Amplified

by Tara Kelly

“Not anymore, apparently.”

  “I’m gonna take off,” Sean said. “Got work early tomorrow.”

  “Okay, see ya later.” She raised her cup, a playful grin on her face. “And thanks.”

  “No problem.” He rolled his eyes and walked toward the arcade.

  “I need to get going too,” I said, standing up.

  “Let’s cut through the beach. It’s prettier.” Veta shook her head at Bryn. One of the girls was playing with his dreads. “I think he’ll be busy for the rest of the night.”

  A group of guys passed us. They eyed Veta up and down, but I didn’t even get a glance. Not that I would next to her. Hot, long-legged girl in a mini skirt or a short one in an old Taylor guitar tee and jeans? Tough call.

  “Does that piss you off?” I asked.

  “Getting eyed like a juicy steak? I’m used to it.”

  I followed her down the steps to the beach. “I meant Bryn. Flirting with those girls.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding?”

  I looked away. “Well, it seems like you guys have a thing.”

  “Ha!” She nudged me. “We fight over chicks at shows, hon. He usually wins. Stupid groupies.”

  “Oh.” I let out a laugh, feeling rather stupid. “You aren’t into guys, then?”

  “Nope. I hooked up with a few in high school. None of them ever did anything for me.” She looked out at the water. “Then I met Sophie.”

  “Are you still with her?”

  “She dumped me when she moved to New York.” Veta pulled a pack of cigarettes from her sweatshirt and used her teeth to yank one out. The flame from the lighter created shadows under her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She exhaled a stream of smoke and shrugged. “I’m over it.”

  Despite my racing thoughts, there was something peaceful about the sea on a clear night. I loved how the moonlight tangoed between the ripples of water. The only other people around were couples sucking face and bums rummaging through the trash cans.

  God, that would be me soon. Hungry, cold, filthy.

  “So what’s your story?” Veta asked. “Are you going to school here?”

  “No, I’m kind of…exploring my options?”

  “I’ll buy that.” She passed her drink to me. “Want the rest? It’s great after a crappy day. Me and Sean call them bad-day slushies.”

  My dry mouth cried for it. “But you haven’t had much.”

  “I just wanted a couple of sips.”

  “Thanks.” Ice never felt so good slipping down my throat. The cherry syrup made it addictive.

  “You never really answered me before. Are the ’rents footing the bill for this little exploration of yours?”

  I’d hoped she hadn’t noticed. “Well, I have some money saved. Enough, you know. And I’m job hunting tomorrow.”

  A knowing smile spread across her face. “Right. Good luck with that.”

  “Jobs are tight here. I know. I’m prepared.”

  “Of course. You’re a tough chica.” She punched me hard enough to send an ache up my arm.

  I bit my tongue, hoping the pain didn’t show on my face. “I manage.”

  “We’re looking for a cashier at the shop, if you’re interested. The pay is crap, but it’s entertaining.”

  “Like, ten bucks an hour?”

  “Closer to minimum wage.”

  “Ouch.”

  “For sure. I’ve got two jobs, and I don’t even have rent.”

  “You give psychic readings and what else?”

  “Web design. I’ve got mad coding skills.” She wiggled her long fingers. “It’s not steady. But dough is dough.”

  Maybe Veta actually believed she could read minds and predict futures. But she didn’t seem naive. Anyone who knew anything about psychology could do a little mind reading. The rest was luck.

  Even so, I wanted to like her. She’d been so kind to me. I just couldn’t figure out why. My dad had beat into my head that people usually want something in return. Nothing came for free. Not that I could blame him—my mom really did a number on him. On both of us.

  We walked across the street and Veta unlocked the faded red door of her mom’s shop. She peeked inside before shutting the door softly. “My mom’s doing a session,” she whispered. “I’ll grab your stuff.”

  I waited outside the building, an aged, off-white structure with SEASIDE PSYCHIC and CHRISTINA RAMIREZ, PHD printed in black letters across the window. Maybe her mom was doing a séance. It was the only thing I could think of this late.

