That’s the Lucy I want to meet.
8
Lucy
“Why are we watching this again?” I ask, sitting between Maya and Jennifer on the couch at our apartment.
“Because I watch Avondale every week. After this, we can change it to something else.”
Avondale is this super-popular show filmed at a studio nearby. It’s about a group of teenagers that grow up in a small town, the same small town their parents grew up in. Everyone on the show is beautiful and rich. Or beautiful and not so rich, but still seem totally rich. Basically? It hits way too close to home for anyone living in Ocean Grove.
I grab the bowl of buttery popcorn and scoop out a handful. Maya eyes me.
“What?” I say, dropping a few kernels in my lap.
“You’re eating a lot of junk food lately.”
“So?” She’s right. I used to never drink soda or eat greasy carbs. I was very focused on my health and keeping my skin clear and perfect. What’s the point now? “Speaking of, can you bring home a quart of that Chocolate Berry Blitz from the Creamery the next time you work? It’s amazing.”
She nods. “Yeah, I can probably do that.”
“Thanks.”
“Shhhh.” Jennifer presses her finger to her lips.
I settle into the couch and focus on the show, trying to figure out what’s going on. Ten minutes later, I realize it’s not that difficult. Two teens have the hots for one another. Another teen is jealous. There’s a mystery of some kind and one of their mothers is the mayor and she’s totally corrupt. I’m about to doze off when the scene shifts to the boys' locker room. They’re all standing around after football practice, shirtless and glistening in perfection. The camera pans around and I blink.
“Wait a minute…”
“What?” Maya asks, eyes glued to the screen. Not that she doesn’t have a boyfriend with his own set of amazing abs.
“Rewind that.” Maya lifts the remote and scrolls back. When she goes too far, I shout, “Stop!”
The show plays and at the right moment I yell again, “There! Pause.” I look at Jennifer. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Who do you think that is?”
“The kid from the restaurant.”
She nods slowly. “Yep. That’s Dean Turner.”
I stare at the screen. He’s not doing much at all, other than standing in the background looking amazing. Like I suspected, his broad shoulders round down to lean, muscular arms. His abs are a defined ladder, bricks of hard-won muscle. But it’s his face I can’t look away from. I’d recognize that jaw and confident smirk anywhere.
“Oh,” Maya says, squinting and then looking back at Jennifer. They were in school together. Seriously, Ocean Grove is a small place. “Is that the kid that was in all the school plays? When did his body do all that?”
“Yep, and I don’t know, and he has a crush on Lucy.”
“No. No, he doesn’t. He recognized me from TNBM, that’s all. Probably wants to use me to get more attention for himself.”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer says, “I think he likes you. Like, likes you, likes you.”
“First of all, he doesn’t know me other than some bio on the show’s website.” I cross my arms. “Second, you know I don’t date.”
Maya frowns. “Why is that, exactly?”
“Because I’m—” I almost say focused on my career. It’s the excuse I’ve used for years, but my career is shot, so what’s the point. “I’m not into it right now.”
Maya’s eyes slide back to the paused TV screen. “Not into that? If I didn’t have Christian, I’d totally be into that.”
“He’s arrogant.”
“So?”
“And knows nothing about me except that meltdown on TV.” I place the bowl of popcorn back on the table. “It’s obviously not the real me he wants to get to know. You know, after the show aired, I had to shut down all my social media stuff. Some guys just like drama.” I point to the TV. “That guy wants drama.”
Neither of the girls respond but I sense their sympathy anyway. I hate that too. The girls in my class used to look up to me. They respected me and thought I was fun, a fashion mentor in a sea of school uniforms and boring outfits. Somehow, reaching for my dreams made me lose all of that.
Maya turns back on the TV and I get a few more glances of Dean behind the main actors. I can’t tell either of the girls how I really feel about him approaching me like that. I was scared, and not just because he’s a boy. It’s more than that. He has what I don’t. The courage and conviction to keep fighting for what he wants.
The following day, Jennifer calls in sick—claiming cramps or something. Since it’s just me and Irving working out front, we’re totally slammed. I can barely keep up with the tables and orders when a group shows up at the door.
Dean Turner and friends.
I glance at Irving.
“Can you take them?”
He hesitates. “I have two six tops and all my other tables are full. Sorry, I don’t think I can manage it.”
I inwardly groan and walk over, plastering a smile on my face. I grab four menus and without making eye contact with any of them, I say, “Follow me.”
“Is Jennifer here tonight?” one of the guys asks. He’s got light blond hair and an easy smile.
“Sorry, she’s sick.” I pull out my pad. “Can I get you guys a drink?”
The first three ask for soda and even though I’m trying not to look at Dean, because the last thing I want to do is encourage him, I point to him and say, “Water, right?”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Yep.”
The blond glances between us but says nothing. My cheeks burn under his scrutiny.
“I’ll be right back to get your order."
I push through the kitchen door and head to the drink area, filling up cups with ice and soda. My phone buzzes in my pocket just as I’m getting the water. We’re not supposed to check during work but I can’t help myself.
It’s from Finley.
