North Star - The Complete Series Box Set

by Tracey Ward

  “How are things at the store?” Dad asked me, taking a bite of chicken.

  “It’s good, I guess.”

  “Still in the red?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are people coming in?”

  “A lot, yeah.” I chuckled to myself. “Almost too much, which is a weird problem. Bryce has been talking about me to a lot of people. About a third of my business say they came to check out Bryce’s apprentice. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  Dad smiled softly at me. “You’re only one person.”

  “I know, and I have Benji- Bently,” I corrected quickly, “working part time, but I can’t afford to hire more right now. That’s the suck of it. I need more people to cover the appointments but I can’t afford to hire more people unless I get more business, but I can’t handle the business without more people…” I took a deep breath, forcing a grin. “But it’s good. Everything is good. I love it. I’m just exhausted from it.”

  “It was a risk,” Mom reminded me lightly. “Owning your own business isn’t easy, especially one as unpredictable as yours.”

  “How is tattooing unpredictable?”

  “Fads always are.”

  “Tattooing isn’t a fad, Mom. It’s been around since before Christ.”

  “Well, I doubt Christ had a tattoo.”

  I looked to Dad for help, unsure how to even respond to that statement. He simply ignored it.

  “You need to take a break,” he told me.

  “I hear that a lot.”

  “You should listen. Remember what Roger said. It takes time to start turning a profit.”

  “I hear that a lot too,” I said with a smile, carefully avoiding the name of who had been saying it.

  Kellen’s name had been forbidden in Laney’s presence for the last year because what she lacked in commitment to school, work, or relationships she more than made up for in grudges. She could hold one like Gorilla Glue, and this one against Kellen was her magnum opus.

  “We should all go away somewhere,” Mom said brightly. “We haven’t taken a family vacation in forever.”

  “I can’t leave the shop for a vacation,” I reminded her.

  “You need a break though.”

  “Yeah, and I just took one last week. I closed for a day and a half. I can’t up and leave the state now.”

  “I can’t leave work either,” Laney added. “I finally have clients of my own. I can’t disappear on them.”

  Laney had gotten her degree in interior design and was working for a friend of our mom’s. She’d interned with her first, doing grunt work for free, but she was a full-fledged employee now. I was proud of her. Shocked she’d finally followed through on a major, but proud of her for making the commitment.

  “Okay, so we’ll take a weekend,” Mom amended. “We’ll go to that cabin by the lake. The one we spent the Fourth of July at two years ago.”

  “Three,” Dad corrected, talking through his food the way Mom hated.

  “No. Was it really that long ago?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “I hated that place,” Laney grumbled, poking at her dinner. “Too many mosquitos and no Wi-Fi.”

  “Who got sick?” Mom asked, her eyes far away and pensive. “I can’t remember.”

  “No one,” I answered quickly. My eyes darted to Dad’s, pleading for help.

  He nodded vaguely in agreement. “No, Karen, no one. It was a wonderful trip.”

  “No,” she insisted. “Someone got really sick. Throwing up. I remember the smell. Laney, was it you?”

  “It was me,” I said quickly. “I got food poisoning.”

  “From the fish we caught in the lake,” Dad added.

  “No, she didn’t,” Laney countered evenly. “It was Kellen.”

  The room skidded to a halt. No one dared move. We barely breathed. Even Mom who had been pushing the issue froze in her tracks, watching Laney out of the corner of her eye.

  Laney looked at each of us slowly before laughing. “What’s wrong with everyone?”

  “Nothing,” Mom replied breathily. I think she’d been holding her breath. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Laney rolled her eyes. “You can say his name. I’m not going to go ape shit.”

  “Language.”

  Dad sat back carefully. “In our defense you have a history of going ape shit when we mention him.”

  “Language,” Mom snapped again, exasperated.

  “Whatever, I’m over it,” Laney said flippantly.

