by Hughes, Maya
“I’m going to try to make ice cream bowls.”
I jerked back and sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choking on chewed churro. “Jules, why not just bend me over the kitchen table while you’re at it? That’s straight-up obscene. I knew you had a dirty mind from those letters you write, but this is probably illegal in twelve states.”
She pointed her tongs at me and gave me a playful glare. “This is what I get for showing you. I’m never getting that drunk again.”
Jules’ freak flag flew high when she’d had a few drinks—or had the right muse. The one time I’d read one of her notes, it had taken a week for my cheeks to go back to their natural color. She still hadn’t spilled who she was sending them to, but I’d get it out of her eventually.
With the kitchen shut down and my stomach full of melty vanilla ice cream and more cinnamon and sugar than most people consumed in a lifetime, we went upstairs.
“I don’t know what I’ll do without you next year.” She flopped on my bed.
“You’ll make new, non-snarky, non-sarcastic friends.”
“But I like your snark. It’s like a bitter, smelly shell over a funny, sweet treat.”
I threw a pair of socks at her head.
“Those aren’t even clean!”
She stuck out her tongue and retreated from my room as I pelted her with more socks. My earlier dead-on-my-feet feeling had been washed away by Jules, which meant thinking and overthinking. There was only one sure-fire, no-one-can-know way to help me sleep. Glancing around like anyone would be lurking in my room, I tugged open my bedside drawer and pulled out the glittery bottles of nail polish. Testing out the colors, I painted my nails with the neon pink glitter. The light from beside my bed caught the metallic flecks, and the kaleidoscope of color danced on my ceiling. Back in high school, I had gone for manicures every week, sitting for hours while laughing and sipping my artisanal coffee with my squad. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford now, plus how would it look showing up to a homeless shelter or soup kitchen sporting a fresh French manicure?
“Elle.” Jules’ voice came from right outside my room.
I shoved my hands under the covers as she stepped into the doorway. “Yeah.”
“Night. I’m out early in the morning and won’t be back until after ten. Wouldn’t want you to get worried and call the cops again.”
“It was one time. Your phone was off for hours. You know I’m a worrier.”
“I know. Thanks, Mom.” She stuck out her tongue and pulled the door closed behind her.
I dragged my smudged nails out from under the blankets, grabbed some cotton balls from my dresser along with the nail polish remover, and wiped it all away.
I pulled the covers up to my chin. The cold had already gotten to my nose. As I laid my head on my pillow, Nix’s eyes in the back of the police car flashed into my mind.
Why was I feeling bad for him? He and his teammates had made my life hell over the past year and a half. I was sure he was taking selfies with the cops at the police station and they’d drive him back home any minute. That was how it was for football players, especially winners like the Trojans. Athletes could always get away with murder, lying, and let’s not forget cheating to their hearts’ content. Some of us had fallen for that kind of act, hook, line, and sinker—but that was high school Elle. She was long gone now.
I refused to feel bad for Nix for one minute more. It wasn’t like we’d be seeing each other outside of glares across the street from now until the end of the year. That was all we’d ever had.
Just how I liked it.
4
Nix
“Don’t they know you just won this school a national championship?” Berk threw his phone on the couch after reading over the final press release from the city police.
Dad had worked for nearly three months to keep the January incident out of the papers, but the day had finally arrived. I swore he had me under surveillance with how quickly he’d gotten to the police station back in January after the guys all swore they hadn’t called him.
“I don’t think the police chief cares after the incident with his daughter.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose and leaned back in the beaten-down recliner in the living room. The pasta on my plate balanced on my knee would be enough to fill the pit in my stomach. The garlic bread perched on the edge had been made with my own homemade garlic butter. Everything was better with garlic butter.
“It’s not our fault a drunk girl shows up on our doorstep, we turn her away, and her friends abandon her on our lawn. If we hadn’t called the ambulance, who knows what the hell would’ve happened to her. He should’ve come and shaken our hands.” Berk flopped down onto the couch cushion on the floor and picked up the game console controller, nudging his bag out of the way and stretching out his legs.
