Текст книги "In Pieces"

Автор книги: Gia Riley

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In Pieces

Dedication

 

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

 

Books by Gia Riley

About the Author

Acknowledgements

In Pieces

Copyright © 2015 by Gia Riley

All Rights Reserved

Cover Design by

Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Interior Design and Formatting by

Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet without the publisher’s permission and is in violation of the International copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

To first loves.

Even when it feels like the world is against you, keep going.

Your pieces are constantly forming a beautiful story.

THE APARTMENT’S QUIET when I get up for my first day of school. I’ve spent four years of high school waiting to be a senior. Now that the day has come, I don’t feel much different than when I was a junior, but at least I’m one step closer to graduation.

Still, being a senior doesn’t make waking up at six in the morning any easier. In fact, I groaned as soon as my feet hit the floor half an hour ago. My entire body feels the after effects of working a double shift at the diner last night. Being the last night of summer vacation, I wanted to get in as many hours as possible before I had to start worrying about homework and school.

After a hot shower, followed by a cold dousing of water to wake up, I’m dressed and ready for my day. At least I think I am. I even curled my hair, and put on more make-up than I normally do. I don’t know who I’m trying to impress, nobody cares. When they’re not spreading new rumors about me, they’re usually oblivious to my mere existence.

“Mornin’ Kinsley,” Carson says, as he walks out of his room the same time I do, half naked.

I’ve known Carson for as long as I can remember—he’s pretty much a second brother to me even though we aren’t actually related. Which is a good thing considering I had a wicked crush on him for a long time.

He started out as my brother Wyatt’s friend, and slowly morphed into a part of our family. Now that Wyatt’s away at college, he’s moved into the protector roll without even having to be asked. He ended up here when my older sister, Kate, needed help paying the bills. He willingly took Wyatt’s old room, with the stipulation that Wyatt could crash in it whenever he wanted to come home.

“All set for school?”

“Yeah, leaving in a couple minutes,” I mumble, as a yawn escapes my tired body.

Carson’s in school too, only he commutes instead of living on campus. He’s focused on finishing his criminal justice degree as quickly as possible, so he can enroll in the police academy. It scares me when I imagine him on the streets late at night, protecting the world from hate, but there’s nothing he’s ever wanted to do more. Even when we were kids, and would play cops and robbers, he’d always be the cop.

He follows me to the kitchen where he watches me pour coffee into my travel mug. I’m useless without it after working so late. His eyes bore into the back of my head as I stir way too much sugar into my coffee.

It’s weird having him here. I thought it would be fun, interesting even, but I’ve caught him checking me out more times than I can count. Problem is, I’ve always noticed him—especially when he’s walking around without a shirt, like he is right now. All the hours he spends in the gym are showing, and it makes it even harder to see him as my friend, and not the attractive nineteen-year-old, college freshman that he is.

Though it doesn’t matter how hot I think Carson is. Wyatt would never allow us to pursue one another. Then again, Wyatt wouldn’t want me with any guy, no matter who it was. It’s part of the reason why I’ve never had a boyfriend let alone dated. It’s always been easier to pretend I wasn’t interested, just to keep my brother happy. The past few years we’ve had enough going on without him having to worry about who I was swapping spit with.

“Your hair looks different.”

I pick up the end of my freshly cut hair and lay it back down on my shoulder. “It’s the same.”

“Must be the make-up. It makes you look older.”

I shake my head. “My make-up’s the same as it always is.” I’m hardly wearing any other than a little lip gloss, mascara, and some powder.

“Hmm,” he says. “Well, you look really nice.”

I turn around and smile, shyly. “Thank you.” I wasn’t planning to leave for ten more minutes, but after that last comment, it’s time to go. “Have a good day.”

I’m out the front door and walking toward the wooden staircase that leads to the driveway when Carson props himself against the open apartment door, watching me walk away. “Be careful, Kinsley. And don’t let any of those dipshits screw with you. I mean it.”

I laugh because he’s so much like my brother when it comes to who I spend time with. “Don’t worry Carson, I’ll wait until the third day before I screw anyone.”

I expect him to laugh at me, to even toss a smart ass remark back, but he doesn’t. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he looks like he wants to hurt someone. “Kins, you better be kidding.”

