Текст книги "Forbidden Boy"
Автор книги: Hailey Abbott
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Bill
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Alone in the trailer, Julianne stretched out, twirling her pencil between her fingers. She propped her legs up on the project manager’s desk, like the queen of the site.
This was definitely going to be a fun job. She tapped the eraser of her pencil on the vast expanse of white space on her blank page. A fresh sketchbook was one of her favorite things in the universe—so full of possibility. Still tapping her eraser against the page, she began to brain-storm about tile designs. Since it was an eco-friendly project, maybe something with leaves? Or maybe something geometric to match the lines of the house? Or something with an ocean motif, since they were so close to the beach? Dividing her paper into four quarters, she decided to give each idea a chance and then commit to fully sketching the best two designs for the owners to choose from.
Julianne was in the middle of her second sketch when the door creaked its way open. “Hello?” she called out, not looking up from her drawing. She was in the middle of sketching a line of mosaic tiles curling into the branches of a larger tile tree.
A familiar voice answered, “I didn’t know this office came with a chair warmer. Man, this job gets better every day.”
Julianne looked up from her sketch. Her stomach did a series of quick backflips when she saw the new project manager beaming at her.
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“Remi?” she said, dropping her pencil onto her—
correction– his desk.
“We’ve got to stop meeting this way.” He laughed.
His laugh was even deeper and richer than Julianne remembered, and his face was warm and bright.
Julianne swallowed hard. How could this be happening? She felt like she had somehow fallen out of her life and landed in a romantic comedy. If she just counted slowly to five, maybe Drew Barrymore would walk in and the transformation would be complete. Remi was completely decked out in preppy professional attire, but his hair was still adorably shaggy and ruffled from the breeze. He was wearing gray dress pants, shiny square-toed shoes, and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up for that “casual yet approachable boss” look. Remi’s outfit amused Julianne. Even though his tie was clearly expensive, it was adorned with tiny T-squares.
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan—it looked like his mother had dressed him. Still, it was impossible to ignore how hot he looked. Remi wore his authority well, and the little trailer was suddenly filled with his friendly confidence.
Smiling back without even realizing it, Julianne took another deep breath and said simply, “Hey.” 71
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Julianne felt like there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t shaking. She was being torn in a million directions from the inside out. She wanted to be mad—furious even—that Remi was here. Where did he get off interfering with her totally eco-conscious summer job, especially considering what his parents were doing? Still, whether he was the spawn of the devil or not, there was no denying that he looked like the same cute, charming Remi she’d spent the day with on the beach. Worn out from her internal debate, Julianne settled on total shock, took a deep breath, and swung her boots down off his desk. This will be fine, she told herself.
This will all be okay. I’ll just focus on what I’m doing and soon I won’t even notice he’s here.
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She pushed her dark curls back off of her face and gathered up her sketchbook and pencils. Squinting out the window at the crew working outside, Julianne thought about making a quick getaway before he could reach her, before realizing that the only ways out of the trailer were over Remi, under Remi, or through him.
There were no two ways about it; he was standing directly in front of her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Remi beat her to it.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here. It’s a nice surprise,” he said with a coy smile.
“Yeah, this is unexpected,” Julianne managed in response. Unexpected? That was the understatement of the year.
“I guess we never had the ‘how are you spending your summer vacation’ talk, did we?” Remi chuckled.
“During the school year, I intern for this architectural firm up in Seattle. They do a lot of really interesting stuff—eco-friendly, sustainable—and a lot of structurally innovative stuff, too.” Remi spoke quickly, with what seemed like genuine enthusiasm.
Jules couldn’t help notice the way his button-down shirt drew attention to his strong chin and the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke. No, no, no, she reminded herself. You can’t like him. You just can’t.
Julianne could tell that he was really excited about the house they were building, maybe even as excited as 73
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she was, but she was determined to affect a look of casual disinterest. So what if he was cute, smart, funny, and came complete with cool academic interests? He was probably still a jerk. Well, he was certainly the son of jerks.
And there was a good chance he would turn into a jerk himself. He probably wasn’t even that interested in eco-design anyway—maybe he had been wait-listed for some suit-required corporate internship and had gotten shuffled into this job.
“So when my folks told me they were moving down here, it seemed like a really good opportunity to check out the LA office,” Remi added. “It’s a newer office, a little bit smaller; so that’s how I got to project manage this summer. Basically, it’s a cool job and an independent study all rolled up into one, you know?” Julianne nodded slowly, only half-processing what he was saying.
