"You better hurry up in there! I need to take a leak!"
“You should have thought about that before I got in here to take a shower!” I shout over the spray of water.
“I thought you were using the restroom. Come on, Whit. I really need to go.”
I sigh. I'm already naked. "I'll tell you when I'm in the shower, and then you can come in, okay?" Once the water hits my back, I make sure the black curtain is closed at all angles.
“Alright!”
A fresh burst of air enters the bathroom as the steam escapes with Dylan’s entry. My body shivers from the sensations of the hot and cold binding together on my skin. The shower is my time to think. Major life decisions happen under this steady spray, and Dylan is ruining that process for me.
“Don’t—”
But it’s too late. He flushes, causing the water to turn from scorching hot to freezing cold in a matter of seconds.
“Ah! Oh my god!” I scream, stepping as far as I can toward the wall in front of me. Little drops still hit my feet, and my teeth start to chatter. I am going to kill him! He knows that flushing the toilet changes the damn temperature in the shower.
"I'm going to kill you, Dylan Tate!"
“Consider it payback!”
I peek my head out of the curtain and grab my loofah that sits in the corner of the tub. I wet it and hurl it to Dylan. I smirk when the bright pink ball hits the middle of his back, making him screech like a little girl. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and something passes in his. I can't tell what it is, but it's something I've never seen before.
A mischievous grin takes over his face. “You know this means war, right?”
"Bring it. I have five bottles of shampoo, three bottles of conditioner, two razors, a rag, and four body washes. I'm armed and ready." Except that meant I had to run through the freezing spray to get any of the weapons if he meant that the war started right now.
The white drawer slides open, where he keeps a spare toothbrush. "I don't understand you, woman. Why do you need so many different things in the shower? Like, what is the point of all that?" He brushes his teeth as he stares at me in the mirror, waiting for an answer.
I test the water again with my fingers. Still cold. “Depends on the day. Sometimes I want to smell like cucumber. Other days I want to smell like cherry blossom. One conditioner is used to shave my legs—”
"Whoa, wait a minute. Do you use conditioner for that? Aren't you supposed to use it on your hair?" Dylan's mouth is white, surrounded by toothpaste foam.
I give him a ‘duh' look. "Yeah, but the conditioner is cheaper than shaving cream. Plus, it lasts so much longer, and does the same thing."
He spits into the sink before shoving the toothbrush back into his mouth. He mutters something, but I don't understand him.
“What?”
He holds up a finger, telling me to wait. It’s no problem. I don’t have anywhere to be. Especially not in this shower, considering the water is still cold.
He spits and washes his mouth and toothbrush off. "I said, so women use that on their entire bodies then? I feel like that would be very slippery."
I shrug my shoulders, forgetting he can’t see me. The water finally heats back up, and I stand under the spray, sighing when the warm water releases the tension in my muscles. “Hey, can you throw my loofah back?”
A few moments later a pink ball comes sailing over the rod, plopping at my feet.
“Thank you!”
“I’m out. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
The door shuts, leaving me hot-boxed in steam. I inhale, and the vapor travels into my lungs, taking a bit of the bad news I received the other day and numbing it a bit. I still don't know what I'm going to do about Tops. The thought brings tears to my eyes. I don't know what I'd do without him. That diner is a home to me. It feels more like home than my parent's house. The diner is a place where people can come and be themselves. What would we do—what would I do—without it?
Turning off the shower with a heavy sigh, I grab the extra-large plush towel, cocooning my body in it. After I step out of the tub, I dry myself off and wrap the towel around my hair. I don’t feel like messing with the crazy mane today. I throw on my robe and open the door that leads to the bedrooms to make sure Dylan isn’t there. I hope he and I never see each other naked. It would make the relationship so awkward. There would be no coming back from that.
The steam from the bathroom flows out of the door, swirling around the ceiling in my bedroom, seeking another escape. I rummage through my dresser drawers, grabbing an old Queen T-shirt that was my mom's back in the eighties. Apparently, my parents used to be real concertgoers—shocking, I know.