  “You told us never to talk about him again,” I reminded her. “You’ve been calling him Fuckface for the last eight months.”

  “Language!”

  Laney sighed. “Look, I’m fine. Who needs him anyway? He’s an asshole.”

  Mom didn’t bother scolding her again and I bit my tongue, swallowing back my defenses of Kellen because what would it accomplish? Did I want her pissed off again? No. Was I more afraid of Over-It Laney than I had been of Fuck-Him-He’s-The-Anti-Christ Laney? Yes. Oh hell yes. And I could see it on my parent’s faces as well.

  A Laney filled with anger was a monster we understood. Laney filled with acceptance? That was a big ol’ bag of freaky.

  We moved on with dinner, still carefully avoiding Kellen’s name because now we had more fear than ever before, and Laney and I did the dishes together that night. Mom and Dad went out back to enjoy the multi-million dollar view of the ocean and a glass of red wine, leaving us alone in a strange but comfortable silence as we gathered, rinsed, and loaded the dishes into the washer. It felt like when we were kids and we’d crank up the music to the stereo and make a mess while our parents were away. Like when she’d twist my long hair into tiny little braids that hurt my head to sleep on but gave me the coolest wavy look when she gently loosened them in the morning. We’d steal chocolates from Mom’s expensive gift boxes, lying for each other when she gave us the third degree, a united front against the world the way only siblings could be. That was how sisters were. You hurt each other, you couldn’t help it, but you never stopped fighting – with or for each other.

  “I’m downgrading him to Dickbag,” Laney said suddenly.

  I took a dish carefully from her hands. “Kellen?”

  “Yes. As a gift to you I’ll take him from Fuckface to Dickbag.”

  “Wow,” I deadpanned. “And I didn’t get you anything. I’m so embarrassed.”

  “You should be. I’m St. Friggin’ Nick right now.” She grinned at me. “Ho. Ho. Ho.”

  “Are you quoting or am I getting a new nickname too?”

  “No, you’re still bitch.”

  “Thank God.” I took another dish from her, loading it into the washer. “What’s with the one-eighty?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One day we’re dead to you if we use Kellen’s name, the next you’re over it. What happened?”

  She shrugged. “I’m feeling generous because I’m happy. I like my job.”

  “Nope.”

  “Yes, I do!” she protested.

  “No, I don’t doubt you like your job but that’s not what flipped the switch in you. It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

  She dove her hands inside the sudsy water, looking at the wall thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

  “It is! Who is he?”

  “No one.”

  “You’re really not going to tell me?”

  She rolled her head heavily toward me. “If I do are you going to sleep with him too?”

  “Wow.” I blanched, the blood in my body pooling in my feet, heavy like the blow she’d landed. “Damn, so we’re not totally cool yet. Got it.”

  “Not yet.” She shook the bubbles from her hands and smiled sweetly at me. “But if you’re a very good girl for the rest of the year maybe Santa will take you off the naughty list.”

  Mom and Dad came back inside complaining about the cold and we all decided to watch a movie together on the TV that Mom had always complained would tear us apart. We huddled around its glow as
we sat in the living room the way we did every week, but tonight something was different. Something was missing, something none of us truly missed. It was the tension. The anger and the pull between Laney and I. The snips and jabs at each other were replaced with a sweet silence as colors flickered across the screen and over the darkened room. Over our faces, placid and calm. Easy like we hadn’t been in a year.

  The movie was a Hitchcock flick with Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn, two of my favorite old Hollywood actors, but I fell asleep less than halfway through. I woke up to lights going out, feet shuffling over the carpet, and a blanket being draped over me gently.

  I curled in under it, closing my eyes and mumbling, “Thanks, Lane.”

  “You’re welcome, bitch,” she replied, her voice warm and smiling.

  I grinned against the couch cushion, counting the days until Christmas.

  “G’night.”

