A Love Hate Thing

by Whitney D. Grandison

  “Be nice,” Matt warned.

  “Where’s Ben?” I asked, noting that Matt’s boyfriend was missing in action.

  “His family likes to travel during the summer. We won’t be seeing him until September when school starts.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  Matt shrugged. “We FaceTime when we can, but what else can you do?”

  Matt led the way to Chad’s table and greeted all the boys. Travis stood back with me and gave a poor attempt at a wave.

  Chad examined me, studying me from head to toe. “Tyson, we meet again.”

  “It’s Trice,” Travis corrected.

  Chad clearly didn’t care. “Sit down, take a load off.”

  Travis sat on top of the table next to theirs, and I took a seat on the bench beside him.

  “So, you’re Nandy’s new houseguest,” said Chad.

  “Something like that,” I replied.

  “How well do you know her family?”

  “Nandy and I used to play together when we were kids.”

  “I bet she’s different now, huh?” Ashley asked.

  “She definitely wears a lot less clothes than she did back then.” I thought of earlier when I’d given her my copy of The Color Purple. She’d been on her balcony topless and texting, acting as if it were no big deal when I came into her room. Besides that, from the moment we met, it had been obvious she was comfortable in her skin, from her bikinis to her small tees—not that I was complaining.

  Travis snickered and held out his fist for me to pound.

  Chad watched as we bumped knuckles, his eyes lifting to mine, his annoyance clear. “Just exactly how close were you two?”

  “We were five, six, and seven. We were as close as kids could be. We just used to run around playing outside and stuff.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s what he said,” Travis interrupted.

  “I’m not talking to you, Catalano,” Chad said.

  “Well, I’m talking to you, and if he says they were just friends, they were just friends. Get off his nuts.” The boys at the table fell silent as they faced Travis’s direction.

  One look at Travis had me taken back. I’d thought he was just a joker who ran off at the mouth, but as I took in the hard expression on his face, the look in eyes, and the way his jaw was set, it was clear—Travis wasn’t to be fucked with. His gaze bored into Chad, as if daring him to say something or stand up and do something.

  And I’d thought I was the only one who found Chad to be a dick.

  “Cool off, Trav.” Matt was sitting between Ashley and some other friend of Chad’s. With a look in Matt’s direction, Travis stood from the table.

  “I’m going to order,” he said as he walked off.

  Chad turned to me, giving me a smile. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to scope you out. My girl’s never mentioned some long-lost friend before. Where you from?”

  “Lindenwood.”

  His brows rose and his mouth made an O shape. “Gotcha.”

  Warhol, Ashley, and Matt were decent about where I was from, but Chad’s friends all wore the same uncomfortable expression.

  With the fresh smell of seafood in the air, the cool scenery of the beach nearby, and the warm sun beaming down on us, I wasn’t in the mood for this shit. I stood up and followed Travis.

  “Sorry about that,” said Travis when I caught up. “Chad’s always annoyed the hell out of me.”

  “No offense taken, he lost me at the bonfire.”

  Travis smirked. “Chad thinks he’s God and we’re all his faithful servants. Nandy can do better. He really thinks he’s the shit since he bagged the hottest girl in school. What kind of name is Chad Bradley anyway?”

  A shitty white-boy name.

  If Nandy loved Chad, I didn’t see the point in sticking our noses in her business.

  I was about to reply when my phone rang. When I dug it out of my pocket, I was surprised to see Prophet calling.

  “Something wrong?” Travis must’ve noticed the expression on my face.

  “I’m about to find out.” I stepped away from the line, going and leaning against the rail on the boardwalk and staring out at the ocean. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry to be calling you,” Prophet began, “but something came up.”

  “What happened?”

  “Khalil’s goofy ass messed up his ankle.”

  I knew where he was going, and I let out a sigh. “Oh yeah?”

  “And I wouldn’t be asking you this, but you’re the only one I trust, and you know how Mexico don’t like new drivers.”

  I hung my head. “Yeah.”

  “We need a driver for the car he picked up.”

  It was too good to be true. Of course I would be forever tied to Lindenwood. Prophet was right, though—I knew he was calling only because of Khalil’s screwup. Our crew was too tight-knit for him to ask for outside help.

  Even if I was more than likely going to do the run, I’d be an idiot to take the job blindly.

  “What’s the make and model?” I asked.

  “You’re looking at...at least nine hundred. It’s a Camry.”

  Nine hundred wasn’t bad, but just how hot was the car? “How many days are on it?”

  “Three.”

  “Was it a crank or a lift?”

  “He lifted it. This is a clean run, Trice. Khalil definitely messed up. He’s not getting anything, this is all on you.”

  Even if I was taking the risk, I wasn’t taking the entire profit. Khalil was like a brother to me. Mishap or not, he was getting a cut.

  I faced the boys. Ashley was telling some story and the others were listening. Travis was getting some girl in a bikini’s number, and then there was me. The outsider who just didn’t belong.

  I didn’t need the money, but it went beyond that. This was where I came from. This was where everyone accepted me. This was who needed me.

  This was family.

  “I’m in,” I confirmed.

  12 | Nandy

  The beach was peaceful after all the chaos.

