OMG, I HAD a date…with the biggest jerk in town!
I rolled my eyes. This was so not going to happen. He didn’t like me, he didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and the feeling was totally mutual. I scrunched up the little note with Tony’s address and tossed it against the wall over my bed then returned to my homework. He could wait until he turned blue in the face. I wouldn’t be going anywhere near his house. Not after his oh-so-welcoming invitation.
It was 3:20 P.M. when I was done with my algebra and rose from the desk to get a drink. The small Post-it ball had rolled in front of the door. With an annoyed grunt, I kicked it aside. But when I came back from the bathroom with a glass of water, the ball had all my attention once again. Caving in, I bent to pick it up.
A deep sigh escaped me. Based on what I’d seen today, Tony was a genius. Gifted. And I really wanted his notes. Actually, if I wanted to catch up with the class in time, I needed them. So maybe I could drive to his house, fetch the notes, and leave before he got a chance to open his freaking mouth and be nasty again.
It was either that or talk to Jerry, who couldn’t draw a stick figure. Sorry, Jeremy, I just can’t risk messing this up because of unusable notes. But the prospect of getting help from Anthony Moron Mitchell churned my gut. I raked my hands through my hair as I slumped back onto my desk chair. Could my first week in Grover Beach have been any more complicated?
Probably not.
By 3:50 P.M., I had come to a decision, dumped it, then made up my mind once again. I needed the notes, so I steeled my nerves for another encounter with Tony.
Then I realized I was facing a different problem. I had to ask Chloe for her car, because, for one, I had no idea where Tony’s house was and needed a navigation system, and two, it could be miles away. I crossed the hallway to Chloe’s room, but before I knocked on her door, I hesitated. She was going to say no, I knew it. Her annoying attitude had been a surprise to me, but there was one thing I definitely knew about my cousin. If she was pissed, she was pissed for weeks.
Maybe if I apologized…
I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. She had been the idiot, not me. And the thought of backing down caused my toes to curl in my boots. But four months in her house? I had to overcome my irritation and just put on a smile. I could do it. “I can do it. I can do it…” I knocked on her door.
No reply.
Did she know it was me? I scratched my head then knocked again. “Chloe, can I come in?”
No reply.
I lowered my glance to the toes of my boots. “Look, I’m sorry about Saturday night. Can we maybe…er…just forget about it?”
No reply. Yeah, that was to be expected after the first two dismissals. I turned the knob and opened the door. “Chloe?”
She wasn’t in her room. I looked over my shoulder, stepped through the door, and glanced around. Everything looked the same as it had Saturday morning when I had arrived—still the perfect copy of a bedroom in a Barbie Dreamhouse. No clothes littered the light gray parquet, no homework was scattered on her desk. I was probably the only untidy person in this house.
The white wood furniture and purple angora wool carpet made me want to fetch a doll and start playing tea party in Wonderland, like we used to do when we were younger. Chloe had always wanted to be Alice. It had been fine with me. I had much preferred to be the Mad Hatter, anyway.
Apart from the bedding, which was now a soft purple satin and not Cinderella on flannel anymore, nothing had changed in this room. The wood-paneled mansard picked up the color of the parquet, and I ran my fingers along one furrow as I walked to the open window. Chloe’s room faced the street, so I wiped the sheer curtains aside and leaned out, looking down. Her car was gone. Dang. Now I had a serious problem.
I’d better find Aunt Pamela and ask for her car before she decided to go grocery shopping or something.
Leaving the room as I had found it, I loped down the stairs and walked into the kitchen, where my aunt was chopping veggies and dropping them into a pot. Not going out any time soon. I relaxed and put on a nonchalant expression. “Hi, Pam.”
She looked up from her cooking and wiped her hands on her apron. “Hey, Sammy. What’s up?”
“Can I borrow your car for a bit? I need to get some study stuff from a classmate. Chloe’s gone, so I can’t borrow hers.”
“Sure.” She refastened her thick, honey-colored ponytail and walked with me into the hallway where she gave me the keys. “So, how was your first day? Do you like your teachers? Already made new friends?”
Oh, she meant apart from the Chloe Clan that traveled the corridors only in a pack? “Yeah, I met some really nice people. Guess what? They asked me to join their cheerleading team.” I gave a wry laugh, but then I scrunched up my face, wondering if maybe it was a good idea after all.
