It didn’t feel like I had a choice, but I smiled anyway and pretended to be extra benevolent about the venture. “No problem.”
“Who knows, if these pieces are good and take off, this could launch your modeling career.”
Chad snaked his arm around me. “Oh yeah, my girl could be the real top model.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Actually, I’m considering interior design.”
Mr. Bradley boldly chuckled. “My son and the interior decorator, how cute.”
He left us alone, and an ick I couldn’t shake off settled on my shoulders.
Me wanting to decorate houses wasn’t cute or funny, but almost a rite of passage. My mother developed residential properties, and my father built commercial and private aircraft. It was in my blood. I found joy in painting and picking out furniture and designing a room. I was more than a pretty face.
I looked to Chad, wondering if he’d say anything.
He didn’t; he simply shrugged as if his father’s blasé behavior was acceptable.
Oh. “I think I’m going to head on home. My parents want us to have dinner together and I forgot.”
Chad frowned. “Because of that kid?”
“Yes, to welcome Tyson.”
Chad heaved a sigh. “Listen, Nan, I know you love taking these newbies in and showing them around, but I don’t know about this one. He was an innocent kid when you knew him, and now—”
“Now, what? What makes him not so innocent now?” I challenged. “Dickie does coke, Chad! Coke! Don’t talk to me about innocent.”
Chad backed away. “It’s not like that, it’s just... You know what, never mind.”
I let him come and kiss me, and then I saw myself out.
Erica was right. We were privileged, coming off entirely disgusting for judging Tyson based on his city. It was important to learn, but it was even more important to unlearn. Judging people by their pasts or origins was weak.
The whole thing made me want to apologize again to Tyson.
Only, when I saw the carefree smile on his face as I got in and hung in his doorway, I decided to let it go. He was standing by his dresser, his bag nearby, and he seemed to be finally unpacking. Or he’d been unpacking before he focused on his phone.
“Hey,” I said.
Tyson lifted his head and noticed me. “Oh, hey.”
Things had been rocky earlier, especially with his calling me out over Chad. But I didn’t want to think about that. “You’re unpacking.”
Tyson shrugged. “One bag at a time.”
A chime came through on his cell phone and he was back to it.
Dread settled deep in my belly. “That isn’t Lindenwood, is it?”
Tyson released a laugh as his fingers danced across his cell phone screen. And then, as if he realized I was still in the room, he faced me. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your phone—you’re not texting Lindenwood, are you?”
Tyson was confused but then he got what I meant. “Oh, no, it’s just Shayne.”
I blinked. “Shayne gave you her number?”
Tyson shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Yeah, we watched Juice together, and then some movie where two people try to drive each other crazy in ten days or something.”
They’d watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days together? Better yet, two movies?
“Cool,” I said, even though deep inside I felt it wasn’t. At all.
First it was Travis, and now Shayne?
Tyson’s ease with Shayne was random, but highly evident after catching them all buddy-buddy at the Hook the previous evening. Now they were texting?
Maybe I should’ve just stayed with Chad.
“Cool,” I said again, leaning away from the doorjamb. “I’m going to see what’s for dinner.”
Tyson was barely paying me any mind as he was deep into his phone.
Whatever.
In the hall, I bumped into Jordy. The only person I was genuinely happy to see. “Hey, what’s up?”
Jordy pulled his attention away from his own cell phone. “Mom and Dad said they’re getting Mexican for dinner, with extra guac this time.”
I chuckled as I nuzzled Jordy closer. “Good, I’d hate to have to fight you ’til the death for it.”
Jordy smiled. “Mom says I can redo my room.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I really like how you did Trice’s room. I’ve been thinking mine is bland and I kinda want to paint it bloodred or maroon.”
A project. The mere proposal of it had ideas popping up inside my head. Color schemes of maroon, black, and white, or even maroon, black, and gray.
Perhaps it had started with Tyson. When we were young, I’d gotten joy out of bossing him around and making him smile—helping him. I’d liked our forts, liked taking turns in creating our hideaways.
I decided to block it all out—the Bradleys and their snootiness, Tyson and his intent to go against the grain, and especially the fact that he was now texting my best friend.
“Jordy,” I said, “you’ve come to the right person.”
19 | Trice
Monday morning came all too soon, and it was time to start summer school.
Pacific Hills was home now, and my first step in transitioning was completing my summer credits. So I got up early and packed my copy of Roots along with some school supplies as I got ready for my first day.
The night before, Travis and I’d made plans to hang out later and hit the subdivision’s gym, so there was that to look forward to.
Maybe this could all work.
I was on my way down to the first floor when I passed by Jordy’s room. Inside, I caught him and Nandy up still from the night before, rearranging his room. After ditching me Friday for Chad, Nandy had come back slightly irritated, and she and Jordy set out on the task of redecorating his room. They’d stayed up Friday night moving furniture, and Saturday they’d painted his once white walls a matte shade of maroon. Neither Max or Parker had said anything, seeming to welcome this change and spark of creativity.