“I am, jeez. You act like I’m a slut. Have I ever brought a guy around?”

He thinks about it for a second, and then his face softens. “I know you’re not a slut. Hell, I wouldn’t let you be a slut.”

Isn’t that the truth. “So, we’re good here?” I can’t walk away if he’s mad at me. His opinion matters too much.

He nods his head. “We’re good. See ya later.”

“See ya.” Once he turns and walks back into the apartment, I descend down the rest of the stairs. I can’t say I was expecting a reaction like that one, but then again, Carson’s changed since he moved in. This new version suddenly cares how I dress, how much make-up I wear, and who I’m with. It’s nothing like when Wyatt was still here—back when he treated me like I was one of the guys.

Though it wouldn’t surprise me if Wyatt put him up to it. He probably cares because he was told to. Lord knows he has enough on his plate without having to worry about what I’m doing.

But I have bigger problems to deal with, like my car starting. It’s sounded like a ninety-year-old man with emphysema for far too long. The added clanking sound is only getting worse, and I have no choice but to get it checked out. That means more money I don’t have down the drain.

Missing school isn’t an option, so I have to pay for it even if I don’t have the money. My days at school are never easy, but it’s where I get to do my favorite things—see my best friend, Becca, and work on my collection. If I plan on getting into Parsons School of Design, I need to work harder than I ever have. My interview in New York City is only a few short months away. There is no Plan B.

With luck, I make it to school, pulling into my assigned spot. The parking lot’s already starting to fill up—much faster than usual. Today’s the one day of the year people are actually early for class. Tomorrow, the mad dash before the bell will begin.

“You coming, woman?” Becca’s knocking on my window, smiling like a loon. She loves the first day of school almost as much as the last. It’s the part in the middle that’s a drag.

“I’m coming.”

“Whatcha got first, Kin?”

“Advanced photography.”

My schedule is loaded with art and design electives, and I’m hoping they’ll help set me apart during my interview. The more I can add to my portfolio, the better my chances are of being accepted into the design program at Parsons. Though, no matter how impressive I can make my portfolio, it’s still going to be a stretch for a small town girl from Pennsylvania to make it in the Big Apple. But if anyone’s up for the challenge, it’s me.

“What do you have?”

“Chem Lab.”

“Sounds like a snooze fest. Good luck with that.” I always give her a hard time about her demanding schedule, but Becca’s dream is to be a doctor—a pediatrician. In fact, she’s had her sights set on The University of Pennsylvania's Perelman School of Medicine, one of the top five medical programs in the country, for as long as I can remember. And Becca’s fierce enough to make it happen. Go big or go home, right?

“I can’t believe it’s senior year already. I feel like we were just like those kids.” She points to a group of nervous freshmen who look like they’re about to throw up in the grass.

“Nah, we were so much cooler than that,” I toss back, knowing for a fact we were because three years ago, I was completely, blissfully, happy. I still had a family—a real family with a mother and a father.

“Sorry,” she says, as she kicks a rock across the sidewalk. “I wasn’t thinking when I said that.”

“Stop, it’s fine, really. Now, please tell me you have first lunch so I don’t have to wait all day to see your face again.”

She scans our schedules, holding them side by side. She starts waving them in the air when we finally match up. “I do! We have gym together, too.”

“I hate gym. I suck at sports and you know it. I’m much better at watching them.”

“I can’t disagree with that. I’ve seen you in action,” she says, laughing. “Your brother hogged all the coordination genes.”

Wyatt was a standout wide receiver on the football team. They even played him as a freshman he was that good. Now, he’s at Penn State University, on a full athletic scholarship.

“You’re probably right. He’s good at everything.”

“Except math. Poor guy can’t add for shit.”

I snort because she’s so clueless. “He sucked on purpose, so you’d tutor him after school.” My brother had a crush on Becca all year long, but Becca never gave him a shot because he was going away to school this year. And with plans of her own the following year, they’d never be in the same place at the same time. It’s a shame, really, they’d be great together. She’s what he needs to calm his ass down, maybe even tame him a little, and he’s what she needs to have some fun—without her nose being stuck in a book.

