Forbidden Boy

Текст добавлен: 26 октября 2016, 22:00

Текст книги "Forbidden Boy"

Автор книги: Hailey Abbott

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Fair or not, he was still tangled up in the messy web of the summer’s hurt and loss, and Julianne wasn’t ready to untangle that part just yet. She had too much else to deal 213

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with. She shifted her eyes away from the looming construction and focused instead on the gleaming, turquoise water. The ocean looked like an exact replica of Julianne’s painting, giving her a familiar pang of pride and loss. As Julianne stretched her long legs into a comfortable gait, she ran with her head slightly turned. She just couldn’t keep her eyes off the water. It felt a little too much like a sitcom setup. At any moment, Julianne thought, I’ll probably get bonked on the forehead by a stray Frisbee, or I’ll collide with another runner who had his eyes on the water, too. She was still laughing at her own imagina-tion when the playlist shuffled to “SexyBack.” Julianne quickened her stride and let Justin steer her back toward home.

Arriving on the porch, her sound track still blaring in her ears, Julianne leaned down to stretch her calves before taking off her running shoes. Taking a little hop forward, she pulled her right heel behind her back and held it with her left hand. Every time she came back from a run, Julianne looked up at her bedroom balcony and promised herself that this wouldn’t be the last time she’d dash over the sand and return to the house she loved. She sighed and finished her stretch before kicking off her sneakers onto the porch and heading inside.

She padded into her bedroom in her white ankle socks with green and yellow pom-poms. When Julianne had first bought the socks, Chloe had laughed that 214

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they’d ruin her athletic cred. Julianne paused in front of her mirror, rolling her eyes at her red, sweaty face and her soggy curls. She turned to Chloe, who was sprawled out on Julianne’s bed reading Us Weekly.

“I look like Miss Piggy,” Julianne declared.

“No you don’t. You look sporty. Well, except for the socks.” Chloe giggled. Humming “Hollaback Girl” quietly to herself, Julianne headed over to her desk and plunked herself down in front of her computer. She was trying to decide between the online crossword and Perez Hilton when the blinking lights of her cell phone caught her eye. Julianne reached across her round Jackson Pollock mouse pad to grab her phone off the desk, but Chloe darted over from across the room and beat her to it.

“Hmm. I wonder who it could possibly be?” Chloe queried in a singsong voice. She looked at the blinking display, then passed the phone to Jules before returning to the Us Weekly on the bed.

Julianne let a few minutes pass and then reluctantly scrolled through her missed call log. 9:45 a.m.—Remi Moore. 10:56 a.m.—Remi Moore. 11:32 a.m.—Remi Moore. 12:19 p.m.—Remi Moore. She pitched the phone across the room, thankfully hitting an overstuffed pillow on her bed, rather than Chloe. She rubbed her hands roughly over her face, looking the very picture of lovelorn angst. Why won’t he stop calling? What part of “I 215

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can’t see you again” can’t he accept? How will I ever supergluemy heart back together if Remi won’t leave me alone with thepieces? A tiny nagging voice in the back of Julianne’s brain occasionally reminded her that if Remi did finally stop calling and texting fifteen times a day, she’d be devastated. Beyond devastated. But Julianne couldn’t focus on her messy feelings for Remi right now—there was too much else left up in the air. She pushed herself up from the desk chair and crossed the room to her bed, completely ignoring Chloe, who was still settled in with her magazine. She picked up a stray pillow in a flowered pil-lowcase and tossed it on top of the cell phone. Then she strode out of the room toward a well-deserved shower, leaving Chloe exactly where she’d found her.

Julianne emerged from the shower forty-five minutes—

and three encores of “Irreplaceable”—later, refreshed and ready to take on the rest of her afternoon. She slipped on a pair of skinny jeans, a white tank top trimmed in hot pink lace—the result of a recent shopping trip with Chloe—and her cute, turquoise slip-ons. She futzed with the clasp of a necklace featuring a hammered metal star that she’d made in lapidary club during sophomore year.

Julianne took a cursory glance in the mirror before sliding her oversize sunglasses up the bridge of her nose.

The she grabbed her digital camera—complete with its new zoom lens, thanks to a summer of gainful employ-ment—and headed out of her bedroom.

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As she walked past Chloe’s room, she heard her sister call, “Jules, is that you?”

Jules walked in and plopped herself facedown on Chloe’s bed, next to Chloe’s hefty stack of surgery guides and diagrams. No wonder she comes to my room to read Us Weekly , Julianne thought.

“So,” Chloe said authoritatively. “Does he always call you seventeen times a day?”

