by Ella James
He gives me a smirky grin. “What’s my name?”
“Luca Galante.”
His thick, dark brows lift, making his gemstone blue eyes seem even bluer. Then he winces—probably because of that black eye he has.
“How do you know?” I can tell he’s teasing, but I don’t tease back. I guess my brain can’t switch gears that fast.
“We had a class, you know.” My voice is too high.
“Yeah?” A little smile twists his mouth. “Which one?”
“You know which one.”
“What makes you think I do?” Again, the grinning. He has a radiant smile. I knew he was gorgeous, but up close, he’s kind of stupid hot.
“I know you know.” I give a calculated eyeroll. “You walk behind me every morning going into school. You must live around here.”
I’m impressed when he shrugs off my accusation. “You think so?”
“Well, you’re walking. And you don’t look sweaty, like you’ve walked a thousand blocks.” Crap—and now he knows I have, in fact, graced him with a few glances.
He smirks and tilts his head, like he’s trying to read my face but he can’t. I smirk back.
“So you’re watching me, huh?” God, he’s got a cocky smile.
“You must be joking,” I scoff.
“Why?”
“You’ve been my shadow every morning for months now.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t help it we have the same route.”
“Yeah right.”
He shrugs. “All I know is, you check to see if I’m sweaty.”
I narrow my eyes at him again. “Only when you grab my things.”
His gaze falls to the bear in my hands, and his features soften. “Your beary best friend.”
For some reason, that makes me laugh, even as I clutch my sister’s dirty bear to my chest. But now I have tears welling in my eyes, and his face twists in alarm. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t—I, uh, honestly don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”
I clutch Pandy and wipe my eyes with my free hand. Then I turn around and fiddle with the sink’s knob, refusing to look at myself in the mirror, or at him as more tears drip down my cheeks.
“Hey…” His voice is soft and raspy. I can feel the heat of him beside me, which makes chills bloom on my skin. “What’s the matter?” When I don’t take the bait, he murmurs, “You can tell me.”
I laugh. It’s a hiccup sound, but there’s a harsh edge to it. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does. I mean, what if a photographer from The Talon is outside? How am I going to play your boyfriend if I don’t know the whole story?”
I want to say “you wouldn’t understand,” but it sounds cheesy—even though it’s absolutely true. This guy would never understand my problems. Almost no one would.
Instead I say, “You’re not my boyfriend.”
“I’m not?” He feigns surprise. “What a way to tell me.”
I try not to roll my eyes, but fail. He grins a bit. “Okay, so maybe I’m not your boyfriend. But…I could be your friend.”
It’s the last thing I expect him to say. For a long moment, I can’t get my throat to work. But my tear ducts seem to be operating at max efficiency.
“Ahh, hell.” His hand is on my back now, rubbing circles, and it’s so gentle. “We don’t have to be friends. Being friends can be…too much. We can just be bathroom buddies.”
That almost makes me smile. I lift my head and our eyes lock in the mirror; his lips twitch at one corner.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” It’s not what’s supposed to come out of my mouth. I watch as a grin lights his face. Then I watch him shut it down.
“No.”
By the time I turn away from the mirror to fully face him, his face is solemn. And he’s taken a small step back. “Do you?”
“No.” I sniff.
“A boyfriend?”
I wipe my eyes—mostly so I don’t have to look at his face as I say, “Not right now.”
“That’s surprising.”
“No it’s not.” I frown at him as my heartbeat quickens.
“It is.”
“You don’t know me. Maybe I’m a megabitch.”
“A megabitch?” He almost smiles. “Hmmm… I dunno. I’m not getting megabitch vibes.”
“Maybe you’re bad at vibes.”
“Oh, I’m not.” He does smile this time. “I’m good at vibes.”
I hold his gaze, somehow sure just from his eyes that this guy is, in fact, good at vibes. I arch my right eyebrow and try for a skeptical tone. “What makes you so sure?”
He holds his hands up. “Just trust me. I know people, and when I look at you, I don’t see megabitch.”
