Текст книги "The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things"

Автор книги: Ann Aguirre

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

I don’t know if I can handle more.

His cheeks are flushed when he sits back down. “I do have an original song I’ve been working on. Would you like to hear it?”

They convince him with applause this time. I notice the barista perched on the bar; nobody has stirred to buy drinks or order muffins this whole time. Shane’s captivated the whole room, and I 100 percent understand why. I can’t look away either. So naturally, they applaud to encourage him, and he launches into something new.

“Monday, midnight / People say it’ll be all right / I see the tunnel / But there’s no light.”

It’s a simple melody, but haunting. The people around me seem to be barely breathing. “Life is bitter, bittersweet / It all changed in a heartbeat / Too little, too late / Only my heart to break / I close my eyes and / I fade away / fade away.”

I listen as he sings on, pouring his heart into this song. There’s so much raw sorrow in his voice that I could cry listening to him, and I already fought it down once. His music is a direct line to emotions I’ve pretended I don’t feel anymore. I’m afraid to be sad or angry, afraid Shadow Sage will slip her chain and I’ll find myself in the dark place again. I can’t afford that when I’ve fought so hard to stay in the light. His voice scours me raw; he’s relentless.

“Sunday, sunny day / Wish the world would go away / Dreams cost too much / And I can’t pay.” From there, he shifts smoothly into the chorus. “Life is bitter, bittersweet…”

I close my eyes.

His voice deepens on this verse. “Wednesday, gray dawn / All night, I left the music on. / The silence is too loud / Without your song.”

This must be about his mother. So many questions occur to me then, and they drive away my own pain. Shane has that power over me, and I’m grateful for it. The chorus flows over me. “Life is bitter, bittersweet.” I hate that he’s hurting. I mean, I knew it, but the lyrics drive the point home. He must’ve felt so helpless, unable to do anything to make his mom get better, and yet he never ran like his dad. That takes a special sort of strength.

Shane takes a breath, then sings the last verse, soft and low. “Friday, evening, / Is when I stopped believing. / Wanna find my smile again / But I can’t stop grieving.”

The final refrain flows in his soulful baritone, only he changes it up on the last few lines. “I close my eyes and / I fade away / Don’t let me / … fade away.”

I can be forgiven for hoping that he’s singing that last part to me. I’m aching to console him. He comes off his stool and surprises me by striding directly toward me. When he pulls me up into his arms for a public kiss, it’s the best moment of my life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There are twenty-five people in the coffee shop; it’s not exactly a huge audience, but from the sound of their clapping, you’d think there were a hundred people in here. This startles Shane into breaking the kiss. I swear he forgot there were other people around us, and my heart soars. He was singing just for me. A few of them even push to their feet. At first I think it’s a standing ovation, but instead they’re moving forward with bills crumpled in their hands.

“Not that this isn’t romantic … but where’s your tip jar?” a woman asks.

Shane pulls back, sheepish. He glances around with a blank look, and I quickly grab an oversize coffee mug from the shelf, then pass it around. If I know this boy at all, he’s frozen. Before, he was caught up in the moment, but deep down, he’s pretty shy. He needs the money, so I’ll help him collect it. I don’t mind; it’s always easier to be strong for someone else.

“You’re really good,” the barista tells him. “If you want, I’ll talk to Barbara about giving you a permanent spot in the showcase.”

“Not mine, I hope,” Jace mumbles.

But the complaint has no teeth. The guy hasn’t even asked for his guitar back.

Shane hands the instrument over. “Thanks, man.”

“No prob. You’re really good, dude.” Jace gives the compliment easily, which makes me like him. “We should get together and play sometime. What’s your number?”

“Just leave a message for me here, okay?”

Shane doesn’t have a phone, cell or otherwise. I know that about him, but Jace doesn’t, and seems to think Shane’s blowing him off. “Right. Whatever.”

“I have to get home,” I cut in.

“Right. Catch you later.” Shane waves at the crowd in general and they give him another round of applause.

Quickly, I clean all the bills out of the mug we borrowed, set it on the shelf, and then lead the way out of the Coffee Shop. I hand him the money as we reach the sidewalk. He counts his haul carefully, smoothing out the crumpled ones and fives. Then he stares at me, astonished. “There’s eighty-seven bucks here.”