“So what are you doing here?” Remi asked. Julianne tried to avoid his eyes, which were still—much as she hated to admit it—warm and syrupy.
“Bill Cullen, the contractor, set me up with the job,” Julianne explained. “He saw one of my sculpture pieces in the Chamber of Commerce and called and asked if I’d be interested in trying this. Plus, I like to be outside, work with my hands, and try new things. Like you said, it’s sort of a combination of business and pleasure.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, Julianne kicked herself. Business and pleasure? she repeated to her-74
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self. Did I really just say that out loud?
Remi nodded appreciatively, oblivious to Julianne’s discomfort. He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants before responding. “I want you to know, I can be totally professional. I promise not to make this weird.” Julianne’s blue eyes widened with disbelief and her jaw muscles tightened.
“Excuse me?” she managed to choke out, trying desperately to figure out how things could possibly get any weirder. She pushed up the sleeves of her T-shirt, like she was getting ready for a fight. The whole construction site, which had felt so magical and full of possibility just half an hour ago, seemed to be shrinking, closing in on her.
“I said that I want you to know that I can be totally professional,” Remi repeated sweetly. “And that I promise not to make this weird.”
Julianne’s head was swimming. She couldn’t believe he was here at this construction site, when his parents were clearly the antithesis of everything the eco-house represented. Even more, she couldn’t believe the effect he was having on her. This was never going to work. It was too confusing, too messy. But she wasn’t about to walk away from this fabulous job without a fight. That would mean leaving the crew short a person and relegat-ing herself to a summer spent indoors selling surf wax or ice cream.
“Julianne? Are you okay?” Remi asked gently, peering 75
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at her across the desk.
Please let him disappear, please let him magically disappear, Julianne silently begged. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, but when she opened them back up, Remi was still there. And looking at him made her weak in the knees.
“I think you should leave,” she blurted out. “Or I should leave. Someone should leave.” Remi’s eyes widened in surprise. “Um, okay. I can go back outside, but it would help if you could tell me why I’m going?” He said it like Julianne had presented him with a riddle and, if he solved it, there’d be some sort of prize.
“I believe in what everyone’s doing here, and I want to be a part of it,” she said shakily.
“Okay,” Remi said again slowly. “So far, it sounds like we’re both on the same page.”
“I don’t think we are,” Julianne said, more definitively than she felt. “At least, I know I’m not on the same page as your parents.”
“What?” Remi crinkled his brow, genuinely befud-dled. “What do my parents have to do with this job? You don’t even know my parents.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re Remi Moore?” Julianne shot at him, eyes blazing. Her voice was a lethal combination of pure sugar and pure steel.
“Why didn’t I tell you my last name?” Remi tried to keep up with Julianne, but he looked like a lost puppy.
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Julianne tried not to get distracted by how adorable he was when he was confused. Just stay angry, she told herself. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“I didn’t realize I hadn’t told you my last name. I guess it never came up. I can try again. Hi, I’m Remi Moore. Nice to meet you.” Remi smiled at Julianne, waiting for her response.
Julianne just shook her head from side to side, mute.
“Okay,” Remi said, trying again. “Remi is short for Remington, but no one other than my folks ever uses the full name. My full, full name is Remington Justin Moore. When I was in third grade the other kids teased me because they thought Remington sounded like the name of a British butler. My cousin Sophie also said that the Remington is a type of razor or something, but I’d never heard of it.” He continued to smile weakly in Julianne’s direction. When Julianne still didn’t answer, his face slumped a little. “Jules,” he said quietly, his big brown eyes begging. “I really don’t understand. What’s wrong?”
Her frustration boiling inside, Julianne finally spat out, “Your parents’ house! That’s what’s wrong!” Remi looked at her as though she were arguing her case in ancient Mayan or something. “Why do you care about my parents’ house? I really don’t understand.”
“It’s destroying the beach!” Julianne nearly wailed.
“You know, the beach where I grew up? Where I live 77
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now? With my family? The beach where we hung out the other day?”