I want to ask what does he see, but I don’t dare. He looks at Pandy. “Were you washing him—or her?”
“Him,” I whisper. I swallow again and nod slowly. “Yes. It’s my sister’s.”
“Is he on a field trip?”
I nod, smiling slightly. My smile falters because I know Becca’s missing him. One of her caretakers tried to throw Pandy away this morning. Becca’s been sick with a GI bug she can’t shake—it’s put her in the hospital two times in the last six weeks—and this morning, she threw up on him.
The nurse, one of the newer ones Mom hired a few months back, doesn’t know my sister yet. She doesn’t care about my sister. When I told her she wasn’t allowed to get rid of Pandy, she called my mom, who told her she could do whatever she thought was best.
So I grabbed Pandy. I’ve gotta find some way to sanitize him so my mom won’t make a big fuss when I bring him back.
“My sister is…sick,” I offer in a voice that’s just above a whisper. “Pandy is dirty. So I need to clean him.”
I wait for the look of confusion on his face—or even worse, boredom. But he looks rapt, his eyes fixed on mine…so I keep going.
“One of her nurses tried to throw him out. But Bec’s had Pandy since she was born. And she...is really attached to him.”
Which matters a lot, because my sister is dying. I wipe more tears from my cheeks, and he holds out a hand—I guess for Pandy. He looks down at the bear: ragged from years of love and damp from my attempt to clean him.
“Have you thought about dry cleaning?”
“No,” I whisper. I don’t think my mom would even be willing to schedule a dry cleaning pickup. My mom doesn’t care, I guess. She doesn’t care about Bec anymore. I don’t understand why, but then I’ve never understood my mother. No, that’s not true, I correct myself. I do understand. Now that Bec is having more seizures, Mom is disconnecting one step at a time. And it’s grotesque and awful. She keeps saying Bec was never meant to be with us this long, as if it’s just…that time. As if it’s fine to let her go.
I wipe more tears from my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t think—” I manage.
“I could do it.” He takes Pandy from me. “After school. He’d be the first in line. After he’s cleaned, I can take him home and freeze him. I know it sounds weird, but freezing things can kill germs. My mom…she has cancer. She’s doing really well, but still takes maintenance chemo, and that means germs are bad dudes at our house.”
He nods as if to reassure me that he knows about such things.
“Do you know someone? Who has a dry cleaner? Because if he gets lost…” More tears well. I wipe them quickly. “Not trying to be a beggar and a chooser—”
“My dad,” he says quickly. “He’s got a shoe store and a dry cleaners. Right next door to each other. I help at the dry cleaners after school. I help them close.”
“Oh, which one is his?”
“It’s in Red Hook.” I can tell he’s trying to act casual, but he’s also watching me for a reaction.
I don’t give him one. “So, do you like…do it yourself?”
He nods. “I could do it myself, and then take him home and drop him in the deep freeze. My dad’s big on
deli meat. We’ve got a pretty solid freezer.”
“Could you…would you mind bringing him back to school tomorrow?”
“Yeah, for sure.” He takes off his black hooded sweatshirt, revealing a ragged-looking Rolling Stones T-shirt. I watch as he wraps Pandy carefully in the hoodie.
“I’ll be careful. I can give him back to you tomorrow morning at the tennis courts?”
I nod. “That would be great. Amazing, really.” I smile, and then I’m beaming. I can’t seem to help myself. “This really makes my day. Like…you have no idea.”
He winks. “Not a problem, Elise.”
I notice again that his eyes is swollen. I almost ask him about it, but he asks, “So you good now? You feel good walking back to your class?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Thank you.”
He gives me another strange look…like a smile, but with only his eyes. And he says, “You don’t need to.”
I watch him walk down the hall for a long time before I turn back toward the office. And I think about him for the rest of the day.
Chapter Four
Luca
The part about the dry cleaners was a lie. I don’t know why I told her that shit. Actually, I do: because I wanted to make her happy. I wanted her to let me take the bear. So I acted like my dad owns Diamond’s place, like it’s no big deal for me to take care of it.
