XV

Amanda Willis stood on the sidewalk with her Sidekick in her hand and was reading over the details in the email one last time to make sure she had the right house. This was the third place she was interviewing with, and she was desperate; she had accepted a job at The Bellingham Herald that began in a couple of days.

She had interviewed with them so long ago that when she hadn’t heard back she had forgotten all about it. She continued to work at King’s Books, a new and used bookstore in the Stadium District of Tacoma, tucked in an old building between bars and tree-lined streets, applying for writing positions all over the country, desperate to get out.

She pushed back shoulder-length blonde hair from her brown eyes, gazing up at the house and thinking about how hard she worked to test out of high school and begin college, far from everyone connected with eighth grade. She thought about the degree in journalism from the University of Puget Sound that she had been so proud of, as it would be her ticket to take her far from Bailey Nguyen and his phantasmal reach.

She had to get a place to live and be able to do this job. She needed to begin building her credits so she could leave it all behind for bigger and more lucrative things. She needed to get away from the past nine years and what it had all done to her. She needed to have a life.

All anyone had wanted to do was talk about it. To ask her about it, and if she knew him, and how close were they? What was it like? Did she see him?

She had to win these people over and she was willing to do whatever was necessary to secure her future in this town.

The house was a rather large Victorian on North Garden. The ad on Craigslist had asked specifically for a queer person between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four; and she was anything but queer. Amanda Willis loved men; in fact she could not think of living in a world without them, but if she was going to move into a nice place like this, she was going to have to lie.

The black silk dress clung to her lean dancer frame, and her peach skin was warmed by the early afternoon sun.  

She made her way across the street, slamming the door of her blue Thunder Bird behind her as she did, the heels of her black stilettos tapping on the wood of the large steps.

The cream color of the siding reflected the light beautifully and she convinced herself that she could pull off this little charade of hers without a hitch; after all, anyone who knew the truth about her sexual orientation was back in Tacoma or some other city.

She stepped onto the wrap-around porch. A set of white wicker chairs sat around the corner to her right on the side of the house, overlooking the glistening water of the bay, the sun high in the afternoon sky. She had packed up her room in her parents’ house and this was it.

Amanda took a deep breath and got her head in the game. 

She pressed one manicured nail into the little white door bell, and a loud buzz echoed throughout the house. Amanda tried to see inside the house, but the beveled glass made it almost impossible.

“Just a minute!” someone shouted from inside.

A shadowed form grew closer and then the knob turned, the door skirting back across the floor and its creaking hinges sounded old and familiar, like her parents’ Craftsman.

“Hi there.” An equally tall and petite girl faced her, her breast-length honey curls framing her face. She was dressed in blue jeans and a tight baseball tee, her breasts much fuller than Amanda’s, and her smile was bright, almost chipper.

“Hi. I’m here about the room for rent; do I need to speak to you?”

The girl nodded, gesturing with her head for Amanda to come inside.

“Hey, I’m Tammy,” she offered, taking her hand and giving it a casual shake.

“Amanda.” She looked around; pocket doors on her left opened into a pristine dining room. To her right was an equally immaculate living room, which Tammy was now guiding her into. Another set of French doors sat across from her, opening into a room filled with sleek leather furniture and floor-to-ceiling shelves, all of them filled to the brim with books.

“Well, Amanda, have a seat; I just need to get the others. I’ll be back in a second, okay?”

Amanda nodded and smiled, trying to ignore the beating of her heart pounding inside of her chest. She watched as Tammy turned and made her way out into the foyer and around the staircase, disappearing down the little hall.

She sat herself in a soft French armchair, the fabric wine in color, and within seconds she heard the sound of many shoes stepping on floorboards, and a collection of female voices echoing through the house, growing louder as they drew near.

The first was, of course, Tammy, who took a seat in the matching couch to Amanda’s left, followed by a tall black woman dressed in jean cut­off’s and a tight blue top, and to Amanda she looked like a model. Following her was another black girl, much shorter, dressed in black wide­legged pants and a little black top with crosses on it, her hair in thin curls and obviously dyed burgundy.

The last to follow suit were two girls, both average in height, one dressed in a plaid skirt and a blue dress shirt, her hair simple and red, almost the same length as hers, and this girl was clasping hands with the woman behind her, clad in blue jeans and a black turtleneck, her brown hair cut like a guy’s and a trail of freckles spread across the bridge of her nose and rested below her eyes.

“Hi, Amanda; I’m Christy, and this is Trish,” the girl with the red hair said to her, taking a seat on the couch with Tammy.

“And I’m Sandra,” the ‘model’ said to her.

“Hey, I’m Andy, nice to meet you.”

She released her fingers, not even conscious of the fact that she had curled them into her palms, creating little red, crescent moon shapes in her flesh.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you all.” She prayed to herself silently that she could just get through this interview without any problems. “So, are all of you girls lesbians, or all over the map?”

They looked at her and giggled. Amanda wasn’t sure if they were laughing with her ease with personal questions or if they thought her question was ridiculous and gave her away.

“Well, they are; I’m bisexual;” the girl named Andy said to her with a smile.

“Cool, cool...” she said, adjusting slightly in her seat.

“What about you?” Christy asked her, her green eyes inquisitive.

“Oh, me? Totally one hundred percent muff diver!” She rested her head in her hands for a moment, realizing that she had blown it almost instantly.

“Uh huh...” they all seemed to say in unison.

Before any one could say another word, a collection of footfalls pounded down the stairs, and then two men appeared, making their way towards the front door.

“Aaron!” Tammy called out, forcing both boys to stop and face the room.

“What’s up?” he asked, laughing with an extremely beautiful boy behind him, resting his face on the other one’s shoulder.

“We’re interviewing a prospective roommate,” Sandra said to him with a smirk.

Both of them were beautiful. The one named Aaron stood tall and slender, his eyes large and hazel brown, almost like a forest covered in moss, the green vegetation clinging to the brown bark, and his hair was swept back from his face and the color of chocolate. He wore a pair of blue jeans and a tight black polo; his skin was pale and silky like cream.

The boy behind him on the other hand, was more masculine in looks and not so soft, though his face was undeniably handsome, and his jet-black bangs were pushed back from his face by his Wayfarers.

His jaw­line was defined but softened by his cheeks, and he was dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt. But it was his eyes—two endless wells of turquoise resting in his sockets—that caught her breath and made her feel her heart.

She knew those eyes. She knew them like she knew her own name, and before she could think, she rose to her feet in utter surprise.

“Chase Sheppard!”

He lifted his head almost immediately and looked down at Aaron, who stood an inch shorter than him, both of them trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

“Yeah?” He looked at her and his eyes squinted, creasing ever-so-slightly in the corners as he inspected her with those eyes that traveled up and down her lithe body. His hand gripped into a fist. She could see it. She could see the veins constrict in his hand and arm for just a moment as his fingers pressed tightly into his palm.

She walked towards Chase, almost oblivious to the other man standing next to him, and aware of the fact that these people were staring at her in confusion.

“It’s me, Amanda!” She embraced him quickly with both arms and he hesitated to do the same.  She could not believe it. A face from the past colliding with her, the one person she had ever truly loved and the one guy to fuck her up eight years ago.

She thought of Bailey then. She thought of how she had belonged to them both. One out of her adolescent lust and need for him, and the other because he knew it and could use it against her.

Chase was supposed to be her penicillin for death. He was supposed to be the thing that she got out of Bailey’s passing, but it hadn’t worked out that way. They had both been too fucked up by eighth grade and it was what had been the last straw—the final thing—that nail in the coffin that had driven her to leave high school altogether and become an adult as quickly as possible.