"Ah−ha!”
I find the pair of black ripped jeans that have been MIA for a few months. Why they are in my T-shirt drawer, we shall never know.
When I start brushing my hair, the smell of bacon wafts through my room, and I inhale, taking in the beautiful aroma of bacon. I run out the bedroom door, nearly tripping over my own feet. My arms flail, barely keeping me upright.
Charlie laughs. She saw the whole thing. “You are so entertaining in the morning. I mean, is there a day where you don’t fall?” she asks, chomping on a piece of bacon and smiling.
“Hardy-har-har. You’re so funny.” I stomp toward the kitchen to find a shirtless Dylan frying up bacon. “You’re going to burn yourself.”
He waves the spatula in the air, sending beads of grease flying. Luckily, none lands on me. “I’m fine. I’m a pro at cooking bacon. It’s my main food group.”
I lean against the counter, snagging a few pieces he just made. They are still hot and dripping in grease. I lick my lips and shove an entire piece in my mouth. The salty flavor bursts across my taste buds. I throw another strip in my mouth while still chewing the first one.
“Jeez, don’t choke. There is plenty here for everyone.”
I add a third piece. By now, I look like a chipmunk. I don't care. I'm starving, and I’m in a hurry. "I actually need to get going. I have things to do." I push off the counter with my foot and make my way toward the shoe rack by the door, throwing on my Converse.
Dylan crosses his ankles and waves the spatula at me. “You’re lying.”
My hand flies to my chest, shocked that he would think that of me. “I am not.”
Charlie nods, taking a sip of orange juice. "You are always up to no good when you put on your Converse."
My feet tap against the floor, ready to bolt and dive into action. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“What are you up to, Whit?” Dylan eats up the distance between us in three long strides. His brown eyes are dark, so dark the pupil is lost in them, but his curiosity is evident.
"Listen, it's my day off. I'm going for a walk. Maybe I'll go shopping. Maybe I'll find my future husband. Who knows? It's a beautiful day. Anything can happen."
“You are so full of shit, Whitley Pope.” Charlie grabs her purse and slides her pink flip−flops on. “I’m coming with you. I’d love to go shopping.”
Dylan throws the spatula in the sink. “You know, what? Me too.”
Don’t. Panic. “I—ah—I was going to get a Brazilian wax. You guys don’t want to be there for that.” What a lame excuse. Charlie knows my waxing schedule. Come on, Whit!
“Huh, you know, I’ve always wanted to try that. Sounds like a good day.”
"Let me braid my hair, and we’ll get going." I run back into my bedroom, and with precision and speed, my long red strands are braided. My plan isn't working out how I thought it would. I’d wanted to grab some sugar and execute my plan to stop them breaking ground on this resort, but if my friends come with me, they will try to stop me. I don't want to be stopped. Some people need to be taught a lesson, and that is precisely what I am going to do to Logan Stone and Stone Enterprises.
“What are you planning, Whitley?”
I am getting really annoyed with everyone asking me that. I am a grown woman. The
last time I checked, I can make my own decisions. “Nothing. Jeez! Back off, okay?”
Dylan follows my every move when I try to walk out the bedroom door, blocking my path. “Dylan, please get out of the way.”
He shakes his head, allowing his shaggy mouse-brown hair to fall in his face. “ You know how I know you’re lying? Because any other time, you’d tell me what you were doing, and for some reason, every time you put on your Converse, you get in trouble.”
“They make me feel badass,” I mumble under my breath.
“Whit. Don’t do something stupid.”
I lift my chin, like the stubborn woman I am. “I can make stupid decisions if I want. It’s up to me, not you.” My shoulder hits his as I push him out of the way.
As I walk away, I hear his heavy sigh. “Well, if you’re doing something stupid, I’m doing it with you.”
I spin around so fast my braid slaps me in the face. “Heck no. I know you’ll just try to get me to stop. You don’t even care about my stupid environment thing anyway. I know how you feel about my protests.”