“Julianne, this doesn’t make any sense,” Remi protested. “Listen, I’m really sorry that you don’t like the house, but it’s my parents’ house. Not mine. I didn’t design it. I didn’t build it. And, last time I checked, my parents weren’t in the habit of asking the professional opinion of their eighteen-year-old son before making major life choices. If they were, I wouldn’t have spent my entire life toting around the name Remington. If you’re wondering, I also didn’t get to weigh in on their retirement plans.” He paused, as if waiting for Julianne to crack a smile.
“You just don’t understand,” Julianne replied bitterly.
“Do you even know what that house could do to my family?”
“No!” Remi exclaimed, his face knitted in frustration.
“That’s what I’m trying to say—I have no idea! And I have no idea what I have to do with any of it. Please, please explain it to me!”
Julianne’s mind raced. Was he playing dumb? How could he not see? It was so obvious! Overwhelmed with emotion, she plopped back down in the desk chair. As she opened her mouth to try to explain one last time, the trailer door opened and Mitch popped in.
“Hey, Jules.” He nodded his head in acknowledgment at Remi before continuing. “Just wanted to check in.
How’s it going? Need anything?”
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Julianne thought for a split second before getting up and gathering her things. “Yeah, Mitch, actually I do.
Can you please tell Bill I’ll be working on my sketches from home this afternoon? I just don’t feel right about hogging our project manager’s desk any longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Yeah, no problem. Everything okay?” Mitch tilted his head and looked at her curiously.
“Yup. Absolutely fine.” Julianne nodded. Brushing past Remi and Mitch, she dashed out of the trailer as quickly as humanly possible. She couldn’t wait to get home.
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Chapter Seven
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Julianne was exhausted beyond belief when she got home half an hour later. Her confrontation with Remi, followed by the threat of nasty drivers cutting her bike off, had left her wanting to do nothing more than curl up in her bed with a sketchbook, e-mail Kat, and then call it a night—even though it was only three in the afternoon. She turned her key in the door and had barely placed one foot on the doormat when she heard spastic panting coming from the next room. It sounded like someone had let a hyperactive puppy in from the sun. Before Jules had a chance to think about it, Chloe ran into the hallway—her hand clapped over her mouth—doing measured breathing exercises to avoid hyperventilating. Julianne hadn’t seen her sister this 80
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worked up about something since her college acceptance letters showed up a week late. Normally Chloe was calm, upbeat, and cheerful. Standing in front of her right now, though, was a trembling mess who just happened to be wearing Chloe’s straight-legged, dark-wash Joe’s jeans and fitted pink blazer.
“Chloe, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” Julianne felt her own heart race as she stared at her shaking sister.
“Is it Dad? Is Dad okay?”
Chloe nodded and pulled Julianne by the wrist over to the beach-facing bay windows in the family room. A few hundred feet down the beach, Julianne could see what was inhibiting Chloe’s breathing. While Julianne was at work, the Moores had set up huge orange fences all the way down the beach. Every five feet a hazard sign hung off the fences shouting PRIVATE PROPERTY: ALL
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Jules couldn’t believe it—just when she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse! She stood with Chloe at the window, rubbing her sister’s back and muttering,
“Those rats, those little rats. Those complete and total dirtbags.”
Chloe, whose breathing was finally slowing to normal, managed to squeak out, “What? Who?”
“The Moores, who else?” Julianne practically spat the name out. The orange gates looked offensive and menacing, even against the baby blue afternoon sky. It was 81
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like they were living in a biohazard zone or a bombed-out shell of a city. The gates themselves were aggressively orange—like they were there specifically to tell every other part of the color wheel to go to hell.
Their father, who had been working down the hall in his studio, ambled into the room.
“Girls, what’s going on in here?” He stopped short when he saw their eyes fixed on the orange fences. “Oh, yeah, that.”
“Had you already seen this?” Chloe yelped. Their father was always mellow, but they expected more of a reaction when their home had just been surrounded by what appeared to be giant, Day-Glo riot gear. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s not worth discussing,” Dad replied, turning from the window. “It’s just a show. It’s just supposed to scare people away. If they were really planning on doing something, they wouldn’t need to make such a big spec-tacle about it. They’d just do it.” Chloe and Julianne both nodded. It might have been cold comfort, but he definitely had a point. “Don’t worry, girls. It’s going to be fine. We’ll figure something out.” He sounded so certain, so sincere, that Julianne couldn’t help but relax a bit.
“Okay, I need to shower. I’m covered in dust from work. But I think I’ll go for a quick run first.” Jules turned toward the stairs. She got as far as the doorway 82
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before the vision of the glaring orange gates compelled her to spin around toward the window for one last look.
