by Hughes, Maya
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all handled.”
“So, the story’s not coming out yet?”
“I handed that off to my assistant, but don’t worry. We’ll get it all taken care of.”
“Thanks.” I nodded and got into my car.
* * *
Sizzles and pops from the pans melded with the calls from everyone behind their stations across the restaurant. The bustle of a kitchen was so different from the commotion of a locker room or gym, but also more of the same—people working to create something others could enjoy. Here, though, it was my fingertips in danger, not my entire body ready to be pummeled into the ground.
“If you cut those any slower, we’re bumping you back to the dishes.” Gramps clapped me on the back and stared over my shoulder.
“Sorry, Chef. I’m a little rusty.” I got back to work, trying and failing to keep my mind on not slicing off any fingers. Cramming my thumb into my mouth, I backed away from my station.
“Lost your touch, huh?” He chucked all my chopping into the garbage and someone else got to disinfecting my station.
“I’m a bit out of it.”
“No shit. Grab a plate and get out of here—one plate. Please leave some food for the customers.”
“Actually, do you mind if I take some for a friend?”
Gramps’ knife clattered to the stainless steel worktop. “The boy who would snap at anyone coming near his plate is willingly giving away food? Or is this just a ploy to get me to give you more?” He arched an eyebrow and gave me the stern look that had always made me spill growing up. He was a prickly old man, but that was what made him Gramps. He ran his kitchen like a tight ship, sometimes pushing harder than the coach ever did on the field, but in here, it never felt like work.
“Seriously.”
“In that case, you’d better bring her here when you get a chance. I’d like to meet the girl who’s gotten Phoenix Russo to part with even a morsel of food.”
I ducked my head as he loaded up the container with chicken in a creamy sauce and grilled vegetables then stacked a smaller box with a dessert on top. “Thanks, Gramps.”
The lead weights I’d carried deep in my stomach since leaving the stadium had been lifted with some kickass food and even better company at the restaurant, and that mood brightened as I jogged across the street to Elle’s with a shot of excitement at her finally seeing a place that had meant so much to me growing up. Gramps would love her, and she’d love Tavola. I’d introduce her to everyone and maybe take her on an extended tour of the walk-in.
She’d been quiet all day, not a single call or text, which was out of step with our new norm after the kiss. Her schedule was more jam-packed than mine, but even when her replies came at two AM, she always got back to me. I always made sure there was a spot open in front of her house, sometimes jogging out there to convince whoever it was to move their car. I didn’t want her walking into her place so late from blocks away.
And I might have happened to check from my window to make sure she got home safe. The last thing she needed was me keeping her up all night, so I gave her the hours she needed as I bided my time for the days, weeks, and months ahead, and more. That little wave she’d give me from the porch even when she was dead on her feet felt better than anything had in a long time.
I knocked on her door and rocked back on my heels with my sweaty palms shoved in my pockets, eager to pull her into my arms and kiss the face I’d only seen from across the street for the past seventy-two hours.
“You’re a fucking liar.” She waved a paper in front of my face.
I jerked my head back and looked at the crumpled pages held in her hand. My stomach dropped. My picture was plastered all over the flyers for a new build session they were running.
“Rick asked me to help with one last session this semester since there has been a lot of interest after you got involved. He told me all about the photographer who came by after the last day and the little interview you did.”
Shit. I should’ve told her, and now it was too late.
“I can explain.”
“Explain what? How you were only there for some bullshit reputation rehab session?”
Ding ding ding. Nail on the freaking head.
Anger radiated off her and she released the pages from her hand. The paper fluttered to the ground.
“Yes.” I scrubbed my hands down the sides of my face. “But it wasn’t like that. The PR thing was my dad’s idea. I was trying to find the right time to tell you.”
“All your big speeches about being there just because and jumping all over my case for misjudging you and I was right all along. You only cared about your football career.”
“No, you weren’t right about way more than why I was there.”
There was a flicker in her gaze as she fisted her hands at her sides. “You’re a fucking liar. I asked you point blank why you were there, more than once, and you lied to my face.”
Her words hit like a kick to the chest. “Maybe I did, but what does it matter why I was there? Do you want to know why I didn’t tell you there’d be a story written about this?”
“Because you’re a lying asshole who’s only out to do things that make you look good?”
“I knew you’d react like this, knew you’d freak out and blow this whole thing out of proportion. We had a great time together. We’ve been having a good time.” I stepped closer, hating the anger burning in her eyes.
She crossed her arms over her chest.
“You said it yourself—Rick’s getting more interest in the projects, and the story hasn’t even run yet. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Don’t change the subject. This is about you going behind my back because you were wrong. This is about you doing this for the wrong reasons.”
“And what does it matter? If the work gets done and people are helped, what does it matter why people are there? And what about you? Why are you doing all this? Why were you out there? To win an award? To get back at some old boyfriend? To settle a score and prove to people that you’re a good person?”