“Put it away,” I advise.

He gets out his wallet like he’s dreaming. Though I’m not trying to be nosy, I can see there’s nothing in it.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop by the P&K before I head home. That’s the opposite direction from your house.”

I can see he’s torn. He needs groceries, but he wants to walk me home, too. There’s no easy way to do both.

“Go shopping,” I tell him. “But be careful. It’ll be really late before you—” Then it occurs to me. I know someone who has a car. “Hang on.” Shane’s frowning as I dial. “Conrad? What’re you doing?”

“Watching TV with my mom,” Conrad says.

“Listen, can you give Shane a ride home? It would help a lot.”

He’s so chill that he doesn’t ask questions, and he won’t wonder about where Shane lives. A lot of people live in trailers because they own land, but they can’t afford to build just yet.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Where?”

“Pick him up at the P&K in half an hour. Thanks, man. We owe you.” It gives me a warm feeling to use the word we in that context.

But Shane’s frowning at me when I disconnect. He crosses his arms, making it clear he’s pissed. “I could’ve walked. It’s fine.”

So I try to explain. “This is what friends do, help each other.”

“Conrad’s not my friend. I barely know the guy.”

“I’ve known him for a while. He has a good heart.” It didn’t even occur to me that Shane would get prickly over this. Who wants to walk five miles home in the dark while carrying grocery bags? I thought I made things better.

Apparently not.

“I told you before, I don’t like it when you do shit like this. I can manage my own life, Sage. You may feel sorry for me, but I’m dealing. I got by long before I met you.” A number of responses battle in my head, but before I can offer any of them, he spins and heads off, muttering over one shoulder, “I gotta go. Apparently I only have half an hour to get to the store and do my shopping.”

My stomach feels sick. I considered only how much I worry about Shane, never once imagining how I might be making him feel. I’d hate it if anyone felt sorry for me. But I don’t pity him; that’s not it all, I just want to help. I’ve gotten good at fixing things over the past three years. It’s an easy part of myself to offer, but he doesn’t want that from me.

After today, he might not want anything at all.

For a few seconds, I stand there, staring upward. It’s a clear night, a blue velvet gown of a sky dressed in diamond stars, but I feel like such an idiot that I can’t appreciate any of it. I do my best to shake it off, then I trudge home. For a day that started out awesome, this one went to hell pretty fast. I’m happy Aunt Gabby is on the phone with Joe when I get back. That way, I can disappear into my room. I love her but she’s all about talking about my emotions, and sometimes I can’t manage it. My feelings are awful and messy and it seems best, today, to ball them up and pretend they don’t exist, even though I can feel them chewing at me from the inside.

I don’t cry myself to sleep.

In fact, I don’t sleep. Much.

The next morning, I look like hell. There isn’t enough concealer to cover the crappy night I had. Over breakfast, Gabby takes one look at me and asks, “Did you have bad dreams? Your mom?”

“No,” I manage to say. “Just a rough night.”

I used to struggle with insomnia, so she’s not surprised. She just nods and kisses my cheek. “Let me know if I can do anything.”

By that I hope she means some herbal tea, not more counseling or actual meds. While sleeping pills knock me out, they also leave me feeling thick and disconnected. I hate taking them, so I was glad when my aunt let me stop. When I first came to stay with her, she hovered. She fussed. She acted like I was delicate machinery about to break down. And this is exactly how I make Shane feel, like I see him as a project or a problem to solve instead of a person—and that’s so far from the truth. Right now I feel miserable and helpless, a delightful combination on Monday morning. Though I haven’t known Shane as long as Ryan, this is ten times worse than our faux breakup.

Just then, my phone pings. A glance tells me it’s from Ryan. Speak of the devil. I have to work this afternoon, so I don’t have time to get into whatever he has in mind—but he isn’t asking me to get together. Instead he just says, I get it, ok? I’m sorry about everything.

