by Tara Kelly
I pushed myself up and looked over the balcony. Most of Amy’s head was covered in the brown goop, but Sean didn’t appear to have much on him. At least Veta had fairly good aim.
Amy tried to storm into the house, but Sean wrapped his arms around her. “Let me go!” She elbowed him, getting sludge on his shirt.
Veta laughed. “Relax. It’s just a little beer and eggs.”
“That was real mature,” Sean said, struggling to keep Amy in his grip.
“I didn’t do anything—,” I started to say
“Of course not.” His voice was cynical.
Amy sneered at Veta. “Look at you, hiding up there like some scared little bitch. Why don’t you come down here?”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
Amy shook her head. “You’ve got no right to judge me.”
“Just leave, Amy,” Veta said.
“I’ll take you home.” Sean tried to pull her toward the driveway.
Amy yanked her hand from his, still glaring at Veta. “See you at the Roach on Saturday.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Can’t wait to hear the new sound.”
That’s just what I needed. Sean’s now-angry ex at my first live show, probably throwing broken bottles at our heads.
Sean kept his hand on the small of her back as they walked to his car. He grabbed a blanket from the back seat and tossed it at her. She wiped some sludge off her face before draping it over her head and getting in. They tore off in about thirty seconds.
“Feel better?” I asked. “We look like complete morons now.”
Veta gazed at the ocean. The muted porch light made her face into a mask, shadowing her eyes. “She broke my brother’s heart. I let her off easy.”
“You seem pretty upset yourself.”
“Amy was one of my oldest friends.” Veta’s voice sounded faraway, like her mind was elsewhere. “Messing with my brother is messing with me.”
“Her band is playing before us on Saturday. I heard her tell Sean.”
“With under a week to get songs together?” She shook her head. “I’d love to see them try.” Her fingers shook as she lit a cigarette, letting a moment of silence pass. “I think I’m gonna head home.”
“Okay.”
“Sorry, bad energy. I need to clear my head.” She faced me, flashing a tight smile. “See you at the shop tomorrow. Come in at noon. You look like you need the sleep.”
With that, she turned on her heel and headed back into the house. I stayed on the balcony until she came out the front door, and I watched as her long legs carried her across the lawn. I’d known her for three days—seventy-two hours—and she’d pretty much saved my butt. But I still didn’t know who the hell she was, what truly made her tick. Which meant I couldn’t trust her. Not yet.
Chapter 10
Clanging pots and pans jolted me awake. Trails of golden light filtered through the dim balcony door, telling me it was way too early for that amount of noise. I squinted at my cell—almost 8 a.m.
Someone with heavy boots walked across the kitchen floor and headed up the stairs. Probably Sean. I really needed to talk to him and apologize.
I sat upright, breathing in the stench of citrus and garlic. How disgusting.
“Oh my God—what did he say?” Felix said, passing my door. The floor creaked as he moved around the loft. “Really?” He broke out in a laughing fit. Either that or he was having an asthma attack.
The door next to mine banged open. “Felix.” Bryn’s voice sounded demonic. “Shut up!” My room vibrated when he slammed his door shut again.
“Crap,” Felix said in a loud whisper. “No, that was Bryn having a fit.” His shadow passed under my door again. “I know—I wasn’t even being that loud.”
Fantastic. Why did I have a feeling this was a recurring event?
I pushed myself off the floor, my arms stiff and sore from yesterday’s yoga. Maybe I could catch Sean before he left for work. Although the thought of facing him made me want to hide in my room forever.
I tiptoed into the bathroom, which was muggy from a recent shower. The faint blueberry smell was blissful compared with Felix’s breakfast downstairs. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and checked my face for anything embarrassing. A zit swelled above my right eyebrow. I dabbed a little concealer on it and reached for the mouthwash.
A few minutes later, I hovered outside Sean’s room, clasping and unclasping my hands. Massive Attack’s “Teardrop” wafted from his door, the ethereal vocals a soft whisper. A million opening lines swam through my head. Good morning. Too perky. Sorry to disturb you. Too formal. Do you have a quick minute? Too casual. Hey, we need to talk. I wasn’t breaking up with the guy.
A door opened behind me, and I spun around to see a shirtless Bryn emerging from his room. He rubbed his eyes, narrowly missing the pool table.
“What’s up?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.
“Not much.” Just standing outside Sean’s room like a freaky stalker.
“Did Felix wake you up too?”
“Uh, yeah. But it’s cool.” Please keep walking, Bryn.
“Are you waiting for the bathroom? ’Cause it looks open.”
“I need to talk to Sean. I’m just waiting for a good time…”
Bryn walked past me and slammed his fist into Sean’s door. “Hey!” The music inside cut off.
Sean answered, crinkling his brow at Bryn. He was already dressed for work—blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, cargo pants, and boots. “What?”
“Jasmine said she’s waiting for a good time. Does now work for you?” Bryn slapped Sean in the chest and sauntered off, chuckling his way down the stairs.
Sean’s eyes widened at me, his lips parting. This was not the opening I had in mind.