“But that’s great. You love dancing,” Pam said.
“Yeah, we’ll see. I’ll check it out tomorrow. Thanks for the keys.” I waved at her, then rushed out into the garage, climbed into the black Volvo, and drove off as soon as the wide, roll-up door was fully open.
I punched Tony’s address into the GPS, then fisted the note again and shoved it into my pocket. It turned out that he lived on the opposite side of town, about two miles away from my aunt’s house, in a picture-book neighborhood. I pulled up in front of his door. His house was painted white and had a low picket fence. A small yard ran from the front around the side, probably to a bigger garden in the back. It looked pretty much like any other house on the street, apart from the color and design of the doors and windows. Much smaller than my aunt and uncle’s mansion, but lovely. I grunted. Way too nice for a jerk like him.
The clock on the dashboard flashed 4:15. What if I was too early? I looked around but didn’t see him anywhere. He must have already gotten home, and I was just looking for a reason not to get out. I sat in the car for a couple more minutes, staring out the side window. Were good grades in AVE really worth coming here and facing Mr. Bad Manners? Unfortunately, I had to answer that with a whiny yes.
Drawing in a few deep breaths, I forced my fingers to uncurl from the steering wheel and got out of the car. Three steps led to the front door. I rang the bell then waited for a silhouette to move behind the frosty glass. A shadow appeared and seconds later the door swung open. A tall woman with shoulder-length hair as fair as Tony’s greeted me with a smile. “Hello.”
“Um, hi. I’m Samantha Summers. Is Anthony home?” When I clasped my hands, I realized I was actually sweating. It made me gnash my teeth behind my closed lips. How could I let a stupid guy turn me into a ball of nerves?
Mrs. Mitchell nodded, then she shouted over her shoulder, “Tony! A friend of yours is here.”
Friend? No.
“Black hair?” came the answer from somewhere inside.
Now his mother drew her brows into a puzzled expression as she looked back at me. “Yes.” She shrugged, and it seemed like an apology.
It wasn’t her fault that her son was an ass, so I let her off with a smile.
“Give her the stack of notes! It’s on the chest!”
He didn’t intend to come to the door? Fine with me. A relieved breath escaped me, and I felt the knot in my stomach ease.
Mrs. Mitchell, however, seemed to be appalled by her son’s behavior and tried to explain in a confused but sympathetic voice, “He just came home from practice. He hasn’t showered yet and probably doesn’t want to come out all sweaty. Boys, you know.” She grimaced, and I appreciated her attempt to give me an excuse though she had no idea what was going on.
The door stood wide open as she went back to the broad wooden chest to get the notes for me. I caught a brief glimpse of the inside of the house. A long hallway opened into several rooms at either side. I liked the floor tiles. They were creamy white with a blue tile here and there.
My gaze snapped back to the blond woman when she shouted once more. “There are two stacks, Tony! Which one?”
“The left! No wait, the right. Ah, damn…”
I sucked in a sharp breath when he suddenly appeared from a door at the far end of the hallway. He was wearing cleats and white shorts with two blue stripes on either side. And that was all. Nothing else. Holy shit! My eyes fastened on his bulging pecs and abs that glistened with sweat, while he wiped his face with his bright blue jersey.
His mom smiled at me when he reached us, then she left us alone. No! I wanted to shout after her, but she was gone and had no idea of my sinking heart.
The moment Tony stood in front of me I couldn’t remember how to make my tongue function or where my voice had gone. Strangely enough, the only thing I could concentrate on was his six-pack and nice belly button. Gosh, I was pathetic! I forced my eyes up to his face, if only for a second.
Tony cast me an irritated glance. Then he pulled the sweaty jersey over his head and shielded his annoyingly perfect body from my gaze. “Get that staring under control, Summers,” he grunted.
Yeah, well, I was working on it.
He grabbed one of the stacks of papers from the top of the chest, put it in a wide folder, and held it out to me, not inviting me in. “These are the main projects. Detailed descriptions are clipped to each sketch.”
I took the folder from him silently, forcing my thoughts to focus on what he’d said instead of on his body. His sweat-dripping hair stuck to his forehead and stood out in sweet angles on top. Along with his heated red cheeks, it made him look much younger and nicer than he actually was.
“I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do,” he snapped, folding his arms over his chest. “If not, you can ask my aunt for help.”