I have no idea what he gets. No time to think about it. I’m already late so I grab a protein bar to eat in my first class and throw together some kind of a lunch. I don’t bring enough for everyone or even Shane. The way I feel today, I may go sit behind the school with the burners and inhale enough secondhand smoke to get a buzz on. My ride to school seems longer than usual, and it’s a cold, gray day. Most of the crimson and gold leaves seem to have fallen, leaving skeletal limbs on the dark boughs of the trees. I have no idea how all the color could’ve drained away overnight, but I suspect the answer has to do with Shane. Deep down, I realize I’m being dramatic; there are still trees dressed in gorgeous autumnal hues. I’m just choosing to focus on the bleak, barren ones instead.

It’s that kind of day.

Hurriedly I chain my bike up outside and run to my locker, where I should run into Shane. Only he’s not there. I guess he came and went early to avoid the awkward moment. I should be grateful but my backpack still feels like it weighs forty extra pounds. Lila nudges me as I go by.

“What’s the matter? You look like shit.” Today, she’s wearing a short black skirt, white-and-black-striped tights, black combat boots, and a corset sweater thing in scarlet. She’s way too stylish and dramatic for this school. I wonder how long her hair will be red.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

Her expression softens. “See you at lunch.”

“Yep.”

Somehow Shane manages to dodge me the rest of the day. I never see him at our locker, though his stuff comes and goes, which makes me feel marginally better. Each time I open it, I expect to find all of his things gone, which is so stupid. What does it matter if he takes his junk for good? It’s a locker, not our family home. I sleepwalk through my classes.

Now he’s sitting one row over in math, but he hasn’t looked at me. I might as well not be in the room. Shane’s back to silent, invisible mode, not even making eye contact. But I do get a happy surprise when I take a surprise math quiz and I know a good portion of the answers.

Today I avoid the cafeteria. I pick a random locker and leave a generic message on it. This is the first time I’ve phoned it in like this. After grabbing my lunch bag, I head out back. The halls are grungier back toward the shop departments, and the alarm doesn’t sound when I slip outside. A few guys eye me but nobody says anything. This isn’t a group known for talking. Instead they silently pass around a hand-rolled MJ while a kid in a beanie lazily stands watch. I guess somebody would eat the thing if teachers ever came back here.

I park it nearby and pretend to eat my lunch. It’s cold as hell and I’m not hungry. I’m counting heartbeats like I did in therapy, as it’s supposed to help me stay calm. Right now I want nothing more than to cry or scream, but that would alarm my new not-friends. I’m silent, like they are. Now and then, one of them tells an unfunny joke, and the rest laugh. I wait out the break while my hands and feet go numb. This day is endless.

Ryan looks better in chemistry, however, like he got a good night’s sleep and perversely, this upsets me. Since he claims to be in love with me, our situation should bother him for more than a week. Asshole, I think. But he doesn’t notice. He smiles at me.

“Hey,” he says, like nothing’s changed.

Everything has.

But I get to work. There are chemicals to mix in careful ratio, and Mr. Oscar seems delighted when I get the liquid to smoke and change colors, as intended. I’m supposed to learn something about bases and alkalis, I think, but it’s beyond me. I can’t believe I have to work today.

“Do you want to—” Ryan starts, but I’m already gone.

Shane’s nowhere to be found, and that hurts because I’ve gotten used to him showing up at most of my classes. I started counting on him … and I feel stupid because I should know better. I can’t even be mad at him because this is my fault. He told me before how much he hated it when I fix things for him, like he can’t do it himself, but I went ahead and did it again, so I can only blame myself that he’s bailed. Miserable, I put my assignments in my backpack and then head for the bike rack. I have a four-hour shift waiting for me, then homework.

Shane’s working at the P&K today, so I could swing by there if I wanted to stalk him, but I’ve already been there, done that. Instead I head to the Curly Q way early and start sweeping up the hair.

Mildred glares at me. “You know I’m not paying you extra.”

“It’s fine. “

She seems to sense it’s been a terrible day because she mutters, “Well, maybe this once. Clock in for three p.m. I can afford an hour since you’re here anyway.”

Eight dollars may not seem like a big deal, but my boss is pretty cheap. I must look worse than I imagined. Grace has a customer so she can’t do more than wave for the first hour; in the meantime, I tidy up the salon and examine the appointment book to get an idea of what the night will be like. Slow, it seems. There are two cuts on the schedule, one highlight, and that’s all. If there are no walk-ins, I’ll end up playing practice doll before the shift’s over.