Julianne cast her eyes toward the floor. “On average.”

“He really likes you, Jules,” Chloe declared, her voice softer. “I mean, he really, really likes you.”

“I know,” Julianne admitted.

“Then why are you sitting around the house moping with me all the time?” Chloe asked, a smile crossing her face. “Go out there and get that boy back. Before he actually starts believing that you want nothing to do with him.”

“But—” Julianne began to protest.

“But nothing. You deserve to be happy. So go. Go and be happy with your boyfriend.” Chloe smiled and swatted Julianne’s arm. “I mean it—leave. I have a lot of celebrity gossip to catch up on.” Chloe slipped a copy of People out of her Guide to Cardiothoracic Surgery and opened it with a satisfied sigh. All Julianne could do was walk out of Chloe’s room, camera firmly in hand.

Moments later, Julianne found herself stalking around the side of the house like an incredibly obvious 217

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cat burglar. Just two months earlier, this kind of “casing the perimeter” would have meant that Jules was on the prowl with her super-spy hat on. Today it meant something entirely different to Julianne, though. Her digital camera was hanging from the ’60s-inspired strap around her neck, dangling at the ready. She was determined to photograph every angle, crevice, and shadow of the Kahn house before the Moores forced them out.

Even if she, Dad, and Chloe couldn’t hold on to their physical house, she was determined to create a photographic history of of it. She hadn’t decided whether she would frame each shot individually or piece them together in a mural. Dad had promised her free rein over the family room in their next house and, even though Chloe pointed out that it was slightly morbid, Julianne planned to erect a fitting tribute to their life-long home.

The new school year was rapidly approaching, and Julianne was still trying to wrap her brain around all that had transpired this summer. So much had happened over the last three months that it seemed crazy to Julianne that she was about to just slide back into another September at Palisades High School—the September of her senior year. She was trying to re-acclimate her brain to academic life by reciting the names and capitals of all fifty states, while she snapped her pictures of the house. Then, when she stopped to 218

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adjust the light meter on her camera to catch some shadows poking up from the sea grass that surrounded the house, something occurred to her. Despite all the end-of-summer stress, at this exact moment, she was at peace.

The sun was at her back. Her nose was filled with the salty air of an August afternoon in Southern California, and she was looking at her crazy life through the lens of a camera.

Even with the crushing loss of her home looming before her, Julianne was still able to create art. It was as easy as looking at life through her own eyes and being completely honest with her vision. Last week she’d taken three rolls of film—one black and white, one sepia toned, and one in eye-popping color—of the ocean view from the beach behind her house. It was the same landscape she had struggled to capture all summer. But viewed through the lens of her camera, the scene came together effortlessly.

Julianne worked her way methodically around the house, snapping pictures for the next three hours. She wanted to remember what the house looked like at every moment of every day—with every change of light. She was also determined not to let her last weeks in the house be a blur of crying and exhaustion. She planned to celebrate life in their little beach home until the Moores and their lawyers dragged her out the front door kicking, screaming, and snapping pictures of the whole mess.

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Julianne was relieved to have wrapped everything up with her job at the site. Her courtyard mural had turned out fabulously, and she was thrilled to have such a great new piece to add to her portfolio. It was also a relief not to have to deal with questions from the guys on the crew about her and Remi.

As the sun slipped down behind the ocean, the sky did its slow-motion fade from brilliant navy blue to the cobalt-gray hybrid of a late summer night. Julianne walked down to the beachfront, her camera tapping against her sternum in time with her heartbeat.

Floating in the haze of her thoughts about her photography, the house, and the arrival of fall, Julianne was only half-aware that she was heading onto the Moores’

property. Beyond the jurisdiction of the orange trespass-ing signs, Julianne’s immediate instinct was to plop down on the sand at the bottom of the construction dunes. She snuggled down at the base of the dune and pulled her legs up in front of her.

You can miss him—it’s okay to miss him, Julianne told herself. She pulled her legs in close to her chest—careful not to disturb her camera—and looked out onto the empty ocean. After a few minutes of listening to the echo of the crashing waves, Julianne realized she was shivering slightly. She stood up, dusted the sand off the bottom of her jeans, and readied herself to head home.

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saw light coming from one of the stark, minimalist rooms of the Moores’ glass house. Julianne peered up the hill and saw Remi backlit against the August night.