Becca doesn’t say another word about Wyatt, and I don’t bring him up again. I can tell she misses him though. She may have complained about the tutoring sessions at first, saying what a lost cause it was, but secretly, she looked forward to them as much as he did.

We get to my first class before hers, and although I’m a little early, I go inside anyway. I hate walking into a classroom full of eyes—especially when I know most of them only see me as Wyatt’s little sister—the sad, little, orphan girl.

“Good morning, Kinsley,” Mr. Jasper says, as he lays a copy of the class syllabus on each desk.

“Morning, Mr. Jasper.”

“Sit wherever you’d like, doesn’t matter. You won’t spend much time at your table anyway once we get rolling.”

“Okay.” That’s what I love about photography. You can’t learn without doing, which means I stay busy. As long as I’m creating, I’m not thinking, and that’s a very good thing. I toss my bag onto the table in the back corner, closest to the darkroom. I can’t wait to get back inside.

I glance over the syllabus while the classroom fills up, little by little. The senior class is just shy of three hundred students, so all the faces walking through the door are familiar, but there’s one that stands out the most—Rhett Taylor.

Rhett and I don’t travel in the same social circles. I’ve known him since kindergarten, but other than being aware of whom the other one is, we don’t know much about each other besides what we see at school.

Ever since freshman year, I’ve crushed on his green eyes more than I haven’t, but I’ve never had the guts to do anything about it. He’s popular and the star athlete on the football team now that my brother has moved on. But what separates him from the other guys in our class, is his personality. He’s never once belittled someone beneath him in the food chain, where those less popular easily fall prey to the sharks. The sharks all take great pride in going out of their way to make life miserable for others, yet Rhett’s never been one of them. I’ve never understood why he hasn’t used the power of popularity to his advantage, but he wouldn’t be Rhett if he acted any other way.

Combine his personality with his athletic build, killer smile, and tan skin, and you have six feet of male perfection. What girl wouldn’t want to date the hottest guy on the football team? The nerds want to know him, the cheerleaders want to date him, and his friends want to be him. But in my eyes, it’s always gone beyond the physical. Call it a hunch, but I know there’s more to Rhett than he lets the rest of the school see. Problem is, I’m not sure anyone else has even bothered to notice—except for me.

MR. JASPER ONLY spoke for fifteen minutes. It seemed more like an hour with Rhett practically sitting next to me. He smells as good as he looks.

After Mr. Jasper finished going over the course syllabus, like every other teacher will do at the start of class today, he set us free to work on our first assignment. It’s taken me straight to the art lab where I’m most comfortable. I use a mannequin to drape one of my favorite fabrics into the beginning stages of a dress. After mixing just the right textures of fabric together, it photographs flawlessly.

Photography, much like any form of art, can be a risk. That’s always been the appeal for me, but truth be told, I didn’t really care for photography at first. In fact, I kind of hated it—only because I put a lot of pressure on myself to come up with the perfect image. After spending an entire semester last year messing around with the camera, I realized the best images aren’t perfect at all. Sometimes, they’re a little rough around the edges, even perceived in different ways depending on who’s looking at them. Most importantly, they’re special because they’re unique.

If only the world viewed life the same way.

Hurrying back to class, I’m so anxious to get inside the darkroom, I didn’t even realize it only took me fifteen minutes, but when I walk into an empty classroom, it’s clear I’m the first to finish.

“That was fast, Kinsley.”

I nod my head at Mr. Jasper. “I knew what I wanted to take a picture of before I left the room.”

After I put my camera back in its case, I stand inside the column that spins me around into the darkroom. I love taking pictures, but developing them, watching as they come to life, is what had me falling in love with the medium last year.

“Hey, Kinsley.”

I thought I was the first one back, but as I step into the darkroom and hear my name, there’s no mistaking Rhett—even if my eyes are still adjusting. “Hey.”

I walk over to where he’s standing, grabbing an apron off the hook on the wall. It’s next to the list of darkroom rules, but right now, my only concern is remembering how to breathe.

He looks up and smiles at me. It’s not the reaction I was expecting considering I figured he’d ignore me like he usually does. Rhett even makes room for me at the end of the table, right next to him.