  Veta tiptoed out with my guitars and backpack a minute later. She studied me for a few seconds before speaking. “Do you need a place to crash?”

  Yes. God, yes. But staying with her meant more questions. I wasn’t exactly the best liar. Sooner or later she’d figure out I was homeless and desperate. “No, I’m covered. Thanks.”

  “What about a ride?”

  “I’m staying a couple of blocks down. The East Cliff Inn.”

  She nodded, that knowing grin still present. “Okay, then. See you tomorrow morning at nine?”

  “What—why?”

  “My mom likes to do interviews before the shop opens.”

  Had I agreed to this? “Sure, I guess I could drop by.”

  “You guess or you will? Because Mom hates no-shows almost as much as showing up late.”

  “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  “If you’re late, she’s gotta listen to your lame excuse.”

  “Got it. But I mean—you’re already doing so much, trying to get me in the band.” It’s not like I had anything to give in return. And I hated feeling dependent on someone. In my world, that meant failure.

  “It’s just an interview, hon.”

  “Okay, well…” I glanced over my shoulder, not wanting her to see the uncertainty on my face. “I’m gonna go. But hey, thanks for everything. I mean it.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Be careful, Goldilocks. Don’t talk to strangers.”

  I tried to smile. “That’s Little Red Riding Hood.”

  “See you tomorrow. Don’t be late.” She winked and went inside.

  Working at a psychic shop? My dad would never let me live that down. Just one more thing to prove that he was right and I was wrong. But screw him. This wasn’t about him…or his approval.

  I looked back at the ocean, an icy breeze hitting my cheeks. Some guy hooted in the distance and glass broke across the street. A car slowed as it passed me, but I couldn’t see inside. I wrapped my icy fingers around my cell in my pocket.

  He’d make me beg to come home, and then he’d add even more conditions. No. This was the decision I’d made. I needed to suck it up.

  Twenty minutes later, I stood in the parking lot of Pete’s Auto, hands numb and feet throbbing. I’d never been so glad to see that green Jetta, sitting so innocently in a space next to the garage.

  Maybe it was the guy who’d jammed his headphones over my ears, making me listen to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” Or the SUV full of drunk creeps following me for a block and a half. But the thought of curling up on my back seat didn’t seem so bad. Spare keys really did come in handy.

  My plan was simple. Pete’s Auto didn’t open until 8:30. I’d set my cell alarm to go off at 7:30 and have plenty of time to get changed and cleaned up at the diner across the street. Nobody would ever know.

  I shoved my guitars across the front seats and crawled into the back. Thankfully, the apple-scented tree hanging from my mirror covered most of the smoky engine stench. My big gray hoodie sat in a heap behind the passenger seat, begging me to use it as a blanket. The graduation teddy bear Jason gave me would work as a pillow.

  Jason. I needed to hear his voice.

  The aching in my feet moved up my legs, and my eyelids felt like they weighed five pounds each. I snuggled up with my hoodie and speed-dialed Jason.

  “Jazzy!”

  I pulled the phone back from my ear slightly. “You sound wast
ed.”

  He gave me his guilty chuckle. “Did you find a place?”

  “Not yet.” I started blabbering about my day. Veta and the band. The roller coaster. Everything but where I’d ended up for the night. My throat ached by the time I finished.

  He was silent for a few seconds. I could picture his dark eyes gazing up at the ceiling as he thought of something to say. “I can’t believe you went on your first roller coaster without me.”

  “I was forced against my will. I’m sorry!”

  “I know.” The smile was back in his voice. “Are you staying in a hotel?”

  “Yeah. Found a nice, cozy little place.” With wheels and a sunroof. What a deal.

  “Awesome—better than a park bench, right?”

  “Yeah, actually.” I hated lying to Jason, but nobody could know about this. Ever. I felt like such an idiot.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Because if you need me, I’m—”

  “Stop! I’m fine. I’ve got your lucky green marker and my guitars. I’m covered. Now, tell me about Maui.” I closed my eyes.