When I get to Red Hook at 5:30, I swing by The Shoe Store, check in with Dad, then head toward Diamond’s Dry Cleaners.
Diamond—Tony Diamond—is a prick. When I was a kid, I knew him as Alesso’s big brother. Tony is ten years older than us, so at one point, we thought he hung the moon.
Incorrect.
Tony is an asshole and a loose cannon. Now that Tony does Roberto Arnoldi’s bidding, every interaction with him carries some risk. Ever since things went bad between Roberto and my dad—and it was Dad’s fault—we’ve been in a vulnerable position. With the store. With the debt. Tony knows all that shit, and sometimes he likes to try to play enforcer. I’m biting on the inside of my cheek as I approach the cleaners, one of dozens of storefronts along Van Brunt Street.
With any luck, Diamond will be playing Xbox above Matt Russo’s pawn shop on the next block down, and I can get help from one of the assistant managers. They’re all closer to my age than his, all from the neighborhood. Most of them are female, so that doesn’t hurt.
The red and white striped “Diamond’s” awning looks dull in the afternoon light. It’s cloudy today, probably going to rain later. I pass by Lisa Faye’s, the pizza place, and wince at the smell. I’m starving. Then I catch a glimpse of Tony’s fat ass through the glass door of Diamond’s, and my stomach does a quick flip.
That’s my luck, man. Tony’s never here. It only takes me a second to decide to hoof it to the next dry cleaners down—it’s pragmatic to avoid him, even if it’s a walk. But just then Tony straightens up and looks right through the glass door at me like he heard my fucking thoughts.
He grins like a hyena, and before I can beat it, he’s pushing the door open, and I’m hit with his weird, Diamond schtick.
“Howya doing, Bowsie Bow?” He lunges onto the sidewalk toward me, his big hand clasping my shoulder too hard, like we’re long lost friends and he can’t help himself. Except, of course, we’re something very different and I’m sure he knows I fucking hate it.
“Diamond.” I give him a nod, trying to keep from gritting my teeth at the sensation of his fingertips biting into my shoulder. “What’s up?”
“You tell me,” he says. “Still going to that rich boy school?”
I nod, my lips pressed flat. Tony likes to poke you where he thinks it hurts. When we were kids, he wasn’t like this, but his father was. When old man Diamond kicked it, Alesso and I were in sixth grade; Tony was twenty-two and really into gaming. He wanted to get a job making the CG part of video games, but Mrs. Diamond pushed him to take over the store. That’s how he got into what he’s into these days.
“They treating you right?” he asks me. “You still got that Bowser T-shirt?”
He gives my shoulder another slight shake before letting me go.
“Grew out of it,” I say calmly. Ever since this summer, he’s been asking me about that Super Mario shirt. It’s weird because the shirt is years and years old. I’ve grown a foot since I wore it, and I think Diamond knows that. I have to assume he’s just making sure I know the pecking order.
“Too bad. That was a cool shirt.”
“Yeah, love some Bowser.”
He looks down at what I’m holding. “Whacha got there?”
There’s a moment where I have a choice. I could try to extricate myself from this shit with him, but I don’t—because I know Diamond. Dude is fucking weird now. If I try to keep the bear away from him, I think he’ll grab it and look for himself. Better in the end to be direct.
“I’ve got a bear to dry clean.”
I unwrap the shirt, show him the panda.
He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “What the fuck?”
“My girlfriend’s.”
I’m shocked that I said it, but I keep my face on lockdown.
“That right?”
“Yeah.”
He takes the bear from me, and I let him. “He does look dirty.”
“I need it cleaned today. So I can get it back to her. It’s actually her sister’s, and her sister’s sick.”
“Oh, so like…a little kid.”
“Yep.” I don’t know how old her sister actually is. I forgot to ask..
“So you expect some charity?”
“What?”
His bushy eyebrows waggle. “Gonna pay me?”
“I can pay.”
“Nah, you’re good for it.” He smirks. “Or maybe I’ll take it outta your old man this month, yeah? He’s still got that debt.”