We work in silence for the first few minutes, making the small room seem even more awkward than it already is. But what do I say to him? It’s not like we’re friends or anything.

“I feel like I could hear an ant sneeze right now,” Rhett says, out of the blue.

“You probably could.”

“Did you have a good summer?”

Again, he surprises me when he asks me questions like he actually cares. “I worked a lot and I spent a week at the beach with Becca’s family. Wyatt took me to a Luke Bryan concert. That was pretty cool. How was yours?”

He shrugs his shoulders like it was just, eh. There’s no way his life is ever mediocre, so I know he had to have done at least a couple of interesting things. His family usually goes on pretty expensive vacations every summer. “Decent. Did the beach thing and worked my summer job before football started. The usual.”

I nod my head, surprised again when he doesn’t brag or boast. “Sounds nice.”

There’s another lull in the conversation, but it’s not as uncomfortable as when I first walked in. In fact, if I was meeting Rhett for the first time today, I’d think he was reserved—slightly quiet even. And that’s not the kind of word anyone would typically use to describe him.

“How’s Wyatt? He’s at PSU right?”

“Yeah, I haven’t heard from him in a couple days. I’m sure he’s living it up though. Usually does.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Rhett says, with a knowing smile.

Being teammates for a couple years, he knows all too well how much my brother enjoys partying and female attention. “He can be a jackass, I know.”

Rhett laughs, “Can’t argue there, either.”

“Most guys in this school are though–especially the ones on the team.”

“Ouch,” he says, covering his heart.

“I didn’t mean you. You’re different.”

He looks up at me, a confused expression on his face. “Thank you, I think.”

“Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“What did you mean?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, thankful it’s dark enough in here to hide the fact that I’m turning red. “I don’t know what I was trying to say. They definitely wouldn’t be talking to me right now if they were in your shoes though, that’s for sure. That already makes you a non-asshole—at least for today.”

His shoulders shake, as he laughs at me. I regret ever opening my mouth. “Forget it, sorry.”

“Na, I get what you’re saying—even if you did have a shitty delivery.”

“Thanks, I wasn’t trying to call you an asshole. You aren’t.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Why am I so bad at this? “My opinion doesn’t really matter anyway.”

I wait for him to laugh at me, again, but he doesn’t. This time, he looks at me with a straight face when he says, “Your opinion matters, Kinsley.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Probably not.”

“Well, it matters to me.”

I stop what I’m doing to look at him. The way he said it matters to him, was kind, caring even. It makes no sense why he of all people would care. “It does?”

He nods his head, turning to face me. “Of course it does. You’re real. You don’t bullshit. I respect that from a chick.”

“I’m a girl, not a chick. Chicks are usually bitchy—at least from my experiences. Wyatt’s had enough of them at the house over the years for me to know the difference.”

“Sounds like you met some winners.”

“I have, but I have a lot of time to think, too. People watching is my thing. You can figure out a lot about a person just by watching them.”

“Okay, then tell me what else you think—about me.”

If I answer him, I’m pretty much admitting I watch him. Though he did ask for my opinion, it doesn’t seem like a good idea to give it. I swallow, chewing on my lip, as I try to come up with something to say that won’t result in any embarrassing confessions or hurt feelings. “Um, well. I don’t know, Rhett.”

“Sure you do. You have lots of opinions, you just don’t say them out loud very often.”

He couldn’t be more right. I’m usually too afraid to speak up, so I don’t. “True.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because everyone has too much dirt on me as it is, and nobody really cares what I have to say anyway. I’d rather stay invisible than stand out.” I don’t need anyone slinging trash at me about my past. It’s not worth being heard if I’m only going to be mocked. Plus, until this year, my brother did enough talking for the both of us.

“Kinsley, we’ve known each other a really long time. Just because we don’t hang out, doesn’t mean I don’t observe things, too. You don’t think people see you, but they do. I see you. Every single day.”

“I like to blend in.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not some spray tanned, cheerleader Barbie with long legs, hair extensions, fake nails, and a push-up bra. Those girls are living one big lie. Their appearance is as fake as their personality. And I can’t be fake.” I have too many skeletons to pretend to be anything other than what I am.

“And that’s why I notice you, Kinsley.”