Dad was sitting on the window seat, his face tilted slightly away from the beach view, his fingertips lightly touching the glass. For the first time, Julianne saw something behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before. For all of his mild-mannered, easygoing confidence, their father was scared.
! ! !
After her run, Julianne took the steps two by two on her way back to her room. Her sneakers were still caked with a little bit of sand, but, for the first time all day, her head was clear. She held on to the banister outside of Chloe’s room, stretching her calves and quads, and listened to the ebb and flow of her sister’s voice as she chatted on the phone. She was obviously catching up with one of her Kappa Delta sisters, so Jules decided to leave her be until after she’d showered.
Twenty minutes later, Kelly Clarkson was blasting from Chloe’s Bose iPod dock and the girls were shouting along at the top of their lungs. “Since you been gone, I can breathe for the first time . . .” Chloe was up on the bed in full-on rock-star air-guitar mode, her hair flying wildly around her, while Julianne was sprawled out on her back on the floor, her bare feet propped up on 83
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Chloe’s bed. When the song ended, Chloe flopped down on the bed, laughing, and straightened her flowered pajama bottoms and shell-pink tank top.
“Why do I love that song so much?” she asked Julianne. “It’s already a few years old.”
“Yeah, but it’s definitely a classic.” Jules laughed.
“Which must be why they still play it on the radio, like, constantly.”
Chloe shrugged. “I told Dad we’d handle dinner tonight. What are you in the mood for? Fish? Pasta? Or maybe just a big salad?”
Julianne really wasn’t sure what she wanted. Not in terms of dinner, not in terms of anything. Her fabulous summer job was going to be tainted with special guest appearances by Remi Moore. Her special tribute painting to her mom was getting more difficult by the day.
And the construction and the gates on the beach certainly weren’t helping anything. Her photography was better than ever this summer, but nothing she did made her painting seem any more polished. Julianne pulled her feet off of Chloe’s bed and tugged her body up from the floor. “Do you mind if I check MySpace?” she asked.
“Kat promised she’d post some pictures of Madrid.”
“Sure, it’s on,” Chloe tossed back. “Just make sure I’m logged out.”
Julianne sat down in Chloe’s gigantic rolling chair and piloted it into the computer cove of Chloe’s white 84
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wicker desk. She ran her fingers over the touch mouse to turn off the screen saver (a rotating photo slide show of Chloe with her sorority sisters, Chloe with her premed friends, Chloe volunteering, and Chloe crossing a bunch of 5k finish lines. Damn—her sister’s life looked exhausting!) and logged into MySpace—her current go-to method of procrastination.
Julianne looked at the familiar blue banner spread across the top of the screen and checked her “bulletin space” for news from her friends who were away for the summer. She tried to ignore her disappointment that Kat’s photos still weren’t up, and she skipped over to her own photo collection. Mitch had taken a picture of her in a hard hat this morning and promised he would post it.
“Whatcha’ looking at?” Chloe asked, coming up behind her sister to peek at the screen.
“Not much,” Julianne said, flipping through her photo album at a rapid pace. She wasn’t really amused by MySpace at the moment.
“Ooh, I like that one,” Chloe piped up, pointing to a picture of Julianne sitting on a cooler at a beach bonfire.
Her hair was blowing everywhere in the beach breeze, and her face was lit orange by the fire.
“Hey!” Chloe smacked Julianne on the shoulder in excitement.
“Hey what?” Julianne asked, rubbing her shoulder.
“Let’s look up your new favorite project manager!” 85
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Chloe laughed, putting quotes around “project manager” and deepening her voice.
“Ew! No!” Jules squealed, giggling. “I am adopting a strict ‘no bringing work home with me’ policy from here on out.”
“Oh, c’mon!” Chloe wheedled, using the camp counselor voice that suckered Julianne in each and every time.
Jules folded. “Okay, you do it though. It’s your idea.” Julianne got up and surrendered the cushy rolling chair to its rightful owner. Chloe slid into the computer corner and pulled her laptop closer to her. She selected search and typed in “Remi Moore.” Julianne tried to contain her nervous laughter.
“Jackpot!” Chloe burst out. “There are seven pages of Remi Moores. There are literally dozens of them. Who knew so many people shared such a weird name? Let’s put our detective hats on. If I were an obnoxious project-managing, land-destroying hipster, where would I be?” Julianne laughed as they started clicking.