“Yeah, thanks.” It came out flat, my frustration at his rudeness coming through.
“Just try not to spill nail polish on my notes, okay?”
Excuse me? I pulled my brows into a huffy frown. “I don’t do nail polish.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He grabbed the edge of the door and certainly would have closed it in my face in a second.
“Anthony, wait. Please.” I didn’t know what had driven me to say that, but at the same time I squared my shoulders and inhaled a deep breath, which I hoped would give me an extra half-inch of height.
To my surprise, Tony stopped and arched one eyebrow.
Oh God, what to do now? I bit the inside of my cheek, then I mumbled, “Why are you so annoyed with me? Did I do something to offend you?” Yeah, very subtle, Sam. I wanted to slap myself—even if I did want to know the answer.
His other eyebrow came up, too.
Dammit, I was running into a dead end. But I had to say something, so I tried the next best thing that came to my mind. “Listen, I know you think I enjoyed how Chloe made fun of you the other night. But I didn’t.” I shrugged. “I can’t help being her cousin, but I don’t see why that’s such a problem for you. Anyway, you got your revenge when you tore me to pieces in AVE today.”
When he still said nothing, I made a hopeful face. “So…I’d say we’re even?”
A slow, cold smile crept to his lips. “Right.” Then he slammed the door in my face.
Ah…yes. That made a crappy day perfect.
Done with staring at his shadow disappearing behind the frosty glass, I dragged my feet from his front yard, planted my butt in the car, and floored it home.
“Goddamned idiot!” When I banged my fist on the steering wheel, I wasn’t even sure if I was cursing Tony or me. I’d made a freaking fool of myself trying to be friendly. And he was such a moron. I gritted my teeth and pressed even harder on the gas pedal, muttering, “Don’t spill nail polish on them, Summers. Don’t powder them up with makeup, Summers. Please don’t put them in the wash.” Right, because that’s what I usually did with borrowed notes. Asshole.
I slammed on the brakes in front of a pedestrian crossing to let two preschoolers and their grandma pass and screamed my frustration with Tony to the roof of the car. “I hate you!”
The kids gaped at me through the windshield as the old lady ushered them more quickly across the street. I blew a ragged breath through my nose before I drove on.
Back in my uncle’s garage, I grabbed the notes from the passenger seat and walked inside. Dropping them on the desk in my room, I slumped on my bed and tried to kill myself and my misery by pressing the pillow to my face. I gave up after ten seconds, threw the pillow in a corner, and gazed at the ceiling.
Why, oh why, did I have to run into this horrible guy on my first night in town?
My gaze swept across the room until it landed on Tony’s portfolio. It was a dark red folder with random drawings on it. Mostly fancywork and evil-eyed faces. The pencil strokes were accurate, even in those sketches that he’d obviously made without much attention. Absent doodling while listening to the teacher—this was something I did often to my folders.
I got up and wheeled the swivel chair to my desk, sat down, and opened the portfolio. There were five sketches inside, one in charcoal and four in pencil. Several sheets were clipped to each picture, with notes written all over the place. Though the beauty of his art left me breathless, it was Tony’s handwriting that drew my attention right now. On a closer look, the order within the chaos of his jottings became clear. Though boyish enough, the artist shone right through in the fact that he wrote in cursive—in his classy capital letters and the zestful loops of his G’s and J’s. I traced them with my finger, then I dragged my hands over my face. I must have completely lost my mind. This was just handwriting, oh my God.
From my own portfolio, I took out a large piece of paper, read through Tony’s instructions on the first project, and then began to outline a human body. The task was to dress the person in 1970s-style clothes.
I was halfway done with the flaring bell-bottoms when the weak light in my room really started to get on my nerves. The large window was little help when the sun was already creeping toward the west and my room faced the opposite direction. The dining room, on the other side, had bright light. I packed my stuff and carried everything downstairs, where Pam was just finalizing neat bowls of chocolate mousse, which we’d get for dessert, no doubt.
“Hey, Sammy,” she said and placed the bowls in the fridge. “Did you get what you needed?”
I lifted the two folders of artwork. “Right here. Do you mind if I spread my stuff on the dining room table for a while? I can’t draw with bad light, and these projects are really important. I’ll be gone before dinner.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. It’s still over an hour until your uncle gets home.”