“Whit.” He grabs my arms and stares me in the face with his dark eyes. “I care. Don’t think for a second that I don’t. Who was there to get you out of jail for chaining yourself to that tree? You didn’t call your parents, you called me.”
“It’s one of the oldest trees in the country!”
“How about that time where you glued a bible to a tree in front of a church with a note that said, “Save the trees. Don’t print the bible!”
“I didn’t mean that in a religious sense. It wasn’t my best moment, but I was fifteen!” I try to defend myself, but he is making some pretty good claims. Okay, not claims, facts.
"You're reckless when you're passionate. You don't think straight. One day, your passion is going to get you into trouble. You need to chill. You need to realize that trees are going to get bulldozed, chopped, made into paper, or cleared for construction. I don't want to be harsh, but you need to wake up and smell the coffee, Whit. Things are going to change. Move on. Find something else you're passionate about."
His words are like a jagged sword piercing my heart. Out of all the people in the world, I never expected Dylan to turn his back on me. Hot tears spring to my eyes as I let his words sink in. It isn’t like I’m not aware that I can get a bit out of control with it. It’s not like I hurt people. I’m just trying to help the environment. But when he makes it sound so hopeless, I guess my fight is senseless. I sniffle, wiping the tears off my bottom lash line.
“Dylan!” Charlie’s harsh tone cuts through the tension.
He scoffs. “Please, like you haven’t been dying to tell her the same thing! We love you.” His hand sears my arm as he tries to pull me in for a hug, but I yank away from him, staring at the person I thought had my back no matter what.
“People’s dreams might be out of reach, or impossible, but that doesn’t give you the right to make me feel low about what I feel. You won’t hear a word from me about it anymore. I didn’t know you found my hobbies so awful, Dylan.”
“They aren’t hobbies. They are obsessions. One day, you’re going to get yourself in trouble, or worse, hurt. What if we can’t get you out of a situation?”
I curl my lip, staring at him with complete fury. “I never asked for your help. I never asked for anyone’s help. You jump in and play hero! I don’t ask that of you. If you want someone to blame, blame yourself.”
“That’s what friends do. They help,” Dylan sighs with exasperation.
Snatching my orange purse off the couch, I march my way to the door. The doorknob is cold to the touch, since my body is on fire from the anger pumping through my veins. Before I open the door, I turn my head to peer over my shoulder. "Friends don't bash other friends. They support. Even if my passion is annoying and useless, to me, it feels like I make a difference, regardless of how you feel."
One second passes, then two, and three. Dylan doesn’t say anything. I take that as my queue to leave. I twist the metal knob, opening the door, and a strong gust of wind blows through the corridor, making fallen leaves swirl in the air before landing on the concrete ground. The door closes with a soft click. I stand outside the dark green door, shocked and hurt from my friend's words. I don't know if I'm upset because of what he said, or how he said it.
Charlie’s voice booms from behind the door. “You’re a real son of a bitch, Dylan Tate. I can’t believe you would talk to her like that!”
I can’t stand to hear anything else Dylan has to say, so I leave. I don’t know what to do now. My mind is a jumbled mess as I aimlessly walk to my car. For the first time in my life, I question everything I’ve done. Everything I believe in, everything I love, just everything. Dylan has been my friend since we were twelve and not once has he ever said anything like that. I snort from the thought of him never saying anything. Well, he just did, and all that build up over the years finally spewed free.
I want to forgive him, but deep down I know Dylan doesn’t want forgiveness. He meant what he said. He knows how much I care about the environment, and he said it anyway just to hurt me. The hope that I had at saving any part of our friendship dwindles. Opening my car door, I plop down in the seat and sigh, wondering how a bacon-filled morning could end so terribly.
* * *
The dark sky has hints of blue tangled in the twinkling stars. I can’t take my eyes off it as I sit on a fallen log, staring at the clearing for the resort. It looks like I got here a day late because nothing is left standing except bulldozers, a trailer, and dirt. Maybe Dylan is right. I’m in way over my head. This dream of mine is stupid and worthless.