H: Did you see the big news from TNBM?
I almost ignore it, but the lure of the show on me is still strong.
L: No. I’m at work. What?
I’m too busy to wait for her to reply. I set the water on the tray with the other drinks and carry it back out front. I hand over each glass and pull back out my pad. “You guys ready?”
My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it, focusing on the table. “We’ll have a large triple meat.”
I scribble it down, then instinctively look at Dean. “You know what you want?”
“Yeah, a Greek salad. Extra grilled chicken.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks, Lucy.”
I look at him when he says my name. His voice is nice and my skin prickles a little. What is it about this guy that rattles me so much? I don’t respond and head back to the kitchen, but not before I hear one of the guys say, “Dude, do you know her?”
I hand the ticket to Eric and head to the salad prep area, thinking it over. His friend asked about me, which means he hasn’t told him who I am or how he knows me. I pile lettuce into the bowl and then add the toppings, going heavy on the cheese and olives, before adding a generous helping of grilled chicken. My phone buzzes another time in my back pocket and this time, I pull it out.
H: Fiona just made an announcement. The next season is a redemption theme. She asked Chase for your number.
My hands shake as I stare at the screen and I feel my heart lurch to my throat.
A redemption theme.
Finley texts again.
H: You there?
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
“Lucy!” Eric shouts, pushing a pie over the counter. “Order’s up.”
“Okay,” I mumble, typing out a reply.
L: Got it. Just busy. Talk later?
I scramble to calm myself and get the pizza on the tray, along with the salad. I weave through the tables and place the pizza on the rack, then han
d Dean his bowl. He smiles appreciatively and his eyes linger on me for a moment longer than necessary. What is up with this guy? Didn’t I make myself clear?
“You guys let me know if you need anything else,” I say, forcing myself to sound reasonable and rational when inside I’m completely freaking out.
I manage to get through the rest of the night, refilling drinks, updating orders, handing out checks, all while feeling like I’m fighting off a panic attack.
Eventually the restaurant slows and all the customers leave except the one with Dean and his friends. I wash my hands in the sink and say to Irving, “I need a little air. Can you watch them?”
“Sure,” he says.
I take my first full breath in an hour when I step outside. The beach air always makes me feel better and I lean against the wall, reading the text from Finley again. Chase’s mom is Fiona Caldwell. It makes sense she would go through him to track me down, since I’d done my best to stay off the radar after leaving the show. I’d closed all my social media accounts. Changed my phone number. Didn’t leave a forwarding address. Sure, I still live in Ocean Grove, but the part of town I’m staying in is a far cry from the gated community my foster family lives in.
Now that I’m finally alone, I let the tears of anxiety fall down my cheeks, releasing all the emotion I’d kept in check during work. I’m so caught up in my breakdown that I don’t see the person walking down the alley until they call my name.
“Lucy?”
I look up and brush the tears off my cheeks. Dean Turner stands a few feet away. Great. Another meltdown he can witness.
“What are you doing back here?”
He gestures to the overflow parking at the end of the alley. “I was leaving and thought I saw you down here. You looked at little stressed tonight. Did something happen?”
For unknown reasons, everything comes out in a rush. “If you really want to know, I got a text saying that The Next Big Model is planning a redemption theme next season. Fiona’s looking for me.”
He thinks about it for a moment but then says, “That’s great!”
I stare at him. “No, that’s not great. It’s a nightmare on top of all my other nightmares.”
“I don’t get it. You want to model, Fiona’s giving you another chance. What’s the big deal?”
“Another chance for the whole world to see how my life went off the rails after I quit. Fiona’s not being nice. She’s throwing me under the bus. Again.” I lift my apron and wipe under my eyes.
“Maybe they genuinely want to give you another shot?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. It’s just another chance to humiliate me.”
Dean shifts on his feet, his sneakers scuffing on the pavement. He runs a hand though his hair and says, “You know, you’re pretty unbelievable.”
“What?” I say, taken aback.
“You had a dream of being a model, right?”
“Yes. My whole life, I always knew it was what I wanted to do.”
“And you have one upset, one rejection, and you completely give up.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I did. I thought I had what it takes, but I was totally wrong.”
“That’s bull.”
I jerk my head up. Dean’s hands are shoved in his pockets and his T-shirt stretches across his chest, showing off his defined upper body. His face is perfection, his confidence off the charts. I glare at him. “How many rejections have you had?”
“Thirty-six.”
Hmm. More than I expected. “That’s an awfully specific number.”
“I keep track. I don’t let the failures get me down.” He takes a step forward. “I learn from them and push forward.”
“Yeah, well I don’t have a mommy and daddy supporting my every move, and a school that backs me up and lets me leave whenever I need to. What I have is baggage.” I take a deep rattling breath. “I don’t have what it takes, Dean, that’s a fact.”
He steps closer. “That’s an excuse. You’re not a failure. You’re scared.”
“Shut up,” I snap, feeling the anger roll off my body. “You know nothing about me.”