“You notice me? You want me to believe the Rhett Taylor notices me.”

“Yes.”

“Why? You’re you, and I’m me. We’re opposites.” I don’t ask him because I’m fishing for compliments. I ask because I’m intrigued—genuinely curious as to why Rhett would ever be trying to figure me out.

“Maybe I like you,” he says, without a hint of mockery in his tone. “And opposites attract.”

“Okay, Paula Abdul.” I try to play off what he said, but all I can do is swallow around the lump in my throat. I wasn’t expecting an answer like that one. “What’s the deal?”

“There is no deal, Kinsley. Can I borrow that?” He gestures toward the bottle of developer in my hand.

I stand, staring at him, wondering what the catch is. There’s no way Rhett likes me for me. There has to be more to it.

“The bottle,” he says, again.

I hand it to him. “Sure, I’m finished.”

As he takes it from me, our fingers touch ever so slightly. I pull my hand away from his like he electrocuted me, again earning a chuckle from him.

“You okay?” he questions.

I clear my throat. “I’m fine.” I want to ask him what he means when he says he likes me, but I don’t. The dreamer in me wants it to mean exactly what it sounds like, but that’s only setting myself up for disappointment. High school isn’t a Disney movie.

He lets me concentrate on my assignment for a few minutes, and I’m thankful. We had a half hour to take a picture of something inspiring. I knew right away I’d find my greatest source of inspiration in the art lab. Considering Rhett took less time than I did to complete his assignment, he must have shot the football field or the weight room, where all the magic happens, before hurrying back.

I swirl my picture around and around in the tray, waiting for it to finish. Out of the corner of my eye, I chance another impatient peek at Rhett’s tray. His picture is farther along than mine, and I have to blink my eyes a couple times to make sure I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing. It’s like looking into a mirror with my own face staring back at me.

“Why did you take that?” I ask him. He’s going to fail today’s assignment if he doesn’t go take another picture. He doesn’t have time to mess around, or Mr. Jasper will kick him out of the darkroom.

His face remains serious, not giving away a single clue. Maybe it’s a cruel joke, and I’m today’s shark prey, but he only shrugs his shoulders like it’s perfectly normal for him to have a picture of me in his possession. “I’m creating art. What’s it look like?”

“It looks like me, that’s what.” He can’t be serious right now. I’m not art. Kinsley West is a lot of things, but art isn’t one of them.

“I’m glad we got that straightened out.”

“But, Rhett, you didn’t do the assignment. You won’t get any credit.”

He raises his head, searching for my deep brown eyes in the already darkened room. Sometimes they’re so dark, I can’t even find my own pupils in the mirror. “Who says I didn’t do the assignment?”

With the tongs in my hand, I point at his tray. “Rhett, that’s a picture of me.”

“I know it is. Maybe you inspire me. Did you ever consider that?”

Absolutely not.

All I can do is I stare into the red plastic tray as my face floats around inside it. Nobody’s ever told me I inspire them before, but I can’t let him know how much his words mean to me. Not when I’m still trying to figure out if I believe him or not. “Good luck explaining that to Mr. Jasper.”

“I don’t have to explain anything, the picture speaks for itself.”

This is the only chance I may ever have to hear what Rhett thinks of me. Not what everyone else thinks, but his own personal opinion of a girl who has been in his life without every really being in his life. So, I whisper, “What does the picture say?”

He sets the solution back on the table, pulls the photograph out of the tray, and hangs it behind us to dry—where the rest of the class will be able to see it, too. He points to it as it hangs. “That I captured the prettiest girl in the school.”

Is he for real right now?

There is no way Rhett Taylor just told me I was the prettiest girl in the whole school. It makes no sense considering he can have any girl he wants, and most of his choices are more beautiful at eighteen than I will ever be.

Plus, I’m not his type. I’m not one of the bubbly cheerleaders who scream his name from the sidelines every Friday night, and I’m not one of the groupies following him from school to practice, watching as he sips his Gatorade. I’m just me—the girl who gets good grades, has a passion to design, and works part time at the diner to afford my car payments and art supplies.

“Breathe, Kinsley. We all have secrets, even you, but now you know my truth.”