  He talked about drinks called Lava Flows and making out with Anthony in the sand. I wanted him to crawl through my window so he could tell me all about it over cookie-dough ice cream and John Cusack movies. But I’d never be able to do that again, at least not in the bedroom I’d known for the last seventeen years.

  Chapter 5

  A thudding beat and a rumble grew louder until it seemed to be right outside my door. I draped my arm over my face.

  What was Carmen doing here at ass o’clock in the morning? Maybe Dad didn’t want his beauty sleep this weekend. She’d better not start the vacuum.

  I rolled over, punching whatever happened to be nearest. Since when did she listen to Skinny Puppy?

  A car door slammed. My eyes flew open. Rays of light shot through the sunroof above me, and teddy bear eyeballs pressed into my cheek.

  I squinted at my cell. 8:31 a.m. My breath quickened. No bell symbol showed on the screen, indicating that the alarm hadn’t been set. I couldn’t even remember saying good-bye to Jason. Had I?

  Sean’s blue Camaro sat a couple of spaces away, and he appeared to be getting something out of the back. If only he’d fall in and get lost for a few minutes.

  I leaned over the front seat to grab the handle of my electric guitar. Lifting upward from that angle was a little tricky, and I nearly knocked out the driver’s side window. Sean glanced over his shoulder. I shoved the case to the floor, ducked, and waited.

  The car door slammed. Footsteps.

  Then nothing.

  I lifted my head high enough to get a glimpse outside. No Sean, but the shop door was swinging shut. Perfect.

  I threw myself over the seat and snagged my acoustic, preparing to make a run for it. But the sound of Sean’s voice made me freeze.

  He walked toward my car, a phone pressed to his ear. “You wanted a call back. I’m calling you back.”

  I pulled my hoodie over my head, not that he wouldn’t notice a body-sized lump and two guitars in the back seat.

  He unlocked and opened the driver’s door. “Too bad. I don’t have time later.”

  The car shook with his body weight. I pulled the hoodie off and smoothed my hair back, wincing as my fingers got caught in tangles. Sean had one leg in and one leg out, but he hadn’t seen me yet.

  Maybe he wouldn’t stay long.

  He moved his cell a few inches away from his ear. A girl’s muffled voice rambled on for what seemed like eternity.

  I inhaled slowly through my nose, hoping my heart wasn’t as loud as it sounded. He was close enough for me to smell his shampoo. Something kind of fruity, like blueberries. I felt like an assassin in a movie, preparing to pounce on the driver from behind.

  Sean jammed my keys into the ignition. “Because I don’t have anything to say, Amy.”

  Amy. Possibly the infamous, cheating ex? Or maybe he was just this pleasant with everyone. Hard to tell.

  “You done yet?” he asked. “I’ve got work to do.”

  The voice on the other end told him not to be like this. Or something similar.

  My ankle throbbed under the weight of the acoustic case.

  “Whatever. I gotta go.” He tossed the phone onto the seat and rested his forehead against the steering wheel, muttering, “Fuck.”

  My palms were wet from the growing heat in the car. If I didn’t take a full breath soon, I’d probably pass out.

  “Uh, hi.” The words escaped my lips before I could stop myself.

  Sean reeled around. “What the hell are you doing?”

  My mouth fell open. “I…”

  “You what?”

  “Well, Amy sent me to kill you. But I forgot my black gloves. See?” I waved my hands at him, all smiles.

  His glare didn’t falter. “What are you doing here, Jasmine?”

  I looked down at my hands. “I forgot something.”

  “Something you just had to have at eight thirty in the morning?”

  “A toothbrush. The motel didn’t have any of those midget ones.”

  He squinted at me. “Where’re you staying?”

  “The, um, East Cliff.”

  “What was wrong with the Walgreens across the street?”

  “I like my toothbrush, okay? It’s electric. And I wanted to check…my amp.” Yet another thing I’d forgotten to do last night.

  I opened the door and pushed my acoustic case forward. Sean climbed out and grabbed the other end, setting it on the pavement.

  “How’s your amp doing?” he asked as I climbed out with the electric.

  “It’s…fine.”

  His lips did that twitchy thing again, like he was going to bust out laughing any second. “That’s interesting.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Why?”