“This isn’t about me.” Her words were like a shot from a nail gun.
“It is about you. If I’d told you why I was there, what would you have done?”
“Told you to get lost.”
“Exactly, and the good that’ll be done by the next group wouldn’t be there. That’s five more families who’ll get a house who wouldn’t have otherwise.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it should. You call me a liar, but you’re lying to yourself. You know who I am. You’re one of the few people who do.” The anger and distrust in her eyes was slicing straight through my chest.
She crossed her arms. “Leave.”
“If there were no Huffington Award, if there weren’t a single bit of recognition for what you do, you’d have stopped a long time ago. You think I’m all about ego and being seen—maybe that’s because you see the same thing in yourself, only I’m not martyring myself over it.”
She staggered back like I’d hit her, and I knew those barbs had smacked her straight in the chest the way I’d aimed them, but now I wished I’d pulled a few punches. The thing was, she’d made up her mind about me long ago, and all the progress we’d made would be wiped away because I wasn’t the right kind of person she needed to help.
“I’m a good person. Maybe I let shitty parties go on too long and don’t snap at people who enjoy what I do and compliment me about it, but that doesn’t mean you get to raise the good person award high over your head and tell everyone else to fuck off.” I stormed off her porch and back across the street.
I could’ve sworn there was a low call of my name, but I didn’t feel like dealing with any fans right now. Staring out my bedroom window, I checked out Elle’s house. It was totally dark. Truce over.
19
Elle
“And then he turned it around on me like I was the problem, like there was something wrong
with me for being pissed at him. Can you believe that?”
I rocked back on Jules’ chair.
She stared at me with her hands wrapped around the shiny brass pole in the center of her bedroom.
“Yeah, I do believe it, and I’ve believed it all three times you’ve told me.” Wrapping her hands around the pole, she held herself out perpendicular from the floor and slowly spun around.
“It hasn’t been that many times.”
She lifted an eyebrow as both feet landed back on the ground.
“You’re right—it was five. I forgot the two times on the way to and from class yesterday.”
“I’m not wrong here.”
Jules’ gaze slid from mine.
“Are you serious?”
“Is it shitty he didn’t tell you they were doing some big story about the build? Maybe, but you’d have lost it if he had.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.”
She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.
“Okay, maybe I would’ve lost it on him.” I flopped down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“Maybe? You’d have bitched him out eight ways from Sunday. You’d probably have tried to persuade Rick not to even let him stay, and you probably would’ve let the air out of his tires.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You have the cops on speed dial. You can’t blame him for being freaked out to tell you anything.”
Jules’ vision board was stuck to the ceiling above the bed. Cutouts of pictures and destinations and their signature dishes merged into a collage that was completely and totally her, all bright and sunny with accompanying treats to try. “He scares me, Jules.” The way my heart raced every time he got close to me. The way I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss since his lips left mine. The way I couldn’t trust any of those feelings because I was number one supreme at getting my teeth kicked in by love.
“Why’s he scary?” She lay down beside me and turned her head to stare at the side of my face.
I turned and met her gaze. “Because I like him.” I stared back up at the ceiling.
“Why’s that scary? He gave you a ride when your car broke down. He helped at Grace’s. He seems nice.”
“So did James and Mitchell.”
“You can’t write a guy off because of one mistake.”
“And what happens when he breaks my heart and I still want him? What then?”
“If he breaks your heart.”
“I wish I had your confidence. If there’s one thing my track record tells me, it’s that it’s only a matter of time.”
“A couple wrong choices don’t really amount to a track record.”
“I chose a guy who was as far from James as possible. Mitchell wasn’t an arrogant showboater. He wasn’t big into his looks. He was visiting orphanages in South America. And then I find him in bed with a girl… It was like a shot-for-shot remake of my senior year of high school, complete with the big tub of cookies you made for me. I’m still pissed I dropped them.” I hoped they’d attracted rats to the apartment I’d planned to share with him.
“You made up for it by eating that double batch I brought for move-in day.” She nudged me with her elbow.
“After all that time, I thought I was good, thought I was over what happened in high school, but to have it happen twice, back to back…that’s the universe telling me something.” Telling me I’m not someone anyone will ever want to be faithful to. I resisted the urge to curl into a ball. Seeing Mitchell wandering around campus like he was a saint made me want to puke. At least I’d kick his ass when it came to the Huffington Award.
“It’s not.” She held my hand. “Do you know why I made this?” She pointed up at her collage on the ceiling.
“To keep a running list of all the awesome places you want to go to?”
“That’s part of it, but also to remind me that there’s a shit ton of goodness out there. Sometimes it feels like all we see is the bad. That’s the magnifying glass we hold up to everything, and sometimes that glass is so focused I can feel it burning me, heating up my skin and making me want to run and hide. So, I lie in my bed and use this to remind me. It doesn’t always work, and some days I want to rip it down, but some days it helps me smile.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes and she tilted her head to look at me. I squeezed her hand and smiled.