  I’d finished The Color Purple, while in between her own reading, Shayne had gawked at boys. She was reading The Notebook. Despite her flirtatious habits, Shayne was very much a romantic.

  “Ugh, so good,” Shayne said as she bookmarked her page. She’d read the book numerous times, so much almost all the pages bore creases from being dog-eared so much.

  I was quick to agree. “This was great.”

  Shayne stood and put on her sunglasses.

  We started gathering our things just as Kyle Frogge walked by. He was dressed all wrong for the beach in a flannel top and T-shirt, as well as jeans and sneakers. Under one of his arms, he was carrying a Stephen King novel.

  Kyle wasn’t in our group, but I liked to think that summer made everyone fair game. Most of us lived in the same development anyway, and we’d ridden the same bus to elementary and middle school together as well. Shayne lived around the corner, Erica lived a few blocks away, Edi lived two houses down, and Kyle lived down the block from me.

  So I smiled. “Hey, Kyle.”

  Kyle offered me a tight-lipped smile and a wave, and then he looked to Shayne. “Hey, Shayne.”

  Shayne was busy packing, barely paying Kyle any attention. “Froggie,” she at least said.

  Having failed yet again at gaining Shayne’s attention, Kyle frowned and turned back to me. “Hey, Nandy.”

  “Enjoying the beach?”

  Kyle studied our surroundings. “Mostly. I’m really just Sasha’s ride.”

  Sasha Frogge, his younger sister. I remembered hearing one of the gossiping moms mention her a few times during the school year, saying how she’d fought her way onto the boys’ soccer team at the local middle school. I thought that was adm
irable.

  Kyle didn’t play sports, and when I thought about it, I couldn’t figure out what it was that he did. Why didn’t I know Kyle Frogge better? Even though I didn’t, I felt sorry for the way he practically worshipped the ground Shayne walked on when she clearly didn’t notice. Kyle wasn’t hideous. Beneath his shaggy dark hair, he was cute, adorable even. Sure, he wasn’t as buff as some guys. Even tall as he was, he was more average than anything. But that was okay. From what little I did know, Kyle was always polite and courteous to everyone. Extra brownie points there, especially when I thought of how rude some guys could be, namely guys like Dickie Carter and Oliver Stein.

  That take-charge part of me was almost tempted to play matchmaker.

  “How’s she doing?” I asked of his sister.

  Kyle shrugged and looked in the distance to where a young blonde girl with long curls in her hair stood talking with a boy carrying a surfboard. Sasha was appropriately dressed in a bathing suit with a shawl tied around her waist. “She’s making the most of her summer.”

  From the way Sasha was smiling at the surfer, I got a sense of déjà vu and nostalgia. “She just discovering boys, huh?”

  Kyle grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

  I knew it all too well. Jordy had a crush on Manuela Gómez, and I suspected that half the time he spent at the Gómezes’ house wasn’t just to play with Hector.

  “Don’t tell me you’re that overly protective brother,” I teased.

  “Not really. Sasha’s the favorite. Anything she wants, she gets.”

  “Jordy has our parents wrapped around his fingers. I know the struggle.”

  Shayne came and stood beside me. “At least you’re not an only child.” The smile on her face showed how disinterested she was in continuing the line of conversation. “Can we go now?”

  I bid Kyle farewell and grabbed my things, then led Shayne back to my car. Inside I cranked up the radio and drove toward Shayne’s house. When we hit a red light, a familiar song came on and I reached down to turn it off.

  “No, just let it play. Today was nice, okay?” Shayne held her hand out and blocked me from turning from “Say It Ain’t So.” Back when she was Shayne 2.0 and her parents got divorced, and her mother was sent to rehab for the first time, Shayne had locked herself in her room and listened to the Weezer song on repeat for hours. I could never hear the song without thinking of how depressed she’d been and how scared I’d been for her.

  I let the song play as Shayne began to sing along. Soon I joined her and agreed that the MoZella cover was just as good and a little more intimate from a girl’s perspective.

  At Shayne’s house, we were barely in the front door before we bumped into Shayne’s father. He seemed to be in a hurry and almost didn’t acknowledge us.

  “Daddy, hey,” Shayne said as she placed her hands on his chest to stop him from colliding with us.

  Mr. Mancini lifted his head from his phone and offered us both a smile. “Evening, girls, coming back from the beach?”

  “Yeah.” Shayne’s voice fell flat as her gaze landed on his briefcase in his hand. “I thought we were having dinner tonight?”

  Mr. Mancini gave her a sympathetic smile. “Can’t, Bambi, duty calls. Rain check?”

  Shayne pouted. “This is the fifth time you’ve canceled, Daddy.”

  “You still have Marge.”

  I winced. He seemed blind to the fact that Shayne despised her stepmother. She always had.

  “I don’t want to have dinner with her, I want to have it with you,” Shayne whined.

  Mr. Mancini appeared helpless as he glanced at me and then back to his daughter. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Hey, take the AmEx card and go wild, it’s on me.” Instead of continuing the conversation, he placed a kiss on her forehead and quickly went around us and down the front path to his car.