“I, um, Bryn…” I paused, trying to find the words. “I can’t believe he just did that.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, looking away. “Yeah, well, that’s Bryn.”
I wiped my sweaty palms on my pajama bottoms. “I wanted to talk to you—about last night.”
The side of his mouth quirked up, and I waited for him to unleash a mother lode of snark. But he opened his door wider and waved me in.
Sean’s room smelled like vanilla, charcoal, and him. It made my stomach tickle. I noticed a drawing table covered in blackened paper. The sheet on top featured half a girl’s face, but he flipped it over before I could make out more.
He plopped down on his neatly made bed, a gray comforter with matching pillows. There were two chairs, one in front of the drawing table and the other at his computer desk. The space was cramped but ordered. Even his drawing pencils lined up evenly. It was all very Sean, except the colorful posters of sea life on the walls.
“You’re welcome to sit,” Sean said, raising his eyes to mine. “My chairs don’t bite—I promise.”
I sat at his drawing table, folding my hands in my lap. The last thing I wanted to do was knock something over. “I didn’t know you drew.”
His pierced eyebrow rose. “Why would you?”
I shrugged, my mind searching for words. “Are you an art major?”
“Marine biology.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Yep.”
The hum of his computer droned on.
So much for small talk. “I guess I’ll get to the point. When Veta came out with the blender last night, I told her not to do it—”
“When she came out?” He leaned back on his hands. “So, what were you doing before that—stargazing?”
Heat crept up my neck. “She asked me to see where you guys went.”
“But not to eavesdrop, right?” His upper lip curved up. “Because that would be creepy.”
I looked down at my bare feet. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Why is my personal business so interesting to you?”
“Why is mine? You think you know everything about me.”
“Do I?”
“I didn’t come in here to fight, okay? I know I
should’ve warned you guys, but Veta’s…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say next.
“Your friend?”
Was she? I’d never really had a girl friend, not a good one, anyway. “I guess, yeah.”
We sat in silence, taking quick peeks at each other and then looking away. My hands gripped the armrests of the chair. Was he waiting for me to leave?
“I need to take off soon,” he said finally. “Thanks for…apologizing.”
“That reminds me…”
“Yeah?” He stood up and brushed past me, moving toward his computer desk.
“My car will be ready tomorrow, right?”
He nodded, shoving his iPod into his pocket.
Here goes nothing. “I was wondering if, um, I could pay you half tomorrow and then half when I get my paycheck next Friday.”
He faced me, his expression anything but sympathetic. “Were you hoping an apology would get a favor out of me?”
Cunning people had plans. I just walked headfirst into things, like this situation. “No, God, no. I know how this looks, but I was going to say something at practice last night.”
“It’s simple. You want your car, you pay in full.”
I stood up, backing toward his door. “Then I guess it’ll be sitting at your shop until next Friday.”
He shook his head. “We charge twenty-five bucks a day for storage.”
“You can’t do that.”
“It was in the paperwork you filled out and signed. Try reading it next time.” He walked toward me.
I put my hand on the knob. “I can’t afford that—it’ll take me even longer to pay it off.”
“Why don’t you ask your parents for the money?”
“I can’t.”
He moved closer, his eyes weary. “Why not?”
“Because I just can’t. The why isn’t your business.”
“Yet you want a personal favor.”
“Fine. I’ll pay you, like, eighty percent tomorrow if you drop the storage fees.”
“This isn’t a negotiation—it’s shop policy.” A smile twitched at his lips. “Welcome to the real world, princess.” He reached for the knob, but I shifted over, blocking it.
“What is your problem with me? And don’t say it was something I did, because it started the moment you saw me on that curb.”
“Yeah—where you snapped at me like I was a dog.”
“I was having a bad day.” My voice came out soft, defeated. I felt like a jerk. Then again, he’d implied that I was an idiot within a minute of meeting me.
“Are you going to move or do I have to pick you up?”
I rolled my eyes. “You wouldn’t do that.”
He was inches from me now, close enough for me to feel the heat off his skin. “Are you sure?”
My back pressed into the door, but I didn’t look away. A sane person would probably move. “Do you need help at the shop—like someone to answer the phone? I’ll work off the storage fees.”
He tilted his head back, exhaling a soft laugh. “Now you’ve moved on to bartering? What’s next—blackmail?”
My throat tightened—so much for not seeming desperate. “Forget it. I’ll figure something out.” I turned and left, hightailing it back to my room. There was no point in entertaining Sean any further.
An hour later, I was flipping my cell phone open and closed and tossing it between my hands—anything to avoid making the call. But when the options boiled down to calling Dad or robbing a bank, I needed to choose the slightly less evil one. Emphasis on the “slightly.”
I took a deep breath and hit SEND. Part of me hoped I’d get his voice mail. Any excuse to postpone this.
“Hello?” he answered.
No such luck. “Hi, Dad.”
“Jasmine…” The tapping of keys sounded in the background, meaning he was in his office.
“You never called me yesterday.”
“Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat. “They overbooked my appointments and it was Brian Whitmore’s birthday. You remember him, right? He and his wife came over for dinner a few times.”
“A lot of people came over for dinner a few times.” I leaned my head against the wall, lifting my eyes to the ceiling. Why was he acting like nothing had happened?
“What’s going on?” His voice seemed cold—as if I were a patient asking for a prescription refill.
“I wanted to tell you that I’m okay—and I found a place.” Because you really seem to care.
The typing stopped. “Where?”
“Santa Cruz.” It pleasured me to say this. Dad hated Santa Cruz. He called it dingy and depressing.
“What’s down there?” The clicking of his keyboard resumed, but I knew he was shaking his head.
“I joined a band.”
“You could’ve done that at Stanford, or any college, for that matter.”
Here we go. “The room I’m renting is really nice. I have a view of the ocean.”
“Right. How are you paying rent?”
My hand tightened around the phone. “I got a job.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m a cashier…at a souvenir shop.”
He let out his dismissive chuckle. “I hope it’s worth it.”
“Do you even care that I’m okay?”
He waited a few seconds before answering. “Of course I do.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “The car broke down…”
“Have you been changing the oil regularly?”
“It has nothing to do with that. Some part broke and leaked coolant everywhere. It’s going to cost me eight hundred dollars.”
“And?”
I gritted my teeth. “And I need a loan—like, three hundred or even two hundred would help. Just for food and bills. I get paid next Friday, so I can start paying you back then.”
“I thought you had it all figured out.”
“Dad, please—I told you that car had too many miles on it.”
“Always so appreciative, aren’t you?”
I rubbed my temple, wishing for a do-over. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. Look, it’ll be ready tomorrow. If I can’t pay—”
“You want to rough it up in Santa Cruz—you go right ahead. But I told you, I’m not paying for it.”
“It’s a loan. I’d—”
“Tell me something, Jasmine. If you didn’t need this money, would you have bothered calling at all?”
My throat tensed even more. “I’m not her. Don’t talk to me like I’m her.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Maybe your conscience is trying to tell you something,” he said.
“At least I have one.”
“Oh.” He laughed. “That’s right. I’m a heartless bastard. Haven’t done a thing for you, have I?”
“Only when I do things your way.”
“My way? You’ve talked about going to Stanford since you were five.”
I closed my eyes, part of me just wanting to hang up. “Because that’s what you wanted.”
“Cut the dramatics, Jasmine. I’m not buying. You don’t want to go to Stanford? Fine. Don’t go. There are plenty of other colleges.”
“Why can’t you accept that I’m not ready?”
“I think you’re scared. But you can’t run from everything you’re scared of.”
“I’m not running. I’m right where I want to be.”
“Really?” His voice rose. “You’ve been gone less than a week and you’re already begging me for money.”
“I’m not begging.” My fingered hovered over the END CALL button.
“No? What do you call it, then?”
“God, why can’t…” My fingers dug into the shaggy carpet. “Why can’t you just—”
“Make it easy for you?”
“No…no! That’s not what—”
“You want to have your cake and eat it too, Jasmine. I raised you better than that.”
No, he raised me never t
o ask for anything. Even when I was tearing myself apart inside, trying to figure out why he wouldn’t look at me after Mom left. He never told me it wasn’t my fault. He never told me that I was okay. “So is this it, Dad?” I asked. “You’re out of my life?”
“I never said that. I’m just not giving you money.”
“You called me once, an hour after I left. And that was it. You couldn’t be bothered after that. No, I had to call you—twice. I had to tell you I was okay. You didn’t even ask.”
“Because I don’t know what to say! I’ve never been so disappointed in you—what you’re doing, the way you’re talking to me. It’s pretty obvious you don’t appreciate a damn thing I’ve done for you.”
“I’m not doing this to hurt you. It’s not about you!”
“You got that right. Because the only person you’re thinking of is yourself. Wonder where you got that from?”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
Silence lingered on his end, as if he were thinking of a way to cover his words. “Jasmine, I—”
“Go to hell.” I snapped my phone shut and threw it down. It bounced off the carpet and into the wall.
My entire body was shaking. He’d never see me without seeing her. If I was running away from anything, it was being someone else for him. Someone he could forgive for being part of her.
By the time we closed the shop, Veta and I hadn’t talked much. She kept giving me a look, like she wanted to say something, but a customer would come in or the phone would ring. And I was glad for the interruption, because I didn’t want her to notice the storm going on inside of me.
I’d told my dad to go to hell. There was no going back from that.
“You were five bucks short,” Veta said as we walked back to the house for band practice.
I dodged a wad of tourists aiming their cameras at the ocean. “Oh—sorry. I’ll pay you back the difference.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It happens.”
I took a deep breath, letting the salty air coat my lungs. West Cliff Drive was full of life today. The sirenlike call of seagulls blended in with an array of noises—people on bikes, kids with ice cream–coated faces, couples stealing kisses, and dogs trotting alongside their owners, tails wagging. The knot of dread in my stomach made me feel like an alien.
“I guess you want to talk about last night?” Veta asked.