We’d given up on sitting on the couch, no one wanting to walk like a hunchback for the next few hours once they got up.
“I never thought I’d say it, but I’m done with house parties.” LJ sat on the floor beside Berk, their backs against the couch, and picked up the other controller. “This place was like being locked in a closet and someone forcing you to smoke an entire case of cigars, only instead of cleaning up cigar butts, it’s Solo cups, assorted mystery stains, and abandoned kegs.”
“Returning the taps for all those kegs did pay for the new grill.” Berk lifted an eyebrow and shrugged.
“The grill they busted when they jumped off the back deck.” LJ jabbed at the buttons on the controller. “Oh, Alexis stopped by earlier today.”
“She did?” Berk sat up straighter.
“What’s the deal with her?” I shoved a forkful of food into my mouth. “You banging her or something?”
“What? Ew, no. That’s gross, and don’t ever say that again.” Berk’s face twisted like he’d just caught a whiff of a dumpster full of baby diapers roasting in summer. “It’s not like that.”
“Right, nothing sexual about a beautiful redhead who always shows up here asking for you.”
“Exactly, nothing sexual.” Berk curled his lip and spat out the words.
“You guys are staying here next year, right?” I stared down at the comments on the story. ‘Entitled jerk…’, ‘Today’s youth…’, ‘A program like Fulton shouldn’t put up with things like this no matter who the person is.’
“It won’t be the same without you guys. Plus, this place is a mess, and I’m sick and tired of cleaning up after every beer-soaked tsunami that hits it,” LJ said with a shudder.
“But next year you’ll be a senior and you can make the underclassmen do it for you.” As I leaned back in the chair, the leather groaned beneath me.
“We could never be so cruel.” LJ grinned and selected his avatar in the game.
Berk threw out his hand and grabbed LJ’s arm. “Don’t shut that idea down so quickly, man. This has some serious possibilities.” He got a dreamy look in his eye that only meant trouble.
The front door opened then Reece slammed it shut so hard the floor shook. He walked in looking like a pitbull who’d eaten a wasp. Berk jerked his hand up from his side and popped Reece in the middle of the forehead with a Nerf dart.
He didn’t even flinch.
“What the hell’s up with you?” I shoved a forkful of pasta into my mouth.
“What the hell is Johannsen doing on our street?”
LJ hopped up and peered out the front window. “He’s just sitting in his car halfway down the block.”
“Do we need to go out there and see what he wants?” Berk pushed up off the floor.
“Calm down everyone. If he wants to be a weirdo stalker, let him. We don’t need any more trouble.” I held each of their gazes until they stood down and sat back in their spots. “And what the hell is up your ass?” I turned to Reece.
“Seph’s driving me crazy.” Reece dragged his fingers through his hair and turned to the room, staring like he hadn’t realized we were even there. “Why won’t she listen to reason?”<
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We all groaned and sat back in our chairs. Berk started up the race in his game, propping his feet up on his backpack, which never seemed to be more than twenty feet from him. “Would you leave the poor girl alone? Maybe she doesn’t want to live with you. Can’t say I blame her. She wouldn’t have any room for her clothes or shoes if she did.” His attempt at mumbling under his breath was about as successful as his attempt at winning the race in the game. LJ rammed his car into Berk’s on the screen, and it sat in a flaming heap at the bottom of an embankment.
“She’s found a single in graduate student housing, and they’re letting her move in now.”
“That’s perfect. You can go stay there instead of ear-banging us night after night.” Berk covered his ears with his hands, rocking back and forth. “At least someone’s getting some.” He seriously needed some kind of grumble lesson, because that comment had been about as under his breath as a shout from the rooftops.