  Shayne turned, her luscious lips trembling as she watched her father pull out of the driveway to go back to the hospital.

  “Doesn’t he have a vacation coming up?” I asked, trying to find something to take the hurt from her face.

  Shayne’s sadness morphed into anger. “Yeah. He’s spending it in Cancún. With her.”

  Instead of going inside, Shayne parked herself on the front step and rested her head in her hands.

  I sat beside her and rubbed her back. “He’ll make good on his word. He promised.”

  Shayne looked into the distance, shaking her head. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just run away? Go to Paris and experience the people and French stuff?”

  “I don’t know, Paris is cliché, Shayne.” I’d never cared for Paris or French. I’d always wanted to learn Spanish and visit the Caribbean islands. Something about the beautiful beaches and the tropics made me want to run around naked. Most girls in PH wanted to see Paris and talked about it all the time at Cross High. Me, I wasn’t interested.

  Shayne nodded dejectedly. “I guess you’re right.”

  Together we went inside and watched Clueless, one of Shayne’s and my favorite movies. And then we watched Legally Blonde, another favorite of ours.

  As much as I wanted to stay for dinner so that Shayne wouldn’t be alone with her stepmonster, I had to go home because my parents had instigated a rule of us eating together as a family to get Tyson acquainted with routine. Really, I knew this would last about a month before my mother started missing dinner due to work and my father got something at the office. But I applauded their effort to try to make our home all idyllic for Tyson.

  Except, when I stepped into the dining room, only Jordy was there setting the table as my father helped my mother unload the takeout at the island in the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, noting Tyson’s absence.

  “Trice said some friends needed help back home, so he won’t be joining us for dinner tonight,” my mother explained.

  My father made a face. “I’m going to have a talk with him when he gets back.”

  “Why?” I wanted to know.

  My father faced me. “Nothing to worry about. He just doesn’t look me in the eye and his attitude is cold.”

  My mother frowned. “He looks me in the eye.”

  He looked me in the eye as well. Not trying to get too deep, I said, “Maybe it’s a personal thing. With the way his dad was...maybe it’s hard for him to get close to males.”

  My parents glanced between each other, as if surprised that I knew of Tyson’s past.

  My father went back to unpacking the takeout. “Perhaps that’s something to take into consideration.”

  “I wish you’d warned us about what happened to him.” I was old enough to know this about Tyson.

  My mother sighed. “It was hard for us to digest, and it didn’t feel right telling something so personal about him to you and Jordy. It’s Trice’s story, and I see that he felt comfortable enough to tell you.”

  “It’s nice to see you opening up to each other,” my father agreed. “Why don’t you go wash up for dinner?”

  On the way out of the room, I noticed Jordy looking at me with approval. Some of my friends wouldn’t have cared how their younger siblings viewed them, but in Jordy’s eyes, I wanted to be the best older sister I could be. He’d been right earlier to call me out about Tyson, and I was glad for it.

  I didn’t make it to wash up for dinner. Instead, when I saw the light on and the door ajar, I headed to Tyson’s room.

  He was inside, with his back to me and his shirt off as he went through a bag on his bed. From my stance in the doorway, I got a glimpse of how muscled and toned his body was. Though it was only a view from the back, I saw that his dark brown skin was void of any tattoos. My breathing hitched in my throat; Tyson did work out a lot.

  He must’ve felt me watching, because Tyson turned around and stared at me, a questioning brow lifting.

  Caught, I blush
ed as I stepped into the room. “My parents said you were leaving.”

  Tyson said nothing.

  Not that I was paying attention, but the view from the front wasn’t half bad, either. Again, I found his skin vacant of tattoos and his chest showing plenty of muscle. I didn’t admire his build for long before taking notice of something on his right shoulder. It looked as if he’d been burned. The wound wasn’t too big, about the size of the pad of my thumb, and it was then that I realized it was the bullet wound.

  Moving automatically, I went closer to him and inspected it. My hand shook in front of me as I watched myself reach out and touch it. Tyson closed his eyes, wincing underneath my touch. I took in his handsome face, feeling terrible for what he’d been through. Drawing my gaze back to the wound, I found myself leaning closer and placing a kiss on it, as if that could make it go away or be better. By some instinct, I knew it was an exit wound, and I went around and placed a kiss on the other side, too.

  Funny thing about exit wounds: they were such a paradox. Sure, the bullet exited the body, but its path left a scar, a lesion, a memory of its existence, forever becoming one with that person and never letting them go, permanently embedding itself in that person’s worst nightmares—or so I thought.

  “They’re my tattoos of that night,” Tyson said as I came back around and stood in front of him.

  I knew exactly what he meant. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  Tyson pulled a shirt over his head, covering the wound. “Shit happens.”

  I held out The Color Purple. “I finished it at the beach.”

  He accepted the book and placed it in another bag he had on the floor. I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t unpacked, but I left it alone.

  “So, where are you going?” I took a shot and asked.

  “Lindenwood.”

  “What for?”

  Tyson looked over at me speculatively. “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I’m helping some friends out.”

  My gut told me he was up to no good. First he spent the night there, and now another trip back? “Doing that thing you used to do for money?”