I fanned out my drawing utensils on the wide, glass-top table and got to work. The hippie without a defined face in my picture got dark platforms and a shirt with a floral design. I enjoyed this drawing, nailing the shadows of the clothing perfectly by rubbing my finger over certain parts, blurring the lines. Just for fun, I portrayed the woman with long braids hanging from both sides of her face and a slim band around her head.
“The sleeves have to be a bit wider toward the wrists,” my aunt said as she leaned over me and studied my picture. “They looked like the flare in the pants, really.”
“Aren’t you too young to have been part of that freaky era?” I teased her, but I made the changes she suggested.
“I was too young to be a hippie but I had an aunt who came right out of that time. When I spent the night over at her place, she often showed me funny photo albums of her and her husband.” Wrinkles of a smile built around her eyes. “I laughed so hard at their crazy looks that sometimes she feared I’d choke.”
Sheesh, I knew how that sounded. When Pam got into one of her laughing fits, she was like a vacuum cleaner, and it was impossible not to laugh with her, just because of the sound of it. Aunt Pamela had always been my favorite relative, even though she was only related by marriage. Uncle Jack and my father looked a lot alike, but otherwise the brothers had little in common. While my father was warm and caring, it seemed like Jack was first and foremost interested in prestige and only secondly in family. The ever-busy attorney. He was a nice guy, all right, but after seventeen years of knowing him, he still wasn’t even half as close to me as Pam had been since she’d given me a stuffed Roger Rabbit for Christmas when I was four years old.
Pam drew out the chair next to me and sat down, leaning her elbows on the table. She pointed at the hem of the right pant leg on my drawing. “You know, if you added a small pleat here and a larger one here, the pants would look a lot wider and more authentic.”
I tried to do what she said, and heck, she was right. But that was no surprise. Pam was an artist herself, creating beautiful canvases in water color and oil paint. The hallway and parlor were wallpapered with her awesome abstract paintings of people, landscapes, and buildings. While my parents did everything to support my talent, Aunt Pamela really understood what drawing meant to me.
“Mind if I bring in my easel and paint with you for a bit? The chicken can bake without my help.” She seemed happy when I nodded.
It was nice to have her around for the next forty minutes. Pam was a funny person, warm, and always up to giving amazing feedback. She also skimmed through Tony’s pictures and was impressed by such a great talent. Her gaze fell on the one artsy letter that stood out at the bottom right of each drawing. She frowned. “And T is for…”
“Total jerk,” I muttered before I knew what I was saying.
Pam burst out laughing, and I bit my bottom lip. Then I added, “Well, his name is Anthony Mitchell, so I guess T is for Tony.”
“I see.” Her laughter ebbed away. “Just where have I heard that name before?” Her forehead creased with a frown and she tilted her head. “Is he tall and blond with blue, blue eyes?”
And a killer mouth, designed to get on my nerves? “Yep, that’s him.”
“I think Chloe dated him a few times last summer. He’s a very nice boy.”
Now I turned around to face her fully. “Nice? Ha! That’s not the side of him I’ve gotten to know.”
Pam scratched her brow. “Really? For weeks, Chloe didn’t speak of anyone else but this guy. She was so happy when he finally asked her out. Unfortunately, it didn’t last very long. Chloe cried for days when it was over.”
“Is that so?” How strange. This clashed with the story Susan and the girls had told me. If Chloe had dumped him, why would she cry? And what had made her dump him in the first place? Had he been rude when he’d slept with her? To me it seemed he was an asshole 24/7, so that could easily have been it.
I pushed the thought aside. After all, it wasn’t my concern.
A few minutes later, Chloe walked into the kitchen with her father and they both stopped to stare at us for a moment. Pam and I were messing around a bit. We were laughing really hard about a misplaced brushstroke of hers that made the guy in her picture, who was apparently supposed to resemble Uncle Jack, look horny and ready for action.
“Hi, darling,” Pam said as Jack came to kiss her on the cheek. “Sorry, we didn’t hear you come in.”
“I noticed that.” He slung his arms around her hips and studied the painting. “Is that me? And is that intentional?”
The three of us laughed again, but not Chloe. She stood rigid in the entrance to the dining room and scowled at me like I had eaten the last piece of her beloved white chocolate with strawberry filling.
“Hi, Chloe.” I tried for a friendly voice, one with a conciliatory tone.
She just snorted, then ran her long fingers through her pigtails. “Mom, where’s Rosa? I’m starving.”