“Now that you know you’ve been a shit, what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
She shot up. “What do you mean, nothing?”
I shrugged. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear from me. I’m sure he’s got an entire swarm of girls all over him as we speak and has probably forgotten all about it.”
“You’re wrong, and you’re a coward.” She had the disapproving mom stare down pat.
“Why do you have to be so sage and wise?”
She dusted off her shoulder. “I’m kind of a big deal.”
I smiled at her and the momentary splash of intense confidence she totally deserved. “You totally are.”
She snorted dismissively. “Whatever. Come on.” She smacked my leg. “Let’s go. Some time on the pole will help you think. Get up.” She tugged on my arm. “I need you to spot me while I try the Allegra, and you can do the Rainbow.”
“Isn’t that the one where I banged my forehead on the pole and had a bruise for a week?”
“It’ll be fine. You’re better now than you were before. You’ll be fine.”
* * *
Standing outside on the thumping sidewalk, I stared up at the house I’d only recently stopped praying to be knocked down in some freak sinkhole eruption. Two days and this was all I had. Jules had been wrong. Nothing had come to me, short of blurting out my apology. It was too bad that by the time I’d finally gotten the balls to do it, there was a party in full Brothel swing going on.
Rick’s frantic call earlier in the afternoon asking for help with handling the deluge of volunteers who wanted to help after Nix’s story ran meant I’d put aside the stack of schoolwork I had and pitched in to sort through all the corporate inquiries along with other people asking if Nix or the rest of the FU football players were going to be there. One seven-hundred-word story featuring a football player would have Rick’s group swimming in volunteers and corporate sponsors for the next six to eight months.
I read the article complete with pictures not just from the photographer, but also taken by other volunteers. Krista & Co. were in a bunch and I was, of course, scowling in the back glaring. Not exactly a welcoming face, but every word in the story was all about the great work the group had done and how much it helped the community.
Make It Home was scrambling to get all the materials for three more groups to come in. That meant twelve new houses for people who didn’t currently have them. The publicity had done something neither of us had been able to do before. I couldn’t stay mad about him lying to me after seeing the good it was doing and also couldn’t figure out how to pull my foot out of my ass. It was so far up there, my shoelaces were tickling my tonsils.
Some people laughed as they walked down the sidewalk and froze when they spotted me at the bottom of the stairs at the Brothel. Their gazes bounced from me to the house and back to me.
My reputation preceded me. I held up my hands. “I’m not calling the cops.”
The two girls and three guys didn’t seem at all convinced.
“See, look, I’m going in. Not here to break it up.” Taking a deep breath, I climbed the steps, trying to smother the jumping beans going crazy in my stomach.
A thumping wall of sound hit me as I reached the top of the steps.
I pushed the door fully open, and the music rang in my ears. Old-school pop hammered inside my skull, and the overwhelming beer and sweat cloud rushed over me.
Girls danced with their arms up over their heads, screaming out the lyrics to the songs and sloshing beer all over the place. Guys danced behind them with red plastic cups filled to
the brim.
Pushing through the crowds, I looked for anyone I knew. I might not have recognized anyone, but they sure recognized me. The partygoers’ expressions were split between fear and anger.
I tried to keep my lips from tightening with a hint of a smile. Maybe if they thought I was having fun, they wouldn’t hoist me up into the air and pitch me back outside. I searched the entire house and didn’t see the guys who actually lived there. Looking through the kitchen, I spotted the back door leading out into the backyard. There was a big sign on it with Do Not Enter scrawled out in large red letters.
Dodging a keg stand, I slipped outside—literally slipping on a puddle of beer and bracing myself on the wooden staircase leading to the neatly cut grass.
From inside the kitchen, someone called out behind me. “You’re not allowed out there.”
All the heads of the seven people outside swung around to me. “You can’t—” Marisa piped up, but she cut herself off when she spotted me. In the darkened backyard, all eyes were on me, and then they were on Nix, and back to me.
I closed the door behind me and walked down the wooden stairs, not a creak or groan to them. They were solid, not like the rickety driftwood our house across the street was made of. I focused on that and not the fourteen eyes tracking my every move.
Crossing the grass, I stopped behind the ring of chairs tucked away from all the madness inside.
I folded my hands in front of me. “Nix, can I talk to you?”
The muscles in his cheeks tightened. “Guys, can you give us a minute?” He stared at me, even and cool, detached. I’d never seen him look at me like that, and it turned my stomach.
Everyone got up, except for Berk. He sat perched on the edge of the lawn chair with a Twizzler between his teeth. Nix shot him a disapproving look and LJ grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the house with everyone else.
The back door closed, and I rocked from foot to foot.