Speaking of Dylan, my phone vibrates again for the hundredth time today. Between the messages, voicemails, and missed calls, my phone is dying. I haven't answered anyone. Apparently, they told my brother, Anthony, and he left a message saying if I didn't let him know I am okay, he is filing a missing person's report. Dramatic much? I need time to myself. I need to clear my head.
My phone chimes and when I glance down, the bright light makes me squint, but it’s another message from Dylan, begging me to pick up the phone. I roll my eyes, fifty messages and not one apology from him. I don’t want him to be sorry for what he said. I want him to be sorry for how he said it. It hurt so bad.
The chimes echo through the sparse forest again and to my surprise, it's Kyle, my other brother. “Dude, you okay? Charlie messaged me. You have everyone, like, worried.”
For the first time all day, I smile. Of course, Charlie messaged him. She has been in love with him for years, but she’s never said anything about it. I imagine Kyle sitting there, waxing his surfboard with his brows pinched, talking to himself as he types the text. Is it weird that I can hear his voice from this text? It makes me feel a little better. He is the most non-judgmental person I have ever met. I don't know how he came out so different than everyone else in the family, but he should thank his lucky stars. I'm jealous of how carefree and laid-back he is. Why can't I be like that?
I open his message and reply. “Fine. Just need time to think. XO.” I move from the log to the ground and lean against the deserted chunk of wood. The bag of sugar sits next to me, goading me to do something with it. What I need to do is take it home, put it in a container, and use it for coffee.
The phone chimes again and I slide my thumb across the screen to open Kyle’s message. “Cool. I won’t tell anyone. Clear your mind, dude. Become one with your surroundings.”
"Ah, Kyle. Such a hippie, but if I became one with my surroundings, I'd be chopped up into dust by a woodchipper." Like how my heart feels right about now. I shut my phone off and put it in my pocket, wanting to forget about the world on the other side of that phone. After tonight, I vow not to be as crazy, but that's after tonight.
Right now, I'm on a mission. I'm tired of Stone Enterprises ruining everything I love, and that includes Tops. Just the thought of that cheery old man getting sick makes my heart hurt. Cancer. Out of all the damn thi
ngs, why does it have to be that? He will be so disappointed in me if I do this.
I run my hand along the edge of the metal fence, and my fingers glide over the ridges of the metal as I walk around the perimeter. I'm not calculating. I'm not planning. I'm thinking. Why did I come here? Before, it was because I had been angry with Stone Enterprises interrupting my home, but now, I'm here…
Hell, I don’t know why I’m here. Maybe I’d hoped to gain clarity, but I’m starting to think I needed an escape. Why I came loaded and at the ready, well, I guess a part of me wanted to take my anger out on something. Now that I’m here, I know I can’t do it. The sugar I brought is cradled like a baby in my right arm, waiting to be used. Well, it’s a sad day for the sugar because I don’t plan on using it, but I do want to see the machines. I’ve never been around equipment this big.
Screw it, I'm here. I might as well give myself a tour.
Curling my fingers between the metal, I lift myself up, fighting gravity. “Jeez, I really need to work out more,” I mutter to myself.
My muscles burn as I climb the fence with one hand. Why didn’t I leave the sugar on the ground? I toss the sugar to the other side, giving me the ability to use both arms instead of one. I should have left the little bag on the ground, but if today has proven anything, it’s that I can’t think clearly sometimes.
Once I get the top, I throw my leg over the top of the fence and straddle the silver. “Whoa.” I shouldn’t have looked down.
“You’ve come this far,” I tell myself. “You can do it. Don’t be a coward.” My shoes catch the holes of the fence as I descend. My arms are shaking, and my legs are sore, all from climbing a nine-foot fence. I point my foot down, searching for the ground and when I feel the earth beneath me, I sigh. I made it.
The dirt crunches under my tennis shoes as I drop from the fence. My hands have indentations from the metal, and my chest is heaving from the exertion. I leave the sugar by the fence, debating if I even want to deal with it when I have to climb the damn wall again. I'll leave it as a present.
The Hangover Page 5