Em and Em

by Budzinski, Linda

  Ember shook her head. “No idea.”

  “Betty. Isn’t that awesome? Betty! In this scene where she and Kenickie are making out, she asks him to call her that. It’s like she doesn’t want to be ‘Rizzo’ with him.”

  Ember got that. Holy wow, did she get it. Though “Rizzo” was better than “Slutkowski” any day. “So you need to play both. Betty and Rizzo.”

  “Right, and that’s what’s kicking my butt. When am I Betty, and when am I Rizzo?”

  Ember cocked her head. “What do you mean? You’re never going to be just one or the other. You’re always both. You’re Betty Rizzo.”

  Sarah’s bright pink lips puckered, and she gazed up at the ceiling as though she was processing that. “Right. Which doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “No, but that’s one of the reasons it’s such a great role.”

  “True.” Sarah smiled and leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The other reason is that Josh Miles is Kenickie.”

  Josh was in Ember’s phys ed class. Very cute. “Nice.” She laughed and gave Sarah a fist bump. She glanced around and matched her whisper. “Hey, mind if I ask a weird question?”

  “Sure.”

  “I realize this is kind of random, but by any chance do you know anything about the school’s comp—”

  “Ember!” Claire appeared at their side. “What are you doing here? Please tell me you’re taking photos. And please tell me you got one of Ryan crawling after me on his hands and knees during ‘You’re the One That I Want.’”

  “I am, and I did.” Ember pulled out her camera and scrolled through the shots. “You’re going to love these. You two are beyond adorable together.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you? We’re not together.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Sarah said.

  “I know, right?” Ember tilted her viewfinder to face Sarah. “Check out this last shot—the way he’s looking at her.”

  “Oh, stop.” Claire put her hand over the screen. “It’s called acting. Ryan and I have been friends since the second grade. Dating him would be like dating my brother.”

  “Well, you’re the one who told me Boyd County is incestuous.”

  “Ew!” Claire laughed. “It’s a figure of speech.”

  Ember shrugged and leaned in. “Then it’s a good thing he’s not your brother. You know he’s not. In fact, I think you’re exceedingly aware of it.”

  Claire blushed and turned away. “You’re crazy.” She grabbed Sarah. “Come on, Ms. Davis wants us to run through ‘Summer Nights’ again.”

  Ember waved goodbye to them and slipped out the theater’s side door. She hadn’t asked Sarah, or anyone for that matter, about the computer system, but whatever. None of them seemed like the criminal type. As she made her way down the hall, she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

  “Yo, Emily.”

  She wheeled around to find Tommy striding toward her. Speaking of the criminal type. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered. “What is wrong with you? And what are you doing here?”

  “I run tech crew. Your flash was messing up my lighting.”

  “Yeah, well, it was just rehearsal. You don’t have to worry about me using it on show night. What do you want?”

  “You seem to be getting around this week. I mean, not the way you used to get around, but … ” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a creepy grin.

  “Screw you. What are you, a stalker? What do you care what I’m doing?”

  “Oh, I don’t care. You can hang out with the Debate Team all week long if you want.”

  Right. Because they weren’t likely to be juicing up on steroids. “So what is it? Maybe you want me to set up a shoot with the tech crew? Feeling left out?”

  “Hardly. Tech enjoys the shadows. We don’t need the spotlight like those narcissists in there.”

  Ember narrowed her eyes and glared. “Well, I know you enjoy the shadows, Mr. Meet Me Under the Bleachers.”

  Tommy took a step toward her and grabbed her wrist. His face was just inches from hers, and his breath stunk of garlic and milk. “Watch yourself. You don’t want to go there, Miss Slut-kow-ski.” He spat out the name, each syllable a bullet piercing her armor of anonymity.

  It was the first time in more than a month she’d heard that name. Ember blanched. The stench of Tommy’s breath and the sting of his words made her head swim. She pulled away, turned and ran. She had to get away. Away from him. Away from whatever he knew about her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Ember clipped on her mermaid ear cuff. She loved how it looked with her new hair. Maybe tonight would be the night she could wear it—a little piece of the shore out here in farmland. She finished getting dressed just as the doorbell rang—Claire, picking her up for a party. She glanced in the mirror one last time. She wasn’t sure what kids wore to parties around here, but she assumed jeans and the blue-and-white striped sweater would work. She realized this was the first time she’d looked forward to a party since that night at Molly’s.

  She ripped off the ear cuff. Tonight was not the night.

  “Eleven,” her mom called as she headed out the door.

  “Midnight?”

  “Eleven. Sharp.”

  Ember sighed. “Fine.” At least she hadn’t insisted on driving her and meeting the kid’s parents, though she had called earlier to make sure they knew about the party. Mortifying.

  Ember played with the radio in Claire’s Ford Focus. “So, do you think this will just be the kids from Grease, or will other people show up too?”

  “Other people? Hoping for anyone in particular?”

  Ember settled on a Keith Urban song—the radio here seemed to be all country, all the time—and turned to look out the window. “No. Just … other people.”

  “Because the people from Grease aren’t good enough for you?”