The evening goes according to my predictions. Mildred leaves around six … and by seven, Grace has me in the chair. This is why I have twenty tiny braids in my hair, the other half loose, when the bell jingles. I glance up because it’s my job to greet customers … only this time, I freeze. Because it’s Shane.

I have a thousand questions. Isn’t he supposed to be at work now?

“I’m on my lunch break.” He’s a mind reader or something.

“Do you want a haircut?” That should go on record as the stupidest thing anyone’s ever said.

Of course he doesn’t. At least, I hope not. I love his shaggy curls. My fingers itch to touch them, but I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed when a couple is fighting. Are we fighting? Are we a couple? Nobody ever told me the rules; it’s still kind of undefined. I’ve seen happy pairs holding hands in the halls at school, sneaking long, greedy kisses when they think the teachers aren’t watching, and they make it look so easy.

He shakes his head. “But I know I can’t be here if I’m not paying.”

“Mildred would be pissed,” Grace agrees.

I stare up at the security camera blinking red above the front door. The old lady had it installed after other businesses in the area got burglarized, and now she uses it to spy on her employees. Which means she’ll definitely say something if I stand here talking to Shane, and he purchases no products or services.

“So I was hoping for a shampoo.”

“Seriously?” That’s the only service I’m allowed by law to provide, apart from fetching water and magazines.

Grace is wearing the biggest, dumbest grin ever. “Don’t mind me. I’m gonna put in my earbuds.”

“How much do I charge?” There’s no fee schedule for just a shampoo. Usually it comes with a trim or a blow out.

“Use the coupon for first-time clients. They’re in the top right drawer.”

This flyer is expired, plus it’s good for shampoo with haircut, but I don’t protest. I have no idea how to act right now.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Come on back,” I manage to say.

Grace and I know this is mostly to get out of sight of the cameras, so Mildred can’t bitch about me talking to my boyfriend while I’m on the clock. Apparently Shane doesn’t. To my surprise, he sits in the faux-leather reclining chair, like he really expects me to wash his hair. Does it make me weird that I want to?

Covering my nerves, I start the water, testing it on myself before I pull out the sprayer. “Let me know if it’s too hot.”

“It’s fine.”

His blue, blue eyes are closed, lashes smudgy fans against the pallor of his skin. He hasn’t shaved, so I can see the dark bristles on his jaw, and the delicate skin beneath his eyes seems bruised, as if he didn’t sleep last night, either. Suddenly my chest hurts … in a good way.

In silence, I spray the water through his hair, then get the shampoo formulated for curls. Most salons use fancy products, but like I said, Mildred’s cheap, so this is a generic jumbo container from the beauty supply shop, and it has a faint lemon scent. His chest moves in a sigh when I work the shampoo from scalp to ends and back again. I create lather, scrub gently, and then, like I do for most clients—unless they’re in a hurry—I massage his scalp.

His eyes fluttered open then, and his lips part. A faint flush tinges his cheekbones, and he’s looking up at me. I’ve never seen a stare like this. It’s deep, hungry, and it makes my toes curl.

“Rinse,” he says softly.

I do.

Before I can get a towel from the shelf above, he’s out of the chair, and I’m against his chest. Water sprinkles down on me, but I don’t care. I put my arms around his waist, surprised by the urgency of his hold.

“You’re the only person in the world who gives a shit about me,” he whispers. “I can’t believe I got pissed at you for showing it.”

“It was my fault. I didn’t listen … and I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have done it without asking.”

“Maybe not … but I was an asshole.”

I shrug. “You’re entitled.”

“Not to you, Sage. I want to be the one person who never lets you down.”

I exhale a shaky breath. “This was horrible,” I admit quietly.

And a little scary. I didn’t realize how fast—maybe too fast—I’d come to trust him. For him to vanish, it felt like the rug was yanked out from under me. Possibly I should pull back now, saying smart, cautious things about how we might need each other too much and that’s not healthy. But that’s the therapist talking in my head, not me. I hope. I only know that we’ve made an actual connection, and it will take more than this to make me give it up.

“For me too. Nothing even felt real without you.”