“You’re one to talk—” Reece stopped midsentence and tilted his head, staring at Berk. “Actually, you haven’t been running demolition practice in your room in quite some time. Lost your mojo?”
“Shut up, no.” Berk took a bite of his candy. “Just haven’t been feeling anyone lately.”
LJ, Reece, and I exchanged looks.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that letter you got a while ago, would it…?” LJ grinned, swaying from side to side.
“No, this doesn’t have anything to do with her letters.” Berk’s shoulders hitched higher, and if he’d had a shell to duck into, we’d have been speaking to the air.
“Oh, letters—now it’s more than one.” Reece got up, practically floating closer, happy to have the attention off him and how hung up on Seph he was. “How many letters?” he teased.
“A few.” Berk kept his eyes on the screen like we’d all disappear if he didn’t look at us.
“How many’s a few?”
“Ten.”
“Ten secret sex notes.” LJ again steered his car into Berk’s onscreen. “Who knew you were such a reader?”
Berk glared at him. “They’re not all sex notes.” A splotchy red pattern raced its way up his neck. “I’m trying to figure out who’s writing them. I thought they’d stop playing around and come out and tell me by now, but she seems perfectly content to just trade letters.”
“You’re writing back? What are you saying?” We all leaned in closer. The only note he’d let us read had left the three of us slack-jawed in the middle of the hallway. It had been pretty freaking hot. That he’d thought any of us would use those words to describe him, even as a joke, was beyond laughable.
“None of your business. Why’s everyone staring at me? We’ve got a bigger situation to deal with—Nix’s reputation rehab,” Berk called out around a Twizzler shoved in his mouth.
And just like that, the spotlight swung back around, nearly burning out my retinas.
“Is that garlic bread?” Reece’s fingers brushed the edge of the crispy crust.
I smacked his hand with my fork.
He hissed and shook his hand, sitting on the arm of the couch with his arms braced on his legs and his hands folded in front of him. “Sharing is caring.”
“Go get your own. I made extra.”
“How long have you known him?” LJ lifted an eyebrow at Reece. “You’re more likely to convince him to streak across the end zone than share food.”
“True. Back to your reputation rehab—your dad’s still on that?”
“Once he gets something in his head, nothing short of a lobotomy is getting it out. He’s giving me until the end of March to come up with something to ‘redeem myself’.”
LJ’s lips pinched together and he nodded, pushing up off his legs. “How in the hell did ESPN even know you got arrested?”
“News travels fast. Someone takes a pic and that’s all it takes for stuff to spread like wildfire.” Thanks a lot, Elle.
LJ let out a low whistle. “Damn. What did he have in mind?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. My workload is crazy this semester. I banked on having lots of time without football eating my life, but this”—I shook my phone at them—“is going to seriously fuck up my semester.”
“What if there was a way you could cram in a whole bunch at once? Like a goodwill binge.” LJ tapped the controller against his leg.
“How’m I supposed to do that?”
“Weekends?”
I shook my head. “I have workouts every weekend, followed by PT for the shoulder. My dad wants to get these issues ironed out before the draft physicals. Also, I’d like to actually graduate.” And I wanted to visit Gramps more at the restaurant. I hadn’t been there since the summer, and I missed the kitchen madness, wanted to be a part of it again.
Reece’s head popped up, and I could practically smell the heat off the lightbulb over his head. “There’s a one-week build over spring break, building houses for families in need. They’re doing twelve-hour days for six days. If that doesn’t make you look like a saint, I don’t know what will.”
“I’ve seen that. Flyers are up all over campus.” Berk talked around the licorice in his mouth. “I’ve heard there are some hot chicks there too, do-gooder types.”
“Getting laid while building houses isn’t exactly my idea of fun.” I crunched on my buttery garlic bread. I might’ve overdone it. Who am I kidding? Is there such a thing as too much garlic or butter on toasted bread? I think not.