About six pages in, Chloe stopped clicking and excitedly poked Julianne. “Found him! This is so totally him!” Julianne leaned down and squinted at the computer, momentarily wishing that she wore glasses.
“What does his headline say?” Julianne asked.
“Pompous land-hog seeking non-sustainable relationship,” Chloe answered.
“Wait, really?” Julianne whipped her head around and 86
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squinted at the screen. As much as she wanted to dislike Remi, that didn’t seem right at all.
“No, of course not,” Chloe fessed up. “But I think it would be much more apropos than ‘He who awaits much can expect little.’”
“Is that actually his quote?” Jules asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“Mmm-hmm,” Chloe confirmed.
“That’s Gabriel García Márquez. I love that quote,” Jules murmured, impressed. Why did he have to be so smart? Couldn’t he just be the weaselly jerk Chloe thought he was? It would be so much easier.
“Well, unfortunately, there’s no rule that great authors are the exclusive domain of those who don’t suck, so I guess he’s entitled.” Chloe yawned, lazily twirling her hair with one hand as she clicked around the rest of Remi’s profile. “Oh, check out his pictures! This is hilarious!” Chloe had flipped right to a picture of Remi in costume for some sort of campus party at UW—
dressed as the Mona Lisa.
“Well, with the wig . . . and when he tilts his head that way . . . I guess I can see the resemblance.” Julianne laughed. Although she didn’t want to admit it, she was amused by Remi’s costume, even more than she was amused by what an awkward-looking woman he made.
They flipped through his other photos: Remi and his friends after a tug-of-war. Julianne had to pinch herself 87
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to stop from swooning at how cute he looked in his sweat-soaked T-shirt with mud-streaked cheeks. Remi and his dad at the top of a mountain. Remi at a micro-phone, sound-checking for someone’s band. Julianne’s heart caught in her throat when they flipped to a picture of Remi with his arm around a pretty redhead in front of the Space Needle. Then she caught the caption: “Sophie visits Seattle. How many Moores can one city handle?” Ah. Sophie Moore— a cousin, perhaps? Julianne was a little taken aback by how hard she’d been hit by jealousy before she read the fine print. She reminded herself to play it cool—maybe she’d find something in the profile that would prove once and for all that he was actually a bad guy. But as Chloe clicked through, picture after picture registered for her as neutral to positive. Finally they came back to Remi in his Mona Lisa getup.
“Never in my life have I seen someone look that much worse as a drag queen!” Chloe howled with laughter. “Let’s see—what else can we find out about Mr. Moore here?” Jules read from the screen “Status: single. Here for: networking, friends. Hometown: Seattle. School: University of Washington.”
“C’mon, get to the good stuff!” Chloe urged.
Julianne might have felt the slightest pang of anticipation. “Okay, okay, here goes. General interests: architecture, music, movies, building things, politics, soccer, surfing, screen-printing band T-shirts, guitar, hiking.
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Music: the Killers, the Gossip, Mates of State, Sufjan Stevens, Common, Mos Def, Sinister Urge.” Julianne had to hand it to the guy—pompous jerk or not, he had pretty awesome taste. His hobbies, his favorite music, his favorite books, they were all really cool. Stop it, she reminded herself. That’s not the point. “Heroes: Frank Lloyd Wright, Olmsted, Gandhi, my dad.”
“Wow, so he’s totally got a hero-worship situation with his dad, huh?” Chloe asked.
“Maybe he’s like a little dad-bot—a clone or something!” Julianne laughed, happy to find something to criticize. Even as she said it, though, she felt a smidge of guilt. She knew what it was like to feel that way about a parent—even if she’d never admit it publicly.
“Hey, Jules, how’s this for a crazy idea,” Chloe began thoughtfully, as she got up from the rolling chair. She steered Jules toward the chair by her shoulders and, once Julianne had plunked herself down, swiveled the chair back toward the monitor.
“Uh-huh,” Julianne responded, enjoying the change of view but not quite sure what Chloe was thinking.
“You should stalk him!” Chloe said brightly.
“Um, Chloe, hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly what we’re doing right now. We’re total stalkers,” Julianne reminded her with a laugh.
“Hold on—let’s think about this,” Chloe suggested.
“What if you really did it?”
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“What? Stalk him?” Julianne was incredulous.