  “Because I put it in storage yesterday when you didn’t show.”

  Heat crept into my cheeks. “I told you to leave it in the trunk. I—I’m the customer. You get paid to listen to me.”

  “I’m a mechanic, not a therapist.”

  “That came out completely wrong.” I raked my hands through my hair, not sure if I wanted to kick him or myself. “Don’t you have other customers? I’ve got a job interview to get to.” That made no sense.

  “There are a couple of cars in the garage, but I doubt I’ll find the owners in them. What are you interviewing for?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Just wondering why you need the guitars.”

  Great. More questions. “Is there a bathroom I can use?”

  “I hope so.”

  “God, I don’t have time for this!” I exhaled, wishing I’d quit letting this guy get to me.

  Sean closed the distance between us and studied me for way too long. Even his silence made me squirm. The jerk.

  “It’s inside. To the left.” He reached out and touched my hair.

  I backed away, tucking the lock behind my ear. “What are you doing?”

  He opened his hand, revealing a crumpled gum wrapper in his palm. “You might want to do something with your hair. It’s a mess.”

  Every inch of my skin burned. I motioned to the tufts of chestnut hair standing up on his head. “Yeah, well, I guess we won’t be doing each other’s hair anytime soon.”

  Without waiting for a response, I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder and ran inside the shop.

  The clock on the wall read 8:42. It took fifteen minutes to walk to Seaside Psychic, which gave me no time to look interview-ready. Scrubbing my face and sticking my hair in a ponytail would just have to cut it. Thank God, I wasn’t a girlie girl.

  Running with two guitars was quite the feat, especially since I couldn’t remember the last time I’d exercised. My lungs tickled and sweat peppered my back as I cut across the Boardwalk parking lot. Fine strands of hair escaped from my tight ponytail, proving that no amount of scalp pain would keep them at bay.

  I reached the faded red door of Seaside Psy
chic just as Veta opened it. She stood in the doorway, holding a white cat with a gray spot on its head.

  “This is Sprite, our psychic kitty.” The cat hopped out of her arms and ran back inside. “What’s with the guitars?”

  “Oh.” I paused to catch my breath. “I don’t trust leaving them in the hotel room.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I used to be a hotel housekeeper. We didn’t make a habit of stealing from rooms, especially since we’re the first people who get blamed.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You should get in here.” She stepped back, holding the door open for me. “Before you’re officially late.”

  I walked inside, trying not to let my mouth hang open. Somehow I’d expected small round tables with crystal balls and tarot cards—maybe some beaded curtains. But with bare walls, a shiny hardwood floor, Japanese-style room dividers, and racks of arty clothing, the shop looked like a cross between a yoga room and a trendy clothing store.

  Then there was the Clash’s “London Calling” blasting in the background—not exactly New Age material.

  Veta shook her head. “We get the same reaction from every tourist that comes in here. We like to keep this space as neutral and uncluttered as possible. And me and Mom make some of the clothes ourselves.”

  “Wow.” My throat ached for water.

  “Guess you really like Taylor guitars.” She motioned to my rumpled black tee.

  “I, uh, kinda overslept.”

  “No kidding. Anyway, Mom doesn’t like us to wear black while we’re working. Too many people associate it with negativity.” She grinned and slipped off her black sweatshirt. A belly-button ring and golden skin peeked between the waistline of her patchwork skirt and white tank top.

  The music was turned down to a more reasonable level. “Is that your friend, mija?” A shorter, darker version of Veta came out from behind one of the dividers.

  “Mom, this is Jasmine.”

  Her mother gave me a warm smile, holding out her dainty hand. “I’m Christina Ramirez, but call me Tina.” She had a strong grip for a tiny woman. “Sorry about the loud music. I go back to my punk days when I’m in cleaning mode.”

  Veta leaned toward my ear. “Or when there’s a new guy in her life.”

  Tina shot her daughter a dirty look before focusing on me. She had the same eyes as Veta: hazel and curved up a bit at the corners. Gorgeous but intense. “Your energy is very scattered.”