Wow. It’s quite a revelation to discover that I’m as important to him as he’s become to me. This is like being poised on a precipice, not knowing whether you’ll fall or fly. But I’m leaning into the wind, enjoying the freedom. I wish this moment could last forever.

“I sat outside with the burners,” I confess.

Shane smiles wryly. “Lila was worried about you at lunch. She was eyeing me like she thought I killed you and stashed your body.”

“You sat at our usual table?” That surprises me. I figured he’d be hiding somewhere. Before we started talking, he kept so much to himself.

He nods. “I was hoping you’d be there.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t.” I pause, rubbing my cheek against his chest. Even in his P&K uniform, he’s hot. “Maybe we should talk about how to keep this from happening again. I care obviously … and it bothers me to think of you walking five miles in the dark. That’s not crazy, right?”

“No. But … I’m not big on having my choices taken away.”

Yeah, he wouldn’t be. So many things have been beyond his control.

“So if I ask first, that would be better?”

“Yeah.” Shane glances at the cat-shaped clock on the wall, the kind with the google eyes and a pendulum for the tail. “Crap, gotta go. I’ll have to run to make it back before my break ends.”

“Wait!” Quickly, I pat his hair dry and then crinkle my fingers through it with some product designed to enhance soft curls.

He ducks for a quick kiss and then he’s gone in a jangle of the front door. Grace comes back to the shampoo station, grinning like mad. “He’s cute.” She stretches the word into twelve syllables. “How long’s that been going on?”

“A few weeks?”

For me, honestly, it began the minute he walked into my math class, but I couldn’t tap his shoulder and say, Hi, I’m yours, take me home. Surprising as it may sound, the crazy approach makes some dudes nervous. So I’m trying to save my insanity, dole it out in trickles, so he doesn’t run screaming. He still might when he figures me out, but I’ll have some sweet memories by then.

Like him saying, I want to be the one person who never lets you down.

The bizarre part is that I would like to believe in him. He’s that mythical being, rare as a unicorn. He’s the one I can trust, right, universe? I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Shane Cavendish. You have no idea.

“Tell me everything,” Grace demands.

She’s my favorite of the stylists, a young twenty-eight who didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up … and still doesn’t. Grace fell into beauty school because she had a coupon. As it turned out, she was pretty good, but she still doesn’t see this as her life’s work. She’s always looking for the handsome prince who’ll take her away from all this. But there aren’t many around here.

My plan is to leave town in two years. After graduation, I picture myself going to Unity College in Maine, and after that? I have no idea. Wherever I can find work, I guess. The future sometimes looms like a monster, a horrible scary one with teeth and claws. It’s hard to plan your life when all the news talks about is how screwed up the world’s become.

I tell Grace a little about Shane as we lock up. She beams at me. “I envy you, Sage. First love is the best. He’s the one you’ll compare everyone else to hereafter.”

Her assumption that we’ll break up takes the shine off my joy. I don’t say anything because Grace treats me like an adult, mostly, and she’d be upset if she knew how much reality bums me out. I mean, she’s right. Romance usually doesn’t last at sixteen, but you don’t want to think about it. You just want to feel.

“Great,” I mumble. “Night, Grace.”

I unfasten my bike chain while she locks up. Then I go about my nightly reflective tape ritual. So embarrassing. She laughs at me, shaking her head as she walks to her car. The streetlights are bright here, but once I leave the small downtown area, it gets dark fast.

I’m pedaling slowly toward home when I hear a car coming. Since I’m on the sidewalk, it shouldn’t be a problem, but the screech of tires scares me. I throw a look over my shoulder and find a black truck about to eat me. I wobble sideways and land hard on my hands and knees. Its tires hit the curb, bouncing toward me. Scrambling backward, I come against the fence that keeps people from screwing around in the auto body parking lot.

The headlights switch to high beam, practically blinding me. I clench my phone, already finding 911 with my fingertips. Then Dylan climbs out of the cab, propping his arms on top of the door. “Not such a scary bitch now, are you?”

His stillness is the only reason I don’t complete the call. “Isn’t it exhausting?”

“What?”

“Being such an asshole all the time. Don’t you occasionally want the day off?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he snaps.

“I know there’s something really wrong with you.”