His jaw clenches. “I know you had the guts to risk everything to go on that show. I know you had courage. I know you were confident enough to walk on that stage.” His hands ball at his side. “And honestly, you had the guts to walk off the stage when it went too far. I watched that show. I saw the spark in your eye. The determination.”
“That’s gone,” I whisper, wishing I could hold onto it one moment longer, but it’s so far gone. “That’s not me anymore.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. “That girl is gone.” He takes a step back and shakes his head. “It’s too bad, because that’s the girl I want to get to know. That’s the one I was going to ask out.”
That makes me laugh. No, not just laugh, burst into giggles.
He frowns. “What?”
“You think that even if I was that same girl, I’d ever date you?”
His shoulders push back. “Well, yeah.”
I roll my eyes. “No thanks, Dean Turner, regardless of where I am in my life, you’re not my type.”
It’s a bit of a lie. Dean Turner is everyone’s type.
“Whatever, Lucy. Good luck with life and well, whatever you make of it.”
He turns and heads back down the alley, the lights of his car blinking as he clicks the locks. I watch him as he carries himself with an enviable swagger, unaffected by our argument. Why should he be? I’m just some girl that rejected him.
Number thirty-seven.
I stand and straighten my T-shirt, pretending like Dean Turner didn’t just nail me with a few hard facts.
The biggest one?
That I’m scared.
9
Dean
As much as I don’t want to, I’m still thinking about Lucy the next day at school. I’m in a senior literature class that’s studying The Grapes of Wrath. The Joad family lost my attention somewhere in Oklahoma, and it keeps wandering back to the argument we had in the alley. What was that? Why am I so emotionally involved with some girl I just met?
I sigh and lean my hand on my cheek, trying to focus, and ignoring Tommy, who sits next to me scrolling on his phone under the desk.
I shouldn’t be so worried about this girl. I barely know her. I mean, I don’t know her at all, no more than the millions of people that watched that episode. I get why she’s upset. It’s not like things are limited to that one day and time anymore. Videos, memes, social media posts, they all love to dredge up the past. Even I’ve been subjected to it from my limited time on Avondale. I can’t imagine what will happen when I actually have a few lines.
People love to hate, which is all the more reason for her to just get ahead of this, say yes to the redemption season and move on.
At least, that’s what I would do.
“Dude.” Tommy nudges me. Before I look over I check to make sure Mrs. Morgan is still at the front of the room analyzing passages from the book. “Did you see this?”
He hands me his phone under the table. He’s got ChattySnap open and it’s from a gossip account.
“The Redemption We All Want to See: Lucy Harrington.”
A split screen of Lucy pre- and post-head shaving is below the headline. In the first, she’s gorgeous. Smiling with bright, twinkling eyes. In the second, it’s like an entirely different person and not just because she’s shaved her head. She’s still strikingly beautiful, but her face is splotchy and red from crying. The biggest difference, though, is the sadness in her eyes.
“That’s her, right? The waitress?”
I’d been good with the fact none of my friends had recognized Lucy at the restaurant. Tommy definitely had asked me about her when it was clear we kind of knew one another, but I didn’t reveal much. There wasn’t much to reveal, at least about the two of us. As for her identity? That’s her business.
I glance back at the screen. Until now, that is.
“Yeah. That�
��s her.”
“No way, I remember when this came out. Did you know it was her?” he whispered.
“Kind of. Yeah.”
He takes the phone back and stares at it again. I grimace, hating that anyone is looking at Lucy that way—in both amusement and pity. I snatch the phone out of his hand and exit out of the page.
“Hey!”
I toss it back on his lap under the table.
“Mr. Turner. Mr. Norton, do you two have a problem?”
“No ma’am,” I say, and Tommy shakes his head vigorously.
“Good.” She holds up her book. “I want everyone to write two paragraphs on the attitudes of Californians on the migrant workers in the book. Pencils down, mouths shut.”
I pull out my notebook and my pencil, ready to start my assignment, but feel Tommy watching me.
“What?” I whisper.
“What’s going on with you and that girl?”
“Nothing. I just recognized her. Talked to her a little.”
He smiles. “You like her.”
I shake my head. “No. I think she’s hot, but she’s a mess.”
“Obviously.” I’m not sure which one he means, her being a mess or her being hot. Probably both. “It’s not like you have to marry her.”
“Do I look like I need a distraction right now? You know how busy I am.”
He snorts and Mrs. Morgan looks up, giving us a frown. We both drop our heads and focus on the paper.
“Yeah,” Tommy says suddenly.
“Yeah, what?”
“I think you do need a distraction. School. Working out. Acting. That’s all you do. Having a little fun wouldn’t be the worst thing. I mean, you won’t even eat anything fun.”
I shake my head. I know the guys think I’m too focused on my future. There’s no such thing. If I want to make it, I have to cover all my bases, not like Lucy, who got her shot and fell apart.
That’s the biggest reason I’m not interested in the girl. Not because she isn’t beautiful, trust me, she’s a knockout. It’s because she is a distraction, her eyes are not on the prize and that’s not something I can risk having in my life right now.
Lucy and The Love Pact: Young Adult Fake Romance (Love in Ocean Grove Book 2) Page 3