“I think you’ll do what you want to.”
Our eyes catch, and his are hard. I make mine harder. For the longest moment, he holds my gaze. I know the script here: It’s my role to back down. When I don’t, he laughs. “You’ve got some weird eyes, Bowsie.”
Yeah, yeah. Blue eyes. Super crazy shit. Clean the damn bear.
“I’ll clean the bear for you.” He pulls the glass door open and tosses the panda toward Zoe, one of the assistant managers. Then he turns to me with a hard grin. “I’ve got something you can do for me, too.”
Twelve and a half hours later, Tony’s girlfriend LeighAnn slams the brakes on her Porsche so hard the tires squeal, and I swing the passenger door open and hop out.
Fuck!
I run like the wind and lunge into the train car just before the doors shut. Jane in Pink has her head bowed; she’s chewing. She lifts her chin, and her eyes swing to my face. I swipe a hand back through my hair, realizing I don’t have my backpack.
Fuck!
I give her falafel a long, hungry look, then exhale and sit down. What I do have is a clean bear wrapped in my sweatshirt from yesterday. I give the bear a stupid little grin and then I flex my legs. Same boxers, same jeans, same shoes from yesterday, but I’ve got on a fresh shirt.
Diamond’s favor involved getting dye off stolen Benjis. I spent the entire night rubbing my hands raw on some chemical-soaked sponges and ended up back at the dry cleaners. I got Pandy back, plus some undershirt someone had left in their clothes. My shirt had been stained.
Without a book to read as we ride underneath Brooklyn, I think about my brother, Soren. He answered the phone when I called last night around eight. Told me Mom and Dad were sleeping.
“You mean Dad is passed out?” I asked.
“Well, yes.”
Sometimes my younger brother’s not so good at subtext, but he knew what I was thinking.
“Everything is fine here, Luca.”
I look down at the bear again, sending up a prayer to the patron saint of misunderstood sixth graders. My little bro is super smart, but he’s got what my mom calls peculiarities. He gets these mood swings somet
imes. If he’s pissed off enough, he’ll just bolt from school. For some reason, Dad’s been more tolerant of that stuff lately. He even lets Soren come to the shop and help him with stocking and sweeping.
I tell myself they had an okay night despite my absence, and everyone will have an okay day today. Diamond wouldn’t approach my dad for money on behalf of the Arnoldis. Not now that he’s hitting me up for these “favors”—and maybe not at all.
I didn’t get a second of shut-eye last night, so I’m yawning by the time I have to transfer from the F to the C. There I fall asleep, waking with the train’s vibrations and the mechanized voice over the speaker system as we pull into Chambers. I smirk, realizing I’m clutching Pandy to my chest like he’s mine.
My girlfriend. I snort as I step off the train, but I head toward the tennis courts with a bounce in my stride. I end up arriving early, and I sit under one of the trees and watch the curb. But Elise never shows.
I’m ten minutes late to homeroom.
Elise
I find him at the center of the track at lunchtime. I’m not sure how, but when I couldn’t find him in the cafeteria, I knew he would be here.
I can tell before I’m even close—he’s sleeping. He’s got Pandy in the crook of one arm; his other rests palm up in the grass. His long legs, clad in black jeans, are relaxed, his dark sneakers tilted slightly outward in sleep. His cheek rests against his shoulder.
He looks like the patron saint of high school athletes. Something about his messy black hair and those gemstone blue eyes, the hard jawline and strong nose…that creamy skin. He’s always stood out to me. His name sounds Italian, but I think he looks Irish.
I stand over him with my arms folded, wondering which of my besties squealed. Not that many people know I run at lunch on Thursdays.
I look from him to myself. I’m not wearing running clothes because today I’d planned to find him in the lunchroom. I’ve got on a comfy pair of skinny jeans, my favorite ankle boots, and a flowy, paisley scarf-necked blouse. I dressed carefully for him before the morning went to shit.
Wake up, I tell him—with the powers of my mind.