“Not like actual stalking—no restraining orders required or anything. Maybe ‘spying’ or ‘personal information recon’ is more like it. You know, like, ‘know thy enemy’?”
“Something about that just doesn’t feel okay to me,” Julianne countered hesitantly.
“Jules, you’re going to spend all day with him, all summer. In an environment where talking about building is the norm. Aren’t you the least little bit curious to find out what else the Moores plan on conquering?
With the surveyors and the gates? What better place for someone to casually mention his or her home improvement plans than at a contractor’s site? They’re never going to be up-front with Dad—it would take away all of their bargaining ability. It’s the best way to stay a step ahead,” Chloe pressed.
“You know what? I think you might just be on to something,” Jules conceded slowly. “Going incognito, playing innocent. By day, I’m a mild-mannered designer-slash-construction worker, but by night, I’m an undercover super-spy for the Kahn compound, acquiring top-secret information in the service of protecting all that’s good, beautiful, and righteous against the evil forces of the Moore empire!” Plus, she thought, it would be nice to have another reason to talk to him at work.
Chloe grinned slyly. “Now you’re talking!” 90
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Julianne spent the next three weeks at work in an eco-friendly nightmare. Every time she turned around, Remi was standing over her shoulder. He was settling comfortably into his role as “boss,” and while he was always a kind, encouraging, and respect-full equal to the other guys on the site, Julianne felt like he was there for the sole purpose of making her life more difficult.
She was cutting boards at the circular saw the first time it happened. She had pulled her hair down from its ponytail to put on her safety goggles, so it hung loosely down around her tan shoulders. She eyeballed the length of a board and drew a crisp pencil line across the two-by-four before arranging it on the circular saw.
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She was about to rev up the saw when she heard his voice over her right shoulder.
“Um, Julianne, can I have a word with you?” Remi’s voice was quiet.
Julianne spun around, trying to keep her face neutral.
“Sure thing, but it needs to be quick. I don’t want to get behind on these boards.”
“That’s actually the thing,” Remi responded. His voice was gentle but Julianne could have sworn he was savoring every word. “I think it would be better if you laid off the circular saw for a while.”
“Why? What are you talking about?” Julianne’s cheeks stung with embarrassment at the implied demotion. She used power tools all the time with her sculptures. The last installation she’d made was the size of a tree house, and she’d assembled it out of all sorts of boards and planks.
“It’s not so much your craftsmanship that’s the issue.
It’s more about the dress code.” He sounded concerned, almost parental. Jules, however, had a sneaking suspicion that he was embarrassed.
Julianne looked down at her denim cutoffs, her black ribbed tank top, and her worn-in Pumas. All over the site, guys were wearing practically the same thing, with a few tank top and sneaker variations. She ran her fingers over her belt, which was made of elaborately braided nautical rope. “Is this the problem? I mean, I can take it off.” She began to tug at her belt buckle.
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Remi’s face went bright red at the suggestion of Julianne unbuckling. “N-n-no,” he stammered. “That’s not it. It’s your hair. You can’t have your hair hanging down like that when you’re standing over the circular saw.
You could get pulled in. It’s a liability. It’s, um, on all the safety code posters, and I know it seems like a really nit-picky thing, but these tools are really dangerous so . . .” His words tumbled out in one rambling run-on sentence.
“Are you kidding me? I only had it down for a second—I was just pulling on my goggles.” Julianne was almost too shocked to be angry.
“Look, all I know is I turned around and you were standing over the platform marking your board and your hair was hanging on the circular saw. If you want the whole DIY haircut look, you can use the scissors in the office during lunch.” His attempt at a joke flew right over Julianne’s head. “For today, how about you measure the boards, but let Jeremy cut them?” Remi mum-bled, darting his eyes toward the floor as he gestured to a new guy—a junior water polo player from Julianne’s school, who had joined the crew the day before. “He’s only here for the week, and it’ll be really good experience for him,” Remi finished quickly. Julianne nodded, too stunned to argue. “Hey, Jeremy!” Remi called.
“Come over here! Jules could use a hand.” As Jeremy sauntered over, it only took a second for Jules to understand why the entire girls’ volleyball team 93
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was always gathered around his locker. Unfortunately, it only took two more seconds for Jeremy to prove that he was also a tremendous jerk. “C’mon, baby,” he said pur-posefully to Jules. “Let a real man show you how it’s done.”