Even from her perch frozen at the bottom of the dune, Julianne could tell that Remi was arguing with someone. A moment more of peering into the massive glass mansion revealed the designer-suit-clad silhouette of Remi’s father. Remi’s face was twisted into a determined grimace, and he was gesticulating wildly with what appeared to be a roll of paper. His father’s arms were crossed tightly over his double-breasted suit and tie. Julianne instantly remembered that Remi had told her his father only wore imported silk ties, and she rolled her eyes in spite of herself. Remi kept pointing to the paper tube in his hand, the very picture of an agitated, passionate fighter.

Julianne squinted. What the hell? Are they actually fighting over wallpaper samples? She didn’t want to stick around to find out. Clearly, despite his calls and text messages, Remi’s life was complicated enough without her. She shot a last departing look up the dunes at the feuding Moores before turning around. Then she walked back down the beach toward home, humming mourn-fully to herself the entire way.

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Chapter Twenty-four

The next day, Julianne and Chloe were sitting in the living room reading while their father worked in his studio. Dangling one leg over the side of an overstuffed armchair, Julianne asked Chloe, “So, wait, where does he go to school?”

Chloe popped a pale green grape into her mouth before answering. “Stanford.”

“And what’s his name again?” Julianne pressed.

“Aaron.” Chloe tossed another grape into the air and caught it in her mouth.

“And you met him on rotation at work?” After her own dating drama, Julianne found herself relishing Chloe’s postdate recap.

“Yep. He’s premed, too, but he’s going to be a 222

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junior.” Chloe’s cheeks were glowing a radiant pink. Her date two days ago had been such a success that Julianne thoroughly enjoyed hearing Chloe repeat all the details.

She loved the way her sister’s face glowed when she was this happy.

“And he took you out for Greek food?” Julianne continued.

“Yup. Definite points for that,” Chloe chirped. “I am getting sick to death of first dates with checkered table-cloths and drippy candles. So overplayed.” She giggled.

Julianne rolled her eyes playfully. “Okay, final question, but this one is the ultimate test: Did he ever, at any point in the evening, use the word ‘chicks’ or the delight-full phrase ‘smart for a girl’ in any context?” Chloe shut her eyes and let out a dramatic shudder at Julianne’s reference to her disastrous first/last date with Michael at the beginning of the summer. The sisters laughed wickedly at the memory. “No and no!” Chloe declared victoriously. “There was absolutely no chauvinistic ickiness whatsoever. He was a complete and total rock star.”

Julianne arched one eyebrow to let Chloe know that she was appropriately impressed. “Well, then, ladies and gents, I think we have a winner!”

“I hope so,” Chloe remarked. “Have you given any thought to art school applications yet?”

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thinking that the courtyard mural I did this summer might give me an edge. Not many people do outdoor art.”

“And don’t forget the pictures of our house! The sepia ones you took have ‘professional artist’ written all over them,” Chloe added excitedly.

“Well, I’ll clearly know who to call when I need a manager.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Chloe shot back glee-fully. “Do you want to hear my short-term educational plan for you, or the five-year business plan?” Just as Chloe was opening her mouth to share her (inevitably alphabetized and color-coded) strategies with her sister, the doorbell rang.

“Ooh, saved by the bell! You got lucky this time, Jules.” Chloe jumped up and ran to the door.

Julianne heard her sister scamper into the hallway and throw open the door without even pausing to look out the peephole. She heard the opening whoosh, but then nothing else. After a few seconds of total silence, Julianne ambled over to her sister and was struck dumb.

Standing on the stoop were Mr. and Mrs. Moore, dressed to the nines. At their side, Remi bounced slightly, like a runner getting ready to burst from the starting block.

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that his jaw had dropped at the sight of their visitors as well. She wondered for a second why the still-silent Moores looked as shocked to find themselves on the Kahns’ front steps as the Kahns were to see them there.

Hadn’t they had a few minutes to get used to the idea on theirwalk over? Julianne thought huffily. While we, on the other hand, were totally blindsided!

After an utterly awkward moment of Kahns staring at Moores and Moores staring at Kahns in complete and total silence, all attention shifted to Remi. While his parents sulked in the doorway, he rushed past Chloe, nearly knocking her down again , on his way into the Kahns’ living room. He was carrying a large poster tube in one hand. Julianne recognized it as the mystery roll of paper from the little show she’d witnessed through the Moores’ window the previous night. Now, standing this close to it, she was a little disappointed in herself for not recognizing blueprints when she saw them. Did these people actually think they could walk into her home with plans for remodeling?

“Remington! Come back here!” Mr. Moore snapped.

He turned to Chloe, mainly because she was directly in front of him and said, “I apologize for my son’s rash behavior.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe said slowly. “Your son is always wel-come here.” Her voice was icy. “We have no problem at all with him.”