I’d stayed busy with Travis and the guys, and texting Shayne, all weekend, but a part of me had wanted to help out. Still, it was obvious they were fine on their own.
Standing in the hall, I watched Nandy laugh and play with her younger brother. In all his joy and glee, I could tell he really loved Nandy. That she had made this place a home for him and was a loving older sister.
Once upon a time, Nandy had been my Neverland, my memory of something good and true. Seeing her be that for her brother let me know she was still that same Nandy I’d once known.
We hadn’t talked much since her boyfriend’s intrusion Friday afternoon, and while I could tell it danced on her nerves when I questioned her status with him, I still wanted to patch things up and try this rekindling of our friendship.
That could wait for after school today.
In the front foyer, I bumped into Parker. He was clearly off work, lounging in his T-shirt and pajama bottoms. In his hands was a remote control, and in the air, buzzing about, was a model jet plane.
“Is this what you do all day?” I joked as I came down from the last step.
Parker knew no shame. “Don’t listen to what anyone says, Trice, the nerd does get the girl.”
Feeling playful, I said, “Nah, you must’ve had a lot of game.”
“Oh, no, I asked Maxine out ten times before she gave in. Once she did, she realized your boy wasn’t so bad.”
They felt so normal and ordinary. I liked this.
“You meet in high school, or college?” I wondered.
Parker fiddled with his controller some more before safely landing the jet farther down the hall. “We met in college. She was the sorority queen, and I was captain of the debate team.”
“Smooth. No wonder you won her over.”
Parker wore a proud smile. “For sure, and get this—when I proposed, I built this tiny mechanical heart-shaped box. Totally had her swooning.”
I guessed sometimes the nerdy guy did get the girl.
Maybe there was hope for Kyle and Shayne, who seemed oblivious that the guy existed.
“You’ll have to tell me more sometime. I’m going in for school,” I told Parker.
He nodded as he went back to his plane. “Have a good day, and again, I’m sure this’ll all work out.”
Like his wife, I was growing to trust and believe in Parker. His sincerity matched Max’s.
I slipped outside and made my way to my SUV, aiming to start my day with optimism. This could work.
“Trice!” Warhol came jogging over from where his estate was two houses down. “Hey, let’s carpool. I’ll drive tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure.”
Warhol hopped shotgun, and this time as we rode over to Cross High, he left my radio alone, agreeing with me on who was the best rapper out of LA.
We’d started a debate on who was top ten in the game when I pulled into the student parking lot fifteen minutes later.
“Look, all I’m saying is, beats beat lyrics,” Warhol said as we climbed out of my car.
Across the lot I spotted Ashley, who was quick to join us by coming over and dapping us both up.
“Ashley.” Warhol tapped his chest. “What do you think, man—beats or lyrics?”
Ashley made a face. “Erica and I argue about this all the time. Beats get the party bumpin’, nobody cares about content.”
I sighed, squinting at him. “What does she see in you again?”
Ashley snorted and shoved me.
Kyle soon climbed out of a nearby car, and the guys at once set off on him.
“Hey, Frogger, you wanna start a carpool?” Warhol asked.
“I probably shouldn’t, in case one of the teachers needs me in early or later,” Kyle declined.
“All work and no play, boy,” Ashley said with a shake of his head. “You ain’t ever coppin’ a girl with that mind-set.”
“Like Mancini,” Warhol snickered.
I studied Kyle, awkward and innocent in his own way. Thinking of Parker, I thought he had a shot, if even a little.
“M-maybe I’ll invite her out to the Hook. I hear Sour Pineapples are playing a show,” Kyle spoke up.
Warhol wrinkled his nose. “Sour who?”
“It’s, uh, an indie band. They’re local, but so good.”
Ashley and Warhol shared the same look of confusion before waving Kyle off.
“You just make sure you get back on the football team. Can’t stay hydrated without you,” Ashley said.
They poked fun at him, but it seemed more playful jest than cruelty. Hopefully Nandy was wrong and this social circle bullshit wasn’t real, because Kyle seemed okay to me.
“Welcome to hell, boys,” Warhol drawled, spreading his arms out as he gestured around us at Cross High.
These kids were really making me dread the actual school year come September. “Let’s get this over with,” I said.
We entered the school as a unit before going our separate ways. Warhol had chemistry, Ashley had algebra II, Kyle was an errand boy, and I had both English and algebra II to make up for.
Along the way to my first class, I spotted more school posters littering the walls, one featuring the sports crowd and Cross High’s football team. In all the photos of the green football field, the marching band stood out to me.
The school, much like our suburb and subdivision, was very multicultural, I was quick to realize. In the official marching band photo, Travis and a few other white students were easy to spot among the group heavily composed of Asian and Latino faces. While most of the group chose to do corny poses or facial expressions, Travis hung back in a corner staring straight at the camera, smile-free. If it weren’t for his matching blue-and-black uniform, I would’ve questioned his presence in the photo.