“I gave her the day off, honey,” Pam answered. “It’s her son’s birthday and she wanted to spend it with him.”
“Great. So am I supposed to have a soda for dinner?” Chloe muttered.
Pamela wiggled out of her husband’s arms with a proud beam. “Dinner is almost ready. I cooked tonight.”
“You?” both my uncle and Chloe blurted out.
I didn’t know what was so special about that, but then I hadn’t lived in this house long enough to know all the house rules.
“Yes. Me.” Somewhat irritated, Pam walked to the stove. “I cooked before Rosa came to us, and none of you ever complained.”
Jack laid his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. He looked at my aunt with a mild expression. “There was no need for you to get your hands dirty, Pam. We can go out for dinner anytime.”
Pamela pulled delicious-smelling chicken parmesan out of the oven and placed the tray on the marble counter. “It’s no big deal. In fact, I’ve always enjoyed cooking. I was really looking forward to doing it today.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “Please, don’t spoil it for me now. Let’s just eat.” Her warm smile reappeared as she looked at me. “Can I get you to clear the table, Sammy?”
With that stupid drama going on, my butt had frozen to the chair, the pencil still clenched between my fingers. I jumped up from my seat. “Of course.”
We didn’t have a Rosa back in Cairo, or anywhere we had lived in the past. My mom always cooked for us. I’d thought it totally normal to find Pam in the kitchen today. Obviously, in this house it was not.
I packed up Tony’s and my sketches and rushed upstairs. After I washed my hands, I came back down to a nicely decorated dining room table. I slid into the seat opposite my cousin and held out my plate as Pam dished out the chicken.
Everyone was silent. I wondered if Pam’s cooking was a bigger issue than I had thought. At least they seemed to like the food, because Jack and Chloe both tucked in like there was no tomorrow.
“That,” I said around a bite, pointing my fork to the second helping of chicken on my plate, “tastes fabulous, Pam.”
She looked at me from the corner of her eye and her lips curved in a happy smile. “Thank you, honey.”
Chloe’s head snapped up so fast that I almost dropped my fork. She scowled at me, then at her mom, and finally at me again. Sometimes that girl totally weirded me out. All the more reason to make up with her, and make up fast.
“Hey, Chloe,” I said and took a sip from my lemonade. “I thought we could hang out a bit tonight, maybe grab some ice cream and watch a DVD or something.”
“Actually, I’m meeting up with Brin and Kir in an hour. We’re going to see a movie in town.” Cold, emotionless. I hated the aversion she shoved in my direction.
“You should take Sam with you,” Pamela suggested, and Jack agreed with a nod.
I wondered if her father’s approving look was the reason Chloe finally blew a strand of unnaturally blond hair out of her eyes and said, “Fine. Be ready at eight.”
Okay, not the warm invitation I had hoped for, but it was better than nothing. Maybe we could start over again.
After dinner, I changed my clothes, ran a comb through my unruly hair, and brushed my teeth. I was outside waiting by Chloe’s car at three minutes to eight. She gave an irritated snort when she saw me standing there.
We both climbed in, then she started the engine and cruised down the road. This was the perfect moment to talk things out with her.
“Listen, Clo, I wanted to tell you sorry for what happened down in the café. I was a little stressed out and—”
The tires screeched to a halt. I was pressed into the seatbelt so hard that all the air whizzed out of my lungs. “What the heck—” I gasped.
Chloe turned a cold look on me. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out of my car.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll just come around and drag you out by your hair.”
Oh my God! What had gotten into the girl? “Chloe, if this is because of Saturday night, let me—”
“Samantha, I have no intention of bringing you with me to meet my friends. Never did. I said yes so my mom and dad would get off my back, but now I want you to get out and find something else to do.”
Wow. I swallowed hard. Her face was etched in granite, so I figured arguing further was useless. I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, but before I could get out, I heard her cold voice behind me.
“And stay away from Pamela Summers. She’s not your mother, she’s mine. Yours is miles away and obviously not very interested in you, or she wouldn’t have sent you to my place to squeeze in where you don’t belong.”
My chest tightened at her words. Not because I believed the shit she said, but because I couldn’t understand so much hatred coming from a girl I’d loved to hang out with all my life. I was too wrung up to reply, so I climbed out and slammed the door shut behind me, heading down the sidewalk and not turning around when the tires screeched away from the curb.