  “No, I don’t mean that.” Ember turned back and put her hand on Claire’s arm. “You know I don’t mean that, right? You all seem great.”

  Claire nodded. “Right. Well, to answer your question, I think it’s possible Charles could show up.”

  Ember’s face grew warm. “I didn’t mention Charles.”

  “Didn’t have to. My middle name is ‘Voyant,’ you know.”

  “What? Oh, very funny.” Ember couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, you’re wrong about Charles. It’s not like that with us. Now, with you and Ryan … ”

  Now it was Claire’s turn to blush. “So what’s the deal with your phone?”

  She was changing the subject, but Ember gladly let her. “Apparently my replacement got lost in the mail, but the new one is supposed to arrive tomorrow.”

  It was taking the Marshals Service longer to give it back than Deputy Steuben had promised—whether because they were slow or because he’d lied in the first place about it taking just a few days she wasn’t sure. Of course, getting it back wouldn’t change anything. She couldn’t contact Zach anymore. Little Emmie Oakley was gone—wiped off the face of the Internet, never to DM again—and Steuben would make sure she couldn’t set up another account. Ember would have to wait until the trial to see Zach and find out whether they were still together.

  Three weeks. It felt like forever.

  ***

  They arrived at the party to find the “Beauty School Dropout” scene being reenacted in the living room, except the guy playing the Frankie Avalon part kept mashing it up with random Jason Derulo lyrics.

  When he saw Claire and Ember, he rushed over, danced between them, and put his arms around their waists. “Talk dirty to me.”

  Ember pulled away. For a moment, she felt that old sense of panic and nausea, but Claire’s laughter snapped her out of it. He was playing around. It was a joke, nothing more, and all those kids howling and pointing were laughing with her, not at her. She smiled and even pumped her fist a few times as the guy dragged her and Claire up the stairs with him, “to that malt shop in the sky.”
>
  As the song ended, everyone burst into applause.

  Ember turned to Claire and laughed. “Why do I feel like I’ve stepped onto the set of Glee?”

  Claire shook her head. “I have no idea what just happened here. We’re not always like this, I swear.”

  They made their way to the kitchen and poured themselves some punch. No alcohol. Ember suspected a couple of the kids may have spiked their drinks with their own stash, but still, it was a lot tamer than the parties back home. At least, the ones she’d gone to.

  “Hey, Claire. Hey, Ember.”

  She turned to find Ryan gazing at her friend with that same expression he’d had in the photo. “Hello, Ryan.” Ember nudged Claire. “You know what? I need to find the bathroom.” She slipped away and headed toward the back door. The place supposedly had a serious party deck, and she was curious to see who was out there. Not that she had anyone specific in mind.

  The deck was packed with kids from different grades and different groups and possibly different schools. She pushed her way through the crowd to the far side, where it overlooked a huge expanse of some unidentifiable former crop.

  “A lot different from back home, I’ll bet.”

  She turned to find Charles standing behind her. He wore a loose white tee with a flannel shirt over it. Somehow it totally worked on him. She smiled. “Yeah. A lot different.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  She nodded. She wished she could tell him about it—the moon’s gentle glow on the water, the roar of the surf, the ocean breeze. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

  He stepped up beside her and leaned against the rail. “Come on, now. It can’t be all bad. It’s quieter here, right? There’s less traffic. And the air’s cleaner.”

  She glanced away. “It takes some getting used to.” That much was true.

  As the crowd pressed in against them, Charles’s forearm brushed up against hers. Even through her thick sweater, she could feel the heat from his body, and she gripped the rail to steady herself. Why did he have such an effect on her?

  He leaned in closer. He smelled like fresh hay and hard work, and when she looked into his eyes, they drew her in like a riptide—sudden and fierce and inescapable. Her mother’s warning to her as a child played like a recording in her head: If you ever get caught in a riptide, don’t fight it. Go with the flow until it releases you. Her heart raced.

  “So,” he whispered. “Any luck?”

  “Luck?”

  “With the story. Did you find any leads?”

  Aaand … the riptide released her. This was about work. As usual. She tore her eyes away from his. “Not exactly. I told you, I’m not an investigative reporter.”

  Charles frowned. “The school changed its security settings last week, and already the system’s been hacked again. Whoever is responsible knows what he—or she—is doing. You’re sure you didn’t see or hear anything suspicious?”

  She shrugged. “Well, I found it suspicious that practically every member of the debate team wanted to be on the ‘pro’ side of the GMO debate. What’s that about? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  Charles laughed and shook his head. “Ember, Ember. Such a city girl. You have a lot to learn.”

  Before she could protest that maybe he and his country friends had a lot to learn, someone bumped her from behind, slamming her into Charles and causing him to spill half his soda over the side of the railing. “Sorry! I—”

  “Not your fault. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Charles motioned for her to follow him and headed for the staircase at the side of the deck. He led her across the yard toward a bench behind an old shed, where he sat down and stretched out his long legs. “That’s not really my scene,” he said. “As I mentioned, I prefer quiet, less traffic.”