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Remi’s words came rushing out, rapid fire. “Listen, Julianne, I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but please hear me out. Mr. Kahn, Chloe, I know we’re the last people in the world you want in your living room but I promise you, this will only take five minutes of your time. Mom and Dad—I’m your son. We share DNA. You’re stuck with me. So just try to pretend that you wouldn’t rather be having a root canal.” He took a deep breath as everyone gathered around him with varying degrees of caution. He popped open the lid of the poster tube and started to unroll large sheets of paper onto the Kahns’ living room table.

Standing across the room, Julianne felt her hands shaking. She glanced on either side of her—at her father and Chloe—and knew that she wasn’t alone in her anxiety. She cleared her throat, struggling to make words emerge from the dry, scared place between her heart and her mouth. “Um, what . . . what are you doing here?”

“I have an idea!” Remi burst out. Then he looked up from his pile of papers and blushed in Julianne’s general direction. Julianne assumed Remi had noticed his father’s stony-faced grimace, because he now spoke in his best “project manager” voice. “I’m here to make a . . .” He faltered. “I’m here to make an official business presentation. I think you may be, uh, very interested in the schematic I’ve worked up for this afternoon.” Julianne feared her heart was threatening to pound 226

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out of her chest, with her stomach in hot pursuit.

Instinctively, she reached for Chloe’s hand and was relieved to feel her sister squeeze back. A few feet away, tiny beads of sweat were forming on their father’s forehead.

Remi seemed to have gotten his second wind.

Crouched on the living room floor, hunched over his pile of papers, he was busily sorting and shuffling and occasionally clearing his throat. Finally, after what felt like years, Remi scooped up some blueprints, transferred them to the coffee table, and turned to his father with shaking hands.

“Dad, I know that you’ve spent a long time, and a lot of money drawing up the plans for your house.” Remi’s voice had gained the tiniest edge of confidence.

Remi’s father nodded severely. “You’re absolutely right. This project has been years of work in the making.

Years.”

Remi pressed on before his father could elaborate.

“But, bearing all those things in mind, I have something I’d really like you to consider.” Remi took another deep breath and smoothed his blueprints out across the table.

“I’ve been working with my boss at Dawson and Dawson on this all summer, and I think it could really work.”

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down over the blueprints. Julianne could hear Remi gulping down air, but she couldn’t look at him. “It’s an alternative schematic for the new wing,” Remi continued. “Dad, I know it’s not your original plan, but I think you’ll find it interesting. And it’s totally eco-friendly. It would be groundbreaking—in a completely different way.” He passed the blueprints over his shoulder to his father, who had gone from looking annoyed to down-right shocked. Remi’s mother took a few tentative steps forward to stand with her husband and glance over the blueprints. She stepped across the rug like she was trying to wipe something distasteful off of her shoe.

“I know it strays from your original vision, Dad,” Remi pressed on. “But I think it’s still viable. Living on this beach is a dream you share with a lot of people—I know it was a dream for Mrs. Kahn, too. I, um, I think we have that in common. We all deserve to build our dreams with our families, and no one should be able to take that away from us.” He paused, shyly looking over at his father. “Maybe, this way, we can all have our dream houses.”

Mrs. Moore raised her aristocratic—if slightly Botox-ed—

chin toward her husband and then gestured back toward Remi’s new blueprint. After what seemed like a lifetime, she said, “I, for one, think this is lovely.” Mr. Moore slipped his hand around his wife’s waist and clapped his son on the shoulder.

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Nodding toward the blueprints, he said, “Well, Remington, the way you’ve worked solar panels in with the existing glass is very impressive. And turning that wing inward to create a contained beach garden that will be visible from the gym is a solid innovation.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his tone was a little bit softer. “I’m impressed with the refinement in your design, son. The sustainable fixtures are going to save me quite a bit of money.”

The room, collectively, exhaled.

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Chapter Twenty-five

Julianne shuffled downstairs in her pajamas, stretching. It had been a few days since Remi had nearly broken their door down with his surprise visit, but she was still exhausted from all the excitement. As she walked into the living room, en route to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal, she noticed Chloe perched on the edge of the sofa.

Her sister was holding a brilliant orange Gerbera daisy.

“Oooh! What’s this?” Julianne squealed. “Did the new boy send it over?”

“Nope, this one’s for you.” Chloe handed the flower to her very surprised sister. “It arrived this morning,” she said with a wink, before walking away.

Julianne gingerly opened the note attached to the pretty flower.

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Julianne, I have a surprise for you. Meet me at 8:30 tonight, at the spot where you set up your afternoon easel. I’m a very tempera-mental note, so you’d better do it my way or my feelings will be hurt.