The guy was really in the marching band.
I made a mental note to clown him for it later.
“Ah, there he is.”
Behind me, Lydia was coming my way, seeming happy to see me.
“All ready for school?” Her perkiness was almost infectious.
“As ready as I’m going to get. We both know I have a habit of ditching.”
Lydia shook her head, boldly reaching out and squeezing my shoulder. “Well, then, allow me to walk you to Mrs. Copeland’s room. She’ll be your instructor for English, where I hope you’re a fan of the classics. If you didn’t like Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and the Brontë sisters before, you’re in for a treat, because you meet again.”
I threw my head back and groaned as I walked with her up toward the second floor. “Can’t wait.”
Lydia patted my arm and chuckled. “So, it’s been a week. How are you adjusting?”
I had to hand it to her, at least she genuinely seemed to care beyond my academics. “Not so bad. I’m making friends, I think.”
“Good. There are a lot of nice kids in this school with plenty of character and personality.”
She wasn’t lying. The suburbs of Pacific Hills weren’t what I expected.
“You might be right about that,” I let her know.
“It wasn’t until I got away from where I was from that I realized how far I could go.”
We walked to the third floor, where Lydia led me to room 335 and stood back. She threaded her fingers together, an honest look in her eye as she peered up at me. “Tyson—Trice—I hope this all works out for you. A part of your English course is writing, and I mean it when I say you’ve got a gift. No pressure, but free yourself and relax. If you can, write something that feels familiar—write something that feels true.”
She left me with these words and, as I faced my English class, I wondered if I could. If I had it in me. If the pen was mightier than the sword.
It was the start of summer, and we would see.
20 | Nandy
The first month of summer blew by quick as routines set in and relationships blossomed, and friendships stayed the same.
With cotillion at the end of the week, I was both anxious and excited for my debut. My friends were preparing—and complaining, due to some of their mothers nagging them about every little thing. I didn’t mind; it was all going to be worth it. Friday was going to be my night.
Things were perfect...well, almost.
“Can you pass the salt?” Tyson asked. Then, as if to annoy me, he added with a sickly-sweet smile, “Please.”
Poking at my baked potato, I avoided his eyes. “Get it yourself.”
“Nandy!” my mother scolded. She glared at me as she passed Tyson the salt shaker. “What’s gotten into you?”
Tyson was enjoying my reprimanding. Bastard.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
“I thought you two were getting along.”
“We aren’t,” I said, as Tyson replied, “We are.”
My eyes met his and, like always, I couldn’t hold his gaze for much longer than a moment.
Tyson had been with my family for a month now. We’d gotten past our rocky beginning, and things had been fine, but now they weren’t. I couldn’t quite place why I was so mad at him, but one day I woke up and everything he did incited me with anger.
I didn’t know how to articulate it, but the anger was deep inside of me, bubbling up to the surface, and just when I thought I could grasp the reason, another part of me shoved it back down.
My mother rolled her eyes, standing from the table. “Figure it out.”
She dropped her plate at the sink and left the room. With my father working late at his office and Jordy over at the Gómezes’, that left only Tyson and me.
With my gaze on the remains of the evening�
�s dinner, I could feel him staring at me.
One look up confirmed it. He liked this. It was hard to miss the taunting gleam in his eye. “You look nice, Nandy.”
I scowled. “Screw you, Tyson.”
This caused him to smile. “Can’t take a compliment?”
“Leave me alone.”
“And here I thought we were working on our friendship. Tsk-tsk.”
He had gotten on my last nerve. I grabbed my plate and washed the leftovers down the disposal.
Heat caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. When I turned around, Tyson was right behind me. Too close. I could smell his cologne. Rich, intoxicating, and delicious.
He set his hands on either side of me on the counter’s edge, blocking me in. His smell was suffocating me.
“Wanna hang out?” he asked.
It was a stupid question. One he definitely knew the answer to. “No.”
“Come on, Nandy. You, me, and the TV. I’ll even watch some reality shows you love.” He seemed sincere and genuine, but the answer was still no.
“I have, uh, stuff. Call Travis or something.” I pushed him aside and went to my room, ignoring whatever he was saying behind me.
Inside my room, with my back pressed against the door, I reminded myself that I despised all there was to Tyson. Tyson hung with Travis, and I hung with Chad. Tyson goofed off with Warhol and sports, while I sunbathed with the girls. Tyson played video games with Jordy and asked my father how his day was, while I snuck in and read Roots. Tyson. Tyson. Tyson. Ugh.
As if to piss me off further, I heard him go into his room and start playing rap music loudly. Some catchy chorus with a wicked drum beat was blasting, and I had half a mind to storm next door and...
Fuming, I went to my bed instead, buried my face in my pillow and screamed the thoughts away.
I hate you, Tyson Trice.
A hand came down on my shoulder and I shot up, panicked that he’d come into my room, somehow able to hear the thoughts running around in my head.
It was Shayne.
A Love Hate Thing Page 16