  Ember eased down next to him. They sat for a while in silence, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was nice. Easy.

  Finally, Charles spoke. “So. I know you don’t like to talk about where you’re from. Want to tell me where you’re going?”

  “Where I’m going?”

  “Yeah. Or where you want to go. Your hopes and dreams and all that.”

  Ember blinked. No one had ever asked her that before—certainly no boy. “Well, I want to go to college. I’m thinking Long Island U, because they have a really good photography program.”

  “Cool. Then what?”

  She shrugged. “Become a photographer, I guess.”

  “What kind?”

  “I don’t know. The kind that makes lots of money.”

  Charles leaned toward her. “Come on, tell me. What kind of photographer do you want to be?”

  Ember pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands. She drew up her knees and hugged them into her chest. She’d never talked about this to anyone. What if it sounded stupid? “I want to be a portrait photographer, but not the kind that takes pictures in the studio; the kind that takes pictures of people out in the real world, being who they are and doing the things they love to do.” She glanced at him. He didn’t look as though he thought she was stupid. He looked … interested. “You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? Well, I want to tell stories about people. True stories. Stories of who they are deep down.” Like that picture of Trina. The one that proved she wasn’t too old or too cool to love the thrill of the wind tugging a kite up, up, up into the sky. “I want to take pictures that push past people’s images and uncovers something real.”

  Charles whistled. “Now that’s a dream.”

  “Sorry. It’s silly, right?”

  “No, not at all.” Charles leaned in even closer, his face just a few inches from hers. His voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean it’s an impossible dream. I meant it’s the kind of dream worth dreaming.”

  Ember’s face grew warm. Thankfully, it was too dark for him to see her blushing. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, but then he pulled away. He bent over, plucked a long strand of grass growing at the foot of the bench, and began chewing on it. “So what else? Where do you want to live?”

  Ember tilted her head back and gazed up at the stars. There were so many here. “I’d love to live somewhere near the water.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Every summer, my mom used to take us to the Jersey Shore for vacation. I loved the feel of the sand under my feet, the sound of the waves, the way the sky and the sea melted into each other on the horizon.” She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine it. A breeze struck up, and she shivered.

  “Here, take this.” Charles took off his flannel shirt and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Thanks, but you’ll freeze in that T-shirt. I’m fine.” She tried to give it back, but he refused. She had to admit, it felt nice. Warm and soft and kind. “What about you? You said you wanted to be a journalist?”

  “Yeah. I want to tell stories too. Only … less efficiently, I guess. I love words.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, that probably is an impossible dream. My family has owned our ranch for more than a hundred years. They need me to take it over.”

  “Doesn’t seem like such a bad life.”

  “It’s not. I don’t hate it. Doesn’t exactly feed the creative spirit, though.”

  They sat for a while talking about little things and big things, occasionally falling silent. Ember couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so relaxed. Maybe because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been herself. It was weird. She was being Ember, but she felt more real than she had in a very long time. She leaned back into the bench and shut her eyes.

  What seemed like moments later, a crashing sound from the direction of the deck startled her. Somehow she was leaning up against Charles’s shoulder.

  “Oh my gosh, did I fall asleep?”

  He grinned. “Maybe.”

  “That’s embarrassing. What time is it?” She reached for her nonexistent phone.

  Charles pulled his out of his front shirt pocket. “Ten after ele
ven.”

  “What?” Ember jumped up. “Oh, man. I am so dead. I was supposed to be home by eleven.” She rushed toward the house with Charles behind her. As she squeezed through the now even larger crowd on the deck, she heard someone call her name. She turned to find the girl from the musical, Sarah, waving frantically.

  “Ember! Claire’s been looking all over for you. You’d better let her know you’re okay.”

  Ember made it across the deck and into the kitchen, where she found Claire on her phone.

  Claire ran over and hugged her. “She’s here,” she said to the person on the other end. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. O’Malley. I didn’t mean to worry you. We’re going to head out—what? You just pulled up, as in, pulled up here, at the party?” Claire widened her eyes at Ember.

  “Oh, man. This is not good.” Ember wound through the crowd toward the living room. Maybe she could get out the door and into the car before her mom could make a scene. She turned and waved goodbye to Charles, and as she turned back around, she saw something that made her even more nervous than the thought of her mom bursting into the party.

  There, at the front door, stood Marissa talking to Tricia.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Eleven weeks earlier

  “She’s my little sister. I’m allowed to be hysterical.” Emily’s eyes filled with tears. How could Zach insist she was overreacting? What part of “bullet hole” did he not understand?

  “Calm down.” He laid his hands on her shoulders. “I’m telling you, if you’ll just let it—”

  “No! I won’t let it go.” She pulled away, strode out of the coffee shop, and headed toward the pier. Part of her wanted to be alone, but part hoped he’d follow her. They’d never argued before the night of the bonfire. Now, for the past few days, it seemed all they did was fight. The wind whipped her hair into her face as she walked out to the end of the pier. The air had a bite to it that she hadn’t felt in months. Summer was beginning to give way to autumn’s chill.