  Chapter Six

  Kellen

  The surfer Jenna tatted told her about a band he knew, one that played Sublime covers. They had a gig in L.A. a week later so Jenna and I made the drive into the city with Callum in tow. Sam was supposed to join us but she bailed at the last minute claiming she was sick.

  “She’s not really sick, is she?” I asked Jenna as I steered us onto the expressway.

  She shook her head, her long dark hair shining in the lights that blurred by. Night was coming and you could tell that fall was here. The air was crisper, forcing us spoiled Californians to throw on jackets and jeans with our flip flops. Jenna’s tattoos were covered by layers of clothing and long sleeves to keep out the cold, keeping her beauty locked away. I missed the summer already.

  “She’s depressed,” Jenna explained without enthusiasm. “She doesn’t want to admit it because she’s the one who broke up with Carter, but it’s killing her. They were together almost six months. He was the longest relationship she ever had.”

  “That uptight douche with the pink tie?” Callum asked. He sat forward in the cramped back seat of the truck, his knees pressing against his massive chest. “Dude was a chode.”

  “He wasn’t a chode,” Jenna chuckled.

  “He was shitty.”

  “He was a good guy,” I argued. “And when did you ever meet him?”

  “I didn’t,” Callum admitted.

  “Then how the hell do you know?”

  “Because I saw his Facebook page. Told me everything I needed to know.”

  Jenna turned in her seat to look at him quizzically. “And his Facebook page told you he’s a chode?”

  “No. His pink tie did.”

  “Oh my God,” she groaned, facing forward again. “What’s your new girlfriend’s name? I’m looking up her Facebook page and telling you what my judgement is. See how accurate I am.”

  “She doesn’t have one.”

  I sighed. “She’s one of those, isn’t she?”

  “Are you being racist, Coulter?”

  “What race am I stereotyping with that question?” I demanded.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Mexican?”

  “That’s a nationality, not a race,” Jenna sang.

  “What are they then? Beaners?”

  I glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Jesus, Callum.”

  He stared back in innocent shock. “What?”

  “And I’m the racist,” I muttered.

  “What’d I say?”

  “Nothing,” Jenna told him tiredly. “And you should continue saying nothing.”

  “But I don’t—“

  “Bup, bup, bup!” Jenna shushed. “No more. Quiet time.”

  We rode in silence for a good five minutes. I was impressed by Callum’s restraint but it came as no surprise to me when he leaned forward stealthily and whispered in Jenna’s ear.

  Jenna, however, was shocked to shit by it.

  “What’d I say?” he pleaded breathily against her face.

  “Don’t—dog dammit!” she cried, turning in her seat and punching at his chest with impeccable form. She had a good teacher. “You scared the crap out of me, Callum!”

  “’Don’t dog dammit?’” he asked, perplexed.

  “Shut up.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means shut your mouth.”

  “No, not that. What does—“

  “Spanish,” I interrupted. “They’re Spanish. Now shut up.”

  “Wait, what did you mean?” Jenna asked me, her brows pinched.

  I looked at her sideways. “About what?”

  “When you said she’s one of those.”

  “Oh. Hipster.”

  “Ugh,” she groaned. “She better not be. If you’re making me break bread with a hipster, Callum, you’re dead to me for at least a month.”

  “I won’t listen to her tell me about her vintage iron collection and how she doesn’t have a TV,” I agreed.

  Callum snorted. “She’s not a hipster, dude.”

  “What is she then? What does she do?”

  “Porn.”

  My eyes flickered to his in the mirror. He stared back dead serious. “No.”

  “Yep. She works in a porn store. She’s the cashier.”

  “Okay, so she doesn’t make the porn,” Jenna clarified cautiously. “She rents it out. Sells it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  “I mean, she wants to get into the industry. That’s why she’s working at the store. That and she’s saving money for a boob job. Girl’s got ass for days but bee stings in her bra.”

  “Callum?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s quiet time again.”

