my hand, secure in their cardboard container.
Behind us, I hear a shrill giggle. Fucking Georgia.
"Oh, Jaycee, you sure we need this beer with everything else? Hi, T!" Georgia waves. I try really hard to see a brain behind her manikin smile.
I give a weak hello and wave back. Don't know who I feel worse for: Georgia, for hanging off him like a damn puppy, or Jace for leading her on. He's bought himself a hell of a time getting rid of this one after he's had his fun.
"Forget it, babe. The more, the merrier. Usher, we're fucking loaded. Already raided the liquor cabinet dad hasn't touched in ages. Time to hit the waves."
The boat? Shit.
Jace is wasting no time landing us both in hot water.
"The boathouse?" I'm shaking my head, more obviously than I should. "Dude...you heard what your old man said. If anything happens to the Wilkie –"
"Usher?" He pauses, an irritable flicker in his eyes. Jace yanks one of the bottles from the box and rips the cap off, shoving it to my lips. "Drink. It'll help you chill the fuck out and, you know, not blow our only chance in months at finally having some goddamn fun."
Checkmate.
A rich dark Porter bubbles on my tongue. Higher alcohol content, of course, just like he wanted.
I shut my yap and suck it down, following Jace and Georgia through the garage, out the side door, and down the little stone walkway through Ophelia's manicured gardens. It's a decent walk across the huge property to their boathouse.
I've lost the war before it started.
There's no convincing him. He's made up his mind, and when there's pussy involved, Jace always aims to impress. No better way to do that than a four ton stand-in for his dick size that could sail all the way to Alaska. Overkill for Georgia, who's already wide-eyed and starstruck at the crown jewel of the Chenocott's enormous wealth.
Inside the boathouse, even the beer hitting my empty stomach can't completely silence the voice in my head screaming, this is a bad idea. The ship beckons in the dim light, big and proud, a seriously complicated machine.
The SS Wilkie is more than a rich man's yacht. It's a twenty person luxury liner. A freaking whale crafted from the finest wood. Right now, perched safely in its nest for at least a few more minutes.
A small part of me hopes Jace doesn't have a clue how to get this thing off the dock. He's already scrambling up the staircase leading to the main deck, grinning as he helps Georgia along. Predictably, she giggles her little ass off, pecks him on the cheek, and whispers something about "captain."
Awesome. We're not even out to sea, and I'm already fighting the urge to yak up breakfast.
"Usher, you coming?" Jace's tone is a warning. Not a question.
Lucky more booze hits my blood, giving me the liquid courage I need to get on with the insanity. I run up the stairs and bang my fist on his. "There's my man. Let's roll. I'll show you guys how hard I rock at steering this thing.”
He'd better be right.
It takes over an hour to get the boat into the Puget Sound. Jace doesn't really know what the hell he's doing.
Rather, he knows just enough to spool the engine up and get us cruising along the coast at a lazy clip. Good thing these yachts are meant
to be idiot proof.
Traffic on the water is light today, thank God. The other owners of fancy docks on this exclusive stretch of coast must be out of town for the weekend like the Chenocotts.
It doesn't take much time with Georgia on his lap before Jace gets distracted either. "Yo, why don't you take over, Usher? It's easy. I want to show my girl the rooms downstairs. Give her a little tour. Think you can handle this big bitch without running us aground?"
Georgia's eyes light up the second he says "my girl.”
Fucking woof. I've never seen any of his conquests happen so fast.
"I'll try," I say, running my eyes along the control panel.
It looks more like the fucking space shuttle than any boat I've ever known. But hell, it's not like I've ever been in the nerve center of anything more complicated than a car. Good thing I like a challenge. “Run along. If I run into trouble, I'll holler.”
"See? Told ya we could count on him." Jace silences Georgia's laughter with a long kiss, and then they're gone.
Shit. I'm buzzed, but not so far gone I've lost my common sense. I plop down in the captain's seat and dig through the cabinet on the right.
Surely, there's a manual. A guide. Something.
I'm practically a genius and a decent driver, despite not having a car yet. I got my license easy and drive Pops' truck somewhere every week. Figuring out how to navigate this thing shouldn't be impossible.
The boat drifts along, stable and safe, buying me precious time to look for the instructions. It's a mess inside the compartment. There are old maps, an atlas, maybe half a dozen thick travel magazines, each of them stuffed with pamphlets for ritzy resorts from old family outings.
The screaming that starts up below deck doesn't help.
What now? At first, I think it's just Jace screwing with her, but she doesn't stop. Georgia is howling bloody murder.
I bolt up, race to the stairs, wondering if somebody fell and broke bones, or if this is just how loud they get when they're drunk and going at it.
Then I hear Jace's voice. "God dammit, Amy Kay! I ought to throw you overboard and make you swim the fuck home."