Julianne laughed—she’d never had a piece of stationery make demands on her before. Her interest was decidedly piqued.

By 8:30 that evening, Julianne was ready to burst with excitement and anticipation. She grabbed the flower and the note and headed down to the appointed spot on the beach. She thought about all the afternoons she’d spent in this exact spot, baking and squinting in the sun as she tried to recreate her mother’s light exactly.

In retrospect, those had been some great afternoons.

As she approached her destination, she noticed an easel—almost exactly like hers—set up where she used to paint. The top was draped in a sheet, and another note was attached. Julianne hesitated. So much had happened so quickly. They were staying in their house; school was starting soon. Did she really need any more surprises?

Staring at the mysterious gift, though, Julianne couldn’t stand the suspense and finally leaned down and opened the note tentatively. Open me! was all it said. Julianne laughed, thinking that she certainly would have uncovered the easel, no matter what the note had said.

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She lifted the cover off to find a wrapped package.

Then she went to work, gingerly peeling off the wrapping paper, layer by layer. At the end of all the unwrapping, Jules gasped. She squeezed her eyes shut and held them closed for a very long moment, breathing in and out slowly. But when she opened them again, Julianne was still shocked to find her mother’s painting– her painting—

sitting securely on the easel, restored and good as new.

Except it wasn’t the same landscape she’d painstakingly finished all those weeks ago. It was totally new. Much of the warped oill paint had been expertly restored, but in other parts, the mangled oils had been completely replaced. All along the painted beach, someone had worked in fragments of Julianne’s latest photo session. It was the same beach scene, but with black-and-white, color, and sepia-toned photographs mingling with the oill paint. At one end of the panorama, texture had been added with actual beach sand. Pieces of sea glass and crushed pearl had been pressed seamlessly into Julianne’s raging painted waves. It was absolutely amazing. It was one hundred percent Julianne while still maintaining her mother’s vision. Julianne could hardly breathe, it was so beautiful.

“Do you like it?”

Jules turned around to find Remi standing there. He slid down in the sand and wrapped his arms around her.

“But . . . but, how did you?” Julianne managed to start.

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Remi smiled, his dark eyes shining at Julianne. “Your dad and Chloe helped. I came by without my parents and they let me take the canvas,” he said matter-of-factly.

Julianne shook her head in disbelief.

“I know a guy who restores fine art for some of Dawson and Dawson’s clients,” Remi continued. “Chloe gave me duplicates of your photos,” he added. “I hope it’s okay. I hope I didn’t ruin it.” Julianne could hear a tinge of concern in his voice.

“Oh, Remi, it’s gorgeous!” she breathed, settling back into his embrace. “It’s a million times better than I ever could have hoped for!”

“Well,” Remi demurred softly, his voice sounding shy all of a sudden. “I just thought that maybe—the same way the original painting was a combination of you and your mom—maybe this painting could be a work of art that you and I are both part of.” He paused. “Something beautiful that we’ve worked on and struggled with and built together.”

Julianne felt her breath catch in her throat. She looked at the gorgeous picture in front of her—Remi was right, they had built it together. Then she gazed out at the beach and the ocean beyond the canvas and sighed happily. She leaned farther into Remi’s arms and knew that, a hundred yards behind him, her family was sitting in their beautiful house looking out onto the same 233

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beach. She and Remi had saved her home together and built something incredibly special in the process.

Julianne turned. Looking into Remi’s huge, brown eyes she saw the reflection of the ocean as he gazed into her face.

“Here’s to building more,” she whispered, as she pulled him into a kiss.

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About the Author

HAILEY ABBOTT

grew up in Southern California, where she split her time between creative writing and creative beaching. She is the author of THE

OTHER BOY, GETTING LOST WITH BOYS, THE SECRETS OF BOYS, THE PERFECT

BOY, and WAKING UP TO BOYS, as well as the Summer Boys books and THE BRIDESMAID. Hailey now lives in New York City.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive inform

on your favorite HarperCollins author.

ation

Books by Hailey Abbott:

Getting Lost with Boys

The Secrets of Boys

The Perfect Boy

Waking Up to Boys

Forbidden Boy

The Other Boy

Summer Boys

Next Summer: A Summer Boys Novel After Summer: A Summer Boys Novel Last Summer: A Summer Boys Novel The Bridesmaid

Credits

Typography by Andrea C. Uva

Copyright

FORBIDDEN BOY. Copyright © 2008 by Alloy Entertainment. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader January 2009

ISBN 978-0-06-183066-2

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