He growls and comes around the door, but when I raise my phone, he stops. “You pretend to be so nice, but deep down, you’re as bad as everyone else.”

“I’m nice to those who deserve it,” I correct.

“And you think I’m not?”

“No,” I say. “You made life hell for a couple of people who are important to me.”

Dylan clenches a fist. “Lila’s using you, she’s tired of her old crew. That’s what she does, constantly reinvents herself because if she didn’t, she’d have to take a long look in the mirror.”

“Says the guy who lied when he told the whole school he popped her cherry.”

“Whatever. You’ll get a taste of her poison sooner or later.”

“What do you want, Dylan?”

He bites his lip. His followers would lose all respect if they could see how uncertain he looks at this moment. “I was wondering … how do you know about … them?”

No question that he means his mom and the principal. “I saw them kissing in his office.”

“Goddammit. I warned her. I told her to be careful.” He runs a harried hand over his short hair. “Do you have any idea how tired I am of dealing with this shit?”

“No.” I consider saying I don’t care, either but maybe it will help me understand why he’s such a dick to everyone if I listen.

“Since I was thirteen, I’ve been hearing guys talk about what a MILF my mom is. I have to pretend it doesn’t bother me or they’d just do it even more.”

“So that’s why you pick on people at school? You’re deflecting.”

Dylan makes a derisive sound. “You sound like a shrink.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

If he acts the way he does out of some misguided idea that he’s protecting his mother, then I can’t hate him entirely. Dylan, Shane, and I are tied together through a bizarre trifecta of the maternal spectrum. This jackhole won’t thank me for that insight, however. And I still don’t know what he wants, so I fold my arms expectantly.

“I’m giving you a chance to back off. Bad things happen to people who threaten my mom.”

“Excuse me?” Both my brows go up. “I haven’t done anything. And I won’t, as long as you leave us alone. That was the deal. It hasn’t changed.”

“I’m just supposed to trust you? I don’t think so.”

“Even if I say, Okay, I promise I won’t tell, even if you go back to picking on my friends, how does that change anything, since you don’t trust me? Did you think this conversation through at all?”

A look of dismay flickers across his handsome face. I mean, I don’t want to date him but he’s attractive, no denying that. “I’m not stupid,” he snaps.

You could’ve fooled me.

“But my mom is,” he goes on quietly. “She trusts people … sees the best in them. So when that asshole Warick tells her it’s just a matter of time until he leaves his wife—”

“It means it’s never gonna happen,” I finish.

“Yeah. And it seems like I’ve spent my whole life protecting her, trying to keep her from making another stupid move, including sleeping with my friends.”

Wow, why the hell is he telling me this?

“They’d get her drunk, nail her, and then give me shit about it for the rest of my life. Which is why I have to be the baddest, scariest asshole at school. These guys have to know I will not hesitate to pull the trigger if they cross me.”

Dammit. I finally see his point.

“And if you back off Shane and Lila after our private convo, they’ll see it as weakness.”

He nods. “Blood in the water. So we can go down this road, but I guarantee I’ve got more practice being bad.”

“You might be surprised.”

“I doubt it. What’s it gonna be, Princess? Do we call a truce, you forget what you know and things go back to normal, or do I start digging for your secrets?”

My blood chills. Though I’m not sure, my case file should be confidential. Since everything happened when I was so young, the records are sealed and they’ll be expunged when I turn eighteen. I’m terrified, but I can’t reveal my vulnerability to Dylan. Right now, he’s just guessing that I have something to hide. I shouldn’t confirm it.

Silently, I shake my head.

“Bad move,” he says softly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my mom.”

Ignoring him, I pull my bike off the ground and ride away, half expecting him to come after me with his truck. But he doesn’t. If nothing else, I’ve learned the key to Dylan Smith tonight. He’s not a bully for the fun of it, and I don’t think he’s a sociopath, either. He’s just driven by the desire to defend his mother. I’d almost feel sorry for him, except for the dread churning in my gut.

He’s not playing. He’ll search for anything he can use to discredit me. Logic dictates I should wreck him, shoot first, so to speak. If the whole school’s talking about what a slut his mom is, they won’t listen when he shit-talks me later. But … I don’t know if I can.