  When we got to the dingy little club hosting the band that night we couldn’t find a parking spot. I grew up in this shitty part of town, I’d never felt any real fear for my own safety, but as I parked my nearly new black truck on the street and walked away from it, I worried for the first time. Not for me. For her. It was weird for me having things worth stealing.

  I hoped to God I had rims when I got back.

  Callum’s girl was waiting for us when we got there and I wondered why we didn’t her pick up. It wasn’t a great place to be hanging out by yourself. Then I met her. Jackie. She was a local down to the bone. She had the same weathered look in her eyes that I had seen almost all my life. The same look I carried with me now.

  Her hair was long and blond. Not from a dye job or genes, but from a bottle of peroxide. It looked stiff as straw as she swung it over her shoulder and ran to Callum’s arms. He picked up her tiny body and hugged her hard, making her laugh and squeal happily. I was worried he’d hurt her but the girl was built hard. She hugged him back before pressing her lips soundly to his, smearing her deep red lipstick sloppily over his mouth.

  “Guys, this is Jackie,” Callum told us when he got his mouth back. He grinned wildly, looking like the Joker.

  He dropped Jackie to the ground where she adjusted her tiny tank top and extended her hand to Jenna.

  “Your makeup is the shit,” she gushed.

  Jenna smiled, her dark eye shadow setting off the glow of her gray eyes. “Thanks. I love your shoes.”

  “Oh my God, BOGO at Payless.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Totally killer sale. I live for it. You gotta go with next me time.”

  “Definitely.”

  I had no idea what they were talking about but I smiled at Jenna as she walked into the bar beside Jackie, telling her all about how she’d done her makeup. She fell effortlessly into the scene with this girl who grew up on the other side of the universe from her. She didn’t act like she was any better than her just because she came from money. She didn’t act like she was better than a single person in that neighborhood. She only smiled and chatted and whether she actually liked Jackie or not I had no idea, but she was sweet to her either way because that’s just who Jenna was. It was the reason we were able to be friends in the first place.

  It was one out of the million reasons why I loved
her.

  Once we sat down and the band got going, I was in heaven. The music was good, Jenna sat close enough to feel against my thigh, close enough to hear her throaty voice singing softly along with the band. My cheap beer tasted good. My best friend was smiling and happy.

  The only thing that pulled me down, the one thing I wished I could have changed, was Jackie. She was nice enough but she never shut up. She shouted over the music constantly, asking questions and talking about random shit, and that might have been fine if she was interesting, but the truth of the matter was that she was stupid. Maybe that’s harsh, but it’s the truth. The girl was an idiot. She got confused about the name of the band, confused about what cup was hers, confused about what time it was. When she got up to go to the bathroom she asked Jenna if she thought the signs would be ‘real people signs or the confusing ones’.

  Jenna stared at her blankly before smiling and assuring her they’d be real – whatever the hell that meant.

  Once Jackie was out of earshot Callum leaned forward eagerly on the table.

  “Okay, be honest,” he began. “What do you thi—“

  “She’s dumb,” I told him frankly.

  Jenna put her face in her hand.

  Callum glowered at me. “What the fuck, dude?”

  “What?” I asked, genuinely confused. “Were you not about to ask us what we thought of her?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Damn.”

  “Yeah, asshole.”

  Jenna lifted her head. “What were you going to ask, Callum?”

  He looked from me to her and back again. Finally his eyes settled on her, going soft around the edges. “I was going to ask if you thought she’s a real blond.”

  “No. She’s not.”

  “You really don’t think so?”

  “I know so. She’s not. It’s a bottle job.”

  He slumped back in his seat. “Great.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “I need her to be blond head to toe and it’s wicked hard to find a real blond bush.”

  “Callum, what the hell?” I asked him calmly, honestly curious what was wrong with him.

  “It’s for Bingo,” he explained.

  Jenna cringed. “Do I want to know what you’re talking about?”

  “I’m banging chicks for Bingo.”