“A woman wielding a hammer and nails—it doesn’t get any sexier than that.” Berk sucked in a breath and kissed his fingertips before flinging them into the air like a chef after tasting a delicious sauce.
“Don’t let The Letter Girl hear you talking about other women like that. She might get jealous.”
The scarlet flush was back like a neon sign on Berk’s neck. He grumbled, “Driving me nuts,” and tapped a button to un-pause his game.
I took the steps two at a time and went into my room. Turning on the computer, I searched for the build. It started on Monday. I left a message with Rick, the guy listed on the website, and asked if I could join in. It couldn’t hurt to try to get out from under whatever master scheme my dad had all laid out back in his office, likely pinned up on his wall with strings spanning from picture to picture. This would show him I was being proactive in fixing my damaged reputation.
Classes were brutal this semester. Seemed the professors had forgotten about the national championship that had only happened a couple months ago—not that I wanted to coast. A business degree came in handy when it came to looking over big contracts and making sure I wasn’t getting screwed over.
Cracking open my books, I hunkered down to work on some of the take-home midterms I needed to turn in. Economics equations and problem sets floated through my head for hours until my brain revolted. Massaging my eyeballs, I checked the time. Shit!
I’d convinced Dad that video chats were easier and would make me seem less eager to get a better deal with the pageant of agents I needed to meet over the next month. It also meant I didn’t have to put on pants. Hanging out in my boxers and a suit jacket and tie, I sat through another boring call.
The coursework I still needed to finish for the semester sat mocking me on the far corner of my desk. I got changed and jumped to the bottom of the steps. A twinge shot through my knee, letting me know just how stupid that had been. “I’m headed to Tavola tonight.”
“Bring us some of that thing with that sauce on it.” Berk dropped his notebook and closed it before pressing his palms together and doing his best puppy dog eyes.
“You need to be a bit more specific.”
“The one that makes me want to worship it as my new religion.”
“The roasted pork loin with the balsamic reduction?”
“Yes! That’s the one—and don’t bring it back half-eaten this time.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s my fee. Any other requests?” I walked into the kitch
en and opened the fridge, trying to do some recon. “What the hell?” There wasn’t a space open on the shelves. “Eat some of this stuff first, then I’ll bring you guys more food.”
LJ waved me off. “It’s…um, fake.”
“Fake?” I eyed the brown and white paper and Styrofoam containers.
“I had to fill it with empty takeout containers so Marisa wouldn’t get any ideas about cooking.”
I shuddered and shoved my keys in my pocket. “For the love of God, don’t let her in there again.”
“You’re telling me.” LJ shook his head and tapped on his phone.
I jogged out to my car.
Passing by the fun police house, I headed toward Tavola. My grandfather’s restaurant had gotten a reputation over the years, but tonight was a special night. It was preview night.
Parking behind the building, I grabbed my supplies out of the trunk of the car. Bag in hand, I hopped out of the way as the back door swung open.
Gramps froze with a bag in his hand. A big grin spread across his face once he realized I wasn’t a mugger. “Phoenix, I didn’t know you were coming down tonight.” He tossed the bag into the dumpster and pulled me in for a hug. How many restaurant owners threw out their own trash? Gramps saw something that needed to be done and jumped in without a second thought, not acting too good for even the dirtiest jobs.
“It’s the first one since the season ended—of course I wasn’t going to miss it.”
He looped his arm around my shoulder and tugged me inside. “Look who I found outside,” he yelled so loud I swore the pots and pans on the shelves rattled.
All the heads in the kitchen popped up.
“Phoenix!” There was a wave of my name being called out throughout the room, a few elbow-bumps and hugs without hands. No one wanted to have to go wash up again.
“Is there a spot for me?” I pulled my white coat out of my bag and put it on. Normally, I’d feel like a dick for wearing a chef’s coat when I wasn’t an actual chef, but the embroidered cursive writing on the chest made it all better: Apprentice. Never mind I’d been apprenticing since I was ten, but I’d take it.